A silence, difficult to break, settled upon the man and the maid, as Jimmy’s plodding feet toiled up the stairs.

“Good-night, Barb’ra,” his wistful little voice called from the top of the stairs.

“Good-night, Jimmy dear,” she answered.

Her eyes, clouded with pain, sought Jarvis’s face. She had suddenly leaped to the conclusion that he had come to tell her something concerning the contract; perhaps to inform her that her prolonged furlough was at an end.

His next words confirmed this.

“I believe,” he said slowly, “that you are under bonds to leave your home for a considerable period. Five years, or thereabouts, to be exact. Am I right?”

“Yes,” faltered Barbara. She had grown very pale. “That is why,” she said bravely, “I have taught Jimmy to go upstairs alone. But he doesn’t like it—yet.”

Her eager eyes were fastened upon his face.

“Did you come—to—tell me? Must I go—now?” she asked.

He waved his hand deprecatingly.

“Oh, no,” he said. “It isn’t that—exactly. In fact, I have nothing to do with the matter; only——”

He paused, as if to choose his words with care.

“I happen to know the person concerned in the transaction, and——”

“You know him?” breathed Barbara. She leaned toward him eagerly, the color coming back to her face in a swift flood. “Then won’t you tell me——”

He shook his head.

“I’m under bonds to preserve my client’s incognito,” he said. “But——”

He looked at her compassionately.

“Are you finding the delay very hard to bear?” he asked. “Is there——” Again he hesitated. “Is there any particular reason why you should wish to know more about the matter?—any reason why you cannot wait my client’s pleasure?”

She was silent.

“It is that I should like you to tell me,” he went on deliberately. “I am instructed, by my client—to find out—to—er—ascertain, in short, if you are in any way dissatisfied with the present status of the affair. If you will be quite frank with me I shall greatly appreciate your confidence, and so will—the person I have the honor to represent. Of this I can speak very positively.”

“Why,” asked Barbara, her words coming with a rush, “do I wait at all? If my time is worth—all the money your client paid for it—why am I not working? That is one thing I want to know.”

“As to that,” Jarvis said quietly, “I can assure you that your time is worth all and more than you receive for it. But——”

He looked down and fingered his driving gloves absent-mindedly.

“There have been certain events, transpiring since the date of your engagement—your agreement, I should say better—with the person of whom we are speaking, which would seem to indicate that possibly—mind I say possibly, I cannot speak certainly as yet—but possibly your services may not be required at all.”

“What must I do? Of course the money——”

“Naturally, a part of it will be forfeited to you,” said Jarvis coolly.

To all outward appearance he was the hard-headed man of affairs discussing a disputed contract.

“I attended to that for you,” he went on. “It is nothing more than fair, since you still hold yourself in readiness to fill your part of the contract.”

Barbara was gazing at him with parted lips.

“I chanced to meet an acquaintance of yours this afternoon,” Jarvis went on, his observant eyes on her face. “A—er—Mr. Whitcomb.”

Her look puzzled him.

“He informed me that he wished to marry you.”

The girl’s eyes sank in shamed confusion.

“I—said I could not promise until—unless——” she faltered.

He arose, gripping his chair-back with tense fingers.

“It will be impossible to learn the ultimate intentions of my client at present,” he said.

He continued to look at her as she sat in the soft radiance of the lamp-light, her head bowed, her slender hands, browned and roughened by the labors of sorrowful years, tightly clasped in her lap; and a great compassion for her friendless youth, her woman’s tenderness and weakness, swept over him like a flood. He longed to take her in his arms, to comfort her unforgotten griefs and forever to shield her from the coldness of an unfriendly world. She seemed so slight, so fragile a creature in her thin dress of faded muslin, with the heavy masses of her hair knotted low against her slender neck.

“You say you cannot tell me who it is?” she murmured. “It is so strange not to know—to wait, being afraid every day. Why, any time Jimmy might come home and find me gone.”

Her voice trembled into silence.

He bent toward her, his face transfigured with love and pity.

“Barbara!” he cried, in a low voice of yearning.

She looked up at him, startled, afraid. He perceived this, and the next instant his features had resumed their expression of cold serenity.

“I was about to tell you that any excessive anxiety on your part is wholly unnecessary,” he said. “You will certainly be notified at least a week in advance. And—as my client is situated at present—I think I may predict with tolerable certainty that the call will not come before—autumn.”

Her face brightened.

“In October,” she said, “we shall harvest the orchards. Then I could pay back the money.”

A swift shadow crossed his face.

“Money; is it of that you must always be thinking?” he asked.

“You know that I must,” she said proudly. “I could not rest under so heavy an obligation to—anyone.”

“No,” he agreed. “I see that—I understand.”

A melancholy smile touched his lips.

“Do not be alarmed as to the obligation,” he said quietly. “My client is a man who is accustomed, like Shylock, to exact the last penny—even to the pound of flesh. He will not let you off easily.”

Barbara drew a quick breath.

“It is a man, then?” she asked. “I—hoped——”

“You were hoping it was a woman,” he said dryly. “I have committed an indiscretion in telling you so much. But—conceive, if you will, a man, well along in years, the—guardian of a child, who requires——”

“Is the child,” asked Barbara, “a boy or girl?”

He hesitated.

“Er—I cannot tell you as to that. Let us suppose for the moment that it is a boy.”

“Have you seen the child?”

He looked at her with what she would have called in another a bantering tenderness in his deep-set eyes. In connection with Stephen Jarvis the suggestion was untenable—absurd.

“Do you know you are cross-examining me with considerable adroitness?” he said. “I must be on my guard, or you will force me to tell you the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.”

“And why should you not tell me the truth?” she urged. “I think I have the right to know it.”

“Not at present,” he said coolly. “I am in honor bound to my client, you should remember. I may lose my—er—commission, if I am not careful.”

“I should be glad to know that the child is—that he is not an imbecile.”

She answered his amazed look with swift explanation.

“A woman who saw my advertisement wanted me to take charge of an imbecile child; that is why——”

“And you would have done it, Barbara? You were ready to commit yourself to such a future, just because I——”

He stopped short with a visible effort.

“No; the child is—— He is a very dear and lovable little fellow, I should say. And he needs—you. He is—quite alone in the world.”

“So,” she murmured, “is Jimmy. And when I am gone there will be no one——”

“You will not be obliged to leave your brother right away, you know,” he suggested. “And—possibly not at all.”

Her face became illuminated with a sudden inspiration.

“Why shouldn’t the man—this client of yours—bring the child here for me to take care of? I should be so glad to have him right away. This is a healthy spot. I could make him very comfortable.”

Jarvis shook his head.

“I shouldn’t like to suggest such a thing,” he said slowly. “It might savor of impertinence——”

Her face crimsoned with mortification.

“I didn’t mean——” she stammered.

“Not on your part,” he amended hastily; “understand me, please. Your idea is—quite like you; quite what I should expect, knowing you as I do. But—I fear it wouldn’t do. My client——”

“He must be a peculiar sort of person,” hazarded Barbara.

“He is,” agreed Jarvis. “So much so that—I feel I ought to warn you in one particular.”

Barbara waited in expectant silence.

Jarvis hesitated, studying her downcast face.

“I want you to promise me,” he said slowly, “that you will not yield to the importunities of—of Whitcomb. No; don’t interrupt me. Hear me out. He will urge you to marry him—soon. He will tell you—— But you must not listen—yet. Do you hear me? You must—put him off. You must wait—till——”

“I shall wait,” she said coldly, “till the man—your client—is satisfied, or paid, in full.”

“Will you promise me this?”

She looked him full in the eyes.

“Why should I promise you?” she demanded haughtily. “I have signed a contract. I am in honor bound to stand by it. I shall keep my word—fulfil the letter of my bond; but not because you have asked me to do it.”

He turned abruptly and took up his hat.

“That is all I have to say to you,” he said in a business-like tone.

He stopped, hesitated.

“If I do not see you again——”

“But you will be obliged to see me,” she objected, “—to tell me.”

“No,” he said, and smiled slightly. “I shall not need to see you again; and—I may not——”

He held out his hand.

“Will you forgive me, Barbara?” he asked humbly.

“Forgive you?” she echoed.

“God knows I have need of your forgiveness. If I do not see you again—and it is quite possible that I may not. I am thinking of going away, of closing my house here. I may never return. But I want—I need to carry with me the certainty that you will sometimes think kindly of me. Not that I deserve it, but——”

His eyes, dark with pain, searched her face.

“I cannot bear to remember all that has passed between us. I know now that I was less than a man to threaten you—browbeat you, as I did. I hope you will believe me when I tell you I am hoping for your best—your truest, and most lasting happiness.”

His voice, shaken with the solemn passion of renunciation, died into silence.

She put her hand into his.

“I—am sorry,” she faltered.

“For what, Barbara?” he asked.

She drew a deep sigh that was half a sob.

“For—everything,” she said.

Her mouth quivered like a grieving child’s.

“And you do forgive me, Barbara?”

“Yes.”

He raised her fingers to his lips.

“Good-bye,” he said.

She heard his rapid step on the gravel without, and later the whir of wheels, faint and fainter in the distance.

Barbara did not tell David all that had passed between Jarvis and herself, when on the following day he unburdened himself of the multiplied conjecture and complaints which had occurred to him since his briefly renewed acquaintance with the lawyer. In some uncomprehended way their past had acquired a new significance in Barbara’s eyes, almost sacred in the light of Jarvis’s difficult confession. As she had, through some deep, delicate instinct, hidden her early romance from Jarvis, she now shielded from David’s scrutiny his rival’s unavailing passion and pain. David would not understand, she knew; he would laugh and toss his handsome head, secure in his own easily won triumph.

“I suspected the old fox knew more than he owned up to me, though when I taxed him with it he was ready to lie out of it,” David said.

He drew Barbara to him and kissed her carelessly full on the mouth. Then when she would have withdrawn herself from his arms, he laughed, and held her strongly to him, looking deep into her eyes.

“You don’t want to get away from me,” he said. “You are mine; didn’t you know that?”

He kissed her a dozen times, hotly, eagerly, holding her breathless, crushed against his breast, releasing her at last, flushed and tremulous, her heavy hair loosened on her neck.

David watched her with amused eyes, as she restored the hairpins to place, following the curving lines of her young figure appreciatively.

“You need some handsome gowns, Barbara, to set off your good looks,” he said. “You’ll have them, too, when you’re my wife.”

He took her hand.

“I’ll wager you’ve been wondering why I didn’t bring you a ring,” he went on exuberantly. “Girls always like rings, and I see you don’t wear anything but that plain one. Here, I’ll——”

“Don’t take it off,” implored Barbara. “It was my mother’s. It was her wedding ring.”

“That’s all right, dear. But you must take it off, just the same. You can wear it on the other hand, if you like—or put it away; a keepsake like that is best locked up in some box. I’ll give you all the rings you’ll need to wear from now on.”

He snapped open a tiny case of white velvet and flashed its imbedded jewel in her averted eyes.

“Do you like it, dear? Do you think it’s pretty? I couldn’t get anything decent in this hole, of course, so I sent to the city for it. It just came by express, last night. I found it when I got back from my delightful ride with that old crab, Jarvis.”

“It—it’s beautiful, David, but——”

“I hope it’ll fit; let me put it on, dearest.”

“David—I—can’t; don’t you see—I am not free to—to——”

“What in Heaven’s name are you talking about? Aren’t we engaged?”

“I—don’t know,” the girl said slowly. “No,—not till fall. You mustn’t——”

“Damn old Jarvis, if he’s been putting any such notions into your head!” cried David. “Why, Barbara, you’re talking nonsense. Didn’t he tell you you could get a release? I’ll buy the fellow off. I told Jarvis I would.”

“You told him?”

“Why, of course, I did. And I mean to. We’ll be married by that time. Now, don’t say no. Just give me a show to prove what ought to need no urging on my part to make you see. If we are married hard and fast there’ll be no back talk coming from Jarvis or anybody else. Can’t you see that, dear? I dare say the fellow is only waiting for a good excuse to demand his money back, and we’ll give it to him. Come, sweetheart, let me put this ring on your dear little finger, and next month I’ll add another of a different sort. Then I’ll be in a position to talk business with old Jarvis, or his client, whoever he is. I’ll say, ‘Here’s your money, sir,’ short and sharp; ‘take it or leave it, as suits you best. My wife doesn’t go out to service with any man.’ That’s my sensible girl!”

He would have drawn her again into his arms. But she resisted him tensely.

“You don’t understand, David, and you must understand,” she said slowly. “I—promised I wouldn’t—till——”

“You promised! Who in the devil did you promise? You promised me, and I’m going to hold you to it.”

“No; not till after I was bound, and I—only promised you conditionally. Don’t you remember, David?”

“I only remember what I choose to remember,” he said superciliously. “And all I know, or care to know, at the present moment, is that you’re mine—mine, Barbara! Haven’t I waited for years and suffered—Barbara!”

His voice vibrated with passion; he reached out for her hungrily, irresistibly, and held her fast in the clasp of one powerful arm, while with the other he sought for her elusive hand.

“One finger is just as good as another for me,” he laughed as he slipped the ring into place. “There! Isn’t that handsome?”

But she hid her troubled eyes against his shoulder.

“Not on my ugly brown hand, David,” she murmured. “And I cannot wear it—yet. I promised.”

“That’s twice you’ve mentioned the fact that you promised,” he said, scowling. “Did Jarvis have the brazen nerve to come between you and me with any of his cut and dried legal business?”

“He—reminded me of my contract. He said——”

“Well, I’ll fix that up with Jarvis. Say, do you know he makes me tired? I told him we were engaged, and if he had any such line of talk to pass out he might have come to me. I’m the one for him to do business with from now on, and I’ll let him know it, too.”

He released her, suddenly.

“You can do as you like about the ring,” he said in an offended tone. “Most girls would jump at the chance to wear a two-hundred-dollar diamond. I’ll chuck it into the waste-basket, if you say so.”

“Oh, David!” breathed Barbara, “did you spend all that money—just for me?”

“Yes, I did; and I supposed you’d be pleased. I never dreamed you’d refuse to wear it.”

“But—it isn’t that I don’t love you,” she faltered. “Indeed I——”

“Well, if you love me, you’ll do as I say,” interrupted David, with an arrogant toss of his handsome head. “Will you, Barbara?”

“I will in everything but—you know, dear, I—I can’t.”

He stared at her in angry silence.

“You appear a soft enough little thing,” he said at last, “but you’re as infernally obstinate as—— Here, give me the ring. I’ll not force it on you.”

She slipped it from her finger in silence, and he took it, restored it to its velvet nest, and dropped the case in his pocket.

“The next time I ask you to wear that ring,” he said, “you’ll either do it, or——”

“David!” cried Barbara faintly. “Please—please don’t be angry. Try to—understand.”

“Try to understand—eh? Well, I’m not so dull as some; but you’ve got me stumped all right. Maybe that’s what you’re trying to do.”

She put out her hands to him pleadingly. But he did not choose to see them.

“I’ll talk with Jarvis,” he said roughly. “And in the meantime you keep away from him. Just let me manage for a while. A woman isn’t up to business, anyway. Why, it makes me hot to think of his coming here and talking you to a finish the way he did. I wish I’d caught him at it, that’s all.”

“David!” Barbara’s voice was low and urgent. “I wish you wouldn’t——”

“Wouldn’t what?”

She clung to his arm; but his look did not soften.

“Please don’t—say anything to Mr. Jarvis. He—meant to be kind. He——”

David turned suddenly and caught her by the shoulders.

“See here,” he said. “I’m beginning to see a glimmer of light through this particular millstone. Is Jarvis the man who tried to get you to marry him while I was away? Answer me!”

“He asked—me—to marry him, and I——”

David burst into a great laugh.

“Well, well!” he cried, “that was a conquest. Old Jarvis, of all men! Why, Barb, you’re a wonder. Ha, ha!”

She trembled before his loud laughter as she had not beneath the weight of his displeasure.

David suddenly became grave, his brows drawn in thought.

“That puts a different face on things,” he said.