On the evening of the day after the funeral Roaring Abel went off for a spree. He had been sober for four whole days and could endure it no longer. Before he went, Valancy told him she would be going away the next day. Roaring Abel was sorry, and said so. A distant cousin from “up back” was coming to keep house for him—quite willing to do so now since there was no sick girl to wait on—but Abel was not under any delusions concerning her.
“She won’t be like you, my girl. Well, I’m obliged to you. You helped me out of a bad hole and I won’t forget it. And I won’t forget what you did for Cissy. I’m your friend, and if you ever want any of the Stirlings spanked and sot in a corner send for me. I’m going to wet my whistle. Lord, but I’m dry! Don’t reckon I’ll be back afore tomorrow night, so if you’re going home tomorrow, good-bye now.”
“I may go home tomorrow,” said Valancy, “but I’m not going back to Deerwood.”
“Not going——”
“You’ll find the key on the woodshed nail,” interrupted Valancy, politely and unmistakably. “The dog will be in the barn and the cat in the cellar. Don’t forget to feed her till your cousin comes. The pantry is full and I made bread and pies today. Good-bye, Mr. Gay. You have been very kind to me and I appreciate it.”
“We’ve had a d——d decent time of it together, and that’s a fact,” said Roaring Abel. “You’re the best small sport in the world, and your little finger is worth the whole Stirling clan tied together. Good-bye and good-luck.”
Valancy went out to the garden. Her legs trembled a little, but otherwise she felt and looked composed. She held something tightly in her hand. The garden was lying in the magic of the warm, odorous July twilight. A few stars were out and the robins were calling through the velvety silences of the barrens. Valancy stood by the gate expectantly. Would he come? If he did not——
He was coming. Valancy heard Lady Jane Grey far back in the woods. Her breath came a little more quickly. Nearer—and nearer—she could see Lady Jane now—bumping down the lane—nearer—nearer—he was there—he had sprung from the car and was leaning over the gate, looking at her.
“Going home, Miss Stirling?”
“I don’t know—yet,” said Valancy slowly. Her mind was made up, with no shadow of turning, but the moment was very tremendous.
“I thought I’d run down and ask if there was anything I could do for you,” said Barney.
Valancy took it with a canter.
“Yes, there is something you can do for me,” she said, evenly and distinctly. “Will you marry me?”
For a moment Barney was silent. There was no particular expression on his face. Then he gave an odd laugh.
“Come, now! I knew luck was just waiting around the corner for me. All the signs have been pointing that way today.”
“Wait.” Valancy lifted her hand. “I’m in earnest—but I want to get my breath after that question. Of course, with my bringing up, I realise perfectly well that this is one of the things ‘a lady should not do.’”
“But why—why?”
“For two reasons.” Valancy was still a little breathless, but she looked Barney straight in the eyes, while all the dead Stirlings revolved rapidly in their graves and the living ones did nothing because they did not know that Valancy was at that moment proposing lawful marriage to the notorious Barney Snaith. “The first reason is, I—I”—Valancy tried to say “I love you” but could not. She had to take refuge in a pretended flippancy. “I’m crazy about you. The second is—this.”
She handed him Dr. Trent’s letter.
Barney opened it with the air of a man thankful to find some safe, sane thing to do. As he read it his face changed. He understood—more perhaps than Valancy wanted him to.
“Are you sure nothing can be done for you?”
Valancy did not misunderstand the question.
“Yes. You know Dr. Trent’s reputation in regard to heart disease. I haven’t long to live—perhaps only a few months—a few weeks. I want to live them. I can’t go back to Deerwood—you know what my life was like there. And”—she managed it this time—“I love you. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. That’s all.”
Barney folded his arms on the gate and looked gravely enough at a white, saucy star that was winking at him just over Roaring Abel’s kitchen chimney.
“You don’t know anything about me. I may be a—murderer.”
“No, I don’t. You may be something dreadful. Everything they say of you may be true. But it doesn’t matter to me.”
“You care that much for me, Valancy?” said Barney incredulously, looking away from the star and into her eyes—her strange, mysterious eyes.
“I care—that much,” said Valancy in a low voice. She was trembling. He had called her by her name for the first time. It was sweeter than another man’s caress could have been just to hear him say her name like that.
“If we are going to get married,” said Barney, speaking suddenly in a casual, matter-of-fact voice, “some things must be understood.”
“Everything must be understood,” said Valancy.
“I have things I want to hide,” said Barney coolly. “You are not to ask me about them.”
“I won’t,” said Valancy.
“You must never ask to see my mail.”
“Never.”
“And we are never to pretend anything to each other.”
“We won’t,” said Valancy. “You won’t even have to pretend you like me. If you marry me I know you’re only doing it out of pity.”
“And we’ll never tell a lie to each other about anything—a big lie or a petty lie.”
“Especially a petty lie,” agreed Valancy.
“And you’ll have to live back on my island. I won’t live anywhere else.”
“That’s partly why I want to marry you,” said Valancy.
Barney peered at her.
“I believe you mean it. Well—let’s get married, then.”
“Thank you,” said Valancy, with a sudden return of primness. She would have been much less embarrassed if he had refused her.
“I suppose I haven’t any right to make conditions. But I’m going to make one. You are never to refer to my heart or my liability to sudden death. You are never to urge me to be careful. You are to forget—absolutely forget—that I’m not perfectly healthy. I have written a letter to my mother—here it is—you are to keep it. I have explained everything in it. If I drop dead suddenly—as I likely will do——”
“It will exonerate me in the eyes of your kindred from the suspicion of having poisoned you,” said Barney with a grin.
“Exactly.” Valancy laughed gaily. “Dear me, I’m glad this is over. It has been—a bit of an ordeal. You see, I’m not in the habit of going about asking men to marry me. It is so nice of you not to refuse me—or offer to be a brother!”
“I’ll go to the Port tomorrow and get a license. We can be married tomorrow evening. Dr. Stalling, I suppose?”
“Heavens, no.” Valancy shuddered. “Besides, he wouldn’t do it. He’d shake his forefinger at me and I’d jilt you at the altar. No, I want my old Mr. Towers to marry me.”
“Will you marry me as I stand?” demanded Barney. A passing car, full of tourists, honked loudly—it seemed derisively. Valancy looked at him. Blue homespun shirt, nondescript hat, muddy overalls. Unshaved!
“Yes,” she said.
Barney put his hands over the gate and took her little, cold ones gently in his.
“Valancy,” he said, trying to speak lightly, “of course I’m not in love with you—never thought of such a thing as being in love. But, do you know, I’ve always thought you were a bit of a dear.”
