"Come, Georgia, don't be angry; let's make up friends again. Where's the good of keeping spite, especially when a fellow's sorry for his fault? One thing I know, and that is, if you don't forgive me pretty soon, I'll go and heave myself away into an untimely grave, in the flower of my youth, and then just think of the remorse of conscience you'll suffer. Come, Georgia, shake hands and be friends."
But Georgia faced round, with a curling lip, and turning to Richmond, who all this time had stood quietly by, with folded arms, surveying her with an inexplicable smile, which faded away the moment he met her eye, she said, shortly:
"You had better come along. I'll go on ahead and tell Miss Jerusha you're coming." And then, without waiting for a reply, she walked on in proud silence.
She reached the cottage in a few minutes, and, throwing open the door with her accustomed explosive bang, went up to where Miss Jerusha sat sewing diligently, and facing that lady, began:
"Miss Jerusha, look here!"
Miss Jerusha lifted her head, and, seeing Miss Georgia's flushed cheeks and sparkling eyes, the evidence of one of her "tantrums," said:
"Well who hev you bin a-fightin' with now, marm?"
"I haven't been fighting with any one," said Georgia, impatiently, for a slight skirmish like this was nothing to pitched battle she called fighting; "but there's a boy that has sprained his ankle down on the beach, and his brother's bringing him here for you to fix it."
Now, Miss Jerusha, though not noted for her hospitality at any time, would not, perhaps, on an ordinary occasion make any objection to this beyond a few grumbles, but on this particular morning everything had gone wrong, and she was in an (even for her) unusually surly mood, so she turned round and sharply exclaimed:
"And do you suppose, you little good-for-nothing whipper-snapper, I keep an 'ospital for every shif'less scamp in the neighborhood? If you do, you are very much mistaken, that's all. If he's sprained his ankle, let him go sommer's else, for I vow to Sam he sha'n't come here!"
"He shall come here!" exclaimed Georgia, with one of her passionate stamps: "you see if he sha'n't. I told him he could come here, and he shall, too, in spite of you!"
"Why, you little impident hussy you!" said Miss Jerusha, flinging down her work and rising to her feet, "how dare you have the imperance to stand up and talk to me like that? We'll see whether he'll come here or not. You invited him here, indeed! And pray what right have you to invite anybody here, I want to know? You, a lazy, idle little vagabone, not worth your salt! Come here, indeed! I wish he may; if he doesn't go out faster than he came in it won't be my fault!"
"Just you try to turn him out, you cross, ugly old thing! If you do I'll – I'll kill you; I'll set fire to this hateful old hut, and burn it down! You see if I don't. There!"
The savage gleam of her eyes at that moment, her face white with concentrated passion, was something horrible and unnatural in one of her years. Miss Jerusha drew back a step, and interposed a chair between them in salutary dread of the little vixen's claw-like nails.
At that moment the form of Richmond Wildair appeared in the door-way. Both youths had arrived in time to witness the fierce altercation between the mistress of the house and her half-savage little ward, and Richmond now interposed.
Taking off his hat, he bowed to Miss Jerusha saying in his calm, gentlemanly tones:
"I beg your pardon, madam, for this intrusion, but my brother being really unable to walk, I beg you will have the kindness to allow him to remain here until I can return from Burnfield with a carriage. You will not be troubled with him more than an hour."
Inhospitable as she was, Miss Jerusha could not really refuse this, so she growled out a churlish assent; and Richmond, secretly amused at the whole thing, helped in Charley, while Georgia set the rocking-chair for him, and placed a stool under his wounded foot, without, however, favoring him with a single smile, or word, or glance. She was in no mood just then either to forget or forgive.
"And now I'm off," said Richmond, after seeing Charley safely disposed of. "I will be back in as short a time as I possibly can; and meantime, Miss Georgia," he added, turning to her with a smile as he left the room, "I place my brother under your care until I come back."
But Georgia, with her back to them both, was looking sullenly out of the window, and neither moved nor spoke until Richmond had gone, and then she followed him out, and stood looking irresolutely after him as he walked down the road.
He turned round, and seeing her there, stopped as though expecting she would speak; but she only played nervously with the hop-vines crowning the walls, without lifting her voice.
"Well, Georgia?" he said inquiringly.
"I – I don't want to stay here. I'll go with you to Burnfield, if you like. Miss Jerusha's cross," she said, looking up half shyly, half defiantly in his face.
A strange expression flitted for an instant over the grave, thoughtful face of Richmond Wildair, passing away as quickly as it came. Without a word he went up to where Georgia stood, with that same light in her eyes, half shy, half fierce, that one sees in the eyes of a half-tamed and dangerous animal when under the influence of a master-eye.
"Georgia, look at me," he said, laying one hand lightly on her shoulder.
She stepped back, shook off the hand, and looked defiantly up in his face. It was not exactly a handsome face, yet it was full of power – full of calm, deep, invincible power – with keen, intense, piercing eyes, whose steady gaze few could calmly stand. Child as she was, the hitherto unconquered Georgia felt that she stood in the presence of a strong will, that surmounted and overtopped her own by its very depth, intensity and calmness. She strove to brave out his gaze, but her own eyes wavered and fell.
"Well?" she said, in a subdued tone.
"Georgia, will you do me a favor?"
"Well?" she said, compressing her lips hard, as though determined to do battle to the death.
"My brother is alone, he is in pain, he did not mean to offend you, he is under your roof. Georgia, I want you to stay with him till I come back."
"He laughed at me – he made fun of me. I won't! I hate him!" she said, with a passionate flush.
"He is sorry for that. When people are sorry for their faults, a magnanimous enemy always forgives."
"I don't care. I won't forgive him. I was doing everything I could for him. I would have helped him up hill if I could, and he laughed at me! I won't stay with him!" she exclaimed, tearing the hop branches off and flinging them to the ground in her excitement.
He caught the destructive little hands in his and held them fast.
"Georgia, you will!"
"I won't! not if I die for it!" she flashed.
"Georgia!"
"Let me go!" she cried out, trying to wrench her hands from his grasp. "I never will! Let me go!"
"Georgia, do you know what hospitality means?"
"Yes."
"Well, he is your guest now. Have you ever read about the Arabs of the desert, my proud little lady?"
"Yes."
"Well, you know once their most deadly enemy entered their house, they treated him as though he were the dearest friend they had in the world. Now, Georgia, you will be a lady some day, I think, and – "
"I will stay with your brother till you come back," she said, proudly; "but I won't be his friend – never again! I liked him then, and I wanted to do everything I could for him. I would have had my ankle sprained if it would have made his well. I was so sorry, and – he – laughed at me!"
In spite of all her evident efforts her lips quivered, and turning abruptly, she walked away and entered the house.
Richmond Wildair stood for an instant in the same spot, looking after her, and again that nameless, inexplicable smile flitted over his face.
"Conquered!"