# The Redemption of Anthony/Chapter 7

CHAPTER VII
IT was a week later that Mrs. Martin came into the library, where Mrs. Crompton, Drake, Peter, and The Parson were playing bridge.
"How is the patient to-day, Louise?" asked Mrs. Crompton.
"Good news! She's so much better that she's to be brought down-stairs for a couple of hours."
"Really?" said Drake, rising.
"Really?" said Peter, at the same moment on his feet.
Mrs. Crompton laughed as they hastily sat down. "I'm thinking some of jumping off the bridge, in order to work up a little interest in my own case," she said.
"You don't ever let interest in your own case flag," said The Parson.
"Doesn't he do well? I'm going to start a training-school for parsons."
​"We'll give you a hand when she's ready to be moved," said Drake.
"Who's ahead this morning?" asked Mrs. Martin.
"The Parson and I are the only ones in our right minds, so it stands to reason we're ahead. Play, Peter."
"Oh, is it my play? Well, what is—" he began absently.
"For pity's sake, Louise, take Peter's hand and let him moon in peace!" snorted Mrs. Crompton, in high dudgeon.
Peter rose, mumbling something about "nagging women"; Mrs. Martin took his place, and the game went on in silence for an hour.
Peter fled, and horrified the gardener by cutting all the lilies ruthlessly and carrying them off to the dining-room, where he assembled all the vases in the house and made the rooms bewilderingly sweet.
"Poor old Peter!" said Mrs. Martin, watching him.
"Hardest attack Peter's had in years. Is ​she going to take him?" asked Mrs. Crompton.
"Do pay attention," ordered The Parson.
Drake threw down his cards. “We none of us are in the humor. Why bore ourselves this way?"
"'None of us' meaning' Anthony Drake," snapped Mrs. Crompton. "Peter, those lilies make me sick."
Peter grinned. "That's what I put 'em there for!"
Mrs. Crompton rose peevishly, then laughed. "Do you remember the little boy who was spanked for being so poor in arithmetic, and how he went to the drug store and asked for a nickel's worth of 'rithmetic pills? I wish somebody would give me a bottle of temper tonic."
"Come and try a dose of ozone," said The Parson."
"All right; come along."
They went out, and Mrs. Martin went upstairs, leaving Peter and Drake alone together.
​"Cigarette?" Drake asked, offering him the box.
"'Bliged," answered Peter, lighting up.
"Tony, are you in love with Priscilla?"
Drake turned angrily. "What right have you to ask me such a question as that?" he demanded.
"Maybe I haven't the right—but I want to know."
"What difference does it make to you?"
"A good deal. I'm in love with her myself, and I don't suppose I'd have much chance against you."
"Do you think she loves you?"
"I don't know—somtimes I think she does."
Drake squared his shoulders and walked to the door. "You needn't worry about me," he said. "I won't interfere with your chances."
Peter walked to and fro excitedly after Drake's departure. The field was clear, then; Drake was interested in her only as Mrs. Martin's daughter.
​"Tony! Oh, Tony!" came a voice from above.
Peter went to the foot of the stairs.
"Drake's gone out. Anything I can do?"
"We're ready to come down now. Do you think you could get Priscilla down alone?"
He cleared the steps three at a time.
"Try me," he said, and stopped at the apparition of a little figure in a soft white peignotr.
"Hello, Peter!' she said, holding out her hand.
Peter dropped on his knees and kissed her hand. "I'm so glad, I'm so glad!" was all he could manage to say.
"Now, you must get her up very carefully, Peter," said Mrs. Martin. "She mustn't be jiggled at all; and if you should fall down-stairs with her, Peter, I would have you shot."
"Go 'way, lady," murmured Peter. He lifted Priscilla as if she were made of fragile china, and if his progress down the stairs ​and into the living-room was a trifle slow, one couldn't blame him, for Priscilla's head was on his breast and her arm about his neck. He put her down gingerly on the couch, and looked at her anxiously. "Are you all there?" he asked.
"That was splendid, Peter!" she smiled back. "Just as good as flying."
"I'll take you up and back again, if you like it," he said boyishly.
"Oh, how sweet it is! Aren't the lilies lovely?" she exclaimed.
"Peter did that," said Mrs. Martin, putting another pillow behind her.
"How good you are, Peter! Oh, everybody's been so good, it's almost worth getting hurt!"
"Don't say such a thing, Baby," said Mrs. Martin, kissing her forehead.
"And mother—well, mother has been—has been—mother!" Priscilla added, her eyes shining.
"Isn't she pretty? Doesn't she look fine?" Peter said.
​Mrs. Martin smiled. 'Peter, I'll leave you on guard for a bit. I've a note to write and—"
"God bless you!" said Peter fervently, and hurried her out. He drew up a chair beside the girl's couch. "Do you know what torture this last week has been to me?" he said.
"I suppose it has been hard for all of you," she replied evasively.
"But, you see, your mother and I love you the most, so we have suffered the most."
"Yes, mother couldn't let me go—this time," she mused.
"Priscilla, have you any idea how I love you?"
"Oh, Peter, I don't want you to love me! Won't you please not?"
"You don't care at all?"
"I care a great deal, Peter dear, but—"
"Don't say the 'but,' please. Do you think you ever could care? I know I'm not much, but if you cared about me, Priscilla, I've been thinking what a lot I could do with ​myself to make more of a man for you. I'd go to work, and—and—"
"Oh, Peter, don't; please don't!" Priscilla put her head down on her arm.
"I'm a brute to worry you now with it, Priscilla. Never mind about it, dear. Are you crying?"
Mrs. Martin, entering, stopped at the door. "Why, Baby! Peter—what's the matter with you children?"
Peter turned away and left them, and Mrs. Martin took Priscilla in her arms.
"The idea of his getting you all excited like this! I could spank him! What's he been saying to you, Lady-bird?"
"He wants me to love him, and I can't; and I don't want him to love me, and he does," sobbed Priscilla.
"Dear me! What a tragedy!" said Mrs. Martin, kissing her hair. "Peter will recover."
Priscilla regarded her gravely. "You don't think it's my duty to marry him, do you, mother? He said that if I did it would ​make a new man of him, and he'd go to work—"
"My dear, if it was your duty to marry all the men who need your saving touch, this would be a shocking world. Peter's heart will get itself together again, so if you don't want him, send him about his affairs."
"Oh!" sighed Priscilla. "I'm so glad it's not my duty."
"Hello, there!" cried Mrs. Crompton, swooping down upon them. "How is our heroine?" She kissed Priscilla warmly. "It's fine to have you down, and to note the decorative touch to the room once more."
"Where's The Parson?" asked Priscilla, smiling.
"I had to leave him in the garden to recover his wounded dignity."
"What have you done to him, Nan?" Mrs. Martin inquired.
"My dears, would you believe it?—he tried to kiss me out in the garden!"
"Oh, dear!" cried Priscilla in horror. Mrs. Martin laughed.
​"Now, it's one thing to be kissed by a beau in the moonlight," Mrs. Crompton continued; "but by a parson in broad daylight, out in the garden—why, it's a scandal!"
"Are you going to spoil everything for my Parson, Mrs. Nan?" demanded the girl.
"I can't say—it looks a little like it," Mrs. Crompton answered. "But don't you worry about him, Pussy-cat," she added. "Any man, be he parson or prodigal, can take care of himself in affairs of the heart."
She picked up a magazine, nodded to them, and went out on the porch. Mrs. Martin gave Priscilla her book, and then went and threw herself down on the couch at the end of the room, behind the grand piano. All was silent for awhile, and then the door slammed, and Priscilla looked up to see Drake at the door of the living-room. A lightning-like change went over his face, and he took two quick steps toward her.
"Priscilla!" he said breathlessly. "Priscilla!"
She half rose, and held out both her hands. ​In a moment he was beside her, on his knees, her hands held close to his face and lips, and last of all crushed to his breast.
"Oh!" said Priscilla, striving to free the moment from its weight of emotion. "I was wondering where you were."
"Priscilla, you're well again—you're well again!" he said, with a thrill in his voice that made her wince.
"Yes, I'm all right again; are you?"
"Oh, yes; it didn't matter about me. But you'll never know what it meant to me to think that perhaps I'd hurt you for good and all. Oh, you'll never know!"
"But it was all my fault. I made you go faster and faster. I ought to have suffered, because I was so wickedly silly."
"No, I was the one who had the responsibility in hand, and just to please you I took the risk. I ought to have been killed for it," he finished bitterly.
She drew her hands away and shook her head. "It's all over now, so let us never speak of it again."
​He sat down beside her, and she threw herself into conversation. "It's fine to be down again, and everybody's been so good! Peter carried me down—oh, so carefully!"
"Oh, yes, Peter. Where is he?"
"He's gone," she said simply.
He leaned toward her eagerly. "Priscilla, did you send him away?"
"Why, I—yes—that is—"
He breathed deeply and rose. "Thank Heaven!" he said softly; then: "You're tired—we're all exciting you."
"Well, I am tired," she admitted. "I suppose I'm not as strong as I thought I was."
He picked up her book, open on her lap, and began to read aloud softly. She smiled her thanks, and lay back on her pillow, watching him. His strong, lean face showed signs of the past week of anxiety, and a new softness had found place there. His voice went on and on, and then she lost track. Tony looked up and saw that she was asleep. He closed the book over his finger, and sat and looked at her—drank in ​the freshness of her—knew an abandon of feeling that he'd never known before.
There was a movement from behind the piano, and he turned and faced Mrs. Martin. Not the Mrs. Martin who thirty minutes before had thrown herself down there, but an old, whitefaced, haggard Mrs. Martin, whose dry lips refused to speak. She came slowly and stood beside Priscilla, looking down at her; then she looked at the man, who stood waiting.
"You love her?" she said simply.
"Yes," he answered; "I love her."
Mrs. Martin leaned over and kissed the sleeping girl, then she went out of the room, swiftly, as one struck with age.