Frederick had walked very close to her side by this time, his white face twitching.
"I must kiss him once more," he persisted.
Tess turned to the loitering child. She could see that at a word of assent from her, Boy would rush into the outstretched arms Frederick held toward him. The mother, with a twist at her heart, recognized the tie which drew together this man and her son. A dreadful fear clutched her. Would Frederick do as he had threatened, hoping that he might thus come in contact with his son? Her mind flew to Deforrest Young.... He must never know the name of Boy's father. She could feel the blood coursing madly through her temples, and her head ached dully.
Nevertheless, she went back and took hold of the child's hand.
"You may kiss the gentleman ... good-bye," she said in a constrained voice.
"The pretty man was goin' to be my faver," said the child, pleadingly. "I want a daddy awful bad."
"Yes, yes, I know," Tess returned tremulously. "Now hurry, dear, and then run home."
Only too gladly did the child jump away and bound into his father's extended arms.
"Mummy says I has to go home," he whispered.
While the tall man silently caressed the dark curls of her boy, Tess of the Storm Country endured such pain as she'd never known before. The mutual attraction between the two, so differently related to her, seemed anomalous and impossible.
Frederick unwillingly allowed the child to slip to the rocks and after Tess'd started Boy and the dog on their homeward way, she stood before him, her lips quivering. She knew he, too, suffered, and she waited quietly as he dried his eyes and recovered his choking breath.
She was sorry he'd come. She'd hoped never to see him again. But, now, she must be assured that he would continue the deception in regard to the past. As anxious as she had once been to have him claim her as his own, to tell the world she belonged to him, she, now, wanted to keep silent.
"It was useless for you to come," she chided presently.
Frederick made an impetuous movement with his hand.
"Oh, no, it wasn't.... Won't you let me atone, let me make up for all the things I've done ... and haven't done? I want--oh, how I want--"
"It's too late," interrupted the girl. "Much too late."
"But, Tessibel, I know you love me. You can't have forgotten. And I'll make the boy love me. He does now! Didn't you hear him call me father?"
"He has no father," she responded coldly. "And I--I haven't any love left for you."