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| author | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 04:34:33 -0700 |
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| committer | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 04:34:33 -0700 |
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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/10438-0.txt b/10438-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..5441615 --- /dev/null +++ b/10438-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11616 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 10438 *** + +UP THE HILL + +AND OVER + +BY + +ISABEL ECCLESTONE MACKAY +Author of "The House of Windows," etc. + + + + + + + _The road runs back and the road runs on, + But the air has a scent of clover_. + _And another day brings another dawn, + When we're up the hill and over_. + + + +TO MY MOTHER + +WHO MIGHT HAVE LIKED THIS BOOK HAD SHE LIVED TO READ IT + + + + + +CHAPTER I + + + "From Wimbleton to Wombleton is fifteen miles, + From Wombleton to Wimbleton is fifteen miles, + From Wombleton to Wimbleton, + From Wimbleton to Wombleton, + From Wombleton--to Wimbleton--is fif--teen miles!" + +The cheery singing ended abruptly with the collapse of the singer upon a +particularly inviting slope of grass. He was very dusty. He was very +hot. The way from Wimbleton to Wombleton seemed suddenly extraordinarily +long and tiresome. The slope was green and cool. Just below it slept a +cool, green pool, deep, delicious--a swimming pool such as dreams +are made of. + +If there were no one about--but there was some one about. Further down +the slope, and stretched at full length upon it, lay a small boy. Near +the small boy lay a packet of school books. + +The wayfarer's lips relaxed in an appreciative smile. + +"Little boy," he called, somewhat hoarsely on account of the dust in his +throat, "little boy, can you tell me how far it is from here to +Wimbleton?" + +Apparently the little boy was deaf. + +The questioner raised his voice, "or if you can oblige me with the exact +distance to Wombleton," he went on earnestly, "that will do quite +as well." + +No answer, civil or otherwise, from the youth by the pool. Only a +convulsive wiggle intended to cover the undefended position of the +school books. + +The traveller's smile broadened but he made no further effort toward +sociability. Neither did he go away. To the dismayed eyes, watching +through the cover of some long grass, he was clearly a person devoid of +all fine feeling. Or perhaps he had never been taught not to stay where +he wasn't wanted. Mebby he didn't even know that he _wasn't_ wanted. + +In order to remove all doubt as to the latter point, the small boy's +head shot up suddenly out of the covering grass. + +"What d'ye want?" he asked forbiddingly. + +"Little boy," said the stranger, "I thank you. I want for nothing." + +The head collapsed, but quickly came up again. + +"Ain't yeh goin' anywhere?" asked a despairing voice. + +"I was going, little boy, but I have stopped." + +This was so true that the small boy sat up and scowled. + +"I judge," went on the other, "that I am now midway between Arden, +otherwise, Wimbleton, and Arcady, sometime known as Wombleton. The +question is, which way and how? A simple sum in arithmetic will--little +boy, do not frown like that! The wind may change. Smile nicely, and I'll +tell you something." + +Urged by necessity, the badgered one attempted to look pleasant. + +"That's better! Now, my cheerful child, what I really want to know is +'how many miles to Babylon?'" + +A reluctant grin showed that the small boy's early education had not +been utterly neglected. "Aw, what yeh givin' us?" he protested +sheepishly, "if it's Coombe you're lookin' for, it's 'bout a mile and a +half down the next holler." + +"Holler?" the stranger's tone was faintly questioning. "Oh, I see. You +mean 'hollow,' which being interpreted means 'valley,' which means, I +fear, another hill. Little boy, do you want to carry a knapsack?" + +"Nope." + +"No? Strange that nobody seems to want to carry a knapsack. I least of +all. Well," lifting the object with disfavour, "good-day to you. I +perceive that you grow impatient for those aquatic pleasures for which +you have temporarily abjured the more severe delights of scholarship. +Little boy, I wish you a very good swim." + +"Gee," muttered the small boy, "gee, ain't he the word-slinger!" + +He returned to the pool but something of its charm was dissipated. Vague +thoughts of school inspectors and retribution troubled its waters. Not +that he was at all afraid of school inspectors, or that he really +suspected the stranger of being one. Still, discretion is a wise thing +and word-slinging is undoubtedly a form of art much used in high +scholastic circles. Also there had been a remark about a simple sum in +arithmetic which was, to say the least, disquieting. With a bursting +sigh, the small sinner scrambled to his feet, reached for the hated +books, and disappeared rapidly in the direction of the halls of +learning. + +Meanwhile the stranger, unconscious of the moral awakening behind him, +plodded wearily up the steep and sunny hill. As he is our hero we shall +not describe him. There is no hurry, and there will be other occasions +upon which he will appear to better advantage. At present let us be +content with knowing that there was no reason for the hat and suit he +wore save a mistaken idea of artistic suitability. "If I am going to be +a tramp," he had said, "I want to look like a tramp." He didn't, but his +hat and coat did. + +He felt like a tramp, though, if to feel like a tramp is to feel hot and +sticky and hungry. Perhaps real tramps do not feel like this. Perhaps +they enjoy walking. At any rate they do not carry knapsacks, but betray +a touching faith in Providence in the matter of clean linen and +tooth brushes. + +Before the top of the hill was reached, Dr. Callandar wished devoutly +that in this last respect he had behaved like the real thing. In setting +out to lead the simple life the ultimate is to be recommended--and +knapsacks are not the ultimate. They are heavy things with the property +of growing heavier, and prove of little use save to sit upon in damp +places. The doctor's feelings in regard to his were intensified by an +utter lack of dampness anywhere. The top of the hill was a sun-crowned +eminence, blazingly, blisteringly, suffocatingly hot. The valley, spread +out beneath him, was soaked in sunshine, a haze of heat quivered visibly +above the roofs of the pretty town it cradled. There was a river and +there were woods, but the trees hung motionless, and the river wound +like a snake of brass among them. + +The doctor regarded both the knapsack and the prospect resentfully. He +had hoped for a breeze upon the hill-top, and there was no breeze. +Raising his hand to remove his hat, he noticed that the hand was +trembling, and swore softly. The hand continued to tremble, and holding +it out before him he watched it, interestedly, until a powerful will +brought the quivering nerves into subjection. + +"Jove!" he muttered. "Not a moment too soon--this holiday!" + +Then, hat in hand, he started down the hill. + +It was a long hill, very long, much longer than it had any need or right +to be. It had a twist in its nature which would not allow it to run +straight. It meandered; it hesitated; it never knew its own mind, but +twisted and turned and thought better of it a dozen times in half a +mile. It was a hill with short cuts favourably known to small boys and +to tramps with a distaste for highways; but this tramp, not being a real +one, knew none of them, and was compelled to do exactly as the hill did. +The result was, that when at last it slipped into the cool shade of a +row of beeches at its base, its victim was as exhausted as itself. + +He was thirsty, too, and, worse still, he knew from a certain dizzy +blindness that one of his bad headaches was coming on--and there still +lay another mile between him and the town. Pressing his hand against his +eyes to restore for the moment their normal clearness of vision, he saw, +a short way down the road, a gate; and through the gate and behind some +trees, the white gleam of a building. But better than all, he saw, +between the gate and the building, a red pump! Then the blindness and +pain descended again, and he stumbled on more by faith than by sight; +blundering through the half-open gate, his precarious course directed +wholly by the pump's exceeding redness, which shone like a beacon +fire ahead. + +Fortunately, it was a real pump with real water and a sucker in good +standing, warranted to need no priming. At the stroke of the red handle +the good, cool water gurgled and arose with a delightful "plop!" It +splashed from the spout freely upon the face and hands of the victim of +the long hill--delicious, life-giving! The delight it brought seemed +compensation almost for heat and pain and weariness. Callandar felt that +if he could only let its sweetness stream indefinitely over his closed +eyes it would wash away the blindness and the ache. Perhaps-- + +"I am afraid I cannot allow you to use this pump!" said a crisp voice +primly. "This is not," with capital letters, "a Public Pump!" + +Callandar wiped the surplus water from his face and looked up. There, +beside him in the yellow haze of his semi-blindness, stood the owner of +the voice. She appeared to be clothed in white, tall and commanding. +Surrounded by the luminous mist, her appearance was not unlike that of a +cool and capable avenging angel. + +"This pump," went on the angel with nice precision, "is not for the use +of pedestrians." + +"Ah!" said the pedestrian. + +"If you will continue down the road," the voice went on, "you will find, +when you reach the town, a public pump. You may use that." + +The pedestrian, feeling dizzier than ever, sat down upon the pump +platform. It was wet and cool. + +"The objection to that," he said wisely, "is simple. I cannot continue +down the road." + +"I should like you to go at once," patiently. "There is a pump--" + +The pedestrian raised a deprecating hand. + +"Let us admit the pump! Doubtless the pump is there, but there is a pump +here also, and a pump in the hand is worth two pumps, an ice-box and a +John Collins in town. You doubtless know the situation created by +Mahomet and the mountain? This is the same, with a difference. In this +case the pump will not come to me and I cannot go to the pump. Therefore +we both remain _in statu quo_. Do I make myself plain?" + +Apparently he did, for there was no answer. Logic, he concluded, had +achieved its usual triumph. The avenging angel had withdrawn. Blissfully +he stooped again, closing his eyes to the cool drip of the water, but +scarcely had they felt its chill relief when a sharp bark caused them to +fly open with disconcerting suddenness--the avenging angel had returned, +and with her was an avenging dog! Seen through the mist, the dog +appeared to be a bull pup of ferocious aspect. + +"I am sorry," the cool voice had no ruth in it, "but it is my duty not +to allow tramps upon these grounds. If you will not go, I must ask +the dog--" + +"ASK the dog!" In spite of his aching head the tramp (now no longer +pedestrian) laughed weakly. + +"Oh, please don't ask him!" he entreated. "He looks too awfully willing! +Besides, I begin to perceive that my presence is not desired. Naturally +I scorn to remain." + +Very slowly he raised himself from the damp pump platform by means of +the red pump-handle. In this manner he achieved an upright position +without much difficulty and all might have gone well had he behaved like +a proper tramp. But forgetting himself, under the tyranny of training +and instinct, he attempted, in deference to the sex of the angel, to +raise his hat (which was not on his head anyway). In so doing he +released the red pump-handle, lost his balance, struggled wildly to +regain it, and then collapsed with a terrible sense of failure and +ignominy, right into the open jaws, as it were, of the avenging dog! + + + + +CHAPTER II + + +He had a fancy that something cool and kind was licking his hand.... + +It felt like the tongue of a friendly dog. He seemed to have been +dreaming about dogs. Something soft and cold lay on his head. It felt +like a wet handkerchief ... the pain had dulled to a slow throbbing ... +if he opened his eyes he would know who licked his hand and what it was +that lay upon his head ... on the other hand, opening his eyes might +bring back the pain. It seemed hardly worth the risk ... still, he would +very much like to know-- + +Without being able to decide the question, he fell asleep. + +When he awoke, his head was clear and the pain was gone. He felt no +longer unbearably tired, but only comfortably weary, deliciously drowsy. +Had he been at home in his own bed he would have turned over and gone +cheerfully to sleep again. As it was, he opened his eyes with a zestful +sense of curiosity. + +He was lying, very easily, upon soft grass. Above him spread the thick +greenery of a giant maple; his head rested upon a cushion and close +beside him, with comforting nose thrust into his open palm, lay a +ferocious-looking bull pup. The pup grinned with delight at his +tentative pat; barked fiercely, and then grinned again as if to say, +"Don't mind me, it's only my fun!" + +There was a noise somewhere, a loud, cheerful noise--the noise of +children playing. Not one child, nor two, but children--lots of them! +This was perplexing; and another perplexing thing was the nearness of a +white stoop which led up to the door of a white building; neither stoop +nor building had he ever seen before. Again the dog barked, loudly, and +as if in answer to the bark, the door above the stoop opened and a young +girl came out. She cast a casual glance at him as he lay under the tree, +and, settling herself daintily upon the white steps, opened a small +basket and took from it a serviceable square of white damask and a +lettuce sandwich. He could see the lettuce, crisp and green, peeping out +at the edges. + +At the sight, he was conscious of a strange sensation; an almost +forgotten feeling to which, for the moment, he could put no name. + +And then, as the girl bit into the sandwich, illumination came. He was +_hungry_! But what an unkind, inconsiderate girl!--Another bite and the +sandwich would be gone-- + +"I am awake," he suggested meekly. + +"So Buster said." The girl smiled approvingly at the dog. "Good Buster! +You may come off guard, sir. Run away and get your lunch." + +With a delighted bark for thanks the bull pup trotted away. Callandar's +sense of injury deepened. The girl had begun upon a second sandwich. +Perhaps there were only two! + +"Are you hungry, Mr. Tramp?" asked the girl innocently. + +"I think," he said, pausing in order to give his words full weight, "I +am starving!" Then, as the blissful meaning of this first feeling of +healthy hunger dawned upon him, he added solemnly: "Thank the Lord!" + +"Yes?" There was a cool edge of surprise in the girl's voice. She +proceeded thoughtfully with the second sandwich. + +"Yes. Hunger is a beautiful thing, a priceless possession. Money cannot +buy it, skill cannot command it. The price of hunger is far +above rubies." + +The girl looked down upon him and smiled. It was such a dear little +smile that for a moment its recipient forgot about the disappearing +sandwich. + +"I am so glad," she said warmly, "that you feel like that!" + +There was a slight pause. "Because," she went on, finishing the last +bite of the second sandwich, "until now I had always thought that hunger +wasn't a bit nice. Unless, of course, one has the power to gratify it." + +"Fortunately," said Callandar a little stiffly, "I have that power." + +The girl raised her eyebrows. They were long and straight and black, and +she raised them charmingly. But she was a most unkind and heartless +girl, for all that. Never while he lived would he ask her for a +sandwich. With a comfortable feeling of security his hand felt for his +well-filled pocketbook. It was gone! + +"By Jove!" + +Stronger ejaculation seemed forbidden by the Presence on the steps. He +tapped all his pockets carefully. The pocketbook was in none of +them--and he had used the last cent of loose change for a glass of milk +for breakfast. + +"I suppose," the girl had apparently not noticed his sudden +discomfiture, "that you mean you have money? But the nearest place where +money would be of use is Coombe, and Coombe is a full mile away. It is +a pity that my principles, and the principles of the school-board, +should be all against the feeding of tramps. Otherwise I might offer you +a sandwich." + +"You might," bitterly, "but I doubt it!" + +"Even now, putting the school-board aside, I might offer you one if you +were to ask prettily and to apologise to me for making rather a fool of +me this morning over there by the pump!" + +The pump! Why, of course, the pump! It all came back to him now--the +pump, the avenging angel! (Had this been the avenging angel?) The +avenging dog!--Oh, heaven, was _that_ the avenging dog? + +He burst into a boyish shout of laughter. + +"There are only two sandwiches left," she warned him. The doctor stopped +laughing. + +"Oh, please!" he said. + +There was something very pleasant about him when he used that tone; a +persuasive charm, a trace of command. The girl liked it--and passed +a sandwich. + +"Anyway it was you who took for granted that I was a tramp," he smiled +at her. "If I remember rightly I was hardly in a condition to contradict +you. Not but that it was a natural conclusion. I am curious to know why +you changed your mind." + +"Oh! as soon as you fainted I knew. Tramps don't faint!" + +"Not ever?" + +"Well--hardly ever! And besides--look at your hands!" + +The doctor looked, and blushed. + +"Dirty?" he ventured. + +"Not half dirty enough! And it wasn't only your hands. I noticed--oh! +lots of things!" For no perceptible reason a tiny blush fluttered +across the whiteness of her face like a roseleaf chased by the wind. The +pleasure of watching it made the doctor forget to answer, and the +girl went on: + +"I know lots more about you than that you aren't a tramp. I know what +you are. You are a doctor!" triumphantly. + +"A Daniel come to judgment!" + +"Yes, a Daniel! Only I wouldn't have been quite so sure if you hadn't +dropped this out of your pocket." With a gleeful laugh she held up a +clinical thermometer. + +The doctor laughed also. "Men have been hanged on less evidence than +that," he admitted. "All the same I don't know where it came from. Some +one must have judged me capable of wanting to take my own temperature. +Anything else?" + +"Only general deductions. You are a doctor, you are going to +Coombe--deduction, you are the doctor who is going to buy out Dr. +Simmonds's practice." + +Callandar scrambled up from his pillow with a look of delighted surprise +on his face. + +"Why--so I am!" he exclaimed. + +"You say that as if you had just found it out." + +"Well, er--you see I had forgotten it--temporarily. My head, you know." + +The suspicion in the girl's eyes melted into sympathy. "I suppose you +know," she said with quite a motherly air, "that old Doc. Simmonds +hasn't really any practice to sell?" + +"No? That's bad. Hasn't he even a little one? You see" (the sympathy had +been so pleasant that he felt he could do with a little more of it), "I +could hardly manage a big one just now. As you may have noticed, my +health is rather rocky. Got to lay up and all that--so it's just as +well that old Simpkins' practice is on the ragged edge." + +"The name is Simmonds, not Simpkins," coldly. + +"Well, I didn't buy the name with the practice. My own name is +Callandar. Much nicer, don't you think?" + +"I don't know. A well-known name is rather a handicap." + +This time the doctor was genuinely surprised. + +"A handicap? What do you mean?" + +"People will be sure to compare you with your famous namesake, Dr. +Callandar, of Montreal. Everyone you meet," with a mischievous smile, +"will say, 'Callandar--ah! no relation to Dr. Henry Callandar of +Montreal, I suppose?' And then they will look sympathetic and you will +want to slap them." + +"Dear me! I never thought of that! I had no idea that the Montreal man +would be known up here. In the cities, perhaps, but not here." + +The girl raised her straight black brows in a way which expressed +displeasure at his slighting tone. + +"You are mistaken," she said briefly. "I must go now. It is time to ring +the bell. The children are running wild." + +For the first time the doctor began to take an intelligent interest in +his surroundings, and saw that the tree, the white stoop and the small +white building were situated in a little, quiet oasis separated by a low +fence from the desert of a large yard containing the red pump. On the +other side of the fence was pandemonium! + +"Why, it's a school!" he exclaimed. + +The school-mistress arose, daintily flicking the crumbs from her white +piqué skirt. + +"District No. 15. The largest attendance of any in the county. I really +must ring the bell." She flicked another invisible crumb. "I hope," she +added slowly, "that I haven't discouraged you." + +"Oh, no! not at all. Quite the contrary. It seems unfortunate about the +name, but perhaps I can live it down. It isn't as if I were just out of +college, you know.--In fact," as if the thought had just come to him, +"do I not seem to you to be a little old for--to be making a +fresh start?" + +The girl's eyes looked at him very kindly. It was quite evident that she +thought she understood the situation perfectly. "I shouldn't worry about +that, if I were you," she said. "Young doctors are often no use at all. +A great many people _prefer_ doctors to be older! I know, you see, for +my father was a doctor. He was Dr. Coombe; for many years he was the +only doctor here, the only doctor that counted," with a pretty air of +pride. "The town was named after his father-I am Esther Coombe." + +The doctor acknowledged the introduction with a bow and a quick smile of +gratitude. + +"You are really very kind, Miss Coombe," he said. "If--if I should take +Dr. Spifkin's practice, I hope I may see you sometimes. It is not far +from here, is it, to the town--pump?" + +Esther laughed. "No, but I do not live out here. I only teach here. We +live in town, or almost in. You will pass the house on the way to the +hotel. But before you go--" with a gleeful smile she handed him his lost +pocketbook--"this fell out of your coat when I pull--helped you under +the tree. I should have given it to you before, but I wanted you to +understand just how far the blessing of hunger depends upon one's power +to gratify it." + +They laughed together with a splendid sense of comradeship; then with a +startled "I really must ring the bell!" she turned and ran up the steps. + +Smilingly he watched her disappear, waiting musingly until a sudden +furious ringing told him that school was called. + + + + +CHAPTER III + + +Two sandwiches, an apple, and a glass of water may save a man from +starvation, but they do not go far towards satisfying the reviving +appetite of a convalescent. Walking with brisk step down the road, +Callandar began to imagine the kind of meal he would order--a clear +soup, broiled steak, crisp potatoes--a few little simple things like +that! He fingered his pocketbook lovingly, glad that, for the first time +in some months, he actually wanted something that money could buy. + +Now that noon was past, the intense heat of the morning was tempered by +a breeze. It was still hot and his footsteps raised little cyclones of +dust which flew along the road before him, but the oppression in the air +was gone, and walking had ceased to be a weariness. The mile which +separated him from Coombe appeared no longer endless, yet so insistent +were the demands of his inner man that when a town-going farmer hailed +him with the usual offer of a "lift," he accepted the invitation +with alacrity. + +"Better," he murmured to himself, "the delights of rustic conversation +with a good meal at the end thereof than lordly solitude and +emptiness withal." + +But contrary to expectation the rustic declined to converse. He was a +melancholy-looking man with a long jaw and eyes so deep-set that the +observer took them on faith, and a nose which alone would have been +sufficient to identify him. Beyond the first request to "step up," he +vouchsafed no word and, save for an inarticulate gurgle to his horse, +seemed lost in an ageless calm. His gaze was fixed upon some indefinite +portion of the horse's back and he drove leaning forward in an attitude +of complete bodily and mental relaxation. If his guest wished +conversation it was apparent that he must set it going himself. + +"Very warm day!" said Callandar tentatively. + +"So-so." The farmer slapped the reins over the horse's flank, jerked +them abruptly and murmured a hoarse "Giddap!" It was his method of +encouraging the onward motion of the animal. + +"Is it always as warm as this hereabouts?" + +"No. Sometimes we get it a little cooler 'bout Christmas." + +The doctor flushed with annoyance and then laughed. + +"You see," he explained, "I'm new to this part of the country. But I +always thought you had it cooler up here." + +The manner of the rustic grew more genial. + +"Mostly we do," he admitted; "but this here is a hot spell." Another +long pause and then he volunteered suddenly: "You can mostly tell by +Alviry. When she gets a sunstroke it's purty hot. I'm going for the +doctor now." + +"Going for the doctor?" Callandar's gaze swept the peaceful figure with +incredulous amusement. "Great Scott, man! Why don't you hurry? Can't the +horse go any faster?" + +"Maybe," resignedly, "but he won't." + +"Make him, then! A sunstroke may be a very serious business. Your wife +may be dead before you get back." + +The deep-set eyes turned to him slowly. There seemed something like a +distant sparkle in their depths. + +"Don't get to worrying, stranger. It'll take more 'an a sunstroke to +polish off Alviry." + +"Was she unconscious?" + +"Not so as you could notice." + +"But if it were a sunstroke--look here, I'll go with you myself. I am a +doctor." + +"Kind of thought you might be," he responded genially. "Thinking of +taking on old Doc. Simmonds's practice?" + +"I don't know. But if your wife--" + +The rustic shook his head. "No. You wouldn't do for Alviry. She said to +get Doc. Parker, and a sunstroke ain't going to change her none. But if +she likes your looks she'll probably try you next time. Tumble fond of +experiments is Alviry--hi! giddap!" He slapped his horse more forcibly +with the loose reins and settled into, mournful silence. + +"Going to put up at the Imperial?" he asked after a long and peaceful +pause. + +"I want to put up somewhere where I can get a good meal and get it +quickly." + +The mournful Jehu shook his head gloomily. + +"You won't get that at the Imperial." + +"Where had I better go?" + +"There ain't any other place to go--not to speak of." + +The doctor let fall a fiery exclamation. + +"What say?" + +"I said that it must be a queer town." + +"I'm a little hard of hearing, now and agin. But I gather you're not a +church-going man. It's a great church-going place, is Coombe. Old Doc. +Simmonds was a Methody. We were kind of hoping the next one might be a +change. There's two churches of Presbyterians and they're tumble folk +for hanging together." + +The doctor laughed. "Thanks for the tip. I'll remember. Coombe is +considered a healthy place, isn't it?" + +"Danged healthy." + +The commiseration in the other's tone lent to the simple question such +an obvious meaning that the doctor hardly knew whether to be amused +or annoyed. + +"Heavens, man! I'm not an undertaker. I asked because I'm rather rocky +myself. That is, partly, why I'm here." + +The mournful one nodded. "Good a reason as any," he assented sadly. + +"By the way--er--there used to be a Dr. Coombe here, didn't there? +Didn't he live somewhere hereabouts?" + +The sad one turned his meditative eyes from their focus upon the horse's +back and rested them upon the open and guileleas face by his side. Then +from deep down in his brawny throat came a sudden sound. It was +unmistakably a chuckle. Without the slightest trace of an accompanying +smile, the sound was startling. + +"What's the matter?" asked the doctor irritably. + +"Nothing. Only when anybody's seen Esther, they always start asking +about old Doc. Coombe. It gives them a kind of opening. Yes, that's the +old Coombe place--over there. The one with the fir trees and the big elm +by the gate." + +"A pleasant house," said Callandar in a detached voice. + +"So-so. The old Doc. uster putter around considerable. But they say his +widow isn't doing much to keep it up. Tumble flighty woman, so they say. +Young, you know, just about young enough to be the old Doc.'s +daughter--" + +"But--" + +"Oh! Esther ain't her child. Esther's ma died when she was a baby. There +is a child, though, Jane they call her, a pindling little thing. But +p'r'aps you've met Jane too?" + +"I did not say--" + +"No, but I thought likely if you'd met one, you'd have met the other. +Jane's nearly always hanging around Esther 'cept in school hours. Awful +fond of Esther she is. Folks say that Esther's more of a mother to Jane +than her own ma. But I dunno. Alviry says it's a shame the way Esther's +put upon; all the cares of the house when she had ought to be playing +with her dolls. Stepmother with 'bout as much sense as a fly. Old Aunt +Amy, nice sort of soul but--" he touched his head significantly and +heaved the heaviest sigh yet. + +"Do you mean to say that there is an aunt who isn't quite sane?" asked +Callandar, surprised. + +"_I_ don't say so. Some folks does. Alviry says she's a whole lot wiser +than some of the rest of us." + +From the tone of this remark it was evident that Alviry's observation +had been intended personally. Callandar choked back a laugh. + +"What say?" asked the other suspiciously. + +"I said, rather hard luck for a young girl." + +The mournful one nodded and relapsed into melancholy. The doctor +turned his attention to the house which a flicker of the whip had +pointed out. It was long and low, with wide verandas and a somewhat +neglected-looking lawn. At one side an avenue of lilacs curved, and on +the other stood a stiff line of fir trees. The front of the house was +well shaded by maples and near the gate stood a giant elm-tree, around +the trunk of which ran a circular seat. It all looked cool, green and +inviting. As the old horse walked sedately past, a woman's figure came +out of one of the long windows and flung itself lightly, yet, even at +that distance, with a certain suggestion of impatience, into one of the +veranda chairs. + +"That'll be Mrs. Coombe now," volunteered his informant. "Tumble saucy +way she has of flinging herself around--jes' like a young girl! Mebby +you can see what sort of dress she's got on. Alviry'll be int'rested +to know." + +"It's too far off," said Callandar, amused. "All I can see is that the +lady is wearing something white." + +"Went out of weeds right on the dot, she did! It's not much over a year +since the old Doc. died. Esther's still wearing some of her black, but +jes' to wear them out, not as symbols. Mrs. Coombe's got a whole new +outfit, Alviry says. Turrible extravagant! Folks says it takes Esther +all her time paying for them with her school money. But I dunno. +What say?" + +"I didn't say anything. But, since you ask, do you think all this is any +of my business?" + +"Well, since you ask, it ain't. 'Tisn't my business either; but it kind +of passes the time. Giddap!" + +Perhaps the old horse knew he was getting near the end of his journey +for, contrary to expectation, he did "giddap" with a jerk which nearly +unseated the doctor and caused a flicker of mild surprise to flit across +the sad one's face. + +"Turrible fast horse, this," he confided, "all you got to do is to get +him going." + +"Don't let me take you out of your way. If you'll tell me the +direction--" + +"Sit still, stranger. I'm going right past the Imperial. Hardly any +place in Coombe you can go without going past the Imperial. It's what +you call a kind of newclus." + +As he spoke, the horse, now going at a fairly respectable rate, turned +into the main street of the town; a main street, thriftily prosperous +but now somewhat a-doze in the sun. Half-way down, the intelligent +animal stopped with another jerk for which the doctor was equally +ill-prepared. Before them stood a modest red brick building, three +stories in height, with a narrow veranda running across the lowest story +just one step up from the pavement. On the veranda were green chairs and +in the chairs reclined such portion of the male Coombers as could do so +without fear and without reproach. Along the top of the veranda was a +large sign displaying the words, "HOTEL IMPERIAL." + +Callandar alighted nimbly from the democrat, that being the name of the +light spring wagon in which he had travelled, and shook his good +Samaritan by the hand. "Thank you very much," he said, "and I sincerely +hope that the sunstroke will not have terminated fatally by the time you +reach home." + +The deep-set eyes turned to him slowly and again he fancied a twinkle in +their mournfulness. "If it does," said the sad one tranquilly, "it will +be the first time it ever has--giddap!" + +As no one came forth to take his knapsack, Callandar slung it over his +shoulder and entered the hotel. The parting remark of his conductor had +left a smile upon his lips, which smile still lingered as he asked the +sleepy-looking clerk for a room, and intimated that he would like lunch +immediately. + +"Dining room closed," said that individual shortly. + +"What do you mean?" + +"Dining room closes at two; supper at six." + +"Do you mean to say that you serve nothing between the hours of two and +six?" + +"Serve you a drink, if you like," with an understanding grin at his +questioner's dusty knapsack. + +Forgetting that he had become a Presbyterian, the doctor made a few +remarks, and from his manner of making them the clerk awoke to the fact +that knapsacks do not a hobo make nor dusty coats a tramp. Now in Canada +no one is the superior of any one else, but that did not make a bit of +difference in the startling change of demeanour which overtook the +clerk. He straightened up. He removed his toothpick. He arranged the +register in his best manner and chose another nib for his pen. When +Callandar had registered, the clerk was very sorry indeed that the hotel +arrangements were rather arbitrary in the matter of meal hours. He was +afraid that the kitchen fires were down and everything cold. Still if +the gentleman would go to his room, he would see what could be done-- + +The gentleman went to his room; but in no enviable frame of mind. So +wretched was his plight that he was not above valuing the covert +sympathy of the small bell-boy who preceded him up the oilclothed +stairs. He was a very round boy: round legs, round cheeks, round head +and eyes so round that they must have been special eyes made on purpose. +There was also a haunting resemblance to some other boy! Callandar +taxed his memory, and there stole into it a vision of a pool with +willows. He chuckled. + +"Boy," he said, "have you a little brother who is very fond of going to +school?" + +"Nope," said the boy. (It seemed to be a family word.) "I've got a +brother, but he don't sound like that." + +"You ought to be in school yourself, boy. What's your name?" + +"Zerubbabel Burk." + +"Is that all?" + +"Yep. Bubble for short." + +"Have you ever known what it is to be hungry?" + +"Three times a day, before meals!" + +"Well, I'm starving. Do you belong to the Boy Scouts?" + +"Betyerlife." + +"Well, look here. I am an army in distress. Commissariat cut off, +extinction imminent! Now you go and bring in the provisions. And, as we +believe in honourable warfare, pay for everything you get, but take no +refusals--see?" He pressed a bill into the boy's ready hand and watched +the light of understanding leap into the round eyes with pleasurable +anticipation. + +"I get you, Mister! Here's your room, number fourteen." + +The boy disappeared while still the key with its long tin label was +jingling in the lock. The doctor opened the door of room number fourteen +and went in. + +Rooms, we contend, like people, should be considered in relation to that +state in which it has pleased Providence to place them. To consider +number fourteen in any environment save its own would be manifestly +unfair since, in relation to all the other rooms at the Imperial, +number fourteen was a good room, perhaps the very best. A description +tempts us, but perhaps its best description is to be found in its effect +upon Dr. Callandar. That effect was an immediate determination to depart +by the next train, provided the next train did not leave before he had +had something to eat. + +He was aroused from gloomy musings by a discreet tap announcing the +return of the scouting party. The scouting party was piled with parcels +up to its round eyes and from the parcels issued an odour so delicious +that the doctor's depression vanished. + +"Good hunting, eh?" + +"Prime, sir. 'Tisn't store stuff, either! As soon as I see that look in +your eye I remembered 'bout the tea-fight over at Knox's Church last +night and how they'd be sure to be selling off what's left, for the +benefit of the heathen." The boy gave the roundest wink Callandar had +ever seen and deposited his parcels upon the bed. "They always have +'bout forty times as much's they can use. Course I didn't get you any +_broken_ vittles," he added, noticing the alarm upon the doctor's face. +"It's all as good as the best. Wait till you see!" + +He began to clear the wash-stand in a businesslike manner, talking all +the time. "This here towel will do for a cloth. It's bran' clean--cross +my heart! I borrowed a dish or two offen the church. They know me.... +We'll put the chicken in the middle and the ham along at this end and +the pie over there where it can't slip off--" + +"I don't like pie, boy." + +"I do. Pie's good for you. We'll put the beet salad by the chicken and +the cabbage salad by the ham and the chow-chow betwixt 'em. Then the +choc'late cake can go by the pie--" + +"Boy, I don't like chocolate cake." + +"Honest? Ah, you're kiddin' me! Really? Choc'late cake's awful good for +you. I love chocolate cake. This here cake was made by Esther Coombe's +Aunt Amy--it's a sure winner! Say, Mister, what do you like anyway?" + +"Ever so many more things than I did yesterday. By Jove, that chicken +looks good!" + +"Yep. That's Mrs. Hallard's chicken. I thought you'd want the best. She +ris' it herself. And made the stuffin' too." + +"Did she 'ris' the ham also?" + +"Nope. It's Miss Taylor's ham. Home cured. The minister thinks a whole +lot of Miss Taylor's curin'. Ma thinks that if Miss Taylor wasn't quite +so hombly, minister might ask her jest on account of the ham. You try +it--wait a jiffy till I sneak some knives!" + +Callandar looked at the decorated wash-stand and felt better. He had +forgotten all about the room, and when the knives came, in even less +than the promised jiffy, he forgot everything but the varied excellences +of the food before him. The chicken was a chicken such as one dreams of. +The salads were delicious, the homemade bread and butter fresh and +sweet; the ham might well cause feelings of a tender nature towards its +curer! The chocolate cake? He thought he might try a small piece and, +having tried, was willing to make the attempt on a larger scale. The boy +was a most efficient waiter, discerning one's desires before they were +expressed. But when they got to the pie, the doctor drew up another +chair at the pie side of the table and waved the waiter into it. + +There was no false modesty about the boy; neither did he hold malice. If +he had felt slightly aggrieved at not having been invited earlier, he +forgot it after the first mouthful and for a time there was no further +conversation in number fourteen. The doctor had temporarily discarded +his theory that it is better to rise from the table feeling slightly +hungry. The boy had never had so foolish a theory to discard. The +chicken, the ham, the pie, disappeared as if conjured away. The boy +grew rounder. + +"Boy," said the doctor at last, "hadn't you better stop? You are +'swelling wisibly afore my werry eyes!'" + +The boy shook his head, but presently he began to have intervals when he +was able to speak. + +"Better plant all you can," he advised. "Ma says the grub here would +kill a cat. I eat at home. Ma wouldn't risk my stomach here. +It's fierce." + +"But I'll have to eat, boy. Isn't there another hotel?" + +"Yep; two. But you couldn't go to them. This here's the only decent one. +Gave you a nice room anyway." He looked around admiringly. "Going to +stay long?" + +"No--that is, yes--I don't know! How can I stay if I can't eat?" + +The boy picked his round white teeth thoughtfully with a pin. + +"You might get board somewheres." + +This was a new idea. + +"Why--so I might! Does Mrs. Hallard who raises chickens or Miss +What's-her-name who cures ham, keep boarders?" + +"Nope. But they're not the only oysters in the soup--There's the bell! +They never give a man a minute's peace. Say, if you don't really like +that pie, don't waste it--see? Tell you about boarding-houses later." + +Callandar had to clear the table himself. This he did by the simple +expedient of putting everything on top of everything else. But he did +not waste anything, a precaution whose value he realised that night upon +returning from the dining room where he had spent some time in looking +at that repast known to the Imperial as supper. Bubble, the bell boy, +found him with his mind made up. + +"Boy," he said, "you have saved my life. But I fear I can sojourn no +longer in your delightful town. Find me the first train out in the +morning.". + +The boy's face fell. + +"Ain't you going to stay? Why, it's all over town that you're the new +doctor come to take old Doc. Simmonds's practice. Mournful Mark, that +you drove up with, told it. He said he shouldn't wonder if you're real +clever. Says he suspects you're an old friend of Doc. Coombe's +folks--went to college with the doctor, mebby. Says that likely Alviry +will have you next time she gets a stroke." + +"Tempting as the prospect is, boy, I fear ..." + +"Oh, dang it! There's the bell again." + +He darted out, bumped down the sounding stairs and, while the doctor was +still considering the words of his ultimatum, appeared again at the +door, this time decorously on duty. + +"A call for you, sir," said Bubble primly. + +"A--what?" + +"A call, sir. Mrs. Sykes wants to know if the new doctor will call +'round first thing in the morning to see Mrs. Sykes's Ann. She dunno, +but she thinks it's smallpox." + +"Quit your fooling, boy." + +"Cross my heart, doctor!" + +"Smallpox?" + +"Oh!" cheerfully, "I don't cross my heart to that. Mrs. Sykes always +thinks things is smallpox. Ann's had smallpox several times now. But the +rest is on the level. What message, sir?" + +Callandar hesitated. (And while he hesitated the Fateful Sisters +manipulated a great many threads very swiftly.) "What train ..." he +began. (The Fateful Sisters slipped a bobbin through and tied a cunning +knot.) Without knowing why, Callandar decided to stay. He laughed. +Bubble stood eagerly expectant. + +"Tell Mrs. Sykes I'll come, and ..." but Bubble did not wait for the +end of the message. + + + + +CHAPTER IV + + +Coombe is a pretty place. It has broad streets, quiet and tree-lined. It +has sunny, empty lots where children play. No one is crowded or shut in. +The houses stand in their own green lawns, and are comfortable and even +picturesque. The Swiss chalet style has not yet come to Coombe, so the +architecture, though plain, is not productive of nightmare. The roads +are like country roads, soft and yellowish; green grass grows along the +sides of many of them, and board sidewalks are still to be found, +springy and easy to the tread. There is a main street with macadamised +roadway and stone pavements, real flat stone, for they were laid before +the appearance of the all-conquering cement. There is a postoffice with +a tower and a clock, a courthouse with a fountain and a cannon, a park +with a bandstand and a baseball diamond, a townhall with a belfry and no +bell, an exhaustive array of churches, the Imperial Hotel, and the +market. We mention the market last (as we were taught at school) because +on account of its importance it ought to come first. + +When Dr. Callandar, having been efficiently valeted by Bubble, set out +to pay his first professional call, he drew in deep breaths of the +pleasant air with a feeling of well-being to which he had long been a +stranger. He had slept. In spite of the room, in spite of the chocolate +cake, in spite of the pie, he had slept. And that alone was enough to +make the whole world over. It was still hot but with a heat different +from the heat of yesterday. A little shower had fallen during the night. +There was a sense of the north in the air, a light freshness, very +invigorating. He liked the quiet shaded streets; the cannon by the +courthouse amused him; the number of church steeples left him amazed. He +felt as if he had stumbled into a dream-town and must walk carefully +lest he stumble out. + +Bubble had given him very complete directions, indeed so minute were +they that we will omit them lest some day you find the way yourself and +drop in on Mrs. Sykes when she is not expecting company. But Dr. +Callandar in his amused absorption had forgotten that he was going to +Mrs. Sykes at all, when he was recalled to a sense of duty by a sharp +hail from the corner house of a street he had just passed. Looking back, +he saw, half-way down the road, a tall, red woman leaning over a gate, +who, upon attracting his attention, began waving her arms frantically, +after the manner of an old-fashioned signalman inviting a train to "Come +on." Callandar's step quickened in spite of himself and he forgot his +idle musings. + +"Land sakes! I thought you'd never get here!" exclaimed the red woman +fervently. "I suppose that imp of a boy didn't direct you right. Lucky I +knew you as soon as you passed the corner. Mark Morrison may be as +useless as they make 'em, but he's got a fine gift for description. Come +right in. I'm dreadful anxious about Ann. It don't seem like measles, +and she's had chicken-pox twice, and if she's sickening for anything +worse I want to know it. I ain't one of them optimists that won't +believe they're sick till they're dead. Callandar's your name, Mark +says--any chance of your being a cousin to Dr. Callandar of Montreal +that cured Mrs. Sowerby?" + +"No, I am not that Dr. Callandar's cousin." + +"I told Mark 'twasn't likely--or you wouldn't be here. Not if he'd any +family feeling. I'm a great believer in a man making his own +stepping-stones anyway," she went on with a friendly smile; "we ought to +rise up on ourselves, like the poet says, and not on our cousins." + +"A noble sentiment," said Callandar gravely, as he followed her up the +walk, across a veranda so clean that one hesitated to step on it, and +into a small hall, bare and spotless, where he was invited to hang +up his hat. + +"You're younger than I expected," went on Mrs. Sykes kindly. "I hope you +ain't entirely dependent on your practice in Coombe?" + +The amazed doctor was understood to murmur something about "private +means." + +"That's good. You'd starve if you hadn't. Coombe's a terrible healthy +place and poor Doc. Simmonds didn't pay a call a week. I just felt like +some one ought to warn you. I despise folks who hold back from telling +things because they ain't quite pleasant. Know the worst, I always say; +it's better in the end. Of course, as Mark says, your being a +Presbyterian will make considerable diff'rence. Some folks thought Doc. +Simmonds was pretty nigh an infiddle!" + +Too overcome by his feelings to answer, Callandar followed her up the +narrow stair and into a clean bright room with green-tinted walls and +yellow matting on the floor. + +Mrs. Sykes waved a deprecatory hand, at once exhibiting and apologising +for so much splendour. + +"This is the spare-room," she explained. "And there," pointing to the +high, old-fashioned bed, "is Ann." + +Callandar crossed the immaculate matting gingerly, taking Ann on faith, +as it were, for, from the door, no; Ann was visible, only a very small +dent in the big whiteness of the bed. + +"Ann! Here's the doctor!" + +A small black head and a pair of frightened black eyes appeared for a +moment as if by conjuration, and instantly vanished. + +"Ann!" said Mrs. Sykes more sternly. + +There was a squirming somewhere under the bedclothes, but nothing +happened. + +"Great Scott!" exclaimed the doctor, "you've got the child in a +feather-bed!" + +Mrs. Sykes beamed complacently. + +"Yes, I have. It may seem like taking a lot of trouble for nothing, but +you never can tell. I ain't one of them that never prepares for +anything. Jest as soon as Ann gets sick I move her right into the +spare-room and put her into the best feathers. Then if she should be +took sudden I wouldn't have anything to regret. The minister and the +doctor can come in here any hour and find things as I could wish.... +Ann! what do you mean by wiggling down like that? Ann--come up at once! +The doctor wants to see your tongue." + +This time the note of command was effective. The black head came to the +surface, again followed by the frightened eyes and plump little cheeks +stained with feverish red. + +"Some cool water, if you please," ordered the doctor in his best +professional manner. Mrs. Sykes opened her lips to ask why, but +something caused her to shut them without asking. + +When she had left the room, Callandar leaned suddenly over and lifted +Ann bodily out of the dent and placed her firmly upon a pillow. It was a +very plump pillow, evidently filled with the "best feathers," but +compared with the bed it was as a rock in an ocean. + +"Now," he said gravely, "you are safe, for the present. You are on an +island; but be very careful not to slide off for if you do I may never +be able to look at your tongue." + +The child's hands grasped the island convulsively. + +"Don't hold on like that," he warned. "You might tip." He leaned close +so that she might see the smile in his eyes, "And if you tipped ..." + +The child gave a sudden delighted giggle. "I'd go right in over my head, +wouldn't I?" + +"Yes. And next time you were rescued you might feel more inclined to +tell your aunt what you had been eating before you became ill." + +Ann stopped giggling. + +"You don't need to tell _me_," went on the doctor, "because I know!" + +"How d'ye know?" + +"Magic. Be careful--you were nearly off that time! Does your aunt know +anything about those things you ate?" + +"No." + +"Very well. But you must promise not to eat those particular things +again. Not even when you get the chance." Then as he saw the woe upon +her face, "At least, not in quantities!" + +"Cross my heart!" said Ann, relieved. + +"Here's the water," said Mrs. Sykes, returning. "Ann, get right back +into bed. Do you want to get your death? Haven't I told you till I'm +tired to keep your hands in? Is it measles, Doctor? She's subject to +measles. Perhaps it's the beginning of scarlet fever. But if it's +smallpox I want to know. No good ever comes of smoothing things over." + +The doctor smiled at Ann. + +"It isn't smallpox this time, Mrs. Sykes." + +"Did you look at them spots on the back of her neck?" + +"Yes. A little rash caused by indigestion. I wouldn't worry." + +"Don't mind me. I'm used to worrying. I don't dodge my troubles like +some I know. Indigestion? It looks more like eczema. Eczema is a +terrible trying thing. But if the child's got it I don't want it called +indigestion to spare my feelings." + +"But it's not eczema! It's indigestion--and prickly heat. I'm afraid +Ann's stomach has been giving trouble. It has been hotter than is usual +here, I understand. Heat often upsets children. While I write out a +prescription, you might bathe her face and hands." + +Mrs. Sykes gazed doubtfully at the water. "She was done once last night +and once this morning just before you came in," she remarked in an +injured tone. "But if you think she needs it again, this sort of water's +no good. Nothing's ever any good for Ann except hot water and soap." + +The doctor looked up from his writing in surprise. Then as the meaning +of the thing dawned upon him, he laughed heartily. + +"Oh, Ann's as clean as the veranda floor!" he explained. "This is just +to cool her off. Let me show you--doesn't that feel nice, Ann?" + +"Lovely!" blissfully. + +Mrs. Sykes sniffed. + +"I suppose that's some new-fangled notion? I never heard before of +cooling people off when they've got a fever. In my time, the hotter you +were, the hotter you were made to be, till you got cool naturally. I +suppose," with half-interested sarcasm, "that you'd give her cold water +to drink if she asked for it?" + +"Certainly." + +"Well, I expect she knows better than to ask for it!" + +Feeling Ann's imploring gaze, Callandar resorted to diplomacy. + +"The fact is, Mrs. Sykes," he said pleasantly, "there really isn't very +much wrong with Ann. You have been letting your forethought and your +natural anxiety run away with you. There is not the slightest occasion +for alarm. If there were, I should not dream of hiding it from one so +well-prepared as yourself. As it is, you have taken a lot of needless +trouble--this beautiful feather-bed, for example! I feel sure that Ann +would do very well in her own bed." + +The victim of the feathers gave a relieved gasp which her aunt mistook +for a sigh of regret. + +"Her own bed's well enough for anything ordinary," she admitted in a +mollified tone. "Even if it is a store mattress." + +"Quite good enough. Many a little girl would be glad of it." The +doctor's tone was virtuous. "If you will allow me, I shall carry her in +now. You see, she is cooler already. By to-morrow, if she takes her +medicine, she ought to be as well as ever." + +Ann's own room turned out to be on the shady side, and though not so +grand as the spare-room, it was pleasantly cool. The little bed with the +hard mattress and the snowy counterpane was infinitely to be preferred +to the ocean of feathers, and the rescued maiden lay back on her smaller +pillows with a sigh of gratitude. + +"Sure you won't tell?" she whispered as he laid her down. + +"Honour bright. Cross my heart! But you must take the medicine. It's +nasty, but not too nasty, and you mustn't squeal--or it will be the +spare-room again. Red cheeks and prickly heat are consequences, but +feather-beds and medicine are retribution." + +"That's right, Doctor," said Mrs. Sykes, who had heard the last words. +"There's nothing like a word about retribution when a person's sick. It +helps 'em to realise their state. I don't hold with the light-minded +that want to get away from retribution. Depend upon it, they're the very +folks that's got it coming to them. Yes. No one needs to go around +denying that there's a hell, if their feet are planted upon a rock and +they know they're never going there. It's years now since I've looked +hell in the face and turned my feet the other way. But I do say that if +I'd decided to go straight ahead in the broad and easy path, I wouldn't +try to shut my eyes to the end of it, like some folks! Are you putting +up at the Imperial, Doctor?" + +"'Putting up' exactly expresses my condition." + +"Well, you may as well know at once that a doctor in a hotel will never +get any forwarder in Coombe. You'll have to get boarding somewhere. Have +you looked around yet?" + +"No. I--" + +"Then I don't mind telling you that the spare-room is to let and the +little room down below that has a door of its own and seems made exactly +for a doctor's office. I shouldn't mind letting you have them if you +feel sure that the smells wouldn't get loose all through the house and +in the cooking. There's a barn where you could keep your horse." + +"I haven't got a horse," protested Callandar feebly. + +"But of course you'll be getting one. A doctor has to have a horse. If +you can't pay for it down, Mark knows some one who'd let you have a good +one on time. You can trust Mark, if he _is_ mournful. Of course I don't +say that these rooms are the only rooms to let in Coombe, but I do think +they're about as good as you can get--being so near to Dr. Coombe's old +house. People get used to coming for a doctor down this street." + +"But that was, over a year ago." + +"It takes more 'an a year for Coombe folks to change their ways. Only +this day week I saw Bill Brooks tearing down this way on account of Mrs. +Brooks' being took kind of unexpected, and Bill losing his head and +forgetting all about Dr. Coombe being dead and Dr. Parker living on the +other side of the town." + +"And you think that if I'd been here he would have 'tore' in here?" + +"If he hadn't I'd just have called out to him as he went by. He was that +wild he'd have taken anybody." + +"I see," with humility. "I lost a good chance there!" + +"Well, if you live here you'll get others. Why, from the spare-room +windows you can see the corner window down at the Coombe place. I could +make out to let you have your meals, too. Only I'd expect you to be as +reg'lar as Providence permitted. I know a doctor is bound to be more +aggravating in that way than other folks, but if you'd be as regular as +lay in you, I'd put up with it. 'Tisn't as if I wasn't always prepared. +When will you want to move in?" + +"Really, I--I don't know--" The bewildered Callandar glanced for help to +Ann, but met only clasped hands and an imploring stare. "I'll--I'll let +you know," he faltered. + +Thinking it over afterwards, he could never understand why he did not +promptly refuse to be coerced, but at the time surrender seemed the only +natural thing. Besides, he couldn't stay another day at the Imperial. He +had to go somewhere. Perhaps it was his destiny to secure Ann against +further feather-beds. Anyway, he accepted it. + +"Oh, goody!" cried Ann, clapping her hands. + +"Ann! put your hands under those clothes. How often must I tell you that +you'll get your death? If you like, Doctor, there's nothing to prevent +your moving in to-morrow. I'll need a day to air the feather-tick and +make some pie." + +The doctor was at last roused to action. + +"There are conditions," he said hastily. "If I come here, there is to be +no feather-tick and no pie!" + +"No feather-bed?" in amazement. + +"No pie?" Ann's voice was a sorrowful whisper. + +"You see," Callandar explained, "I am here partly for my health. My +health cannot lie on feather-beds nor eat pie--well, perhaps," with a +glance at Ann, "an occasional pie may do no harm. But I shall send down +some springs and a mattress. I have to use a special kind," hastily. + +"Oh! it's spinal trouble, is it?" Mrs. Sykes surveyed him +commiseratingly. "You look straight enough. But land! You never can +tell. Them spinal troubles are most deceiving. Terrible things they are, +but they don't shorten life as quickly as some others. Not that that's a +blessing! Mostly, folks as has them would be glad to go long before they +are took. Still, it gives them some time to be prepared. I remember--" + +"I must go now, Mrs. Sykes. Give Ann some of the medicine as soon as it +comes. It isn't exactly spinal trouble that is the matter with me, you +know, but--er--I'll send down the kind of mattress I like. In fact, I +shall probably wish to furnish my rooms myself. You won't mind, +I'm sure." + +"Land sakes, no, I don't mind! Most doctors are finicky. Don't worry +about the medicine. I'll see that Ann takes it." + +She watched him go with a glance in which satisfaction and foreboding +mingled. "Poor young feller!" she mused. "He didn't like what I said +about his spine a mite. Back troubles makes folks terrible touchy." + + + + +CHAPTER V + + +Two days after the installation of what Mrs. Sykes persisted in calling +the "spinal mattress," Esther Coombe was late in getting home from +school. As was usually the case when this happened, Jane, designated by +mournful Mark as "the Pindling One," was sitting on the gatepost gazing +disconsolately down the road. There were traces of tears upon her thin +little face and the warmth of the hug which returned her sister's +greeting was evidence of an unusually disturbed mind. + +"Why aren't you playing with the other children, Jane?" + +"I don't want to play, Esther. Timothy's dead." + +"Yes, I know, dear. But Fred has promised you a new puppy--" + +"I don't want a new puppy. I want Timothy." + +"But Timothy is so much happier, Jane. He was old, you know. In the +Happy Hunting Grounds, he will be able to frisk about just like other +dogs. Wouldn't you like an apple?" + +Jane considered this a moment and decided favourably. But her tale of +woe was not yet complete. "Mother's ill again," she announced gloomily. +"I mustn't play band or nail the slats on the rabbits' hutch. Aunt Amy +gave me my dinner on the back porch. I liked that. I wouldn't go in the +house, not till you came, Esther." + +The straight brows of the elder sister came together in a worried frown. + +"You know that is being silly, Jane." + +"I don't care." + +"You must learn to care. Run now and get the apple and ask Aunt Amy to +wash your face." + +Jane tripped away obediently, her griefs assuaged by the mere telling of +them, and Esther passed into the house by way of the veranda. It was a +charming veranda, long and low, opening through French windows directly +into the living room which, like itself, was long and low, and charming. +There is a charm in rooms which can be felt but not described. It exists +apart from the furnishings and even the occupants; it is an essence, +haunting, intangible--the soul of the room! only there are many rooms +which have no soul. + +Through the living room at the Elms vagrant breezes entered, loitered, +and drifted out again, leaving behind them scents of sun-warmed flowers. +The light there was soft and green. The comfortable chairs invited rest; +the polished rosewood table, the bright piano shining in the brightest +corner, the smooth old floor in whose rug the colours had long ceased to +trouble, the general air of much used comfort, satisfied and refreshed. + +Esther loved the room. Her first childish memory was of the rosewood +table shining like a pool in the lamplight and of her own wondering face +reflected in it, with her father's laughing eyes behind. In every way it +was associated with the beginnings of things. The magic of all music +began for her in the sweet, thin notes of the old square piano; the key +to fairy land lay hidden somewhere in that shelf of well-worn books. + +Yet to-night she entered with a hesitating step. It was obvious that she +felt no pleasure in the cool greenness. The room was the same room but +it was as if the expression on a well-known face had unaccountably +changed and become forbidding. The girl sighed as she flung her hat +upon a chair. + +"Esther," Jane's voice, somewhat obscured by the eating of the promised +apple, came through the open window, "are you sure about Timothy being +in the Happy Hunting Grounds?" + +"Of course, dear." + +"But he wasn't what you would call a Christian, Esther?" + +"He was a good dog." + +"Can Timothy chase chickens there?" + +"Probably." + +"And cats?" + +"Certainly cats." + +"Is that what happens to bad cats when they die?" + +Esther viewed this logical picture of everlastingly pursued cats with +some dismay. + +"N-o. I don't suppose it would be real cats." + +"But Tim wouldn't chase anything but real cats." + +"Jane, I wish you wouldn't talk with your mouth full." + +Being thus reduced to giving up the argument or the apple, Jane +abandoned the former. It was clear that Esther was not in the mood for +argument. The child's quick observation had not failed to note the +lagging step, nor the quick sigh. She nodded her head as if in answer to +some spoken word. + +"Yes, I know. I feel like that, too. That's why I didn't come in before; +that's why I'm not really in yet. It catches you by the throat and makes +you breathe funny. What is it, Esther?" + +"Why--I don't know, Jane. It's loneliness I think--missing Dad." + +The child shook her head. But whatever her objection might have been it +was beyond her power of expression. She slid off the veranda step and +wandered back into the garden. There was another apple in the pocket of +her apron, and apples are great comforters. + +Left alone, Esther with a resolutely cheerful air took down a blue bowl +and proceeded to arrange therein the day's floral offerings. A sweet and +crushed mixture they were, pansies, clove-pinks, mignonette, bleeding +hearts, bachelors' buttons, all short stemmed and minus any saving touch +of green, but true love offerings for all that. Wordless gifts most of +them, prim little bunches, hot from tight clasping in chubby hands, +shyly and swiftly deposited on "Teacher's desk" when the back of that +divinity was turned. The blue bowl took kindly to them all, and as the +girl's clever fingers settled and arranged the glowing chaos it seemed +that with their crushed fragrance something of the lost spirit of the +room came back. Just so had she arranged hundreds of times the sweet +smelling miscellanies which had been her father's constant tribute from +grateful patients. + +She had almost finished when the door opened to admit a little, grey +wisp of a woman with a mild white face and large faded eyes which might +once have been beautiful. She was dressed entirely in lavender, a +fondness for this colour being one of the many harmless fancies born of +a brain not quite normal. The rather expressionless face brightened at +sight of the girl by the table. + +"Why, Esther--I didn't hear you come in. Have you put a mat under the +bowl? See now! You have marked the table." + +Esther good humouredly reached for a table-mat, for the polish of this +particular article of furniture was the pride of Aunt Amy's life. "It's +all right, Auntie. It's not really a mark. Look, aren't they sweet? It +is like one of father's posies. Is mother any better?" + +"The children must think a lot of you, Esther!" + +"Yes, although I think they would bring flowers to any one, bless 'em! +Is mother--" + +"Your mother hasn't been down all day. I went up with her dinner but she +didn't take any. She wouldn't answer." + +"Auntie, don't you think she ought to do something about these +headaches?" + +"I don't know, Esther. She'll be all right to-morrow. She always is." + +"Yes. But they are getting more frequent, and you know--she is so +different. She can't be well. Haven't you noticed it?" + +"No," vaguely. + +"Well, Jane has. So it can't just be imagination. She ought to consult a +doctor." + +"She won't." + +"But it's absurd! What shall we do if she goes on like this? If there +were only some one who would talk to her! She won't listen to me because +she is older and married and--all that. All the same she doesn't seem +older when she acts like this--like a child!" + +"Well, you know, Esther, there isn't any doctor here that your mother +just fancies." + +The girl stooped lower over the blue bowl, perhaps to hide the little +smile which crinkled up the corner of her mouth. The faint colour on her +cheek may have been a reflection from the flowers. + +"Yes, but haven't you heard? There is a new doctor. He seems quite +different--I mean they say he is awfully nice. Mrs. Sykes' Ann was +telling me all about him. He is going to board with Mrs. Sykes. The +child just worships him already. Perhaps mother might see him." + +"I shouldn't worry," said Aunt Amy placidly. "This pepper-grass will be +very nice for tea. Did you tell Jane she might have two apples, Esther?" + +"No. I told her she might have one. But I don't suppose two will hurt +her." Esther was used to Aunt Amy's inconsequences which made impossible +the discussion of any subjects save the most trivial. But she sighed a +little as she realised anew that there was no help here. + +"Jane is feeling badly about Timothy," she explained. "Don't you think +we might have tea in here, Auntie? It is so cool." + +Aunt Amy, who had been anxiously rubbing an imaginary spot on the table, +looked up with a startled air. "Oh, Esther!" she said, in the voice of a +frightened child. Then with a child's obvious effort to control rising +tears, "Of course, if you say so, Esther. But--but do you feel like +risking the round table? Couldn't we have it on the little table in +the corner?" + +The girl settled the last of her flowers and pushed back her hair with a +worried gesture. A pang of mingled irritation and anxiety lent an edge +of sharpness to her soft voice. + +"Auntie dear! I thought you had quite forgotten that fancy. You know it +is only a fancy. Round tables are just like other tables. And you +promised me--" + +"Yes, I know, but--" + +"Well, then, be sensible, dear. We shall have tea in here." Then seeing +the real distress on the timid old face, the girl's mood softened. "No, +we shan't," she declared gaily. "We'll have it as usual in the dining +room. You will fix the pepper-grass and I shall set the table." + +But the end of Aunt Amy's vagaries was not yet. She hesitated, flushed +and more timidly, yet as one who is compelled, begged for the task of +setting the table herself. "For you know, Esther, the sprigged tea-set +is so hurt if any one but me arranges it. Yes, of course, it is only a +fancy, I know that. But the sprigged tea-set does feel so badly if I +neglect it. All the pink in it fades quite out. You must have noticed +it, Esther?" + +The girl sighed and gave in. Usually Aunt Amy's vagaries troubled her +little. Disconcerting at first, they had quickly become a commonplace, +for the coming of Aunt Amy to the doctor's household had been too great +a blessing to invite criticism. Esther had soon learned to express no +surprise when told that the sprigged china had a heart of extreme +sensitiveness, and that the third step on the front stair disliked to be +trodden upon, and that it was dangerous to sit with one's back to a +window facing the east. All these and numberless other strange facts +were part of Aunt Amy's twilight world. To her they were immensely +important, but to the family the really important thing seemed that, +with trifling exceptions, the new inmate of the household was gentle and +kind; her housekeeping a miracle and her cooking a dream. In the years +she had lived with them there had been but one serious thrill of +anxiety, and that came when Dr. Coombe had discovered her endeavouring +to infect Jane with her delusions. This had been strictly forbidden and +the child's mind, duly warned, was soon safeguarded by her own growing +comprehension. Jane quickly understood that it was foolish to shut the +garden gate three times every time she came through it, and that no one +save Aunt Amy thought it necessary to count all the boards in the +sidewalk or to touch all the little posts under the balustrade as one +came down stairs. Some of the prettier, more elusive fancies she may +have retained, but, if so, they did her no harm. + +As for Aunt Amy herself, she lived her shadow-haunted life not +unhappily. Dr. Coombe she had worshipped, yet his death had not affected +her as much as might have been feared. Perhaps it was one of her +compensations that death to her was not quite what it is to the more +normal consciousness. It was noticeable that she always spoke of the +doctor as if he were in the next room. Her devotion to him had been +caused by his success in partially relieving her of the most distressing +burden of her disordered brain--the delusion of persecution. Aunt Amy +knew that somewhere there existed a mysterious power known vaguely as +"They" who sought unceasingly to injure her. Of course it was only once +in a while that "They" got a chance, for Aunt Amy was very clever in +providing no opportunities. More than once had she outwitted "Them." +Still, one must be always upon one's guard! From this harrowing delusion +the doctor had done much to deliver her, indeed she had become more +normal in every way under his care. It was only now, a year after his +death, that Esther imagined sometimes that there was a slipping back-- + +The ill effects of sitting at a round table, for instance? It was a long +time since this particular fancy had been spoken of and Esther had +considered it gone altogether. Yet here it was, cropping out again and +just at a time when other problems threatened. Things seemed determined +to be difficult to-day. + +The fact was that Esther was suffering from the need of a confidant. +Really worried as she felt about her step-mother's health, the burden of +taking any determined action against the wishes of the patient herself +was a serious one for a young girl. Yet in whom could she confide? Girl +friends she had in plenty but not one whose judgment she could trust +before her own. Had the minister been an older man or a man of different +calibre she might have gone to him, but the idea of appealing to Mr. +Macnair was distasteful. Neither among her father's friends was there +one to whom she cared to go for advice concerning her father's widow. +They had one and all disapproved, she knew, of the sudden second +marriage and Dr. Coombe had never quite forgiven their disapproval. + +Often she felt like refusing the responsibility altogether. After all, +her step-mother was a woman quite old enough to manage her own affairs. +If she wished to foolishly imperil her health why need Esther care? Why +indeed? But this train of reasoning never lasted long. Always there came +a counter-question, "If you do not care, who will?" And the dearth of +any answer settled the burden more firmly upon her rebellious shoulders. +For one thing there was always the inner knowledge that Mary Coombe was +weak and that she, Esther, was strong. She had always known this. Even +when her father had brought home his pretty bride and Esther, a shy, +silent child of eleven, had welcomed her, she had known that the +newcomer was the weaker spirit. The bride had known it too. She had +never attempted to control Esther, leaving the child entirely to her +father--a bit of unwitting wisdom which did much to smooth daily life +at the Elms. If the doctor saw his wife's weakness of character it is +probable that it did not interfere with his love for her. Why need she +be strong while he was strong enough for two? But he had forgotten one +thing--the day when she would have to be strong alone! + +The realisation came to him upon his death-bed. Esther was sure of this. +He could not speak, but she had read the message of his eyes, the appeal +to the strength in her to help the other's weakness. No getting away +from the solemn charge of that entreating look! + + * * * * * + +Esther was thinking of that look now, as she sat alone in the dusk of +the veranda. Tea was over and Aunt Amy was putting Jane to bed. From her +mother she had had no word. Blank silence had met her when she had taken +the tea tray upstairs and called softly through the closed door. Mrs. +Coombe was probably asleep. She would be better to-morrow; but before +long she would be ill again, and the interval between the attacks was +becoming shorter. + +There was anger as well as anxiety in the girl's mind. Her healthy and +straightforward youth had little patience with her step-mother's +unreasonable caprices. For her illness she had every sympathy, but for +the morbid nervousness which seemed to accompany it, none at all. These +constant headaches, the increasing nervous irritability from which Mrs. +Coombe suffered lay like a shadow over the house. Yet the sufferer +refused to take the obvious way of relief and persisted in her refusal +with a stubbornness of which no one would have dreamed her light nature +capable. Still, willing or unwilling, something must be done. Aunt Amy, +too, was becoming more of an anxiety. Once or twice lately she had +spoken of "Them," a sign of mental distress which Dr. Coombe had always +treated with the utmost seriousness. Perhaps if a doctor were called in +for Aunt Amy, Mrs. Coombe would lose her foolish dread of doctors and +allow him to prescribe for her also. And if the new doctor were half as +clever as Mrs. Sykes said he was--Esther's heart began to warm a little +as her fancy pictured such a pleasant solution of all her problems. The +little smile curved her lips again as she thought of the maple by the +schoolhouse steps, and the lettuce sandwiches and--and everything. She +closed her eyes and tried to recall his face as he had looked up at her. +Instinctively she knew it for a good face, strong, humorous, kindly, but +strong above all. And it was strength that Esther needed. When she went +to bed that night her burden seemed a little lighter. + +I believe he can help me, she thought, and it isn't as if he were quite +a stranger. After all, we had lunch together once! + + + + +CHAPTER VI + + +Undoubtedly Esther slept better that night for the thought of the new +doctor. It cannot be said that the doctor slept better because of her. +In fact he lay awake thinking of her. He did not want to think of her; +he wanted to go to sleep. Twice only had he seen her. Once upon the +occasion of the red pump and once when casually passing her on the main +street. There was no reason why her white-rose face with its strange +blue eyes and its smile-curved lips should float about in the darkness +of Mrs. Sykes' best room. Yet there it was. It was the eyes, perhaps. +The doctor admitted that they were peculiar eyes, startlingly blue. Dark +blue in the shade of the lashes, flashing out light blue fire when the +lashes lifted. But Mrs. Sykes' boarder did not want to think about eyes. +He wanted to go to sleep. He did not want to think about hair either. +Although Miss Coombe had very nice hair--cloudy hair, with little ways +of growing about the temple and at the curve of the neck which a blind +man could not help noticing. In the peaceful shadows of the room it +seemed a still softer shadow framing the vivid girlish face. + +Still, on the whole, sleep would have been better company and when at +last he did drop off he did not relish being wakened by the voice of Ann +at his door. + +"Doc-ter, doc-ter! Are you awake? Can I come in?" + +"I am not awake. Go away." + +Ann's giggle came clearly through the keyhole. + +"You've got a visitor," she whispered piercingly through the same +medium. "A man. A well man, not a sick one. He came on the train. He +came on the milk train--" + +"You may come in, Ann." The doctor slipped on his dressing gown with a +resigned sigh. "What man and why milk?" + +"I don't know. Aunt Sykes kept him on the veranda till she was sure he +wasn't an agent. Now he's in the parlour. Aunt hopes you'll hurry, for +you never can tell. He may be different from what he looks." + +"What does he look?" + +Ann's small hands made an expressive gesture which seemed to envisage +something long and lean. + +"Queer--like that. He's not old, but he's bald. His eyes screw into you. +His nose," another formative gesture, "is like that. A nawful big nose. +He didn't tell his name." + +"If he looks like that, perhaps he hasn't any name. Perhaps he is a +button-moulder. In fact I'm almost certain he is--other name Willits. +Occupation, professor." + +"But if he is a button-maker, he can't be a professor," said Ann +shrewdly. + +"Oh, yes he can. Button-moulding is what he professes. His line is a +specialty in spoiled buttons. He makes them over." + +"Second-hand?" + +"Better than new." + +Ann fidgeted idly with the doctor's cuff-links and then with a flash of +her odd childish comprehension, "You love him a lot, don't you?" she +said jealously. + +The doctor adjusted a collar button. + +"England expects that every man shall deny the charge of loving +another," he said, "but between you and me, I do rather like old +Willits. You see I was rather a worn-out button once and he made me +over. Where did you say he was?" + +"In the parlour--there's Aunt! She said I wasn't to stay. I'll get it." + +Indeed the voice of Mrs. Sykes could be heard on the stairs. + +"Ann! Where's that child? Doctor, you'd think that child had never been +taught no manners. You'll have to take a firm stand with Ann, Doctor. +Land Sakes, I don't want to make her out worse'n she is, but you might +as well know that your life won't be worth living if you don't set +on Ann." + +"All right, Mrs. Sykes. Painful as it may be, I shall do it. Are you +sure it's safe to leave a stranger in the parlour?" + +Mrs. Sykes looked worried. "I hope to goodness it's all right, Doctor. +He's been in the parlour half an hour. I don't think he's an agent, +hasn't got a case or a book anywhere. But agents are getting cuter every +day. Naturally I didn't like to go so far as to ask his name. And I'm +not asking it now. Curiosity was never a fault of mine though I do say +it. Still a woman does like to know who's setting in her front parlour." + +"And you shall," declared Callandar kindly. "Just hang on a few moments +longer, dear Mrs. Sykes, and your non-existent but very justifiable +curiosity shall be satisfied." + +The parlour at Mrs. Sykes opened to the right of the narrow hall. Its +two windows, distinguished by eternally half-drawn blinds of yellow, +looked out upon the veranda, permitting a decorous gloom to envelop the +sacred precincts. Mrs. Sykes was too careful a housekeeper to take risks +with her carpet and too proud of her possessions to care to hide their +glories altogether; hence the blinds were never wholly drawn and never +raised more than half way. In the yellow gloom, one might feast one's +eyes at leisure upon the centre table, draped in red damask, mystic, +wonderful, and on its wealth of mathematically arranged books, the +Bible, the "Indian Mutiny" and "Water Babies" in blue and gold. This +last had been a gift to Ann and was considered by Mrs. Sykes to be the +height of foolishness. Still, a book is a book, especially when bound in +blue and gold. + +Upon the gaily papered walls hung a framed silver name-plate and two +pictures. One a gorgeously coloured print of the lamented Queen Victoria +in a deep gold frame, and the other a representation of an entrancing +allegorical theme entitled "The Two Paths," illustrating the ascent of +the saint into heaven and the descent of the sinner into hell. At the +top of this picture was the legend, "Which will you choose?"--implying a +possible but regrettable lack of taste on the part of the chooser. + +Into this abode of the arts and muses came Callandar, alert and smiling. +It was hardly his fault that he stumbled over the visitor who, whether +in awe or fear of these unveiled splendours, had retreated as far as +possible toward the door. + +"Don't mind me!" said the visitor meekly. + +"Willits! by Jove, I thought it would be you! Say, would you mind not +sitting on that chair? It's just glued!" + +The visitor arose with conspicuous alacrity. He was a tall man with a +domelike head, piercing eyes and formidable nose. Ann's description had +been terribly accurate. He observed the tail of his coat carefully and +finding no damage, seemed relieved. + +"Sit here," said Callandar affably. "And don't expect me to make you +welcome, because you aren't. What misfortunate chance has brought you +to Coombe?" + +"Neither fortune nor chance had anything at all to do with it," declared +the visitor. "I followed your luggage. I wanted to see you." + +"Well, take a good look." + +"I think you can guess why." + +"Yes," with a sigh. "I was always a good guesser. And, frankly, Willits, +I wish you hadn't." + +"I do not doubt it. But, first, is there any other place where we can +talk?" + +"Don't you like this?" innocently. + +The Button-Moulder's look of surprised anguish was sufficient answer. +Callandar laughed. + +"You always were a bit narrow in your views, Willits. How often have I +impressed upon you that beauty depends upon understanding? I don't +suppose you have even tried to understand this room? No? Will it help +any if I tell you that Mrs. Sykes went without a spring bonnet that she +might purchase the deep gold frame which enshrines Victoria the Good, or +if I explain that Joseph Sykes, deceased, whose name you see yonder upon +that engraved plate, was the most worthless rogue unhung. Yet the silver +which displays--" + +"Not in the least," interrupted the other hastily. "The place is a +nightmare. Nothing can excuse it! And you--how you stand it I +cannot see." + +"My dear man, I don't stand it. I am not allowed to. It's only upon +special occasions that any one is allowed to stand this room. You are a +special occasion. But as you seem so unappreciative we can adjourn to my +office if you wish." + +"You have an office?" + +"Certainly. A doctor has to have an office. This way." + +Callandar strode across the room and opened a door in the opposite wall. +It led into another room, smaller, with no veranda in front of it, yet +with a window looking toward the road and two side windows through which +the after flush of sunrise streamed. Its door opened upon a small stone +stoop set in the grass of the front lawn. The furniture of the room was +plain, not to say severe. Cool matting covered the painted floor, +hemstitched curtains of linen scrim hung at the windows. There was a +businesslike desk, a couch, a reclining chair, a stool by the door; +another chair, straight and uncompromising, behind the desk. That +was all. + +Willits looked around him in a kind of dazed surprise. "Office!" he kept +murmuring. "_Office_!" + +"All rather plain, you see," said Callandar regretfully. "But for a +beginner with his way to make, not so bad. My patients, three up to +date, quite understand and conceal their commiseration with perfect good +breeding. Also, the room has natural advantages, it is in the nature of +an annex, you see, with a door of its own. Quite cut off from the rest +of the house save-for the door by which we entered, the parlour door, +which Mrs. Sykes informs me I may lock if I choose although she feels +sure that I know her too well to imagine any undue liberties +being taken!" + +The Button-Moulder with a gesture of despair made as if to sit down upon +the nearest chair, but was prevented with kindly firmness by his host. + +"Not that chair, please. It may not be quite dry. I glued--" + +The voice of the visitor suddenly returned. It was a very dry voice; +threadlike, but determined. + +"Then if you will kindly find me a chair which you have not glued I +shall sit down and dispose of a few burning thoughts. Callandar, as soon +as you have finished playing the fool--" + +"Consider it finished, old man." + +"Then what does this, all this"--with a sweeping hand wave--"mean? You +cannot seriously intend to stay here?" + +"Why not?" + +"Your question is absurd." + +"No, it isn't. Let it sink in. Why should I not stay here? Examine the +facts. I am ordered change, rest, interest, good air--a year at least +must elapse before I take up my life again. I must spend that year +somewhere. Why not here? It is healthy, high, piney, quiet. I had become +utterly tired of my tramping tour. All the good I can get from it I have +got. Chance, or whatever you like to call it, leads me to this place. A +place which needs a doctor and which this particular doctor needs. There +is nothing absurd about it." + +The tall man observed his friend in interested silence. Apparently he +required time to adjust his mind to the fact that Callandar was in +earnest. The badinage he brushed aside. + +"Then you really intend--but how about this office? If it is not a +torn-fool office, where does the necessary rest come in?" + +"Rest doesn't mean idleness. I should die of loafing. As a matter of +fact since coming here I have rested as I have not rested for a year. +Look at me! Can't you see it? Or is the renovation not yet visible to +the naked eye? Great Scott! I don't need to vegetate in order to +rest, do I?" + +"No." Another pause ensued during which the gimlet eyes of the professor +were busy. Then he seemed suddenly to leap to the heart of the matter. + +"And--Lorna?" He asked crisply. + +It was the other's turn to be silent. He flushed, looked embarrassed, +and drummed with his fingers upon the table. + +"Of course I have no right to ask," added Willits primly. + +"Yes, you have, old man. Every right. But I knew you had come to ask +that question and I didn't like it. The answer is not a flattering +one--to me. Nor is it what you expected. To be brief, Lorna won't have +me. Refused me--flat!" + +Blank surprise portrayed itself upon the professor's face. + +"The devil she did!" + +"Confess now!" said Callandar, smiling. "You thought I was the one to +blame? There was retributive justice in your eye, don't deny it!" + +"But, I don't understand! I thought--I was sure--" + +"I know. But she doesn't! Not in that way. As a sister--" + +"That's enough! I--Accept my apology. I feel very sorry, Henry." + +Again that look of embarrassment and guilt upon the doctor's face. + +"No. Don't feel sorry! See here, let's be frank about the whole thing. +It was a mistake, from the very beginning, a mistake. Miss Sinnet, +Lorna, is a girl in a thousand. But--I did not care for her as a man +should care for the woman he makes his wife. Nor did she care for +me--wait, I'm not denying that there was a chance. We were very +congenial. She might have cared if--if I had cared more greatly." + +"Henry Callandar! Are you a cad?" + +"No. Merely a man speaking the exact truth. I thought I might risk it, +with you. Lorna Sinnet is not a woman to give her love and take a +half-love in return. She was more clear-sighted than you or I. We should +both have been very miserable." + +Elliott Willits sighed. He was a very sensible man. He prided himself +upon being devoid of sentiment, but even the most sensible of men, +entirely devoid of sentiment, do not like to see their well laid +plans go wrong. + +"Well," he said, "I was mistaken. Let us say no more about it." + +Callandar's eyes softened, melted into misty grey. He laid his arm +affectionately over the other's thin shoulders. "Only this," he said. +"That no man ever had a better friend! I know you, old Button-Moulder. I +know your ambition to make of me a 'shining button on the vest of the +world!' You thought that Lorna might help. But I failed you there. I'm +sorry. That was really the bitterness of the whole thing---to fail you!" + +"You owe me nothing," gruffly. + +"Only my life--my sanity." + +"I shall doubt the latter if you stay here." + +"No, you will see it triumphantly vindicated. I tell you I am better +already. Look at my hand! Do you remember how it shook the last time I +held it out for you. A few more months of this and it will be steady as +a rock. Ah! it's good to be feeling fit again! And it isn't only a +physical improvement." His smile faded and rising he began to pace the +room. "I doubt if even you fully understand the mental depression that +was dragging me down. No wonder Lorna would have none of me! Strange, +that I cannot understand my own case as I understand the cases of +others. Do what I would, I could not heal myself, the soul of the matter +persistently escaped me. I was beginning to be as much the victim of an +obsession as any of the poor creatures whom I tried to cure." + +"You never told me of that." + +"No, I was afraid to speak of it. It would have made it seem more real. +But I can tell you now, if you are sure you will not be bored." + +"I shall not be bored," said Willits quietly. + + + + +CHAPTER VII + + +"In order to make you understand, I'll have to go back," said the doctor +musingly, "a long way back. Some of the story you already know, but now +I want you to know it all. But first--when you found me in that +hospital, a useless bit of human wreckage, and forced me back into life +with your scorn of a coward and your cutting words, what did you think? +What did I tell you? It is all hazy to me." + +"You told me very little. It was plain enough. You had come a bad +cropper. Some girl, I gathered. You had lost her, you blamed yourself. +You talked a great deal of nonsense. I inferred--the usual thing!" + +"You were mistaken. It was at once better and worse than that. But let's +begin at the beginning. My father was a fairly wealthy man--but a +dreamer. He made his money by a clever invention and lost it by an +investment little short of idiotic. Like many unpractical men he had +rather fancied himself as a man of business and the disillusion killed +him. He--shot himself. My mother, my sister and myself were left, with +nothing save a small sum in the bank and the deed of the modest house we +lived in. Adela was twenty-one and I was nineteen. We sold the house, +moved into rooms; Adela learned shorthand and went into an office. I +wanted to do the same. But mother was adamant. I must finish my college +course and take my degree; she and Adela could manage until I could make +it up to them later. It was hard, but it seemed the only sensible +thing to do-- + +"I faced the task of working my way through college with a thankful +heart, for though I pretended that I did not care, it would have been a +terrible thing to have given up my life's ambition. The thought of Adela +trudging to the office hurt--it was the touch of the spur. I needn't +tell you, you can guess how I worked! People were kind. One summer, old +Doctor Inglis, whose amiable hobby it was to help young medical +students, engaged me for the holidays as his chauffeur and general +helper at a wage which would see me through my next term. It seemed an +unusual piece of luck, for he lived only twenty miles from my mother's +home and an electric tram connected the towns. One night I went with +Adela to a Church Social--of all places--and that is where the story +really begins, for it was at the Social that I met Molly Weston. It +seemed the most casual of all accidents, for you can imagine that I did +not frequent churches in those days, and Molly, too, had come there by +chance. She was dressed in pink, her cheeks were pink, she wore a pink +rose in her hair. She was the prettiest little fairy that ever smiled +and pouted her way into a boy's heart. Before I left her I was madly in +love--a boy's first headlong passion. Adela was amazed, teased me in her +elderly sister way but never for a moment took it seriously. Molly was a +mere bird of passage, an American girl staying with friends for a brief +time, therefore my infatuation was a humorous thing. But it was not so +simple as that. Molly stayed on, Dr. Inglis was indulgent, we met +continually. If her friends knew of it they did not care. It was just a +flirtation of their pretty guest's. As a serious factor I was quite +beneath the horizon, a young fellow working his way through college, and +with, later on, a mother and sister to support. + +"Molly understood the situation. At least she knew all the facts. I +doubt if she ever understood them. She was one of those helpless, +clinging girls who never seem to understand anything clearly. I remember +well how I used to agonise in explanation, trying to make her see our +difficulties and to face them with me. But when I had talked myself into +helpless silence she would ruffle my hair and say, 'But you really do +love me, don't you, Harry?' or 'I don't care what we have to do, so long +as mother doesn't know.' + +"I soon found out that her one strong emotion was fear of her mother. +She was fond of her but she feared her as weak natures fear the strong, +especially when bound to them by ties of blood. I was allowed to see her +photograph--the picture of a grim hard face instinct with an almost +terrible strength. No wonder my pretty Molly was her slave. One would +have deemed it impossible that they were mother and daughter. Molly, it +appears, was like her father, and he, poor man, had been long dead. +Molly would do anything, promise anything, if only her mother might not +know. She had not the faintest scruple in deceiving her, but this I +laid, and still lay, to the strength of her love for me. + +"She did love me. She must have loved me--else how could her timid +nature have taken the risk it did? + +"Summer fled by like a flash. Molly stayed with her friends as long as +she could find an excuse and then went on for a brief week in Toronto. +It was the week, of course, that I returned to college. We hoped that +she could extend her stay, but her mother wrote 'Come home,' and there +was no appeal from that. Then I did a desperate thing. Without Molly's +knowledge I wrote to her mother telling her that I loved her daughter +and begging, as a man begs for his life, to be allowed to ask her to +wait for me. The letter was a lie in that it concealed the fact that my +love was already confessed but I felt it necessary to shield Molly. I +received no answer to the letter, but Molly received a telegram, 'Come +home at once.' + +"I can leave you to imagine the scene--my despair, Molly's tears! Never +for an instant did she dream of disobeying and I--I felt that if she +went I should lose her forever. + +"Willits, there is something in me, devil or angel, which will not give +up. Nothing has ever conquered it yet and Molly was like wax in my +hands--so long as 'Mother' need not know. I do not attempt to excuse +myself; what I did was dastardly, but it did not seem so then. The night +before she left, she stole away from home. I had a license and we were +married by a Methodist minister. He knew neither of us and probably +forgot the whole incident immediately. It was a marriage only in name +for we said good-bye at Molly's door. She left next morning. I never saw +her again." + +Into the silence which followed, the professor's words dropped dryly. + +"What was your idea in forcing a meaningless marriage?" + +"I loved her. I knew that it was the only way. Madly as I loved her, I +knew that Molly was weak as water. I could not, would not, run the risk +of letting her leave me without the legal tie. But I justified it to +myself--I could have justified anything, I fear! I vowed a vow that she +would be repaid for the waiting as never woman yet was paid. She wept on +my shoulder and said, 'And you really do love me, Harry--and you'll +swear mother need never know?' + +"I swore it. There were to be no letters. Molly was too terrified to +write and still more terrified of receiving a letter. She would live in +constant dread, she said, if there were a possibility of such a thing. +Weak in everything else she was adamant in this. + +"I went back to work. I worked with the strength of ten. Health, +comfort, pleasure, all were subordinated to the fever of work. I hoped +that I might steal a glimpse of her sometimes. She promised to try to +return to Toronto. But my letter must have alarmed the mother. I found +out, indirectly, that shortly after her return, Mrs. Weston whisked her +off to Europe. They were gone a year. When they returned I was in the +far west with a government surveying party, earning something to help me +with my last year's college expenses. When I was again in Toronto she +had vanished. Gone, as I afterward learned, to stay with an aunt in +California. Her mother, alive to danger, was not going to risk a +meeting, and my vow to Molly left me helpless. But how I worked! + +"That last year things began to come my way. Adela married a fine young +fellow, wealthy and generous. My mother went to live with them in their +western home, Calgary, where they still are. Then Thomas Callandar, my +mother's brother, who had never bothered about any of us living, died, +and left me a handsome property, adding, as you already know, the +condition that I take the family name. You remember that my father's +name, the name under which I married Molly, was Chedridge. + +"Nothing now held me from Molly--in another month I would have my +degree, and free and rich I could go to claim her. It seemed like a +fairy tale! In my great happiness I broke my promise and wrote to her, +to the California address, hoping to catch her there. In three weeks' +time the letter came back from the dead letter office. I wrote again, +this time to the Cleveland address, a short note only, telling her I was +free at last. Then, next day, I followed the letter to Cleveland, wealth +in one hand, the assurance of an honourable degree in the other. + +"I had no trouble in finding the house. It was one of a row of houses, +nondescript but comfortable, in a pleasant street. It seemed familiar--I +had seen Molly's snapshots of it often. I cannot tell you what it felt +like to be really there--to walk down the street, up the path, up the +steps to the veranda. I was trembling as with ague, I was chalk-white I +knew--was I not in another moment to see my wife! + +"I could hear the electric bell tingle somewhere inside. Then an awful +pause. What if they were not at home? What if they lived there no +longer? I knew with a pang of fear that I could not bear another +disappointment. + +"There was a sound in the hall, the door knob moved--the door opened. I +gasped in the greatness of my relief for the face in the opening was +undoubtedly the face of Molly's mother. They were at home. They must +have had my letter--they must be expecting me-- + +"Something in the woman's face daunted me. It was deathly and strained. +Surely she did not intend to continue her opposition? Yet it confused +me. I forgot all that I had intended to say, I stammered: + +"'I am Henry Chedridge. I want to see Molly. I am rich, I have my +degree--' + +"'You cannot see her!' she said. Just that! The door began to close. But +I had myself in hand now. I laid hold of the door and spoke in a +different tone. The tone of a master. + +"'This is foolish, Mrs. Weston. I thought you understood. I can and I +will see your daughter. Molly is my wife!' + +"She gave way at that. The door opened wide, showing a long empty hall. +The woman stood aside, made no effort to stop me, but looking me in the +eyes she said: 'You come too late. Your wife is not here. Molly +is dead!' + +"Then, in one second, it seemed that all the years of overwork, of +mental strain and bodily deprivation rose up and took their due. I tried +to speak, stuttered foolishly, and fell like dead over the door-sill of +the house I was never to enter. + +"You know the rest, for you saved me. When I struggled back to life, +without the will to live, you shamed and stung me into effort. You +brought the new master-influence into my life, taught me that the old +ambition, the old work-ardour was not dead. Those months with you in +Paris, in Germany, in London at the feet of great men saw a veritable +new birth. I ceased to be Henry Chedridge, lover, and became Henry +Callandar, scientist. All this I owe to you." + +The other raised his hand. + +"No, not that. Some impulse I may have given you, but you have made +yourself what you are. But--you have not told me all yet?" + +"No." Again the doctor began his uneasy pacing of the room. "The rest is +harder to tell. It is not so clear. It has nothing to do with facts at +all. It is just that when I first began to show signs of overwork this +last time I became troubled with an idea, an obsession. It had no +foundation. It persisted without reason. It was fast becoming +unbearable!" + +He paused in his restless pacing and Willits' keen eyes noticed the look +of strain which had aroused his alarm some months ago. Nevertheless he +asked in his most matter-of-fact tone, "And the idea was--?" + +Callandar hesitated. "I can hardly speak of it yet in the past tense. +The idea is--that Molly is not dead!" + +"Good Heavens!" ejaculated the professor, startled out of his calm. "But +have you any reason to doubt? To--to base--" + +"None whatever. No enquiries which I have made cast doubt upon the +mother's words. But on the other hand I have been unable to confirm +them. I cannot find where my wife died--except that there is no record +of her death in the Cleveland registries. She did not die in Cleveland." + +"But you have told me that they were seldom at home. That the mother was +a great traveller." + +"Yes. The want of evidence in Cleveland proves nothing." + +"Did you feel any doubt at first?" + +"Absolutely none. The gloomy house, the empty hall, the white face and +black dress of the woman in the door, the look of horror and anger in +her eyes--yes, and a kind of grim triumph too--all served to drive the +fatal message home. Dead!--There was death in the air of that house, +death in the ghastly face--in the cruel, toneless words!--After my +tedious recovery I made an effort to see Mrs. Weston, although I had +conceived a horror of the woman, but she was gone. The house had been +sold. I tried to trace her without result. She seemed to have vanished +off the face of the earth." + +"And how long ago did the whole thing happen?" + +"Twelve years. I was twenty-three when I went to claim my bride. I am +thirty-five now." + +"Dear me!" said the little man sincerely, "I have always thought you +older than that! But twelve years is--twelve years! And you say this +doubt is a very recent thing?" + +"Yes. I have told you the thing is absurd. But I can't help it." + +"Have you made any further enquiries?" + +"Yes, uselessly. There is a rumour that Mrs. Weston, too, is dead. A +lady who used to know them tells me that she is certain she heard of her +death--in England, she thinks, but upon being questioned was quite at +sea as to where or when or even as to the original source of her +information. She remembers 'hearing it' and that's all. Then I sought +for the aunts, the maiden ladies whom Molly visited in California. They +too are gone, the older died during the time I lay ill in the hospital. +The younger one was not quite bright, I believe, and was taken away to +live with some relatives in the East. It was not Molly's mother who +fetched her. It was a man, a very kind man whom the old lady, my +informant, had never seen before. She said he had a queer name. She +could not remember it, but thought he was a physician. I imagine that +the kind friend was an asylum doctor." + +"Very likely. And could your informant tell you nothing of the niece--if +Molly had visited there?" + +"She remembered her last visit very well but her memories were of no +value. She was a sweet, pretty child, she said, and she often wondered +how she came to have such a homely mother. She evidently disliked Mrs. +Weston very much, and when I asked her if she had ever heard of Molly's +death she said no, but that she was not a bit surprised as she had +always predicted that the pretty, little, white thing would be worried +into an early grave. I noticed the word 'white' and asked her about it, +for the Molly I knew had a lovely colour. Her memory became confused +when I pressed her, but she seemed quite sure that the girl who came +that winter with her mother was a very pale girl--looked as if she might +have come south for her health." + +"All of which goes to prove--" + +"Yes--I know. Poor Molly! Poor little girl! I believe in my heart that +our mad marriage killed her. Without me constantly with her, the fear of +her mother, perhaps the doubt of me, the burden of the whole disastrous +secret was too much. And it was my fault, Willits--all my fault!" He +turned to the window to hide his working face. "Do you wonder," he added +softly, "that her poor little wraith comes back to trouble me?" + +"Come, come, no need to be morbid! You made a mistake, but you have +paid. As for the doubt which troubles you--it is but the figment of a +tired brain. The mother could have had no possible reason for deceiving +you. You were no longer an ineligible student--and the girl loved you. +Besides, there was the legal tie. Would any woman condemn her daughter +to a false position for life? And without reason? The idea is +preposterous. Come now, admit it!" + +"Oh, I admit it! My reasoning powers are still unimpaired. But reason +has nothing to do with that kind of mental torture. It is my soul that +has been sick; it is my soul that must be cured. And to come back to the +very point from which we started, I believe I shall find that cure +here--in Coombe." + +"With Mrs. Sykes?" dryly. + +"Certainly. Mrs. Sykes is part of the cure." + +"And the other part?" + +"Oh--just everything. I hardly know why I like the place. But I do. Why +analyse? I can sleep here. I wake in the morning like a man with the +right to live, and for the first time in a year, Willits, a long +torturing year, I am beginning to feel free of that oppression, that +haunting sense that somewhere Molly is alive, that she needs me and that +I cannot get to her. I had begun to fear that it would drive me mad. +But, here, it is going. Yesterday I was walking down a country road and +suddenly I felt free--exquisitely, gloriously free--the past wiped out! +That--that was why I almost feared to see you, Elliott, you bring the +past so close." + +The hands of the friends met in a firm handclasp. + +"Have it your own way," said the professor, smiling his grim smile. +"Consider me silenced." + +The doctor's answer was cut off by the jingling entrance of Mrs. Sykes +bearing before her a large tray upon which stood tall glasses, a beaded +pitcher of ice cold lemonade and some cake with white frosting. + +"Seeing as it's so hot," said she amiably, "I thought a cold drink might +cool you off some. Especially as breakfast will be five minutes late +owing to the chicken. I thought maybe as you had a friend, doctor, a +chicken--" + +"A chicken will be delicious," said the doctor, answering the question +in her voice. "Mrs. Sykes, let me present Professor Willits; Willits, +Mrs. Sykes! Let me take the tray." + +Mrs. Sykes shook hands cordially. "Land sakes!" she said. "I thought you +were a priest! Not that I really suspicioned that the doctor, good +Presbyterian as he is, would know any such. But priests is terrible +wily. They deceive the very elect--and it's best to be prepared. As it +is, any friend of the doctor's is a friend of mine. You're kindly +welcome, I'm sure." + +"Thank you," said the professor limply. + +The doctor handed them each a glass and raised his own. + +"Let us drink," he said, "to Coombe. 'Coombe and the Soul cure!'" + +"Amen!" said Willits. + +"Land sakes!" said Mrs. Sykes. "I thought it was his spine!" + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + + +Zerubbabel Burk sat upon his stool of office in the doctor's consulting +room, swinging his legs. Would-be discoverers of perpetual motion might +have received many hints from Bubble, though he himself would have +scorned to consider the swinging of legs as motion. He was under the +delusion that he was sitting perfectly still. For the doctor was asleep. + +Asleep, at four o'clock on a glorious summer day! No wonder his friend +and partner wore a tragic face. + +"Doesn't seem to care a hang if he never gets any patients!" mused +Bubble, resentfully, stealing a half fond, half angry glance at the +placid face of the sleeper. "Only two folks in all day and one a kid +with a pin in its throat. And all he says is, 'Don't worry, son, we're +getting on fine!' We'll go smash one of these days, that's what we'll +do--just smash!" + +"Tap-tap" sounded the blinds which were drawn over the western windows. +A pleasant little breeze was trying to come in. "Buzz" sounded a fly on +the wall. Bubble arose noisily and killed it with a resounding "thwack." + +"Wake the doctor, would you?" he said. "Take that!" + +But even the pistol-like report which accompanied the fly's demise +failed to ruffle the sleeper. Bubble returned disconsolate to +his stool. + +"Smash," he repeated, "smash is the word. I see our finish." + +The pronoun which Bubble used nowadays was always "we." He belonged to +the doctor body and soul, but it was no servile giving. The doctor also +belonged to him, and it was with this privilege of ownership that he now +found fault with his idol. Had any one else objected to the doctor's +afternoon rest he would have found reason and excuse enough; but in his +own heart he was puzzled. Such indifference to the appearances, such +wilful disregard of "business" could hardly, he thought, be real; yet, +for an imitation, it was remarkably well done. Bubble admired even while +he deprecated. + +Why, he did not even go to church so that the minister might introduce +him around as "Dr. Callandar, the new brother who has come amongst us." +Neither did he walk down Main Street, nor show himself in public places. +When he went walking he went early in the morning and directed his steps +toward the country. About all the usual means of harmless and necessary +advertising he did not seem to know Beans! Bubble looked disconsolately +out of the window. There was Ann, now, coming across the yard. School +must be out, and still the doctor slept. + +"Anybody in?" asked Ann in a stage whisper. + +"Not just now. Been very busy though. Doctor's resting. Stop that +noise." + +"I'm not making any noise! He's part my doctor anyway. I'll make a noise +if I like--" + +"No you won't, miss!" + +"But I don't _like_," added Ann with her impish smile. "If he's asleep +what are you staying here for? Come on out." + +Bubble regarded the tempter with scornful amazement. + +"That's it!" he exclaimed, "jest like I always said, women haven't any +sense of honour. What d'ye suppose I'm here for?" + +"Not just to swing your legs," placidly. "He doesn't need you when he's +asleep, does he? Come on and let's get some water-cress. He'd like some +for his tea--dinner I mean. Say, Bubble, why does he call it dinner?" + +"Because he comes from the city, Silly! They don't have any tea in the +city. They have breakfast when they get up and lunch at noon and dinner +about seven or eight or nine at night. Then if they get hungry before +bed-time they have supper. The doctor says he never gets hungry after +dinner so he don't have that." + +Ann considered this a moment. + +"They do so have tea!" she declared. "I heard Mrs. Andrew West telling +about it. She said her sister in Toronto had a tea specially for her." + +"Oh," with superb disdain, "that's just for women. If they can't wait +for dinner they get bread and butter and tea in the afternoon. But they +have to eat it walking around and they only get it when they go out +to call." + +Ann sighed. "I'd like to live in the city," she murmured. "Say, don't +you feel as if you'd like a cookie right now?" + +Bubble squirmed. But his Spartan fortitude held. + +"In business hours? No, thank you. 'Tisn't professional. Look silly, +wouldn't I, if one of our patients caught me eating?" + +"How many to-day?" + +"That'd be telling. 'Tisn't professional to tell. Doctor says if a man +wants to succeed, he's got to be as dumb as a noyster in business!" + +"Pshaw!" said Ann, "Aunty'll tell. She always counts. Then you don't +want a cookie?" + +"Well--later on--Cricky! here's some one coming! You scoot--pike it!" + +"I won't!" Ann stood her ground, peering eagerly around the rose bush. +"It's only Esther Coombe. She'll be coming to see Aunt--no--she's coming +here! Hi, Bubble, wake him up--quick!" + +"Hum, Hum!" said Bubble in a loud voice, rattling a chair. The sleeper +made no movement. + +Ann, brave through anxiety, flew across the room and shook him with all +the strength of her small hands. The heavy lids lifted and still +Ann shook. + +"Is it an earthquake?" asked the victim politely. + +"No--it's a patient! Oh, do get up. Oh, goodness gracious, look at your +hair!" + +The doctor passed his hand absently over a disordered head. "Yes," he +said, "I have always thought that shaking is not good for hair. Dear me! +I believe I have been asleep!" + +Ann threw him a glance of mingled admiration and reproach and vanished +through the parlour door just as the step of the patient sounded upon +the stone steps. + +"Why, Bubble Burk!" said a voice. "What are you doing here?" + +At the sound of the voice, sleep fled from the doctor's eyes. He arose +precipitately. + +"I'm workin'," Bubble's voice was not as confident as usual. "This here +is Dr. Callandar's office. Mrs. Sykes' visitors go round to the +front door." + +"Oh! But it's the doctor I wish to see. Is he in?" + +Bubble was now plainly agitated. + +"If you'll just wait a moment, I'll--I'll see." + +Leaving Esther smiling upon the steps he disappeared into the shaded +office and pulled up the blinds. The couch had been decorously +straightened. The office was empty! Bubble gave a sigh of relief and his +professional manner returned. + +"He isn't just what you might call in," he explained affably to Esther. +"But he'll be down directly. Walk in." + +Esther walked in and took the seat which Bubble indicated. + +"Somebody sick over at your house?" with ill-concealed hope. + +Esther dimpled. "Not dangerously, thank you." + +"Then it's just tickets for the choir concert. I might have known. But +you're too late. Doctor's got half a dozen already. He--" + +Further revelations were cut short by the entrance of the doctor +himself. A doctor with sleep-cleared eyes, fresh collar, and newly +brushed hair. A doctor who shook hands with his caller in a manner which +even the professional Bubble felt to be irreproachable. + +"Bubble, you may go." + +With a grin of satisfied pride the junior partner departed, but once +outside the gloomy expression returned. + +"It's only choir-tickets!" he told Ann, who was waiting around the +corner of the house. "Come on--let's go fishin'." + +Inside the office Esther and the doctor looked at each other and smiled. +He, because he felt like smiling; she, because she felt nervous. Yet it +was not going to be as awkward as she had feared. With a decided sense +of relief she realised that Dr. Callandar looked exactly like a doctor +after all! Convention, even in clothes, has a calming effect. There was +little of the weary tramp who had quenched his throat at the school +pump in the well groomed and quietly capable looking doctor. With a +notable decrease of tension Esther saw that the man before her was a +stranger, a pleasant, professional stranger, with whom no embarrassment +was possible. + +As for him he realised nothing except that Coombe was really a +delightful place. He felt glad that he had stayed. + +"No one ill, I hope, Miss Coombe?" His tone, even, seemed to have lost +the whimsical inflection of the tramp. + +"No, Doctor. Not ill exactly. It is Aunt Amy. We cannot understand just +what is the matter. You see, Aunty imagines things. She is not quite +like other people. Perhaps," with a quick smile as she thought of Mrs. +Sykes, "perhaps you may have heard of her--of her fantastic ideas? They +are really quite harmless and apart from them she is the most sensible +person I know. But lately, just the other day, something happened--" + +He checked her with an almost imperceptible gesture. "Could you tell me +about it from the beginning?" + +Esther looked troubled. "I do not know much about the beginning. You +see, Aunt Amy is my step-mother's aunt, and I have only known her since +she came to live with us shortly after my father's second marriage. But +I know that she has been subject to delusions since she was a young +girl. She was to have been married and on the wedding day her lover +became ill with scarlet fever, a most malignant type. She also sickened +with it a little later; it killed him and left her mentally twisted--as +she is now. Her health is good and the--strangeness--is not very +noticeable. It has usually to do with unimportant things. She is +really," with a little burst of enthusiasm, "a Perfect Dear!" + +The doctor smiled. "And the new development?" + +"It is not exactly new. She has always had one delusion more serious +than the others. She believes that she has enemies somewhere who would +do her harm if they got the chance. She is quite vague as to who or what +they are. She refers to them as 'They.' Once, when she came to us first, +she was frightened of poison and, although my father, who had great +influence over her, seemed to cure her of any active fear, for years she +has persisted in a curious habit of drinking her coffee without setting +down the cup. The idea seemed to be that if she let it out of her hands +'They,' the mysterious persecutors, might avail themselves of the +opportunity to drug it. Does it sound too fantastic?" + +"No. It is not unusual--a fairly common delusion, in fact. There is a +distinct type of brain trouble, one of whose symptoms is a conviction of +persecution. The results are fantastic to a degree." + +Well, the day before yesterday Aunt Amy was drinking her coffee as +usual, when she heard Jane scream in the garden. She is very fond of +Jane, and it startled her so that she jumped up at once, forgetting all +about the coffee, and ran out to see what was the matter. Jane had cut +her finger and the tiniest scratch upsets poor Auntie terribly. She is +terrified of blood. When she came back she felt faint and at once picked +up the cup and drank the remaining coffee. I hoped she had not noticed +the slip but she must have done so, subconsciously, for when I was +helping her with the dishes she turned suddenly white--ghastly. She had +just remembered! + +'They've got me at last, Esther!' she said with a kind of proud +despair. 'I've been pretty smart, but not quite smart enough.' + +I pretended not to understand and she explained quite seriously that +while she had been absent in the garden 'They' had seen her half-filled +cup and seized their opportunity. It was quite useless to point out that +there was no one in the house but ourselves. She only said, 'Oh, "They" +would not let me see them "They" are too smart for that.' Overwhelming +smartness is one of the attributes of the mysterious 'They.' + +"I hoped that the idea would wear away but it didn't; it strengthened. +In vain I pointed out that she was perfectly well, with no symptom of +poisoning. She merely answered that naturally 'They' would be too smart +to use ordinary poisons with symptoms. 'I shall just grow weaker and +weaker,' she said, 'and in a week or a month I shall die!' I tried to +laugh but I was frightened. Mother advised taking no notice at all and I +have tried not to, but I can't keep it up. She is certainly weaker and +so strange and hopeless. I am terrified. Can mind really affect matter, +Doctor Callandar?" + +"No. As a scientific fact, it cannot. But it is true that certain states +of mind and certain conditions of matter always correspond. Why this is +so, no one knows, when we do know we shall hold the key to many +mysteries. The understanding, even partial, of this correspondence will +be a long step in a long new road. Meanwhile we speak loosely of mind +influencing matter, ignoring the impossibility. And, however it happens, +it is undoubtedly true that if we can, by mental suggestion, influence +your Aunt's mind into a more healthy attitude the corresponding change +will take place physically." + +"But I have tried to reason with her." + +"You can't reason with her. She is beyond mere reason. I might as well +try to reason you out of your conviction that the sun is shining. A +delusion like hers has all the stability of a perfectly sane belief." + +"Then what can we do?" + +"Since that delusion is a fact for her we must treat it as if it were a +fact for us." + +"You mean we must pretend to believe that the danger is real?" + +"It is real. People have died before now of nothing save a fixed idea of +death." + +"Oh!" + +"But don't worry. Aunt Amy is not going to die. When may I see her? If I +come over in a half an hour will that be convenient?" + +Esther rose with relief. How kind he had been! How completely he had +understood! She had been right, perfectly right, in coming to him. In +spite of Mrs. Coombe's ridicule, Aunt Amy's need had been no fancy. And +there was another thing; he was coming to the house. Her mother would +see him--and presto! her prejudice against doctors would vanish--he +would cure the headaches, and everything would be happy again. + +The doctor, watching keenly, thought that she must have been troubled +greatly to show such evident relief. + +"One thing more," he said. "Was there, do you know, any history of +insanity in your aunt's family?" + +The girl paled. The idea was a disturbing one. + +"Why--no--I think not. I never heard. You see, she is not my Aunt, +really, but my step-mother's aunt. There was a brother, I think, who +died in--in an institution. He was not quite responsible, but in his +case it was drink. That is different, isn't it? Does it make any +difference?" + +"No--only it may help me to understand the case. Good-afternoon." + +He watched her go, through a peep-hole made by Bubble in the blind. + +"Pretty, isn't she?" said a reflective voice below him. + +The doctor started. But it was only Mrs. Sykes who had stepped around +the house corner to pluck some flowers from the bed beneath the window. +As he did not answer, the voice continued, "That boy Burk has gone +fishing. I told you you'd regret putting that new suit on to him, brass +buttons and all! Not that I want to say anything against the lad and his +mother a widow, but when a person's dealing with a limb of mischief a +person ought to know what to expect. Anybody sick over at +Esther's house?" + +The doctor, leaning against the door in deep reverie, did not seem to +hear. Mrs. Sykes, after a suspicious glance, decided that perhaps he +really had not heard, and proceeded. + +"Not that I'm asking out of curiosity, Land sakes! But I've got some +black currant jelly that sick folks fancy. I could spare a jar as +well as not." + +A pause. + +The flower picker bunched her flowers into a tight round knot which she +surveyed with pride. "That step-mother of Esther's now," she said. "I +don't hold much with her. Flighty, I call her. Delicate, too, if looks +don't lie. Men are queer. The only thing queerer is women. What d'ye +suppose a sensible middle-aged man like Doctor Coombe ever saw in that +pretty doll? And what did she see in him--old enough to be her father? A +queer match, I call it. But they do say that her side of it is easy +explained. Anyway it must have been a trying thing when the doctor's +gold mine didn't--" + +Mrs. Sykes' flow of words ceased abruptly, for rising from a last +descent upon the rose bush she saw that her audience had vanished. + +"Dear me! I hope he didn't think I was trying to be curious," said Mrs. +Sykes. + + + + +CHAPTER IX + + +It required some persuasion to induce Aunt Amy to consent to see the +doctor. Doctors, she had found (with the single exception of Dr. +Coombe), were terribly unreasonable. They asked all kinds of questions, +and never believed a word of the answers. + +"And if I have a doctor," she declared tearfully, "I shall have to go to +bed. And if I go to bed who will get supper? The sprigged tea-set--" + +"But you won't need to go to bed, Auntie. You aren't ill, you know; just +a little bit upset. If you feel like lying down why not use the sofa in +my room? And even if you do not wish to see the doctor for yourself," +Esther's tone was reproachful, "think what a good opportunity it is for +us to get an opinion about mother. Don't you remember saying just the +other day that you thought mother was foolish to be so nervous +about doctors?" + +"Yes, but she needn't stay in the room, need she, Esther? I don't want +her in the room. She laughs. But I would like to lie on your sofa and if +I must see him I had better wear my lavender cap." + +"Yes, dear, and you will not mind mother staying--" + +"But I do mind, Esther. And anyway she can't," triumphantly, "because +she has gone out." + +"Gone out? Mother? But she knew the doctor was coming and she +promised--" + +"Yes, I know. She said to tell you she had fully intended staying in +until the doctor had been, but she had forgotten about the Ladies' Aid +Meeting. She simply had to go to that. She said you could attend to the +doctor quite as well as she could and that it was all nonsense anyway, +because there was nothing whatever the matter with me." The faded eyes +filled with tears again and Esther had much ado to prevent their +imminent overflow. + +She settled Aunt Amy upon the couch and adjusted the lavender cap +without further betrayal of her own feelings, but in her heart she was +both angry and hurt. Her mother had known of the doctor's intended visit +and had distinctly promised to remain in to receive him. What would Dr. +Callandar think? It was most humiliating. + +The Ladies' Aid Meeting was plainly an excuse for a deliberate shirking +of responsibility. Or, worse still, Mrs. Coombe, divining Esther's +double motive, may have left the house purposely to escape seeing the +doctor on her own account. Esther well knew the stubbornness of which +she was capable upon this one question, and the cunningness of it was +like her. She had made no objections; she had not troubled to refuse or +to argue--she had simply gone out. + +Well, it was something to feel that she, Esther, had done what she +could. At any rate, there was no time to worry, for the doctor was +already coming up the walk. + +Esther hurried to the door. It relieved her to find that he seemed to +expect her, and showed no offence on realising that the patient's +nearest relative was not at home to receive him. Indeed, he seemed to +think of no one save the patient herself. His manner, Esther thought, +was perfect. Had she been a little older she might have suspected such +perfection, deducing from it that Callandar, like herself, was +subconsciously aware of an interest in the situation not altogether +professional. But the girl made no deductions and certainly there was no +trace of any embarrassment in the doctor's way with his patient. It took +only a moment for Esther to decide that here, at least, she had done the +right thing. She waited only long enough to see the frightened look in +Aunt Amy's eyes replaced by one of timid confidence and then, murmuring +an excuse, slipped away, leaving them together. + +Callandar also waited while the startled eyes grew quiet and then lifted +the fluttering hand into his own firm one. + +"Creatures of habit, we doctors, aren't we?" he said, smiling. "Always +taking people's temperatures." + +Aunt Amy ventured upon a vague answering smile. + +"I understand," continued the doctor, "that you have reason to fear that +you have been poisoned?" + +The hand began to flutter again, but quieted as the pleasant, confident +voice went on: + +"Your niece has told me something of the case but no details. Perhaps +you can supply them for me. When exactly did it happen and what kind of +poison was it?" + +The fluttering hand became quite still and the eyes of Aunt Amy slowly +filled with a great amazement. Here was an unbelievable thing--a doctor +who did not argue or deny or playfully scold her for "fancies." A doctor +who took her seriously and showed every intention of believing what she +said. No one, save Dr. Coombe, had ever done that-- + +"It is always best in these cases to get the details from the patient +herself," went on the doctor, encouragingly. + +No, he was not laughing! Aunt Amy could detect nothing save the gravest +of interest in his kindly eyes. An immense relief stole over her. A +relief so great that Callandar, watching, felt his heart grow hot +with pity. + +"Oh, doctor!" she cried feebly, "I--" a rush of easy tears drowned the +rest of the sentence. + +Callandar let her cry. He knew the value of those tears. Presently when +she grew more quiet he exchanged her soaking bit of cambric for his own +more serviceable square. Aunt Amy dried her eyes on it and handed it +back as simply as a child. + +"Pray excuse me," she begged, "but--the relief! I might have died if you +had not come." She went on brokenly. "You see," dropping her voice, "my +relatives are _queer_. They have strange ideas. When I know things quite +well they tell me I am mistaken. Mary, my niece, laughs. Even Esther, +who tries to help me, thinks I do not know what I am talking about. They +all argue in the most absurd manner. If I do not pretend always that I +agree with them I have no peace. Sometimes when I tell some of the +things I know, Esther looks frightened and says I am not to tell Jane. +So I try to keep everything to myself. I don't want the children to be +frightened. They are young and ought to be happy. I was happy when I was +young--at least, I think it was I. Sometimes I'm not sure whether it +wasn't some other girl--I get confused--" + +"Don't worry about it," said the doctor calmly. "Or about Miss Esther +either. I want to hear all about the poison." + +Aunt Amy remembered her precarious condition with a start. Her eyes grew +vague. + +"I don't know how They put it in," she said. "I didn't see Them, you +know. I left my cup of coffee standing while I went to find Jane. I +heard her crying. She had cut her finger and when I had bound it up I +felt faint, so I foolishly forgot and picked up the coffee and drank it. +I wasn't quite myself or I should never have been so careless." + +The doctor seemed to appreciate this point. "Did you taste anything in +the coffee?" he asked. + +"No. Of course They would be too clever for that!" + +"And when did you begin to feel ill?" + +"Just as soon as I remembered that I had forgotten to pour out a fresh +cup." The naïveté of this statement was quite lost upon the +eager speaker. + +Esther, who had re-entered the room, opened her lips to improve this +opportunity for argument but, meeting the doctor's eye, refrained. +Callandar took no notice of the significant admission. + +"Where do you feel the pain now?" he asked. + +Aunt Amy appeared disturbed. + +"Mostly in my head--I--I think." She moved restlessly. + +Callandar appeared to consider this. + +"But I suppose," he said thoughtfully, "that you really feel very little +actual pain. None at all perhaps?" + +Aunt Amy admitted that she could not locate any particular pain. + +"Weakness is the predominating symptom," went on the doctor. "It is, in +fact, a very simple case. All the more serious, of course, for being so +simple, _if_ we did not understand it. But now that we know exactly what +is wrong we need have no fear." + +Aunt Amy's vague eyes began to shine. + +"Shall we get the better of them again?" she asked eagerly. + +"We certainly shall," kindly. "Miss Esther, I am going to leave some +medicine for your aunt; these little pink tablets. She must have one +every two hours and two at bedtime. When she has taken them for two days +I shall send something else. You will notice an improvement almost at +once. Even in an hour or two, perhaps. By the end of the week all +medicine may be discontinued." + +He crushed a little pink tablet in a spoon, mixed it with water, and +watched the old lady while she eagerly swallowed it. + +"There!" he exclaimed. "That is the beginning! All we need now is a +little rest and quiet. Nothing to excite the patient and a tablet +regularly every two hours." He arose, affecting not to see Aunt Amy's +grateful tears. "And of course," he added as if by an afterthought, +"_They_ won't know anything about this. They will think that, having +taken the coffee, the result is certain. They will take for granted that +They have finished you, in fact! So cheer up, it is worth a little +illness to be rid of the fear of Them forever." + +A lightning flash of hope lit up the worn face upon the pillow. "Oh, +Doctor! Do you really think I am free?" + +"Sure of it." + +Aunt Amy sank back with a long sigh; her lined face grew suddenly +peaceful. Esther, who had observed the little scene with wonder, said +nothing, but taking the tablets, kissed her Aunt, and led the way out +in silence. + +"Well?" + +As they stood together in the hall she could see the amused twinkle in +the doctor's eye. + +"I don't like it! You lied to her!" + +"So I did," cheerfully. + +"These tablets," holding up the glass vial, "what are they?" + +"Tonic." + +"And the medicine which you are going to send later?" + +"More tonic." + +"But she thinks--you gave her to understand that they are the antidote +for the poison which you know does not exist." + +"No. They are the antidote for a poison which does exist--medicine for a +mind diseased." + +"It's--it's like taking advantage of a child." + +"So it is, exactly. I suppose you have never taken advantage of a child, +for the child's good?" + +"Certainly not." + +"Never told one, gave one to understand, so to speak, that a kiss will +cure a bumped head?" + +"That's different!" + +"Never told your school class during a thunderstorm that lightning never +hurts good children?" + +"That's very different." + +"And yet all the time you know that lightning falls upon the just and +unjust equally." + +Esther was silent. The doctor laughed. + +"I fear we are both sad story-tellers," he said gaily. "But in Aunt +Amy's case the fibbing will all be charged to my account, you are merely +the nurse. A nurse's duty is to obey orders and not frown (as you are +doing now) upon the doctor. You will find that I shall effect a cure. +Seriously, I do not believe that you have any idea of what that poor +woman has been suffering. If the delusion of living in continual danger +can be lifted in any way even for a time, it will make life over for +her. You would not really allow a scruple to prevent some alleviation of +your Aunt's condition, would you?" + +The girl's downcast eyes flashed up to his, startlingly blue. + +"No. I would not. I love her. I would tell all the fibs in the world to +help her. But all the time I should have a queer idea that _I_ was doing +wrong. It would be common sense against instinct." + +"Against prejudice," he corrected. "The prejudice which always insists +that truth consists in a form of words." + +They were now in the cool green light of the living room. Esther stood +with her back to the table, leaning slightly backward, supporting +herself by one hand. She looked tired. There were shadows under her +eyes. The doctor felt an impulse of irritation against the absent mother +who let the girl outwear her strength. + +"My advice to you is not to worry," he said abruptly. "You are tired. +More tired than a young girl of your age ought to be. You cannot teach +those imps of Satan--I mean those charming children--all day and come +back to home cares at night. Will it be possible for me to speak to Mrs. +Coombe before I go?" + +Watching her keenly he saw that now he had touched the real cause of the +trouble. + +"I am sorry," began Esther, but meeting his look, the prim words of +conventional excuse halted. A little smile curled the end of her lips +and she added, "Since she went out purposely to escape you, it is +not likely." + +"Your mother went out to escape me?" in surprise. + +"In your capacity of doctor only. You see," with a certain childish +naïveté, "she hasn't seen you yet. And mother dislikes doctors very +much. Oh!" with a hot blush, "you will think we are a queer family, +all of us!" + +"It is not at all queer to dislike doctors," he answered her cheerfully. +"I dislike them myself. At the very best they are necessary evils." + +"Indeed no! And when one is ill it seems so foolish--" + +"Is Mrs. Coombe ill?" + +"I don't know. I think so. She has headaches. She is not at all like +herself. I hoped so much that you would meet her this afternoon, and +then she--she went out!" + +"And this is really what is troubling you, and not Aunt Amy?" + +"Yes. You see, Aunt Amy has been quite all right until the last two +days. But mother--that has been troubling us a long time." + +"How long?" + +"Almost since father died--a year ago." + +"But--don't you think that if Mrs. Coombe were really ill her prejudice +would disappear? People do not suffer from choice, usually." + +"No. That is just what puzzles me!" She did indeed look puzzled, very +puzzled and very young. + +"If I could help you in any way?" suggested Callandar. "You may be +worrying quite needlessly." + +"Do people ever consult you about their mothers behind their mother's +back?" + +"Often. Why not?" + +"Only that it doesn't seem natural. Grown-up people--" + +"Are often just as foolish as anybody else!" + +"Besides, I doubt if I can make you understand." Now that the ice was +broken Esther's voice was eager. "I know very little of the real trouble +myself. It seems to be just a general state of health. But it varies so. +Sometimes she seems quite well, bright, cheerful, ready for anything! +Then again she is depressed, nervous, irritable. She has desperate +headaches which come on at intervals. They are nervous headaches, she +says, and are so bad that she shuts herself up in her room and will not +let any of us in. She will not eat. I--I don't know very much about +it, you see." + +"You know a little more than that, I think, perhaps when you know me +better?--It is, after all, a matter of trusting one's doctor." + +"I do trust you. But feelings are so difficult to put into words. And +the greatest dread I have about mother's illness is only a feeling, a +feeling as if I knew, without quite knowing, that the trouble is deeper +than appears. Jane feels it too, so it can't be all imagination. It is +caused, I think, by a change in mother herself. She seems to be growing +into another person--don't laugh!" + +"I am not laughing. Please go on." + +"Well, one thing more tangible is that the headaches, which seem to mark +a kind of nervous crisis, are becoming more frequent. And the +medicine--" + +"But you told me that she took no medicine!" + +"Did I? Then I am telling my story very badly. She has some medicine +which she always takes. It is a prescription which my father gave her a +few months before he died. She had a bad attack of some nervous trouble +then which seems to have been the beginning of everything. But that time +she recovered and it was not until after father's death that the +headaches began again. Father's prescription must, long ago, have lost +all effect, or why should the trouble get worse rather than better? But +mother will not hear a word on the subject. She will take that medicine +and nothing else." + +"Do you know what the medicine is?" + +"No. Father used to fill it for her himself. She says it is a very +difficult prescription and she never has it filled in town, always in +the city." + +"But why? Taylor, here, is quite capable of filling any prescription. He +is a most capable dispenser." + +"Yes--I know. But mother will not believe it." + +"And you say it does her no good whatever?" + +"She thinks that it does. She has a wonderful belief in it. But she gets +no better." + +The doctor looked very thoughtful. + +"She will not allow you to try any kind of compress for her head?" + +"No. She locks her door. And I am sure she suffers, for sometimes when I +have gone up hoping to help I have heard such strange sounds, as if she +were delirious. It frightens me!" + +"Does she talk of her illness?" + +"Never, and she is furious if I do. She says she is quite well and +indeed no one would think that anything serious was wrong unless they +lived in the house. Any one outside would be sure that I am worrying +needlessly. Am I, do you think?" + +"I can't think until I know more. But from what you tell me, it looks as +if this medicine she is taking might have something to do with it. If it +does no good, it probably does harm. Perhaps it was never intended to +be used as she is using it. Otherwise, as you say, the attacks would +diminish. At the same time a blind faith in a certain medicine is not at +all uncommon. One meets it constantly. Also the prejudice against +consulting a physician. It is probable that Mrs. Coombe does not realise +that she is steadily growing worse. Could you let me examine the +medicine?" + +Esther hesitated. + +"It is kept locked up. But, I might manage it. If I asked her for it she +would certainly refuse. I--I should hate to steal it," miserably. + +"I see. Well, try asking first. It is just a question of how far one has +the right to interfere with another's deliberately chosen course of +action. The medicine is probably injurious, even dangerous. I should +warn her, at least. If she will do nothing and you still feel +responsible I should say that you have a moral right to have your own +mind reassured upon the matter." + +Esther smiled. "I believe I feel reassured already. Perhaps I have been +foolishly apprehensive and it never occurred to me that the medicine +might be at fault; at the worst I thought it might be useless, not +harmful. If I could only manage to have you see it without _taking_ it! +There must be a way. I'll think of something and let you know." + +"Do." The doctor picked up his hat for the second time. He was genuinely +interested. He had not expected to find a problem of any complexity in +sleepy Coombe. The cases of Aunt Amy and the peculiar Mrs. Coombe seemed +to justify his staying on. It was pleasant also to help this charming +young girl--although that, naturally, was a secondary consideration! + +Esther ran upstairs with a lightened heart. + + + + +CHAPTER X + + +"I really could not help being late, Esther! I tried to hurry them but +Mrs. Lewis was there. You know what _she_ is!" + +Mrs. Coombe sank gracefully into a veranda chair. Out of the corners of +her eyes she cast a swift glance at the face of her step-daughter and, +as the girl was not looking, permitted herself a tiny smile of malicious +amusement. She was a small woman but one in whom smallness was charm and +not defect. Once she had been exceedingly pretty; she was moderately +pretty still. The narrow oval of her face remained unspoiled but the +small features, once delicately clear, appeared in some strange way to +be blurred and coarsened. The fine grained skin which should have been +delicate and firm had coarsened also and upon close inspection showed +multitudes of tiny lines. Her fluffy hair was very fair, ashy fair +almost, and would have been startlingly lovely only that it, too, was +spoiled by a dryness and lack of gloss which spoke of careless treatment +or ill health, or both. Still, at a little distance, Mary Coombe +appeared a young and attractive woman. The surprise came when one looked +into her eyes. Her eyes did not fit the face at all; they were old eyes, +tired yet restless, and clouded with a peculiar film which robbed them +of all depth. Curiously disturbing eyes they were, like windows with +the blinds down! + +If her eyes were restless, her hands were restless too and she kept +snapping the catch of her hand-bag with an irritating click as +she spoke. + +"I know I ought to have been here when the doctor called to see Amy," +she went on, "but I could not get away. Mrs. Lewis talked and talked. +That woman is worse than Tennyson's brook. She makes me want to scream! +I wonder," musingly, "what would happen if I should jump up some day and +scream and scream? I think I'll try it." + +"Do!" + +"What did Doctor Paragon-what's-his-name say about Amy?" + +"He thinks we have been treating Aunt Amy wrongly. He thinks she should +be humoured more. His name is Callandar." + +"Callandar? What an odd name! It sounds half-familiar. I must have heard +it somewhere. There is a Dr. Callandar in Montreal, isn't there? A +specialist or something." + +"I think this is the same man. But if it is he, doesn't want it known. +He is here for his health, and he has never taken the trouble to correct +the impression that he is a beginner working up a practice. I thought so +myself at first." + +"At first?" + +"When I first saw him. I have met him several times." + +Mrs. Coombe was evidently not sufficiently interested to pursue the +subject. "Whoever he is," she said fretfully, "I hope he is not going to +allow Amy to fancy herself an invalid." + +"He is going to cure the fancy." + +"Oh!" dubiously. "Well, I hope he does! I find I must run over to +Detroit for a few days." + +"What?" + +"It would be provoking to have her ill while I'm away. No one else can +manage Jane properly while you're at school. Where is Jane?" + +"I don't know. You are not speaking seriously, are you?" + +"I certainly am. At a pinch I suppose I could take Jane with me. She +needs new clothes. But I'd rather not bother with her. Her measure will +do quite as well. I wish you would call her. I've got some butterscotch +somewhere. Here it is." The restless hands fumbled in the hand-bag. "No, +it isn't here, how odd! I promised Jane--" + +"Mother, when did you decide to go away?" + +"Some time ago. It doesn't matter, does it? I had a letter from Jessica +Bremner to-day. She asks me to come at once. It's in this bag somewhere. +I declare I never can find anything! Anyway, she wants me to come." + +"When did you get the letter?" + +"On the noon mail, of course." + +Esther turned away. She knew very well that there had been no letter +from Detroit on the noon mail. But there seemed no use in saying so. +These little "inaccuracies" were becoming common enough. At first Esther +had exposed and laughed at them as merely humorous mistakes; but that +attitude had long been replaced by a cold disgust which did not scruple +to call things by their right names. She knew very well that Mary Coombe +had developed the habit of lying. + +"You see," went on the prevaricator cheerfully, "it would be necessary +to run down to Toronto soon anyway. I haven't a rag fit to wear and +neither has Jane. But Detroit is better. Things are much cheaper across +the line. And easy as anything to smuggle. All you need to do is to wear +them once and swear they're old." + +"An oath is nothing? But where is the money coming from?" + +Mrs. Coombe shrugged her shoulders. "One can't get along without +clothes! And even if I could, there is another reason for the trip. My +medicine is almost finished. I can't risk being without that." + +It was the opportunity for which Esther had waited. She spoke eagerly. + +"Why not try getting it filled here? I'm sure they are as careful as +possible at Taylor's." + +The hand-bag shut with a particularly emphatic click. Mrs. Coombe rose. + +"We have discussed that before," she said coldly. "It is a very +particular prescription and hard to fill. As it means so much to me in +my wretched health to have it exactly right, I am surprised at +you, Esther!" + +Esther put the surprise aside. + +"You could get it by mail, couldn't you?" + +"I shall not try to get it by mail." + +"But Taylor's are absolutely reliable. Why not give them a chance? If it +is not satisfactory I shall never say another word. It seems so +senseless going to Detroit for a few drugs which may be had around the +corner. Perhaps it is not as difficult to fill as you think. Let me show +the prescription to Dr. Callandar--" She stopped suddenly for Mrs. +Coombe had grown white, a pasty white, and she broke in upon the girl's +suggestion with a little inarticulate cry of rage, so uncalled for, so +utterly unexpected, that Esther was frightened. For a moment the film +seemed brushed from the hazel eyes--the blinds were raised and angry +fear peeped out. + +"You wouldn't dare!" The words were a mere breath. Then meeting the +girl's look of blank amazement she caught herself from the brink of +hysteria and added more calmly, "What an impossible suggestion! I need +no second opinion upon the remedy which your father prescribed for me +and I shall take none. As for the journey, I shall ask your advice when +I wish it. At present I am capable of managing my own affairs. I shall +come and go as I like." + +The would-be firm voice wavered wrathed badly toward the end of this +defiance, but the widely opened eyes were still shining and as she +turned to enter the house, Esther caught a look in them, a gleam of +something very like hate. + +"So that is what comes of asking," said Esther sombrely. + +She did not follow her step-mother into the house but remained for a +while on the veranda, thinking. It was clearly useless to reopen the +subject of the prescription. For some reason Mrs. Coombe regarded it as +a fetish. She would not trust it to Taylor's. She would not allow a +doctor to see it; there remained only the suggestion of Dr. Callandar +that it be inspected without her consent. Esther knew where the +prescription was kept, but-- + +Women are supposed, by men, to have a defective sense of loyalty and it +is a belief fairly well established, also among men, that there is a +fundamental difference in the attitude of the sexes to that high thing +called honour. Esther was both loyal and honourable. To deceive her +step-mother, however good the motive, could not but be horrible to her +and just now, being angry with a very young and healthy anger, she was +less willing than ever to lose her own self-respect in the service of +Mary Coombe. + +"I won't!" said Esther firmly, and went in to prepare Aunt Amy's supper. + +"I don't feel like I ought to be eating upstairs this way," fussed the +invalid as Esther came in with the tray. "I am so much better. That +medicine the doctor gave me helped me right away. He must be a very +smart man, Esther." + +"It looks like it, Auntie." + +"I don't doubt I'll be around to-morrow just like he said. So I don't +want you staying home from school. That girl you get to take your place +is kind of cross with the children, isn't she?" + +"She is strict." + +"Well, don't get her. I don't like to think about the children being +scared out of their lives on my account. So I'll just get up as usual. I +could get up now if necessary. And my mind feels better." + +"Your _mind_?" Never before had Esther heard Aunt Amy refer to "her" +mind as being in any way troublesome. + +"Yes. I suppose you never knew, but sometimes I have felt a little +worried about my mind." + +"Whatever for?" The surprise which still lingered on the girl's voice +was balm to Aunt Amy's soul. She laughed nervously. + +"Of course it was foolish," she said, "but really there have been times +when I have felt--felt, I can hardly express it, but as if there were a +little something _wrong_, you know. Did you ever guess that I felt like +that, Esther?" + +"No, Auntie." + +Aunt Amy shivered. For a moment her faded eyes grew large and dark. "I'm +glad you did not guess it. It is a dreadful feeling, like night and +thunder and no place to go. A black feeling! I used to be afraid I might +get caught in the blackness and never find a way out and then--" + +"And then what, dear?" + +"Why, then--I'd be mad, Esther!" + +"Oh, darling, how awful!" Esther's warm young arms clasped the trembling +old creature close. "You must never, never be afraid again! Why didn't +you tell me and let me help?" + +"I couldn't. You would not have believed me. And it would have +frightened you. And you might have told Mary. If Mary knew of it she +would be certain to be frightened and if she was frightened she would +send me away. Then the darkness would get me." + +"It never shall, Auntie. No one shall ever send you away! And you won't +be afraid any more, will you?" + +"No, not if you don't keep telling me that things I know aren't true. I +know they are true, you see, but when you say they aren't it makes my +head go round." + +"We'll be more careful, dear! And here is your medicine before you have +your supper." + +Aunt Amy turned cheerfully to the supper tray. + +"Your mother need not be told about it," she observed. "She wouldn't +understand. She was in a while ago to say she hoped I'd be better in the +morning. She is going to the city. What she came for was to ask me to +lend her my ruby ring. She never understands why I can't lend it to her. +I told her she might have the string of pearls and the pearl brooch and +the ring with the little diamonds and anything else except the ruby. +You see, I might die before she got back, and I couldn't die without the +ruby ring on my finger. I promised somebody--I can't remember whom--" + +"I know, dear, don't try to remember." + +"Mary says it is shameful waste to leave it lying shut up in the box in +my drawer. But it has to lie there. If I took it out now it would stop +shining immediately. And it must be all red and bright when I die, like +a shining star in the dark. Then, afterwards, you can have it, Esther. +You don't mind waiting, do you?" + +"Gracious! I hope I'll be an old woman before then! So old that I shan't +care for ruby rings at all." + +Aunt Amy looked at the girl's pretty hand wistfully. "I'd like to give +it to you right now, Esther. But you know how it is. I can't. If the red +star did not shine I might lose my way. Some one told me--" + +"I know, Auntie. I quite understand. And you have given me so many +pretty things that I don't need the ruby." + +"You may have anything else you want. But of course the ruby is the +loveliest of all. If I could only remember who gave it to me--" + +"Perhaps you always had it," suggested Esther, hastily, for she knew +quite well the tragic history of the ruby. + +"Perhaps. But I don't think so. I love it but I never dare to look at +it. It makes the blackness come so near. Does it make you feel +that way?" + +"No--I don't know--large jewels often give people strange feelings they +say." + +"Do they?" hopefully. "Go and look at it now. Don't lift it out of the +box. Just open the lid and look in. Perhaps you will feel something." + +Esther went obediently to the drawer where the beautiful jewel had lain +ever since Aunt Amy's arrival. As no one outside knew of its existence +it was considered quite safe to keep it in the house. The box lay in a +corner under a spotless pile of sweet smelling handkerchiefs. Esther +snapped open the lid of the case and looked in. She looked close, closer +still, bending over the open drawer-- + +"Do you feel anything, Esther?" + +The girl's answer came, after a second's pause, in a strained voice. +"The drawer is so dark, I can't tell!" + +"Take it to the window," said Aunt Amy. + +Esther lifted the case from the drawer and carried it into a better +light. Her eyes were panic-stricken. For her indecision had been only a +ruse to give herself time to think. She had known the moment she opened +the case that the ruby was gone! + +"It does make me feel queer," she said, closing the case. "I'll put it +away." + +"Is it a black feeling?" with interest. + +"I think it is." + +"Then you are kin to it," said Aunt Amy sagely. "Your mother never has +any feeling about it at all. Except that she would like to wear it. She +was looking at it when she was in. She was as cross as possible when I +told her she could not take it with her." + +Esther gathered up the tea things without a word. Her curved mouth was +set in a hard red line. At the door she paused and turning back as if +upon impulse, said: "If it makes you feel like that, I would advise you +not to look at it, Auntie. It will be quite safe. I'll see to that. I'll +appoint myself 'Guardian of the Ring.'" + + + + +CHAPTER XI + + +Esther carried the tea-tray into the kitchen and stood for a moment +beside the open window letting the sweet air from the garden cool the +colour in her cheeks. Through the doorway into the hall she could see +into the living room where Jane sat at the table in a little yellow pool +of lamplight, busy with her school home work. Farther back, near the +dusk of one of the veranda windows, Mrs. Coombe reclined in an easy +chair. Her eyes were closed; in the half light she looked very pretty, +very fragile; her relaxed pose suggested helplessness. Unconsciously +Esther's innate strength answered to the call; her hard gaze softened. +To apply the terms liar and thief to that dainty figure in the chair +seemed little short of brutality. Mary was weak, that was +all--just weak! + +At the sound of the girl's step in the doorway Mrs. Coombe opened her +eyes. They were very filmy to-night, blank, contented. Her nervousness +seemed to have left her. Perhaps she was half asleep, for she yawned, an +open, ugly yawn, which she did not trouble to raise her hand to hide. + +"I have decided to take Jane with me, Esther." + +"I don't want to go," said Jane. + +"Well, you are going--that's enough." + +"If you have really decided to go," began Esther slowly, "I think you +are wise to take Jane. We cannot tell yet just how Aunt Amy may be." + +The child returned to her book with a discontented sigh. Esther came +nearer and spoke in a lower tone. "But before you go," she said, "please +don't forget to replace Aunt Amy's ring. If she were to find it gone it +would be no joke but a serious shock, as I suppose you know." + +Mrs. Coombe laughed. And Esther realised that a laugh was the last thing +she had expected. For anger, evasion, denial, she had been prepared. +Mary would probably storm and bluster in her ineffective way--and return +the ring. Instead-- + +"How did you know I had it?" she asked good humouredly. + +"I saw that it was gone." + +"And the deduction was obvious? Well, this time you are right. I did +take it. I expect I have a right to borrow my own Aunt's things if she +is too mean to lend them. It's a shame of her to want to keep the only +decent jewel we have shut up. Amy gets more selfish every day." + +"But you will put it back before she misses it?" + +Mrs. Coombe could see her step-daughter's face quite plainly and its +expression made her wince, but she was reckless to-night. After all, why +pretend? If Esther intended to eternally interfere with her affairs the +sooner an open break came, the better. + +"Perhaps, perhaps not. Certainly not until I return from my visit." + +Esther fought down her rising dismay. + +"Mother, don't you understand what you are doing? The ring is Aunt Amy's +You have no right to take it!" + +"I've a right if I choose to make one." + +"If Auntie finds out it is not in its box, we cannot tell what the +effect may be!" + +"She needn't find out. What she doesn't know won't hurt her!" + +"But--it is stealing!" + +Mrs. Coombe laughed. "What a baby you are, Esther, for all your solemn +eyes and grown-up airs. Stealing--the idea! Anyway you need not worry +since you are not the thief." She yawned again, rose, and declared that +she felt quite tired enough to go to bed. + +When she had gone, Jane left her lessons and came to her sister's side. + +"Esther, do I really have to go away with Mother?" + +"It looks like it, Janie. But you'll like it. Mrs. Bremner has a little +girl." + +"I don't like little girls." + +"Then you ought to! The change will probably do you good." + +Jane looked dubious. "Things that I don't want never do me any good. +Will you help me with my 'rithmetic?" + +"I will when I come back." + +"Where're you going?" + +"Out. I'll not be long. Answer Aunt Amy's bell if it rings, like a dear +child." + +Esther's decision had been made, as many important decisions are, +suddenly, and without conscious thought. All the puzzling over what was +right and wrong seemed no longer necessary. Without knowing why, she +knew that it had become imperative to get some good advice and get it at +once. If she had been disturbed and uneasy before, she was frightened +now. Something must be done, if not for Mary's sake at least for the +sake of the honoured name she bore, and for Jane's sake! + +"Mother doesn't seem to _know_ when a thing is wrong any more!" was the +burden of the girl's thought as she hurried upstairs. + +She knew where the prescription was kept--in a little drawer of her +father's old desk, a drawer supposed to be secret. To-morrow Mary would +take it away with her. Esther opened the drawer without allowing herself +a moment for thought or regret. The paper was there, folded, in its +usual place. + +With a sigh of relief she seized it, hurried to her own room for her hat +and then out into the summer night. A brisk five minute walk brought her +to Mrs. Sykes' gate, and there, for the first time, she hesitated. + +"Evening, Esther!" called Mrs. Sykes cheerfully from the veranda. "Come +right along in. Mrs. Coombe told Ann you might be over to borrow the +telescope valise if she decided to take Jane. Rather sudden, her going +away, isn't it? Hadn't heard a word about it until the Ladies' Aid--come +up and sit on the veranda and I'll get it." + +"I didn't come for the telescope," said Esther. "I came to see Dr. +Callandar." + +"Oh," with renewed interest. "Well, he's in. At least he's in unless he +went out while I was upstairs putting Ann to bed. That's his consulting +room where the light is. It's got a door of its own so folks won't be +tramping up the hall--but of course you know. You were here this +afternoon. Funny, Mrs. Coombe going away with your poor Auntie sick and +all! I suppose it _is_ your Auntie, since it can't be Jane or +Mrs. Coombe?" + +"Yes, it is Aunt Amy. She has not been very well." + +"The heat, likely. Heat is hard on folks with weak heads. Not that your +Auntie's head ever seems weaker than lots of other folks. Won't you come +up and sit awhile?--Well, ring the bell." + +Mrs. Sykes voice trailed off indistinctly as Esther rounded the veranda +corner and stood by the rose bush before the doctor's door. She pushed +the new electric bell timidly. + +"You'll have to push harder than that!" called Mrs. Sykes. "It sticks +some!" + +But the door had opened at once, letting out a flood of yellow light. + +"Miss Coombe--you?" + +"It's Esther Coombe come about her Aunt Amy," called the voice from the +veranda. + +Hastily the doctor drew her in and closed the door with an emphatic +bang. Then for the second time that day they looked into each other's +eyes and laughed. + +"Do you think my patients will stand that?" he asked her ruefully. + +"Oh, we are used to Mrs. Sykes, we don't mind." + +"That's good! Ah, I see you have the mysterious prescription. It wasn't +so hard after all, was it? Probably your mother was quite as anxious +as you." + +"No, she refused to let me show it you. I took it. To-night was the only +chance, for she is going away to-morrow and will take it with her." + +"And how about your Presbyterian conscience?" Still with a twinkle. + +"Silenced, for the present. But look at it quickly for the silence may +not last. It seemed that I simply had to help mother, in spite of +herself. And there was no other way. All the same I shall despise myself +when I get time to think." + +The doctor took the paper with a smile. "When that time comes I shall +argue with you, though argument rarely affects feeling. To my mind you +are doing an eminently sensible thing." + +He opened the paper and peered at it under the lamp; looked quickly up +at the girl's eager face and then from her to the paper again. + +"What is it?" she asked anxiously. + +"Why--I don't know. Where did you get this?" + +"In the secret drawer of father's desk." + +"Was the prescription always kept there?" + +"Yes." + +The doctor folded the paper again and handed it to her. "Does this look +like the prescription?" + +"Yes, of course. It is the prescription." + +"I'm afraid not. Come and look." + +Esther seized the paper eagerly and saw--a neatly written recipe for +salad dressing! + +Hot and cold with mortification, she stared at it blankly. "I have been +nicely fooled," she said in a low voice. + +"Am I permitted to smile, or would it hurt your feelings?" + +"It is not at all funny! Of course the real prescription has been +removed. She must have suspected. You see, I asked her to let me have +it. Oh!" with sudden shame and anger. "She guessed that I might take it, +don't you see?" + +"I am afraid you are right. But now at least I should think that you +have done your whole duty. It would look as if Mrs. Coombe was herself +aware of the inadvisability of continuing this prescription. Why else +should she be so careful to prevent you showing it to me? At the same +time she is determined to go on using it. We cannot prevent her." + +"Can we do nothing?" + +"When I see her I shall be better able to judge." + +"But she is going away." + +"Then we must wait. If it is, as I suspect, a case of disordered nerves +aggravated by improper treatment, the instinct is strongly for +concealment. Do you find, for instance, that Mrs. Coombe is not as frank +in other matters as she used to be?" + +A shamed blush crimsoned the girl's cheek, but the doctor's tone was +compelling and she answered in a low voice: "Yes, I think so." + +"Don't look like that. It is only a symptom of something rotten in the +nervous system." + +"Isn't there such a thing as character?" bluntly. + +"As distinct from the nervous system? Some say not. But we do not need +to venture such a devastating belief to know, well, that a dyspeptic is +usually disagreeable. In potential character he may be equal to the +cheeriest man who ever ate a hearty dinner. Think of Carlyle." + +"I don't like Carlyle." + +"But don't you admire him?" + +"No. Do you remember the story of the beggar who picked up his hat one +day and instead of giving him sixpence, Carlyle said, 'Mon, ye may say +ye hae picked up the hat of Thomas Carlyle.'" + +The doctor laughed. "Oh he had a guid conceit o' himself--must you go?" +For Esther had risen. + +"Yes, thank you. Oh, please do not come with me. It is only a step. I'd +much rather not. Mrs. Sykes would conclude that the whole family were in +danger of immediate extinction." + +She was so evidently perturbed that the doctor laid down his hat, but +for the first time it occurred to him that Mrs. Sykes was not an +unmixed blessing. + +Esther was holding out her hand. + +"Then you think we can safely leave it until mother returns?" + +"I think we shall have to, and if things have been going on as long as +you think, a week more or less will make no very material difference. In +any case we cannot examine a lady by force or prevent her from getting a +prescription until one knows it to be dangerous." + +"No, of course not. Good-night, and--thank you, Doctor!" + +"And I am not to be allowed to walk home with you?" + +"Truly, I would rather not." + +"Then good-night, and don't worry." + +He watched her flit down the dusky path, heard the click of the gate +latch, and turned back into the office to wonder why it seemed suddenly +bare and empty! + + + + +CHAPTER XII + + +Mrs. Coombe had been in the city a week when one morning Ann, who was +feeling lonely without Jane, sat swinging upon the five-barred gate and +whistling intermittently for Bubble. She had become very tired of +waiting. She knew that Bubble could hear. The five-barred gate was +within easy hearing distance of the house, and both doors and windows of +the office were open. Therefore it became each moment more evident that +the whistles were being deliberately ignored. + +"Horrid, nasty boy!" exclaimed Ann, climbing to a precarious seat on the +highest of the five bars. "Well, if he waits until I come to get him, +he'll--just wait!" + +It was very hot on the gate. The vacant field on the other side, where +the Widow Peel pastured her cow, was hot, too, but if one cut across the +field and circled the back of the Widow Peel's cottage one substantially +lessened the distance between oneself and the cool deliciousness of the +river. The Widow Peel was near-sighted and hardly ever noticed one +rushing over her beds of lettuce and carrots and onions, or if she did, +she could not "fit a name to 'em." + +Ann sighed and swung her brown legs. Should she or should she not go in +search of Bubble? Going would mean a distasteful swallowing of proper +pride; not going would mean--no Bubble. It would be a case of cutting +off one's nose--Ann's small white teeth came together with a +little click. + +"I'll go. But I'll pay him out afterwards." + +With this thoroughly feminine decision she tumbled off the gate, raced +across the orchard and, having paused a moment to regain breath and +poise, appeared casually at the office door. The office looked cool and +empty; Bubble was not upon his official stool. Perhaps, after all, he +had not heard the whistles! Perhaps-- + +"What d'ye want?" asked a gruff voice from behind the desk. + +Ann jumped, and then tried to look as if she hadn't. + +"I knew you were there!" she said. "But just you wait till the doctor +catches you at it!" Mounting the step she frowned across at Bubble who, +in the doctor's favourite attitude, was reclining in the doctor's chair. +"I suppose you think you look like him, but you don't, nor act like him +either. If he was sitting there and a lady came in, he'd be up too quick +for anything. And if the lady was polite and stayed on the doorstep +(just like I am) he would say, 'Pray come in, madam,' and then he'd set +a chair and--" + +"Oh, cut it out!" Bubble's dignity collapsed with his attitude. The +tilted chair came down with a bang and its occupant settled himself more +naturally upon a corner of the desk. "Don't bother me! I can't come out. +Doctor's away. Some one's got to attend to business. See those +medicines? Well, don't you go handling them! This here is for Lizzie +Stephens (measles), and that there is for Mrs. Nixon (twins). If they +got mixed I'd be responsible. Run away!" + +"Where's the doctor?" asked Ann, ignoring. + +"The doctor is out. You needn't wait. He won't be back all day." + +"Where'd he go?" + +"Little girls mustn't ask questions!" + +Ann's small face wrinkled into an elfish grin. "I know where he's gone," +she said slyly. + +"Yes, you do!" This sarcastic comment was Bubble's most emphatic +negative. + +"Very well, then, I don't." + +Not to be outdone, Ann volunteered no further information. She sat down +on the step and waited. + +Bubble busied himself with tying up the bottles. Presently he stepped +out from behind the desk. + +"Think you can mind the office while I run around with these medicines?" +he asked sternly. + +"Sure!" Ann's assent was placid. + +"What'll you say if any one comes and asks for the doctor--or me?" + +"You're out delivering medicines and the doctor's been called away very +sudden." + +"What'll you tell them if they ask you what he's been called away to?" + +"Oh, I'll just say they needn't worry, 'tisn't anything catching." + +Bubble allowed his face to relax. He even displayed a grudging +admiration for this feminine diplomacy. + +"And you wouldn't be telling lies, either," he remarked approvingly. +"All the same," with a return to gloom, "we can't keep it a secret. +Folks are bound to find out. You can bet your eyes on that!" + +Ann nodded. "I expect most of them know by now. Any one that wanted to +could see them. _He_ didn't seem to care. They drove right down the main +street and you could see the picnic basket sticking out at the side!" + +"O cricky! Isn't that just like him? You'd think he wanted the whole +town to know he'd gone off picnicking with a girl. But I'd have thought +Esther Coombe would have better sense!" + +"It wasn't Esther's fault. She couldn't act as if she was ashamed of +him, could she? When a gentleman asks a lady to go out in his automobile +she can't ask him to drive down the back streets." + +"If he had only taken her at night!" groaned the harassed junior +partner. "But no, he must take a whole day off and him with two patients +on his hands. Look at me! Have I ever asked off to go on any picnics? +Not on your tintype. Business is business. Doctors can't fool round like +other folks." + +Ann nodded agreement. Things were coming her way very nicely. She +glanced at the wrathy Bubble out of the corners of her eyes. "I didn't +think he'd be mean like that," she remarked craftily. + +"Like what? He isn't mean!" + +"To make you stay in all day." + +"He didn't. Not him! He gave me fifty cents and told me to take a day +off. 'Just run around with the medicine, Bubble,' says he, 'and then you +can hike it. I have a feeling in my bones,' he says, 'that nobody's +going to die to-day.'" + +"Well, then--" + +"A man has a sense of duty for all that." + +"Well," rising with a dejected air, "if you're not coming, good-bye. It +will be lovely paddling! Aunt's given me some lettuce sandwiches and two +apple turnovers. One was for you, but I suppose I can eat them both. The +sugar's leaked all round the edge--lovely!" + +The stern disciple of business watched her tie on her sun-bonnet with +mingled feelings. It began to look as if she was really going! + +"Good-bye," said Ann. + +Bubble's red face grew a shade redder. + +"Just like a girl!" he said bitterly. "Because a man's got to deliver +two medicine bottles, off she goes and won't wait for him. And the +farthest I've got to go is over to Mrs. Nixon's. The whole thing won't +take five minutes." + +Sun-bonnets are splendid things for hiding the face! Had Bubble seen +that slow smile of victory there is no telling what might have happened. +But he did not see it. And Ann was too good a general to exult openly. +Her answer was carefully careless. "I'll wait--if you'll hurry up!" + +But the look which she threw after his hastily retreating figure was as +old as Eve. + +Meanwhile the doctor and Esther, who had been so criminally careless of +professional appearances as to drive down Main Street with a picnic +basket protruding, were enjoying themselves with an enjoyment peculiar +to careless people. Esther had forgotten about the pile of uncorrected +school exercises which were supposed to form her Saturday's work; the +doctor had forgotten about the measles and the twins. Rain had fallen in +the night and the dust was laid, the trees were intensely green. + +Neither of them knew exactly how this pleasant thing had come about, +although, as a matter of crude fact, Mrs. Sykes had played the part of +the god from the machine. This energetic lady had made the doctor's +professional career her peculiar care and it had occurred to her that, +as a resident physician, he was disgracefully ignorant of the +surrounding country. At the same moment she had remembered that +to-morrow was Saturday, and that for trapesing the country and +meandering around in outlandish places there was no one in town equal to +Esther Coombe. + +"But," objected the doctor, "I hardly know Miss Coombe well enough to +ask a favour of her." + +Mrs. Sykes opined that that didn't matter. "Land sakes," she declared, +"it would be a nice state of affairs if one huming-being couldn't do a +kindness to another without being acquainted a year or two." Besides, +Esther, as the old doctor's daughter, might almost be said to have a +duty toward the newcomer. Mrs. Sykes felt sure that Dr. Coombe would +have insisted upon proper attentions being shown, since he was always +"the politest man you ever saw, and terrible nice to strangers." + +Mrs. Sykes also, with the assistance of Aunt Amy, had provided the large +basket. They might not need it all, but then again they might. It was +best to be prepared. And, anyway, no one should ever say that she, Mrs. +Sykes, "skimped" her boarders' meals. As for the big shawl, once +belonging to a venerated ancestress, it is always safe to take a big +shawl on a country trip even in June heat with the thermometer going up. + +The doctor agreed to everything, even the shawl. Whether one is taking a +rest cure or not, it is distinctly pleasant to look forward to a day in +the country with a lovely girl. Esther had taken his request quite +simply. It seemed only natural to her that he should wish to explore, +while the invitation to act as guide was frankly welcomed. Indeed her +girlish gaiety in the prospect had shown very plainly that such holidays +had been rare of late. School did not "keep" on Saturday, Jane was away, +and Aunt Amy was so much better that she could leave her without +misgiving. Bubble alone prophesied disaster, and at him they +all laughed. + +There is a little folder published by the Town Council which gives a +very good idea of the country around Coombe. We might quote this, but it +will be much better for you to go some time and see things for yourself. +Dr. Callandar saw a great deal that day, but was never very clear +afterwards in his descriptions. It was rocky in spots, he knew, and wild +and sweet and piney. And there were little lakes. He remembered the +lakes particularly because--well, because of what came later. + +They had their lunch on the shores of a jewel-like bay, sitting upon the +shawl of Mrs. Sykes' grandmother. Esther had many memories of the place. +She had often camped there with her father. But it had been wilder then. +Once a bear had come right up to the door of her tent. + +"By Jove!" said the doctor enviously, "what did you do?" + +"I said 'shoo'!" + +"And did he?" + +"Yes, he did. He was a nice bear, very obedient. Some days later father +and I saw Mrs. Bear trot across the clearing with two baby bears behind. +They were moving. I think Mr. Bear was looking for a house when he +called on me." + +Altogether it was a magic day. There is an erroneous belief that magic +has died out of the world. But in our hearts we all know better. Which +of us has not lived through the magic hours of a magic day? Which of us +does not know that land, unmapped, unnamed, a land whose sun is +brighter, whose grass is greener, whose sky is bluer, and whose every +road runs into a golden mist? Magic land it must be, for much seeking +cannot find it. No one, not the wisest nor the best, may enter it at +will; but for every one at some time the unseen gate swings open, birds +sing, flowers bloom, the glory and the dream descend! Poor indeed, +unutterably poor and cheated of his heritage is he who has not +passed that way. + +They were not in love, of course. They were too happy for that. Love is +the greatest thing in the world, but it is seldom quite happy. Esther +and the doctor were not lovers but lingered in that deliciously +unconscious state of "going-to-be-in-love-presently" which is nothing +less than heavenly. Therefore they ate their lunch with appetite and +laughed about the story of the bear. Both were surprised when the +doctor's watch told them it was time to think of home. + +They came back very slowly along the shaded trail to where the car stood +waiting in the brilliant light of the declining sun. + +"Just a moment," said the doctor, and cranked vigorously. A confusion of +odd noises ensued, from which, somehow, the right noise did not emerge. + +"Just a moment," he repeated. "There appears to be something loose--or +tight--or something. If you'll just sit out on the grass a moment, Miss +Esther, I'll see what it is." + +Esther descended. The grass was just as pleasant to sit upon as the car +seat and she knew nothing whatever about the tricky ways of motors. + +"Just a moment," said Callandar for the third time, and disappeared +behind the bonnet. Fifteen minutes after, he reappeared with a very hot +face decorated fantastically with black. + +"She's sulking," he announced gloomily. + +"Is she?" Esther's tone held nothing save placid amusement. + +"Just a moment." The doctor banged down the bonnet and effaced himself +once more. This time under the body of the car. + +Motors are mysterious things. Why a well-treated, not to say pampered, +car which some hours before had been left in perfect condition and +excellent temper should abruptly turn stubborn and refuse to fulfil its +chief end is a problem which we shall not attempt to solve. Every one +who has ever owned a motor knows that these things be. + +The doctor, a modest man, considered himself a fair mechanician. In +expansive moments he, who made nothing of his undoubted excellence in +his own profession, was wont to boast that you couldn't teach him much +about motors! He had laughed to scorn the remark of his Scotch chauffeur +that "they things need a deal o' humourin'!" Humour a thing of cogs and +screws? Absurd! One must master a motor, not humour her. + +Half an hour later he emerged from the car's eclipse and sank, a +pitiable figure, upon the grass beside Esther. + +"Won't it go?" asked Esther dreamily. It had been very pleasant sitting +there watching the sun set. + +The master of motors made a tragic gesture. "No," he said, "she won't." + +"Shake her," said Esther. + +Dr. Callandar pushed back his sweat-bedewed hair with fingers which left +a fearsome streak above his left eyebrow. The girl laughed. But the +doctor's decorated face was rueful. + +"Do you know, Miss Esther, I'm afraid it isn't a bit funny." His tone, +too, was sober; and Esther, suddenly more fully alive to the situation, +noticed that the hands clasped recklessly about the knees of once +spotless trousers were shaking, just a little. He must be awfully tired! + +"That's because you can't see yourself. Give the motor a rest. There is +plenty of time. Let's have tea here instead of on the way home. There is +cold tea and chicken-loaf, bread and butter, and half a tart." + +The doctor brightened. "You may have the half-tart," he concluded +generously. "And in return you will forgive me my pessimism. I believe I +am hungry and thirsty and--if I could only swear I should be all right +presently." + +Esther put her small fingers in her ears and directed an absorbed gaze +toward the sunset. + +Callandar laughed. + +"All over!" he called. "Richard is himself again. And now we have got to +be serious. Painful as it is, I admit defeat. I can't make that car +budge an inch. It won't move. We can't push it. We have no other means +of conveyance. Deduction--we must walk!" + +"Yes, only like most deductions, it doesn't get us anywhere. We _can't_ +walk." + +"Not to Coombe of course. Merely to the nearest farm house." + +"There isn't any nearest farm house." + +"Then to the nearest common or garden house." + +"I thought we were going to be serious. Really, there is no house within +reasonable walking distance. We are quite in the wilds here. Don't you +remember the long stretches of waste land we came through? No one builds +on useless ground. The nearest houses of any kind are over on the other +side of the lake. The beach is good there and there are a few summer +cottages and a boarding house. Farther in is the little railway station +of Pine Lake--" + +"Jove! That's what we want! Why did you try to frighten me? Once let us +reach the station and our troubles are over. There is probably an +evening train into Coombe." + +"There is. But we shall never catch it. We are on the wrong side of the +lake. We have no boat. There is a trail around but it is absolutely out +of the question, too far and too rough, even if we knew it, which we do +not. It would take a woodsman to follow it even in daylight." + +"But--" The doctor hesitated. He was beginning to feel seriously +disturbed. It seemed impossible that they could be as isolated as Esther +seemed to think. Distance is a small thing to a powerful motor eating up +space with an effortless appetite, which deceives novice and expert +alike. It is only when one looks back that one counts the miles. He +remembered vaguely that the nearest house was a long way back. + +"I'll have another try," he answered soberly, "and in the meantime, +think--think hard! There may be some place you have forgotten. If not, +we are in rather a serious fix." + +"There are no bears now," said Esther. + +"There are gossips!" briefly. + +The girl laughed. The thought of possible gossip seemed to disturb her +not at all. "Oh, it will be all right as soon as we explain," +confidently. "But Aunt Amy will be terrified. If we could only get word +to Aunt Amy! I don't mind so much about Mrs. Sykes, for she is always +prepared for everything. She will comfort herself with remembering how +she said when she saw it was going to be a lovely day: 'It may be a fine +enough morning, Esther, but I have a feeling that something will happen +before night. I have put in an umbrella in case of rain and a pair of +rubbers and a rug and you'd better take my smelling salts. I hope you +won't have an accident, I'm sure, but it's best to be forewarned.'" + +The doctor glanced up from his tinkering to join in her laugh. He felt +ashamed of himself. The possibility of evil tongues making capital of +their enforced position had certainly never entered into the thought of +this smiling girl. Yet that such a possibility might exist in Coombe as +well as in other places he did not doubt. And she was in his charge. The +thought of her clear eyes looking upon the thing which she did not know +enough to dread made him feel positively sick! + +When he spoke to her again there was a subtle change in his manner. He +had become at once her senior, the physician, and man of the world. + +"Miss Esther," he said, leaving his futile tampering with the machine, +"I can see no way out of this but one. I am a good walker and a fast +one. I shall leave you here with the car and the rugs and a revolver +(there is one in the tool box), and go back along the road. I shall walk +until I come to somewhere and then get a carriage or wagon--also a +chaperone--and come back for you. It is positively the only thing +to do." + +Esther's charming mouth drooped delicately at the corners. "Oh no! +That's not at all a nice plan. I'm afraid to stay here. Not of bears, +but of tramps--or--or something." + +"Where there are no houses there will be no tramps." + +"There may be. You never can tell about tramps. And I couldn't shoot a +tramp. The very best I could do would be to shoot myself--" + +"But--" + +"And I might bungle even that!" pathetically. + +"But, my dear girl--" + +"And anyway, I've thought of another plan. There is a place on the lake, +on this side. Not a house exactly, but a log cabin, where old Prue +lives. Did you ever hear of old Prue? She is a man-hater and a recluse +and lives all by herself in the bush. It is a dreadful place and she +keeps a fierce dog! But perhaps she keeps a boat, too. She must keep a +boat," cheerfully, "because she lives right by the water and I know she +fishes. If she would only let us have the boat! But I warn you she may +refuse. She is like the witch in 'Hansel and Gretel.' Do you remember--" + +But at the first mention of the boat, the doctor had sprung to action +and was now standing ready laden with the basket and the rug. With the +air of a man who has never heard of "Hansel and Gretel" he slipped a +most businesslike revolver into a pocket of his coat. "For the dog, if +necessary," he said. "We must have that boat! Is it far?" + +"Quite a walk. About two miles through the bush. But I know the way and +the trail is fairly good, or should be. It branches off from the one we +took this morning." + +The sun was gone when they turned back into the woods but the wonderful +after-light of the long Canadian sunset would be with them for a good +time yet. There was no breeze to stir the trees, but the air had cooled. +It was not unpleasantly hot, now, even in the thickest places. The +doctor stepped out briskly. + +"Listen!" Esther paused with uplifted finger. The trees were very still +but in the undergrowth the life of the woods was beginning to stir. +Startled squirrels raced up the fallen logs, glancing backward with +curious but resentful eyes. Hidden skirmishings and rustlings were +everywhere and something brown and furry darted across the path with a +faint cry. + +"Don't you feel as if you were in some fairy country?" asked the girl. +"You can feel and hear them all about you though they keep well hidden. +A million eager eyes are watching, Lilliputian armies lie in ambush +beneath the leaves. How quiet they are now that we have stopped moving, +but as soon as we go on the hurry and skurry will break out afresh! We +are the invading army and the fairies fly to help the wood-folk protect +their homes." + +As they branched into the deeper path the light grew dimmer. Outside, it +would still be clear golden twilight but here the grey had come. And now +the trees grew closer together and a whispering began--a weird and +wonderful sighing from the soul of the forest; the old, primeval cry to +the night and to the stars. + +It was almost dark when they reached the tiny clearing by the lake. +Across the cleared space the water could be seen, faintly luminous, with +the black square of the cabin outlined against it. There was no sign of +life or light from the dark windows. A dog began to bark sharply. + +"He is chained!" said Callandar. "We are fortunate." + +"How can you tell?" + +"A free dog never barks in that tone. I think he has been a bad dog +to-day. Killing chickens, perhaps, or chasing cats. A man-hater, like +your old witch, is certain to have cats! I wonder where she is? Does she +count going to bed at sundown as one of her endearing peculiarities?" + +"Quite the contrary, I imagine. Let's knock." + +They raced up the path to the door like children and struck some lusty +blows. No one answered. The door was locked and every window was blank. + +"Knock again!" + +They knocked again, banged in fact, and then rattled the windows. + +"She could never sleep through all that racket!" said Callandar with +conviction. "She must be out. Well, out or in, we've got to get that +boat. Let's explore--this path ought to lead to the lake." + +"Shall we steal it?" in a delighted whisper. + +"We probably shall. You won't mind going to jail, I hope?" + +"Not at all!" The doctor was walking so rapidly that Esther was a little +out of breath. "Only, the oars--are certain--to be locked--in the +house!" she warned jerkily. + +"Then we shall serve sentence for house breaking also." + +"Oh, gracious!" Esther stumbled over the root of a tree and nearly fell. +But the doctor only walked the faster. They scrambled together down the +steep path and over the stretch of rocky beach to where the tiny float +lay a black oblong on the water. The boat house was beside it. + +"Eureka!" cried the doctor, springing forward. + +But the door of the boat house was open and the boat was gone. + + + + +CHAPTER XIII + + +It is a fact infinitely to be regretted, but the doctor swore! + +"Well, did you _ever!_" exclaimed Esther. She was a little tired and +more than a little excited, a condition which conduces to hysteria, and +collapsing upon the end of the float she began to laugh. + +"I wish," said the doctor judicially, "that I knew exactly what you find +to laugh at." + +"Oh, nothing! Your face--I think you looked so very murderous. And you +did swear--didn't you?" + +"Beg your pardon, I'm sure," stiffly. + +For an instant they gazed resentfully at each other. The doctor was +seriously worried. Esther felt extremely frivolous. But if he wanted to +be stiff and horrid,--let him be stiff and horrid. + +"I declare you act as if it were my fault the old boat is gone!" she +remarked aggrievedly. + +"Don't be silly!" + +An uncomfortable silence followed. Esther began to realise how tired she +was. Callandar stared out gloomily over the darkening lake. + +"Anyway it's bad enough without your being cross," said Esther in a +small voice. + +"Cross--my dear child! Did I seem cross? What a brute you must think me. +But to get you into this infernal tangle!--If this old woman is out in +the boat she'll have to come back some time. She can't stay out on the +lake all night." + +Esther, who thought privately that this was exactly what the old woman +might do, made no reply. She rather liked the tone of his apology and +was feeling better. + +"Then there is the dog. If she is anywhere near, she will be sure to +hear the dog. From the noise he is making she will deduce burglars and +return to protect her property. As a man-hater she will have no fear of +a mere burglar. Luckily for us, that dog has a carrying voice!" + +Scarcely had he spoken than the dog ceased to bark. + +"Shall I go and throw sticks at it?" asked Esther helpfully. + +"Hush! The dog must have heard something. Let's listen!" + +In the silence they listened intently. Certainly there was something, a +faint indeterminate sound, a sound not in the bush but in the lake, a +sound of disturbed water. + +"The dip of a paddle," whispered Callandar. "Some one is coming in a +canoe. The dog heard it before we did--recognised it, too, probably. It +must be the witch!" + +The dipping sound came nearer and presently there slipped from the +shadow of the trees a darker shadow, moving. A canoe with one paddle was +coming toward them. + +Esther with undignified haste scrambled up from the float, abandoning +her position in the line of battle in favour of the doctor. The dog +broke into a chorus of ear-splitting yelps of warning and welcome. The +moving shadow loomed larger and a calm though harsh voice demanded, "Be +quiet, General! Who is there?" + +"We are!" answered Callandar, stepping as far from the tree shadow as +possible. "Picnickers from Coombe, in an unfortunate predicament. Our +motor has broken down, and we want the loan of a boat to get over to +Pine Lake station." + +As he spoke he was vividly conscious of Esther close behind. So near was +she that he felt her warm breath on his neck. She was breathing quickly. +Was the child really frightened? Instinctively he put out his hand, +backward, and thrilled through every nerve when something cool and small +and tremulous slipped into it. + +The canoe shot up to the float. + +"You can't get any boat here." + +There was no surprise or resentment in the harsh level voice. Only +determination, final and unshakable. + +Esther felt the doctor's hand close around her own. Its clasp meant +everything, reassurance, protection, strength. In the darkness she +exulted and even ventured to frown belligerently in the direction of the +disagreeable canoeist. They could see her plainly now. A tall woman in a +man's coat with the sleeves rolled up displaying muscular arms. Her +face, even in the half-light, looked harsh and gaunt. With a skill, +which spoke of long practice, she sprang from the canoe, scarcely +rocking it, and proceeded to tie the painter securely to a heavy ring in +the float. Then she straightened herself and turned. + +"I'll loose the dog!" she announced calmly. + +Just that and no more! No arguments, no revilings, no display of any +human quality. There was something uncanny in her ruthlessness. + +"If you do, it will be bad for the dog," said Callandar coldly. "Who +are you who threaten decent people?" + +It was the tone of authority and for an instant she answered to it. Her +harsh voice held a faint Scotch accent. + +"There'll be no decent people here at this hour o' the nicht. Be off. +You'll get no boat. Nor the hussy either. The dog's well used to +guarding it." + +"How dare you!" Esther was so angry at being called a hussy that she +forgot how frightened she was and faced the woman boldly. But the old +hard eyes stared straight into her young indignant ones and showed no +softening. Next moment old Prue had pushed the girl aside and +disappeared in the darkness of the wooded path. + +"Quick!" The doctor's tone was crisp and steady. "The canoe is our +chance. Jump in, while I hold it--in the bow, anywhere!" + +"But the paddle! She has taken the paddle!" Even as she objected she +obeyed. The frail craft rocked as she slid into it, careful only not to +overbalance; next moment it rocked more dangerously and then settled +evenly into the water under the doctor's added weight. + +"Sit tight!" Carefully he leaned over her, steadying the canoe with one +hand on the float. In the other she saw the glint of a knife, felt the +confining rope sever, felt the strong push which separated them from the +float and then, just as a great dog, fiercely silent now, bounded from +the path above, a paddle rose and dipped and they shot out into +the lake. + +"If he follows and tries to overturn us I'll have to shoot him," said +the doctor cheerfully. "But he won't. Hark to him!" + +The long bay of the baffled dog rose to the stars. + +"There was an extra paddle in the boat-house," he explained. "I +took it out when we first came down--in case of accident. Old +She-who-must-be-obeyed must have forgotten it. It is a spliced paddle +but we shall manage excellently. Luckily I know how to use it. All I +need now is direction. Lady, 'where lies the land to which this ship +must go?'" + +"'Far, far away is all the seamen know,'" capped Esther, laughing. "But +if you will keep on around that next point and then straight across I +think we ought to get there--Oh, look! there is the moon! We had +forgotten about the moon!" + +They had indeed forgotten the moon. And the moon had been part of their +programme too. Both remembered at the same moment that, according to +schedule, they were now supposed to be almost home, running down Coombe +hill by moonlight. + +"This is much nicer," said Esther, comfortably. + +"But--" he did not finish his sentence. Why disturb her? Besides it +certainly was much nicer! The forgotten moon bore them no malice. A soft +radiance grew and spread around them, the whole sky and lake were +faintly shining though the goddess herself had not yet topped the trees. +The shadows were becoming blacker and more sharply defined. In front of +them the point loomed, inky black. Like a bird of the night the little +canoe shot towards it, skimmed its darkness and then slipped, +effortless, into shining silver space. The smile of the moon! Pleasing +old hypocrite! Always she smiles the same upon two in a canoe! + +They were paddling toward her so that her light fell full on the +doctor's face--a clean cut, virile face, manly, stern, yet with a +whimsical sweetness hidden somewhere. + +"How handsome he is!" thought Esther, exactly as the moon intended. + +"Strong, too," her thought added as the light picked out his well-set +shoulders and the sweep of the arm which sped the paddle so lightly yet +so strongly up and down. Clear, yet soft, the moon showed no touch of +grey in the hair (although the grey was there) nor did she point out the +markings which were the legacy of strenuous years. Seen so, he appeared +no older than she who watched shyly from girlish eyes. + +With a little shiver of utmost content Esther settled herself against +the thwart of the canoe. + +Manlike he did not know the meaning of that shiver. + +"Fool that I am!" he exclaimed. "You are cold, and behold we have left +behind the shawl of Mrs. Sykes' grandmother!" + +"Indeed we have not! The dog would have torn it to bits. I assure you +the shawl of the venerated ancestress was in the canoe before I was." + +"Then wrap yourself up. It is wonderful how cool the nights are." + +Esther was not cold. But it is sometimes pleasant to be commanded. This +is what enables man to persist in a certain pleasing delusion regarding +woman's natural attitude. When she occasionally pleases herself by a +simulation of subjection he immediately thrills with pride, crying, +"Aha! I have her mastered!" Of course he finds out his mistake later. + +It pleased Esther, though not cold, to wrap herself in the shawl and it +pleased Callandar to see her do it. I assure you it left the whole +question of the subjection of women quite untouched. + +The moon knew all about it but, feminine herself, she favoured the +deception. Around the girl's dark head she drew a circle of light. The +branching tendrils of her hair, all alive and fanlike now in the +coolness of the night, made a nimbus of black and silver from which her +shadowed face shone like a faint pure pearl. As he seemed younger, so +did she seem older; under the moon she was no longer a child, but a +woman with mysterious eyes. + +An impulse came to him--the rare impulse of confidence! Suddenly it +seemed that what he had mistaken for self-sufficiency had been in +reality loneliness. He had learned to live to himself not because he was +of himself sufficient but because no one else, save the Button Moulder, +had ever come within speaking distance. Lorna Sinnet, for all his +admiration of her, had established no claim upon his confidence, yet +now, with this young girl, whom he had known but a few weeks, a new need +developed--a need to talk of himself! A primitive need indeed, but, like +all primitive needs, compelling. + +We need not follow the history. Perhaps, reported, it would not seem +very lucid. There were blanks, unsaid things, twists of phrase, eloquent +nothings which, wonderfully understandable in themselves, do not report +well. Somehow he must have made it plain, for Esther understood it and +understood him, too, in a way which we, who have never sailed with him +under the moon, cannot hope to do. Faults of expression are no hindrance +to this kind of understanding. He did not talk well, was clumsy, not at +all eloquent, but magically she reconstructed the hopes and dreams of +his ambitious youth. From a few bald phrases she fashioned the +thunderbolt which shattered them, saw him stunned, then alive again, +struggling. With every ready imagination she leaped full upon the fires +of an ambition which accepted no check but fed upon difficulty and +overleapt obstacles. Between stories of his early college life, her +sympathy sensed the deadly strain which his narrative missed and, long +before he mentioned it, her foresight had descried the coming of hard +won success. + +But the really vital thing, the core of the short history, she followed +slowly word by word, anxiously. It told of wonders which she did not +know--love, passion, despair! Now indeed he seemed to be speaking in a +strange language--yet not strange entirely. She hid each broken phrase +in her heart, knowing them rare, and wondering at the treasure entrusted +to her. Some of her girlhood she left behind her as she listened. +Something new, yet surely old, stirred faintly. What was this love he +spoke of? The breath of bygone passion brushed across her untouched soul +and left it trembling! + +Into the long silence which followed the story her voice drifted like a +sigh. + +"If she could only have lived until you came!" + +It was of the girl wife she thought. Her heart was full of an aching +pity for that other girl whom life had cheated of her sweetest gift. +More than the man who had lived out a bitter expiation, did she pity her +who had missed the fight, slipped out of the struggle. Death seemed to +Esther such a terrible thing. The new life stirring in her shuddered at +the thought of mortality. That breath of the divine which we name Love +began already to proclaim itself immortal. + +Yet Molly, that other girl, had loved--and died. + +The doctor, too, was lost in self communings. Already, with the words +not cold upon his lips, he was surprised that he had told the story. How +could he? Why had he? That pitiful little story of Molly which had been +too sacred for the touch of a word. Above all, why had the telling been +a relief? It was a relief, he knew that. Somewhere, in the silver waters +of Pine Lake he had buried a burden. He felt lighter, younger. Had his +very love for Molly become a load whose proper name was remorse? Had his +heart harboured regret and fear under the name of sorrow? Or had he +never loved at all, never really sorrowed? Had the thing he called love +been but a boy's hot passion caught in the grip of a man's awakening +will, a mistake made irrevocable by a stubbornness of purpose which +could not face defeat? Whatever it had been, it had come to be a burden. +And the burden had lightened--it pressed no longer. In a word, he was +free! He was his own man again, unafraid, able to look into his heart, +to open all the windows--no dark corners, no haunting ghosts! He could +enter now without the dread of echoing footsteps or wistful, half-heard +whisperings. The shade of pretty, childish Molly would vex no more. + +The relief of it--the pain of it! It was like a new birth. + +Meanwhile the strong, sure strokes were bringing them swiftly nearer the +opposite shore where yellow dots of light proclaimed the position of the +summer cottages. One dot, larger, detached itself from the others and +indicated the flare on the end of the landing float. Outlines began to +be darkly discernible, the moon's silver mirror was shivered by lances +of gold. Very soon their journey would be ended. + +The paddle dipped more slowly. Esther sighed, and sat up straighter. +Considering all the trouble they had taken, neither of them seemed +overjoyed to be so near the desired haven. + +"We are nearly there," said Callandar obviously. + +Esther looked backward over their shining wake. Something precious +seemed to be slipping away on those fairy ripples. Yet all she could +find to say was-- + +"We have come very fast. You must be tired." + +Strange little commonplaces, how they take their due of all the +wonderful hours of life! Esther wriggled out of the shawl, smoothed her +hair, arranged her ruffled collar. Callandar shipped his paddle and +resumed his coat. + +"Where to, now?" he asked practically. + +"There is only one landing, we shall be right on it in a moment. +Then--there are several of the cottagers whom I know. But I think Mrs. +Burton will be the best. She has often asked me to visit her and is such +a dear that the present unexpected arrival will not make me +less welcome." + +"That's good! As for me, I'll make for the station and send the +telegrams. They won't be seriously anxious yet, do you think? +Then--there is a train I think you said?" + +"You have missed that. But there is a very early morning train, a milk +train--O gracious!" Esther broke off with a start of genuine +consternation. "To-morrow is Sunday!" + +"Naturally!" in surprise. + +"How horribly unfortunate! The milk train doesn't run on Sunday!" + +"Does the milk object to Sunday travelling?" + +"Don't joke!" forlornly. "It's dreadful that it should be Sunday. People +will talk!" + +"Oh, will they?" The doctor was immensely surprised. "Why?" + +"Because it's Sunday." + +"What has Sunday got to do with it? They can't talk. Here you are safe +and sound with your friend Mrs. Burton by 9 o'clock, an intensely +respectable hour even in Coombe. What can they say?" + +"But it's Sunday! You will return home, by rail, on Sunday. Every one +will know. Your breaking of the Sabbath will be put down to careless +pleasuring. It will hurt your practice terribly!" + +Callandar laughed heartily. But before he could reply the quick bursting +out of a blaze upon the shore startled them both. "What is it?" he asked +apprehensively. + +"Only a bonfire! Some one is giving a bonfire party. It is quite the +fashionable thing. There will be songs and speeches with lemonade and +cake. Oh, hurry! We shall be in time for the programme." + +The mysterious woman, born of the moon, was gone. In her place was a +rumple-haired, bright-eyed child. Callandar took up the paddle with a +whimsical smile. + +"Sit still or you'll overturn the canoe!" he said warningly. And across +the narrowing stretch of water floated the opening sentiments of the +patriotic cottagers. + +"O Cana_dah_, our heritage, our love--" + + + + +CHAPTER XIV + + +Henry Callandar, resting neck-deep in the cool green swimming pool, +tossed the wet hair out of his eyes and whistled ingratiatingly to a +watching robin. A delightful sense of guilt enveloped him, for it was +Sunday morning and, since his experience at Pine Lake a week ago, he had +learned a little of what Sunday means in Coombe. Esther had been quite +right in fearing that his return by train upon that sacred day might +deal a severe blow to his prestige--at least until Mrs. Sykes had had +time to explain to every one how unavoidable it had been--and he knew +that if he were to be caught in his present delightful occupation his +Presbyterian reputation might be considered lost forever. + +The robin twittered at him prettily but refused to be beguiled. Sunday +bathing was not among its weaknesses. Presently it flew away. + +"Gone to tell the minister, I'll be bound!" murmured Callandar. "'Twill +be a scandal in the kirk. I'll lose all my five patients. Horrid +little bird!" + +Smiling, he drew himself from the embrace of the faintly shining water +and retiring to the willow screen began to dress with that virtuous +leisureliness which characterises those who rise before their fellows. +He had the world to himself; a world of cool, sweet scents, pure light +and Sabbath quiet--that wonderful quiet which seems a living thing with +a personality of its own, so different is it from the ordinary quiet of +work-a-day mornings. + +The primrose sky gave promise of a beautiful day. The blue grey vault +overhead was already filling with shimmering golden light, the drooping +willows and the dew-wet grass were stirring in the breeze of dawn, the +voice of the water sang in the stillness. + +Callandar slipped his blue tie snugly under the collar of his white +flannel shirt and sighed with the ecstasy of health renewed. A +half-forgotten couplet hummed through his brain. + + "Sweet day, so cool, so calm, so bright! + The bridal of the earth and sky--" + +"And it's a hymn, too, or I'm a Dutchman," he declared, much edified. +"That proves that swimming on Sunday is quite compatible with proper +orthodoxy of mind. Shouldn't wonder if the Johnnie who wrote that wrote +it on Sunday morning after a dip. I'll tell Mrs. Sykes he did +anyway--where in thunder did I put my boots?" + +The missing articles had apparently fulfilled the purpose of their being +by walking away, or else the robin had collected them as evidence! +Callandar chuckled at a whimsical vision of them in a church court, +damningly marked "Exhibit 1." But as he searched for them the utter +peace of the morning fled and suddenly he became conscious that he and +the willows no longer divided the world between them. Some one was near. +He felt eyes watching. The curious half-lost instinct which warns man of +the approach of his kind, told him that he was no longer alone. The +doctor fixed a stern eye on the screening willows. + +"Zerubbabel!" he commanded, "come out of there at once, sir!" + +A stirring in the bushes was the only answer. + +The doctor glanced at his bootless feet. + +"Bubble," more mildly, "if you want a swim--" + +"It isn't Bubble," said a meek voice, "it's me. Are you dressed enough +for me to come out?" Without waiting for an answer the elfish face of +Ann appeared through the willow tangle. "If you're looking for your +boots," she remarked kindly, "they're hanging on that limb behind you." + +But boots no longer absorbed the doctor. + +"Come out of those willows, both of you!" + +"There's only me," still meekly. "And I didn't come to swim. I came for +you. Honour bright! The Button Man's here." + +"What?" + +"Yes, he is. He came in a big grey car and was sitting on the doorstep +when Aunt got up. He told her not to disturb you, but of course Aunt +thought that you ought to know at once and when she found that you were +gone"--a poignant pause! + +"Yes, when she found me gone--" + +"When she found you gone," slowly, "she said you must have been called +up in the night to a patient!" + +"Did she really?" The doctor's laugh rang out. + +"And I hope the Lord will forgive her for such a nawful lie!" finished +Ann piously. + +"He will, Ann, He will! You can depend on that. He has a proper respect +for loyalty between friends. Did I understand you to say that you had +seen my boots? Oh, yes, thanks! Now I wonder what can have brought our +Button Man back so soon? He didn't by any chance say, I suppose?" + +"Him?" with scorn. "Not much fear! I'll do up your boots if you like." + +"Thanks, no. That would be using unseemly haste. Button-men who go +visiting on Sunday must learn to wait. Don't you want to have a splash, +Ann? I'll walk on slowly, you can easily catch me up!" + +The child looked enviously at the now sparkling water, but shook her +head. + +"I'd love to. But I dasn't. Aunt always knows when I've been in. Even if +I go and muddy myself afterwards, she knows. She says a little bird +tells her." + +"A robin, I'll bet. I know that bird! Sanctimonious thing! He was +watching me this morning and went off as fast as he knew how, to spread +the news. Ann, you have lived in this remarkable town all your life. Can +you tell me just why it is wicked to go swimming on Sunday?" + +Ann looked blank. "No. But it is. You're likely to get drowned any +minute! Not but what I'd risk it if it wasn't for Aunt. I'm far more +scared of Aunt than I am of God," she added reflectively. + +"Why, Ann! What do you mean?" + +"Well, you never can tell about God, but Aunt's a dead sure thing! If +she says you'll get a smack for going in the river you'll get it--but +God only drowns a few here and there, for examples like." + +"Look here!" Callandar paused in his stride and fixed her dark eyes by +the sudden seriousness in his own. "You've got the thing all wrong. God +doesn't drown people for swimming on Sunday. He isn't that sort at all. +He--He--" the unaccustomed teacher of youth faltered hopelessly in his +effort to instruct the budding mind, but Ann's eyes were questioning and +at their bidding the essential truth of his own childhood came back to +him. "God is Love," he declared firmly. "Great Scott! a person would +think that we lived in the Dark Ages! Don't you let 'em frighten you, +Ann. What are you allowed to do on Sunday anyway?" + +"Church," succinctly. "And Sunday-school and church and the 'Pilgrim's +Progress.'" + +"Well, that's something. Jolly good book, the 'Pilgrim's Progress'!" + +"Yes," dubiously. "If it didn't use such a nawful lot of big words. And +if he'd only get on a little faster. He was terrible slow." + +"So he was. Well, let us be merry while we can. I'll race you to the +orchard gate." + +At the gate they paused to regain their lost breath and sense of decorum +for, across the orchard, the veranda could be plainly seen with the trim +figure of Professor Willits in close proximity to the taller and gaunter +outline of Mrs. Sykes. With one of her shy quick gestures, the child +slipped her fingers from the doctor's hold and sped away through the +trees. Her friendship with Callandar was the most wonderful thing that +had ever happened to Ann, but she was not of the kind which +parades intimacy. + +"Patient dead?" asked Willits dryly after they had shaken hands. + +"Patient?" Then, catching sight of the flaming red in the cheeks of his +landlady, "Dead? Certainly not. Even my patients know better than to die +on a morning like this. But whatever possessed you to disturb a +righteous household? Mrs. Sykes, he doesn't deserve breakfast, but I do. +When do you think--" + +"In just about five minutes, Doctor. Soon's I get the coffee boiling and +the cream skimmed. I didn't know," with an anxiously reproving glance, +"but what you might want to get washed up after you got in." + +"I--no, I think I'm quite clean enough, Mrs. Sykes. But it was very +thoughtful of you to wait--" + +"Aunt, the coffee's boiling over!" The warning was distinctly audible +and, with a gesture of one who abandons an untenable position, Mrs. +Sykes retreated upon the kitchen. + +The visitor watched her flight with mild amaze. + +"I suppose I should seem curious if I were to ask why the excellent Mrs. +Sykes imperils her immortal soul in your behalf? But why in the name of +common sense is the peril necessary? It isn't a crime, is it, for a +medical man to get up early and go for a swim?" + +"You forget what day it is," said Callandar solemnly. "Or rather, you +never knew. I myself was not properly acquainted with Sunday until I +came to this place. Your presence here is in itself a scandal. People do +not visit upon the Seventh day in Coombe." + +"No? You should have informed me of the town's eccentricities. As it is, +if my presence imperils your social standing you can seclude me until +the next train." + +"Better than that," cheerfully, "I can take you to church." + +The alarmed look upon the professor's face was so enticing that +Callandar continued with glee: + +"Why not? I have always thought your objection to church-going a blot +upon an otherwise estimable character. Hitherto I have been too busy to +attend to it, but now--" + +"Quit chaffing, Harry! I came up because I had to see you. You pay no +attention to my letters. I never dreamed that you would stay a month in +this backwater. What is wrong? What is the matter with you?" + +"Look at me--and ask those questions again." + +The keen eyes of the Button-Moulder looked deep into the doctor's steady +ones. There was a slight pause. Then-- + +"Yes, I see what you mean. I saw it as you came across the orchard." The +sharp voice softened. "My anxiety for your health could hardly survive +the way in which you leaped that fence! But all this makes it only the +more mysterious. Have you found the fountain of youth or--or what?" + +Callandar threw an affectionate arm over the other man's shoulders. + +"I _am_ young, amn't I! Trouble is, I didn't know it." He ruffled his +hair at the side so that the grey showed plainly. "Terrible thing when +one loses the realisation of youth! But I've had my lesson. I'll never +be old again, never!" + +In spite of himself the professor's straight mouth curved a little. A +spark of pride glowed in his cool eyes as he bent them upon the smiling +face of his friend. Yet his tone was mocking as he said, "Then it is the +fountain of youth? One is never too old to find that chimera." + +"It's not something that I've found, old cynic. It's something that I've +lost. Look at me hard! Don't you notice something missing? Did you ever +read the 'Pilgrim's Progress'?" + +"The Pilgrim's--" + +"Breakfast is ready!" called Ann, teetering on her toes in the doorway. + +"The Pil--" + +"And Aunt--says--will--you--please--come--at--once--so's--the +coff--ee--won't--be--cold!" chanted Ann. + +"Yes, Ann. We're coming." + +"But I want to know--" + +"Old man, I'll tell you after breakfast. I want you to see me eat. I +wish to demonstrate that there is no deception. A miracle has really +happened. No one could observe me breakfasting and doubt it!" + +When they were seated he looked guilelessly into the still disapproving +face of Mrs. Sykes. "Perhaps you are wondering, as I did, what has +brought Professor Willits back to Coombe," he said, "but time and space +mean little to professors, and the fact is that Willits has long wished +to hear a sermon by the Reverend Mr. Macnair. He is coming with me this +morning. Perhaps you hadn't better mention it, though. It might disturb +Mr. Macnair to know that so eminent a critic was listening to him." + +The eminent critic frowned grimly and took a fourth cream biscuit +without noticing it. + +"Not a mite!" declared Mrs. Sykes. "The man ain't born that can fluster +Mr. Macnair. Nor yet the woman, unless it's Esther Coombe--Land sakes, +Doctor! I forgot to tell you how that cup tips! Ann, get a clean table +napkin. I hope your nice white pants ain't ruined, Doctor? I really +ought to put that cup away but it's a good cup if it's held steady and I +hate to waste good things. Last time it tipped was when the Ladies' Aid +met here. Mrs. Coombe had it and the whole cup spilled right over her +dress. I was that mortified! But she didn't seem to care. I can't +imagine what's the matter with that woman. She's getting dreadful +careless about her clothes. Next time I met her she wore that same +dress, splash an' all! 'Tisn't as if she hadn't plenty of new +things,--more than they can afford, if what folks say is true. You +haven't met Mrs. Coombe yet, have you, Doctor?" + +"She is away from home." + +"Well, when you do meet her you'll see what I mean, or like as not you +won't, being a man. Men never seem to see anything wrong with Mary +Coombe. But Esther must feel dreadful mortified sometimes when her Ma +forgets to get hooked up behind. Esther's as neat as a pin. Always was. +Why, even when she got home last week after that awful time you and she +had up at Pine Lake, and her having to stay overnight without so much as +a clean collar, she walked in here as fresh as a daisy--won't you let me +give you some more coffee, Professor?" + +"Thank you, yes. You were saying--" + +"Willits, do you think so much coffee is good for you?" + +"Land sakes, Doctor, my coffee won't hurt him! It never seems to trouble +you any. As I was saying, one would almost have thought that what with +picnicking in the bush all day and trapesing around in a canoe half the +night and having to stay where she wasn't expected and wouldn't like to +ask the loan of the flat-irons--" + +"Please, Mrs. Sykes, don't let Ann eat another biscuit. I don't want her +to be ill just when I want a day off to take Willits to church. Willits, +as your medical adviser, I forbid more coffee. He will really injure +himself, Mrs. Sykes, if I do not take him away. He isn't used to +breakfasts like this and his constitution won't stand it." + +Mrs. Sykes beamed graciously under this delicate compliment and +confiscated Ann's latest biscuit with a ruthless hand. "If you gentlemen +would like to sit in the parlour--" she offered graciously. But +Callandar with equal graciousness declined. The office would do quite +well enough. Willits might want to smoke. "And as it-seems that my watch +has stopped," he added, "perhaps you would be so kind as to tell us +when it is time to change for church." + +The professor settled himself primly upon the hardest chair which the +office contained and refused a cigar. + +"You seem to have acquired a reprehensible habit of fooling, Henry," he +said. "Your language also is strange. When, for instance, you say +'change for church,' to what sort of transformation do you refer?" + +Callandar chuckled. + +"Only to your clothes, old chap. Don't worry. You wouldn't expect me to +go to church in flannels?" + +"I should not expect you to go to church at all." + +"Well, the fact is, old man, you are painfully ignorant. I do go to +church, and the proper church costume for a professional man is a frock +coat and silk hat. But as you are a traveller, and as you are not +exactly a professional man, I shall not lose caste by taking you as +you are." + +The imperturbable Willits waived the point. "I understood you to say, +also, that your watch had stopped. Was that a joke?" + +"No such luck!" The doctor took out his watch and shook it. "Mainspring +gone, I'm afraid!" + +"A month ago," said the professor, "if your watch had stopped you would +have had a fit." + +"Really! Was I ever such an ass? Well, I'm not the slave of my watch any +longer. Time goes softly in Coombe. Aren't you glad I'm not taking +a fit?" + +"I am glad. But I want to understand." + +"Then let's return to the 'Pilgrim's Progress.' Ann and I were talking +about it this morning. Do you remember the man with the pack on his back +and how when he reached a certain spot the pack, seemingly without +effort of his own, fell off and was seen no more?" + +Willits reflected. The doctor was thoroughly in earnest now. "I seem to +recollect the incident to which you refer," he said after a pause. "If I +remember rightly it is an allegory and is used in a definitely religious +sense. The man with the pack meets a certain spiritual crisis. Do I +understand that you--er--that you have experienced conversion? I am not +guilty of speaking lightly of so important a matter, but I hardly know +how to frame my question." + +The doctor tilted back his chair and looked dreamily out of the window. +"I did not mean you to take my illustration literally. My religious +beliefs are very much the same as they have always been. To a +materialist like you they seem, I know, absurdly orthodox; to a church +member in good standing they might seem fatally lax; but such as they +are I have not changed them. Still, I was, as you know, a man with a +burden. You may call the burden consequence or what you will, the name +doesn't matter. The weight of that youthful, selfish, unpardonable act +which bound a young girl to me without giving her the protection which +that bond demanded, was always upon me, crushing out the joy of life. +The news of her death made no difference, except to render me hopeless +of ever making up to her for the wrong I had done. Her death did not set +me free, it bound me closer. + +"I seemed like one caught in the tow of some swift tide, always fighting +to get back, yet eternally being drawn away. The tide still flows out, +for the tide of human life is the only tide which never returns, but I +have ceased to struggle. I no longer look back. It is not that God has +forgiven me (I have never been able to think of God as otherwise than +forgiving), it is that I have forgiven myself." + + + + +CHAPTER XV + + +"It amounts to this, then," said Willits presently. "You are cured. The +balance is swinging true again. It has taken a long time, but the cure +is all the more complete for that. Now, when are you coming back to us?" + +Callandar did not answer. + +"You are needed. Not a day passes that your absence is not felt. You +used to have a strong sense of responsibility toward your work. What has +become of it?" + +"I have it still. I am not slighting my work by taking time to build +myself into better shape for it." + +"But you will simply stagnate here!" querulously. "You are becoming +slack already. You let your watch run down." + +The doctor laughed. + +"If many of my patients could do the same without worry they would not +need a doctor. Half of the nervous trouble of the age can be ultimately +traced to watches which won't run down. Leisure--unhurried leisure--that +is what we want. We've got to have it!" + +"Piffle! I shall hear you talk about inviting your soul next." + +"Well, if I do he is in better shape to accept the invitation than he +used to be." + +The professor's gesture was sufficiently expressive. + +"Very well. I give up. Remember, I advise against it. I think you are +making a mistake!--I'll have that cigar now. I suppose one is allowed to +smoke in the garden?" + +"Yes, do, that's a good fellow! I must run up and make myself +presentable. I suppose you haven't seen Lorna lately?" + +"I have seen her very lately. She asked to be remembered." + +"Oh, you old prevaricator! Lorna never asked to be remembered in her +life. What she really said was, 'If you see Harry give him my love!'" + +"If she did, you don't deserve it! Oh, boy," with sudden earnestness, +"why will you make a fool of yourself? She's a woman in a thousand. +Others see it if you don't. Since you've been away, MacGregor is paying +her marked attention." + +"Good old Gregor!" The doctor's exclamation was one of pure pleasure. +"And yet you say my absence isn't doing any good? Go along with you! +Take your cigar and wait for me underneath the Bough. I'll not be long." + +He was long, however. The professor's cigar and his cogitations came to +an end together without the promised reappearance. Even when he returned +to the office it was empty except for Ann, who in the stiffest of +starched muslin and whitest of stockings was spread out carefully upon +the widest chair. Her black hair was parted as if by a razor blade and +plastered tightly in slablike masses while the tension of the braids was +such that they stuck out on either side of the small head like decorated +sign posts. Weariness, disgust and defiance were painted visibly upon +the elfish face. + +"This is the best chair!" said Ann politely, "but if you'll excuse me I +shan't get up. Every time I sit down it makes a crease in a fresh place. +By the time church is over I look like I was crumpled all over. It's the +starch!" she added in sullen explanation. + +Willits, who liked children but did not understand them, essayed a mild +joke. + +"Did you put some starch in your hair too?" + +Ann flushed scarlet with anger and mortification and made no answer. + +"It looked much nicer at breakfast," blundered on the professor +genially. "If I were you I should unstarch it--" he paused abashed by +the glare in Ann's black eyes and turned helplessly to Callandar, who +had just come in, resplendent in faultless church attire. + +"Don't listen to him, Ann!" said the doctor. "Button moulders are so +ignorant. They know absolutely nothing about hair or the necessity for +special tidiness on Sundays. All the same, I'm afraid we shall have a +headache if we don't let a reef out somewhere. Sit still a moment, Ann. +I was always intended for a barber." + +To the fresh astonishment of Willits his friend's skilful hands busied +themselves with the tightly drawn hair which, only too eager for +freedom, soon fell into some of its usual curves. With a quick, shy +gesture the child drew the adored hand to her lips and kissed it. +Callandar turned a deep red. The professor chuckled, and Ann, furious at +betraying herself before him, fled precipitately, the crackling starch +of her stiff skirts rattling as she ran. + +For a moment Willits enjoyed his friend's embarrassment and then, as the +probable meaning of the frock coat began to dawn upon him, his +expression changed to one of apprehension. + +"You weren't in earnest about that church nonsense, were you?" + +"Certainly. If you need a clean collar take one of mine, and hurry up. +The first bell has stopped ringing." + +"But I'm not going!" + +"Not if I ask you nicely?" + +"But why? What are you going for?" + +"Come and see." + +The shrewd eyes of the professor grew coldly thoughtful. + +"That is exactly what I shall do," he decided. + +From the home of Mrs. Sykes upon Duke Street to the First Presbyterian +Church upon Oliver's Hill is a brisk walk of fifteen minutes. As Coombe +lies in a valley, Oliver's Hill is not a hill, really, but a gentle +eminence. It is a charming, tree-lined street bordered by the homes and +gardens of the well-to-do. It is, in fact, _the_ street of Coombe, and +to live upon Oliver's Hill is a social passport seldom mentioned but +never ignored. + +As if social prominence were not enough, it had another claim upon the +affections and memories of many, for up this hill every Sunday in a long +and goodly stream poured the first Presbyterians who were not only the +elect but also the elite of Coombe. To see Knox Church "come out" was +one of the sights of the town and, decorously hidden behind a muslin +curtain, a stranger might feast his eyes upon greatness unrebuked. It +was said at one time that every silk hat in Coombe attended Knox Church, +but this was vainglory, for it was afterwards proved that several +repaired to St. Michael's and at least one to the Baptist tabernacle. +With this explanation you will at once understand why the sidewalk was a +few feet broader upon the church side of Oliver's Hill, and if this +circumstance savours to you of ecclesiastical privilege we can only +conclude that you are not Presbyterian, and request you not to be so +narrow-minded. + +As the doctor and his half-reluctant friend turned at the foot of the +hill they were immediately absorbed by the stream pressing upwards, for +the last bell had already begun to ring. + +"We're all right," whispered Callandar encouragingly. "It rings for five +minutes." + +The professor opened his lips to say something, but shut them with a +snap. There was probably method in the doctor's madness but it was +method which would never be disclosed through much questioning. With an +expression of intense solemnity he fixed his eyes, gimlet-like, upon the +middle button of the Sunday blouse of the lady in front of him and +followed up the hill. To the absurdly low-toned remarks of his companion +he vouchsafed no reply whatever. + +They entered the church to the subdued rustle of Sunday silks and the +whisper of Sunday voices. At the door some one shook hands with +Callandar and remarked in a ghostly whisper that it was a fine day. A +grave young man, in black, led them to a pew half way down the aisle. +Most of the pews were already full, the latest comers showing slight +signs of hurry; and as they seated themselves the bell stopped and the +organ began. + +There was a moment's expectant interval and then two doors, one at +either side of the pulpit, opened simultaneously and the minister +entered from one side, the choir from the other. Before the minister +walked a very solemn man with abnormally long upper lip. This was Elder +John MacTavish, a man of large substance, of great piety and poor +digestion. It was upon this latter account that the doctor always +observed him with peculiar interest, for had not Mrs. Sykes declared +that if he should only be called in once to prescribe for John +MacTavish's stomach his future in Coombe was secure? + +"Doctor Parker is doing him just no good at all," she reported. "So keep +an eye on him. If he looks especially dour it's a good sign." + +"Would you say that he looks especially 'dour'?" whispered Callandar to +Willits. + +"I should. Why?" + +"Oh, nothing--only it's a good sign! Hush!" + +When the minister has entered the pulpit at Knox Church there is a +moment during which you may bow your head, or, if you consider this +popish, you may cover your face with your gloved hand. It is a moment of +severe quiet. One does not dare even to cough. Hence the doctor's +warning "hush!" + +But this morning the quiet was rudely broken. Somewhere, just outside +the open windows, sounded a laugh; a young, clear, unrestrained laugh, +then the call of a sharp whistle, and next moment, through the doors not +yet closed, hurtled something yellow and long-legged! With a joyous bark +it rushed along the nearest aisle, across the front of the pulpit, down +the other aisle and out at the door again. + +The congregation was amazed and grieved. Its serenity was shaken, even +the minister seemed disturbed. Some younger members of the choir +giggled. It was most unseemly. + +"Naughty dog!" said the voice outside the window. "Go home! Don't dare +to lick my hand!" + +One of the choir members grew red in the face and choked. It was +outrageous! And then, as if nothing at all had happened, the girl who +had been the cause of the whole unfortunate incident entered and walked +down the aisle. She appeared to be quite undisturbed; was, in fact, +smiling. Every eye in the church followed her as, a little out of +breath, a little flushed, with dark hair slightly disarranged as if from +an exciting chase, she took her seat, unconscious, or careless, of them +all. The minister, who had paused with almost reproachful obviousness, +gave out the opening psalm and the congregation freed itself from +embarrassment with an accustomed flutter of hymn-books. + +Going to church was somewhat interesting after all, thought Professor +Willits. Then, in common with the rest of the congregation, he detached +his eyes from the girl's exquisite profile and focused them upon +the minister. + +Friends of the Rev. Angus Macnair asserted that he was a man in a +thousand. For that matter he was a man in any number of thousands; for +his was a personality, true to type, yet not likely to be duplicated. +Born of a Highland Scotch father and a Lowland Scotch mother, he +developed almost exclusively in his father's vein. Loyal in the extreme, +narrow to fanaticism, passionate, emotional, yet trained to the cold +control of a red Indian, he was a man of power, at once the victim and +the triumph of his creed. + +Early in life he had come under a conviction of sin, had received +assurance of forgiveness and of election and, before he had left the +Public School, his Call had come. From that time forward he had burnt +with a fierce fire of godliness which, together with a natural +incapacity for seeing two sides to anything, had carried him safely +through the manifold temptations to unbelief and heresy which beset a +modern college education. Many wondered that a man so gifted should +remain in Coombe, but the explanation is simple. He suited Coombe; the +larger churches of the larger cities he did not suit. Lax opinions, +heretical doctrines, outlooks appallingly wide were creeping in +everywhere. It is safe to say that in most of the churches of his own +faith he would have seemed bravely but hopelessly behind the times. But +in Coombe he had found his place. Coombe was conservative. Coombe +Presbyterians were still content to do without frills in the matter of +doctrine. Coombe could still listen to hell fire and, if not unduly +disturbed, did not at least smile behind its hand. + +Something of all this the Button-Moulder, student of men, felt as he +watched the sombre yet glowing face of the preacher. + +The sermon that morning was one of a series dealing with the +Commandments and the text was, "Thou shalt not bear false witness +against thy neighbour." The speaker had the scholar's power of +concentration, the orator's power of delivery. He was both poignant and +personal. He seemed to do everything save mention names. Some sinners in +that congregation, thought Willits, had undoubtedly been bearing false +witness, and were now listening to a few plain words! Cautiously he +glanced around, almost expecting to see the tale of guilt and sorrow +legibly imprinted upon some culprit's face. But no one seemed at all +disturbed, save one old lady who glared back at him an unmistakable +"Thou art the man!" The congregation sat, serenely, soberly attentive, +testifying their entire agreement with the speaker by an occasional sigh +or nod. The more fiery the preacher's denunciations, the more complacent +his hearers. In astonishment Willits realised that, if appearances go +for anything, no one in Knox Presbyterian Church had ever borne false +witness against anybody! + +The collecting of the offering was somewhat of an anti-climax, as was +also the anthem by the choir, the latter consisting of a complicated +arrangement of the question, "If a man die shall he live again?" +reiterated singly by all parts in succession, by duets and quartets and +finally by the whole choir, without so much as a shadow of an answer +appearing anywhere. + +Willits gave a long sigh as they stepped into the summer day again. It +had not been uninteresting, but he was quite ready for lunch. The +doctor, on the contrary, seemed unaccountably to linger. He even paused +to talk to a fat lady in mauve velvet who had mauve cheeks to match. + +"So glad to see you in church, Doctor! Young men, you know, are inclined +to be young men! And these nice days--very tempting, I'm sure! Is your +friend a stranger?" + +Callandar gravely introduced Willits, who became immediately convinced +that this mauve lady was the most unpleasant person he had ever seen and +doubtless the very person to whom the minister had spoken in his sermon. + +Why had Callandar let him in for this? Why was he waiting around for +anyway? There he was, shaking hands with some one else--this time it was +the girl who had laughed. + +"May I present my friend, Professor Willits, Miss Coombe?" + +The girl extended a graceful hand and for an instant the professor was +permitted a look into eyes which caused him to set his firm lips +somewhat grimly. + +"And I know, Willits, you will be delighted to meet our pastor, Mr. +Macnair." + +A spark began to glow in the professor's eye, but Callandar's face was +guileless. The minister shook hands with professional heartiness, but +his gaze, Willits thought, was wandering. He began to feel interested. + +"Very fine day," he remarked imperturbably. + +"Lovely, lovely," agreed the minister, still heartily. The mauve lady +was waiting for the pastoral handshake, but he did not notice her. He +was watching the dark girl talking to Callandar. + +"What is so rare as a day in June?" said Willits, with deliberate +malice. + +"Ah, yes, very much so. Delighted to have met you. You will excuse me, +I'm sure. Annabel," with an impatient glance toward a stout, awkward +woman in the background, "if you are not quite ready I think Miss Coombe +and I will walk on." He moved toward the dark girl as he spoke and +Willits followed. + +"Then I'll have to come some other day to get the roses," they heard +Callandar say. "But remember I haven't a single flower in the office. So +it will have to be soon." + +"At any time," answered the girl, flushing slightly. + +"No flowers?" repeated the minister, a little fussily, "dear me, I will +speak to my sister. Annabel will be delighted to send you any quantity, +Doctor. You must really drop in to see our garden, some day. Sunday, of +course, is a busy day with me. Come, Miss Esther. Good morning, Doctor. +Good morning, Professor. Glad to see you at our services any time--" + +Bowing courteously, the minister moved away, followed perforce by Miss +Coombe. (An invitation to lunch at the manse is an honour not to be +trifled with.) Perforce also the doctor stood aside and Willits caught +the look, half shy, half merry, which the girl threw him from the depths +of her remarkable eyes. It was really quite interesting, and rather +funny. Not often had he seen fair ladies carried off from under the nose +of Henry Callandar. Transferring his glance quickly to the face of his +friend, he hoped to surprise a look of chagrin upon his abashed +countenance, but the countenance was not abashed, and the look which he +did surprise there startled him considerably. Henry Callandar, of all +men, to be looking after any girl with a look like that! + +Well, he had been invited to come and see. And he had seen. + + + + +CHAPTER XVI + + +As Esther walked away, demurely acquiescent, by the side of the Rev. Mr. +Macnair she was conscious of a conflict of emotions. The sight of the +doctor's disappointed face as he stood hat in hand, awoke regret and +perhaps a trifle of girlish gratification. She had been sorry herself to +miss that half hour among the roses but she was still too young and too +happy to know how few are such hours, how irrevocable such losses. Also, +it had seemed good to her maidenly pride that Dr. Callandar should +know--well, that he should see--just exactly what he should know and see +she did not formulate. But underneath her temporary disappointment she +felt as light and glad as a bird in springtime. + +The minister was speaking, but he had been speaking for several moments +before Esther's delighted flutter would permit of her listening to him. +When at last her thoughts came back she noticed, with a happy-guilty +start, that his tone was one of dignified reproof. + +"Naturally we all understand," he was saying, "at least I hope we all +understand, that you are not primarily to blame. At the worst one can +only impute carelessness--" + +"Oh, but it wasn't carelessness! You don't know Buster. He's the +_cleverest_ dog! He hid. I had no idea that he was with me until he +bounded past me at the church door. And though I whistled and tried to +grab him he was in before I knew it. I'll make him sit up meekly and beg +your pardon." + +A flush of what in a layman might have been anger crimsoned the +minister's cheek. + +"You are well aware," stiffly, "that I am not referring to the incident +of the dog." + +"To what then? I am sorry I wasn't listening but you seemed to be +scolding and I couldn't think of anything else." Even the abstruse Mr. +Macnair saw that her surprise was genuine. His tone grew gentler. + +"You are very young, Miss Esther. But since I must speak more plainly, I +was referring to that mad escapade of a week ago. Don't misunderstand +me, the blame undoubtedly rests upon the man who was thoughtless enough, +selfish enough, to put you in such a position." + +"Whatever do you mean?" Esther was torn between anger and a desire to +laugh. But seeing the earnestness in his face, anger predominated. "Can +you possibly be referring to the breakdown of Dr. Callandar's motor?" +she asked coldly. + +"I refer to the whole unfortunate adventure. If your step-mother had +been at home I feel sure it would not have happened. She would never +have permitted the excursion to take place." + +The girl's dark brows drew together in their own peculiar manner. + +"Let us be honest," she suggested. "You know quite well that my +step-mother would not have bothered about it in the least." + +"I feel it my duty," went on the minister, "to tell you that there were +some peculiar features in connection with the disablement of the motor. +I understand from the mechanician who accompanied Dr. Callandar to the +spot for the recovery of the machine that there was really very little +the matter. A short ten minutes completed the necessary repairs." + +"Ten minutes? Oh, how silly he must have felt--the doctor I mean. After +all the hours he spent and the things he said." She laughed with +reminiscent amusement. "He threw the monkey wrench at it, too. And he +thought he knew so much about motors!" + +Her companion observed her with sombre eyes. Was it possible that she +had actually missed the point of his remark? + +"Can you understand," he said slowly, "how a man used to driving a motor +car can have been entirely baffled by so slight an accident? To me it +seems--odd!" + +"So Dr. Callandar thought, only he expressed it more forcibly." + +"And you?" + +"Well, I suppose I was heartless. But it was the funniest thing I ever +saw!" Esther's laughter bubbled again. + +They were now at the manse gate. He saw that he must hasten. + +"My dear Miss Esther, let us be serious. I do not like to +disturb your mind but I have a duty in this matter. Has it never +occurred to you that this so-called accident may not have been +so--so--er--entirely--er--irremediable, so to speak, as it was made +to appear?" + +"Do you mean that he did it on purpose?" The tone was one of blank +amazement. Esther's hand was upon the gate but forgot to press the +latch. She was a quick brained girl and the insinuation in the +minister's words had been patent. Yet that he should be capable of such +an idea seemed incredible! Had he been looking at her he would have seen +the clear red surge over her face from neck to brow and then recede, but +not before it had lighted a danger spark in her eyes. + +"You did mean that!" She went on before he could answer. The scorn in +her voice stung. But the Reverend Angus was not a coward. + +"That was my meaning. You are a young and inexperienced girl. You go +upon an excursion with a man whom none of us know. An accident, a very +peculiar accident, happens. You are led to believe that the damage is +serious, but later, when the matter is investigated, it is found to have +been trifling. What is the natural inference? What have you to say?" + +"It has been said before," calmly. + +"Well--" + +"Thou shalt not bear false witness against thy neighbor." + +They faced each other, the man and the girl. And the man's eyes fell. + +"God forbid that I should do so," he murmured. + +Esther's face softened. Her anger was not proof against humility. + +"If you are really disturbed about it," she said slowly, "I can reassure +you. You say that you do not know Dr. Callandar. But I do know him. The +whole situation rests upon that. He is a man incapable of the caddish +villainy you impute. Why he could not repair the car, I cannot say. I +think," with a smile, "that he does not know quite as much about cars as +he thinks he does. But he did his best, I know that! When we found his +efforts useless we took the only course possible and made at once for +the canoe. We had to steal it, you remember, but the doctor showed no +faltering in that. He was also prepared to shoot the dog. And you have +my word for it that he made no attempt to swamp the canoe or to +otherwise complicate matters. I arrived at Mrs. Burton's by ten minutes +past nine. She was delighted to see me. Dr. Callandar walked over to the +station and sent telegrams to Aunt Amy and Mrs. Sykes. He returned to +Coombe upon the morning train. I remained with Mrs. Burton and came back +in time for school on the milk train Monday morning. That is the whole +story of the adventure and, to be frank, I enjoyed it immensely." + +The minister shook his head, but he could say no more. His attitude had +not changed, yet he felt a sense of shame before the straightforward +honesty of Esther's outlook. She had no sense of the evil of the world. +That very fact seemed to make the world less evil. + +"When will Mrs. Coombe be back?" he asked abruptly. + +Immediately the girl's frank look clouded. "I do not know," she said. +"She hardly ever tells me when she is returning. She may be at home any +day now. You know how impulsively she acts." + +"Yes--just so." The minister's manner was absent. "The fact is I wish +very much to speak with your mother regarding a certain matter. Not the +matter we have been discussing, we will say no more of that, but a +matter of great importance to--er--to me. The importance is such indeed +that I doubt if I am justified in delaying longer if you have no idea of +when I may expect to see her." + +Had Esther been noticing she must have remarked the unusual agitation of +his manner, but Esther was not noticing. + +"Is it anything you could discuss with me?" she asked innocently. +"Mother cares less and less for business. Unless it is something quite +private she will probably turn it over to me in any case." + +"But this is not--er--a matter of business. Not exactly. Not a business +matter at all, in fact. It is a matter which--" + +"Oh, there you are!" Miss Annabel's voice was breathless but gratified +and free from the faintest suspicion of having arrived, as usual, at +exactly the wrong moment. "Are you showing Esther the new rose, Angus? +Such a disappointment, Esther, my dear! I had quite made up my mind that +it was to be red. It came out pink, and such a beautifully strong +plant--such a waste! I simply can't make myself care for pink roses. +They are so common. Was I very long? You must both be starved. I know I +am. Won't you come upstairs, Esther, and put off your hat?" + +Esther intimated that she would. Just now, she had no desire for the +further company of Mr. Macnair. She was conscious even of a faint +stirring of dislike. Therefore the eagerness with which she followed +Miss Annabel filled that good lady with hospitable reproach. + +"I didn't intend to be so long," she apologised, "but you know what +choir-leaders are? And Angus won't speak to him. I can't make Angus out +lately. Tell me," abruptly, as they stood in the cool front room with +its closed green shutters, "did _you_ notice anything peculiar +about Angus?" + +"No," in surprise, "is he peculiar?" + +"Quite. He's getting fussy. He never used to be fussy. The trouble was +to induce him to be fussy enough. Except over church matters. But this +morning he was just like an ordinary man. About his collar" (Miss +Annabel had a fascinating habit of disjointing her sentences anywhere) +"nothing suited him. And you know, Esther, what care I always take with +his collars. He said they were too shiny. Of course they're shiny. Why +not? He said he noticed that men weren't wearing shine on their collars +now. Fancy that!" + +"Not really?" Esther's fresh laugh rang out. + +"Well, words to that effect. He asked me if I wanted to make him a +laughing stock before the congregation. Did you ever? And he _banged +the door_!" + +"Does he not bang doors usually?" + +"Never. And he banged it hard. It shook the house." + +"But people have to bang doors, hard, sometimes, even ministers. I +wouldn't worry if I were you. It probably did him the world of good. As +for the collars--he may have been noticing Dr. Callandar's. Mrs. Sykes +says the doctor sends all his laundry to the city." + +"You don't say? And is it different from ours?" + +"I--yes, I think it does look different." + +"How did you happen to notice it? Oh, Esther, you aren't really carrying +on with that strange young man, are you?" + +The girl's cheek flamed. The question, she knew, was void of offence. +"Carrying on" meant nothing, but the homely phrase seemed suddenly very +displeasing--horribly vulgar! Her very ears burned. What if, some time, +he should hear a like phrase used to describe their wonderful +friendship? The thought was acute discomfort. Oh, how mean and small and +misunderstanding people were! + +She took off her hat and smoothed her hair without answering. But Miss +Annabel was so used to having her anxious queries unanswered that she +did not notice the lack. + +"I know you haven't, of course," she went on. "But Coombe is such a +place for gossip. Ever since you and he had that smash-up with the +automobile, people have kind of got it into their heads that you're +keeping company. But I said to Mrs. Miller, 'I know Esther Coombe better +than you do and it isn't at all likely that a girl who can pick and +choose will go off with a stranger--even if he is a doctor. And,' I +said, 'how do we know he is a doctor anyway?' Goodness knows he came +into the place like a tramp. You've heard, haven't you, Esther, how he +came into the Imperial with nothing but a knapsack and riding in +Mournful Mark's democrat?" + +This time she did pause for an answer and Esther said "Yes," shortly. + +"Then that settles it. I knew you had some sense. Just like I said to +Mrs. Miller. Next time I see her I'll tell her what you say. 'Tisn't as +if we knew anything about the man. No wonder you feel vexed about it." + +"I hope you will not mention the subject at all." + +"Of course not. Except to tell them how silly they are. You're sure you +didn't notice anything queer about Angus when you were walking home +from church?" + +"Nothing at all." Yet, as she said it, it occurred to her that she had +noticed something unusual in the minister's manner--an agitation, a lack +of poise! "Perhaps he is disturbed about church matters," she suggested, +thinking of the interrupted conversation about the important matter +which was not business. "Why don't you ask him?" + +Miss Annabel shook her head. "Oh, I never ask him anything! But," +cheerfully, "I almost always manage to find out. I'm rather good at +finding out things. But this isn't a church matter. I know all the +symptoms of that. This is different. It's--it's more human!" + +"Liver?" suggested Esther. + +"No. I know the symptoms of liver too, Esther! What if it should be +_Love_!" + +The idea was so daring that Miss Macnair justly spoke it in italics. But +the attitude of her listener was disappointing. Esther looked as if it +might be quite a natural thing for the minister of Knox Church to +fall in love. + +"Love!" she said the word caressingly. "Perhaps it is. They say love is +a disturbing thing. But--does it usually make a man bang doors?" + +"It often turns a sensible man into a fool." Miss Annabel's tone held +bitterness. "But what I can't discover is this! If Angus is in love, +whom is he in love with?" The question was delivered with such force +that Esther jumped. + +"I'm sure I don't know!" + +"Nor do I. And that is what I must find out. I have my suspicions. My +dear, don't let me startle you, but have you ever thought that it might +possibly be--your mother?" + +"Gracious! So it might! I never thought of it." + +"I have not been blind," went on Miss Annabel complacently. "I have +noticed how often he calls at the Elms and how long he stays. Also how +very considerate he is of Mrs. Coombe, how patient with Jane, how +indulgent with you--" + +"Indulgent with me!" indignantly. "Why should he be 'indulgent' with +me?" + +"Why, indeed," asked Miss Macnair pointedly, "unless on account of your +mother?" + +Esther subdued a desire to laugh. Many little things, half-observed, +seemed to fit in with Miss Annabel's theory. Yet, somehow, instinct told +her that the theory was wrong. + +"I don't believe it," she declared finally. "At first I thought it +possible but now I seem to know that we're on the wrong track. Mr. +Macnair is not in love with mother, and as for mother--Oh, the thing is +absurd! Aren't you awfully hungry, Miss Annabel?" + + + + +CHAPTER XVII + + +It was a curious luncheon party. The host was abstracted, nervous, far +from being his usual bland self. The guest was subdued, silent, uneasy +for no reason at all. The hostess, usually an ever-springing well of +comment and question, had decided upon quiet dignity as the most fitting +expression of sensibilities ignored by the banging of doors. + +"I think, Angus," she ventured once, "that you ought to remonstrate with +Mr. McCandless in regard to 'If a man die.' An Easter Anthem is an +Easter Anthem, but after five renderings it is hardly fair to expect the +congregation to behave as if they had never heard it before." + +"Quite so," said the minister absently. + +"Then may I tell him myself that it is your special request--" + +"Certainly not. I wish you would not interfere, Annabel. The choir does +very well. I think I have told you before that your continual desire for +something novel in music has not my sympathy. I am not sure that I +approve of this growing craze for anthems. They seem to me, sometimes, +wholly unconnected with worship. We do not ask for new hymns every +Sunday, nor do we ever become weary of the psalms. Indeed, familiarity +seems often the measure of our affection." + +"Net with anthems," firmly. "Anthems are different. Aren't anthems +different, Esther?" + +"I have known familiarity to breed something besides affection in the +case of anthems," agreed Esther. + +In the ordinary course of things this remark would have aroused her host +into delivering a neat and timely discourse upon the proper relation of +music to the service of the Protestant Church and the tendency of the +present age to unduly exalt the former at the expense of the latter. But +to-day he merely upset the salt and looked things at the innocent +salt-cellar which his conscience, or his cloth, did not allow him +to utter. + +Miss Annabel raised her eyebrows at Esther in a significant way, +telegraphing, "What did I tell you?" And Esther signaled back, "You were +right. He is certainly not himself." + +Several other topics were introduced with no better result and every one +felt relieved when lunch was over. + +"I think," said the Reverend Angus, as they arose, "that it is probably +pleasanter in the garden." + +Esther glanced at Miss Annabel. She wanted very much to go home. Yet in +Coombe it was distinctly bad mannered to leave hurriedly, after a meal. +She thought of pleading a headache, but the excuse seemed too +transparent and she could think of nothing better. Miss Annabel was +unresponsive. Her host was already moving toward the door. Now he held +it open for her. There was nothing to do but go. If she were clever she +could keep the conversation in Miss Annabel's hands. + +But Miss Annabel's brother had other ideas. "I think," he suggested with +the soft authority which in that house was law, "that as you are taking +Mrs. Miller's class, Annabel, it might be well for you to look over the +Sabbath School lesson. Our guest will excuse you, I know." + +"Why, I've hardly seen her at all, Angus." + +"There will be time later. I am sure Miss Esther understands." + +Esther understood very well and her heart sank. She was probably in for +another scolding. However, as politeness required, she murmured that on +no account would she wish to interfere with the proper religious +instruction of Mrs. Miller's class. Miss Annabel looked rebellious, but +as usual found discretion the better part and contented herself with +another facial telegram to Esther: "Find out what is the matter with +him." And Esther smiled and nodded: "I'll try." + +"Perhaps you would like to see the rose bush to which my sister +referred," began the minister nervously as they stepped out upon the +lawn. "It is a very fine rose, but pink, I regret to say, pink. It is +unfortunate that Annabel should dislike pink so much. I think myself +that a pink rose is very pretty. Something a little different from the +red and white varieties." + +Esther murmured, "Naturally," and opened her strange eyes widely so +that he could see the mischief which was like a blue flash in the depths +of them. He coloured faintly. + +"I fear I am talking nonsense! The fact is that I am thinking of +something else. Something so important that it occupies my mind +completely. That is why, Esther, I wished to speak with you alone." + +The girl was thoroughly interested now. She was flattered also. Miss +Annabel had been right. Something was troubling the minister. And she, +Esther, was to be his confidant. To her untroubled, girlish conceit +(girls are very wise!) it seemed natural enough. She had no doubt of +her ability to help him. Therefore her face and her answering "Yes?" +were warmly encouraging. + +It is a general belief that a woman always knows, instinctively, when a +man is going to propose to her. She cannot be taken unawares; her +flutter, her surprise, her hesitancy are assumed as being artistically +suitable, but her unpreparedness is never bona fide. If this be the true +psychology of the matter then Esther's case was the exception which +proves the rule. No warning came to her, no intuition. She was still +looking at the minister with that warm expression of impersonal +interest, when, without further preliminaries, he began his halting +avowal of love. + +Had the poor pink rose-bush suddenly flamed into crimson she could +scarcely have been more surprised. She caught her breath with the shock +of it! But shocks are quickly over. One adjusts one's self with +incredible swiftness. A moment--and it seemed to Esther that she ought +to have been expecting this. That she ought to have known it all along. +Thousands of trifles mocked at her for her blindness, thousands of +unheeded voices shrieked the truth into her opened ears. She felt +miserably guilty. Not yet had she arrived at the stage when she could +justify her blindness and deafness to herself. Later, she would +understand how custom, the life-long habit of regarding the minister as +a man apart, had helped to dull her perception. Later, common sense +would prove her innocent of any wilful blunder. But just now, in her +first bewilderment, it seemed that nothing could ever excuse that lack +of understanding which had made this declaration possible! + +"I love you, Esther! I have loved you for two years." (It was like the +Reverend Angus to refer to the exact period.) "You must have seen it. +This can be no surprise to you. You may blame me in your heart for not +speaking sooner. But you were young. There seemed time enough. Then, +lately, when I saw that you were no longer a child, I decided to speak +as soon as your mother should have returned. But to-day I felt that I +could not wait longer. I must know at once--now! I must hear you say +that you love me. That you will be my wife. You will--Esther?" + +His impassioned tones lingered on the name with ecstasy. + +The startled girl forced herself to look at him, a look swift as a +swallow's dart, but in it she saw everything--the light on his face--the +love in his eyes! And something else she saw, something of which she did +not know the name but from which, not loving him, she shrank with an +instinctive shiver of revolt. He seemed a different man. The minister, +the teacher, was gone, and in his place stood the lover, the claimer. +Yes--that was it. He claimed her, his glance, his voice--somewhere in +the girl's heart a red spark of anger began to glow. + +She tried to speak, but he silenced her by a gesture. "No, do not answer +yet. Although you must have known what I have felt for you, you are +startled by my suddenness, I can see that. I have told you that it was +not my intention to speak so soon. Circumstances have hurried me. I felt +that I must have this settled. That--that episode of last week alone +would have determined me. Things like that must not recur. I must have +the right to advise, to--to protect you. You are so young. You do not +know the world, its wickedness, its incredible vileness." His face was +white with intense inward passion. "With me you will be safe. My God! +to think of you at the mercy of that man--of any man! It stirs a madness +of hate in me. Hate is a sin, I know, but God will understand--it is +born of love, of my love for you." + +Again the girl tried to force some words from her trembling lips. And +again he stopped her. + +"Do not speak yet. I apologise for my violence. Forgive it. We need not +refer to this aspect of the matter again. Let us dwell only upon the +sweeter idea of our love--for you do love me? You will love me--Esther?" + +But the time for speech had gone. To her own intense surprise and to the +minister's consternation, Esther burst into tears. + +She was frightened, angry, stung with pity and a kind of horror. She +felt herself honoured and insulted at the same time; and with this +strange medley of emotions was a consciousness of youth and inexperience +very different from the calm, untried confidence of a few +minutes before. + +"Forgive me, forgive me!" pleaded the conscience stricken suitor. "I +have been too sudden! I should have prepared you. I should have allowed +you to see more plainly." With a lover's first, fond air of possession +he attempted to take her hand. + +"Don't!" The word was sharp as a pistol shot. Esther's tears were +suddenly stayed. Furtively she slipped the hand he had touched behind +her. With the other she felt for her handkerchief and frankly wiped +her eyes. + +"You startled me," she explained presently. "And I am so sorry, so very +sorry! I never dreamed that you thought of me at all--in that way, any +more than I have thought of you. You honour me very much. But it is +impossible. Quite, quite impossible." + +"You mean my position here, as minister? Believe me, I have thought of +all that. There may be difficulties but we will conquer them together. +Nothing is impossible if you love me, dear." + +"Oh!" She turned wide blue eyes upon him. "That is just it. I do not +love you." + +The blow fell swift, unerring, dealt by the mercilessly honest hand of +youth. Esther's eyes were quite dry now. Her nervousness was passing. +Regret and pity were merged in one overpowering, instinctive desire: the +desire to show him beyond all manner of doubt that she repudiated that +possessive touch upon her hand. "I could not ever possibly marry you," +she said, as calmly as if she had been accustomed to dismissing suitors +all her life. + +They were still standing by the rose-bush whose desperate fate it was to +produce pink roses. With incredulous dismay, the minister saw her turn +from him and take a step toward the house. + +She had refused him! She was leaving him! At any moment Annabel might +finish her Sunday School lesson and come out upon the lawn--all his +self-possession vanished like a puff of smoke. + +"Esther!" he cried, "Esther! wait. Give me a moment." + +She paused, but did not turn. + +"I think there is nothing more to say--I am very sorry." + +Sorry! She was sorry. This young girl upon whom he had set his desire, +of whom he had felt so sure, to whom his love should have come as a +crown, was sorry. King Cophetua, flouted by the beggar maid, could not +have been more astonished, more deeply humiliated! + +But the greater wound was not to his pride. At any cost to his dignity +and self-respect he could not let her go like this. His ministerial +manner fell away, his readiness deserted him. In a moment he became all +lover, pleading, entreating, with the one great abandon of his life, +with the stammering eloquence of unspeakable desire! + +Slowly the girl turned to him. He saw her pure profile, then the full +charm of her changing face. The blue eyes, widely open, were darker, +lovelier than ever--Surely there was softening in their depths.... + +"Es--ther, Es--ther!" Miss Annabel's voice broke upon the tense moment +with cheerful insistence, and Miss Annabel herself appeared at the turn +of the walk, waving a slip of paper. She saw them at once. + +"You're wanted at home, Esther. Your mother's come back. To-day! Think +of that! On the noon train. In face of the whole town. And all she said +when Elder MacTavish met her coming up from the station was that she had +forgotten it was Sunday. Fancy!" + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII + + +Perhaps never, in all her life of inopportune arrivals, had Miss Annabel +been so truly welcome--or so bitterly resented! Esther turned to her +with a heart-sob of relief, the minister walked away without a word. + +"Dear me! What's the matter?" said the good lady. "You seem all excited. +Perhaps I shouldn't have shouted out the news so abruptly. But it never +occurred to me that you might be startled. 'Tisn't as if your mother had +been away a year. Jane's waiting for you down by the gate. Such a +peculiar child! Nothing I could say will induce her to come in. Don't +you find Jane is a peculiar child, Esther?" + +"Only a little shy," said Esther, quickening her steps. + +"Shy! Mercy, I shouldn't call her shy. That child has the +self-possession of a Chinee! I hope you won't mind me saying it, but a +little shyness is exactly what Jane needs." + +Esther, whose shaken nerves threatened hysterical laughter, made no +reply to this, but hurried toward the small figure by the garden gate. + +"Oh, Jane!" she called, somewhat shakily. + +At her voice, the Shy One stopped kicking holes in the turf with the +toes of her new boots and executing a bearlike rush, threw herself into +her sister's arms. + +"I'm home, Esther! So's mother! And she says I don't have to go to +Sunday School. That's why I didn't want to come in. Let's hurry before +the minister comes." + +"Listen to that!" said Miss Annabel in indignation. "Any one would +think my brother was an ogre. Angus! Why, he's gone! I thought he was +following us." + +"I think Mr. Macnair went into the house." + +"Did he? What did I tell you? Perhaps my news surprised him as well as +you. I thought he looked as pale as a plate. What do you think?" + +"I think it is none of our business." + +Miss Annabel gave her a shrewd look. "Perhaps not your business. You +don't have to live with him. But I do. Well, good-bye, my dear. Tell +your mother," significantly, "that I'll be over to see her soon." + +Both girls were relieved that the minister did not leave his study to +say good-bye. They breathed more freely and their steps slackened as +soon as the corner which hid the manse had been safely passed. + +"I've got new boots," began Jane. "See them? And Fred's new dog has got +puppies! He calls her Pickles. She got the puppies this morning. Oh! +they're darlings! But Fred is horrid. He says he is going to give me one +for my own, to make up for Timothy. Just as if anything ever could! I +never knew any one so heartless as Fred--except Job." + +"Job who?" It was a relief to Esther to let the childish chatter run on. + +"Why, _Job_. Job was just like Fred. When all his wives died and his +little children and his cows, he felt bad, but when God gave him more +wives and more children and lots of cows he was pleased as Punch. I +always thought that so strange of God," in a reflective tone, "but I +expect he knew what kind of man Job was and that he didn't have any real +feelings. Do you think I ought to take the puppy, Esther? I shouldn't +like to be like Job." + +"I think there is no danger, dear. But how is mother? Better?" + +"Was she sick?" in surprise. + +"Her headaches, you know." + +"Oh, yes. I don't know whether they are better or not," carelessly. "I +didn't see much of mother while we were away. I played all day with Mrs. +Bremner's little girl. Except when we went shopping. I think she must be +better, for she did such lots of shopping." + +Esther smiled. "Not very much, I think, Janie. Shopping takes money." + +"But she did! I have lots and lots of new clothes. Only," +discontentedly, "most of them don't fit. Mother could never be bothered +trying them on. She's got some lovely things, too. Dresses and hats and +piles of new shoes and heaps of silk stockings--" + +"Jane, why do you say 'lots' and 'piles' and 'heaps' when you know you +are exaggerating?" + +But there was a note of anxiety in the reproof nevertheless. + +"I'm not exaggerating, Esther! She did. Even Miss Bremner asked her what +she was going to do with them all." + +The elder girl's fingers tightened upon the small hand she held. Her red +lips set themselves in a firm line. In face of a danger which she could +see and measure Esther had courage enough. And she had faced this +particular danger before. + +"Mother will tell me all about it, no doubt," she said calmly. "Did she +get me something pretty, too?" + +"Yes. It's a surprise." + +"And when she got all the pretty things I suppose she told the clerks to +charge them?" + +"Oh, no. She paid for them out of her purse." + +Esther was conscious of a swift reaction. The things were paid for. Of +course Jane had exaggerated. Children have no sense of value. Some +dainty things, Mrs. Coombe was sure to buy; but, as Esther well knew, +her slender stock of money would hardly have run to "piles" and "heaps." +And of course she had been unjust in fearing that Mary had gone into +debt. They had one experience of that kind, an experience which had +ended in a solemn promise that it would never happen again. Mary +understood the position as well as she did. + +As the girl's thought trailed naturally into the problem paths of every +day, her weeks of freedom, her new interests, the strange experience in +the manse garden seemed already remote. With the little frown of +accustomed perplexity slipping in between her straight, black brows, her +deeper agitation quieted. The unusual has no antidote so effective as +the commonplace. + +They found Mrs. Coombe waiting for them on the veranda. Lying back in +the shade, in her white dress she looked very much at her ease. Yet a +quick observer might have noticed a certain anxiety in the glance she +tried to render merely welcoming. She was thinner than she had been; +tired lines dragged at the corners of the pouting mouth and dark circles +showed plainly through their dusting of pearl powder. Changes which +creep in unnoticed when one sees a person every day are startlingly +apparent when absence has forced a clearer focus. Esther had known that +her step-mother had changed, was changing, but as she bent over her now, +the extent of the change shocked her. With a tightening at her heart +she wondered what her father would say if he could see the difference +wrought by one short year. Pearl powder, lavishly used, is not becoming, +especially when it sifts into multitudes of fine lines; nor can powder +or anything else brighten a dull, yellowing skin which in health would +still be delicately clear and firm. + +But the dulled eyes and the faded face were only the symptoms of the +real change in Mary Coombe. The thing itself lay deeper. Striving to +express a subtlety which would not lend itself to words, Esther had more +than once told herself that her mother was "not the same woman." Yet it +was only to-day, as she stooped to kiss her, that the startling, literal +truth of the phrase struck home. The outside changes were nothing--it +was the woman herself who had changed. + +"Well, Esther!" The sweet high voice with its impatient note was the +same as ever. "Here we are home again. Fancy me forgetting it was +Sunday! Wasn't it funny? We met old MacTavish coming up from the station +(not a single cab down to meet the train, of course!) and he looked so +shocked. Really, this place grows more insufferable every day. It seems +to agree with you, though, you're looking awfully well. Amy looks well, +too. The new doctor must be something of a wonder." + +"He is considered very clever. Aunt Amy is certainly better. Now that +you are home you must let him see what he can do for you." + +Mrs. Coombe's pouting lips lengthened into a hard line. + +"I won't see a doctor. And that's flat." + +"Are you feeling better, then?" + +As was always the case, her mother's perversity dissipated Esther's +sympathy and left her tone cold. It was all the colder probably because +just at that moment she had noticed that the simple white frock Mrs. +Coombe was wearing was not simple at all. The delicate embroidery on it +was all hand work. And French embroidery is no inexpensive trifle. It +was probably a new "best" gown; but if so, why had it been worn on the +train, why was it soiled in places and carelessly put on? The skirt was +not even, the collar, having lost a support, sagged at one side and just +below the girdle belt there was a small, jagged rent. Esther noticed +these details with vexation and discomfort, for it was part of the +change in Mary Coombe that from being one of the most carefully gowned +women in town she had become one of the most slovenly. All her natty, +pretty, American "style" which the plainer Canadians had sometimes +envied was gone. But this--this was worse than usual! The girl's quick +eyes travelled downward, noting the increased signs of deterioration +with something like distress. + +"Why, mother," she exclaimed involuntarily, "there is a hole in your +stocking!" + +"Is there?" Mary Coombe thrust out a small and elegant foot clad in +thinnest silk and shod with pretty slippers not very clean and turning +over at the heel. + +"Dear me!" she said. "So there is. I need new slippers too. I quite +forgot to get any." + +"Oh, mother!" Jane's cry was instant. "You got heaps. Tan ones and brown +ones and white ones and black ones with silver buckles--" + +"Jane!" interrupted Esther, laughing. "Give your imagination a rest." + +"But you did, didn't you, mother?" + +"Did I? Why, yes--I did buy a few shoes. I had forgotten. The Customs +man didn't find them either. Run and fetch me a clean white pair, Jane, +and bring down the surprise we got for Esther--see how disapproving she +looks. I declare, Esther, it would be just like you to make things +disagreeable the moment I get home. I didn't charge a cent, if that's +what you're afraid of." + +"I knew you wouldn't do that," gravely. "And of course I'm glad you got +the things. But I can't see how you managed." + +"Oh, sales," vaguely. "Things are so cheap in Detroit and Jessica +Bremner is a born shopper. She gets wonderful bargains. Anyway, I got +them, and I'm not a cent in debt." + +"What's debt?" asked Jane. + +"Buying what you can't pay for, Janie." + +"Oh, mother paid for everything. I saw her. It's Mrs. Bremner that's in +debt, isn't she, mother?" + +"Don't be silly, Jane, of course not. Jessica is far better off than we +are." + +"But she only gave you half the money for the ring. I heard her say--" + +"Jane, get those slippers at once." + +"I'm going. But Mrs. Bremner said--" + +Mrs. Coombe's hand came down with stinging force upon the child's ear. + +"Will you obey me--or will you not?" + +Jane retired wailing and her mother sank back into her veranda chair, +red spots burning through the powder on her cheeks. + +Esther sat very still for a moment, and then, without looking at the +other, she asked in a low voice: + +"What did she mean?" + +"How should I know?" fretfully. + +"What ring did Mrs. Bremner give you money for? Did--you have to sell +one of your rings?" + +"Yes, I did." + +"Which one?" + +"Oh, don't bother me, Esther." + +"But I want to know which one." + +"It was the big red one!" called Jane from the hallway, where she had +waited, safely out of reach. + +Mary Coombe sprang up, fury blazing in her eyes, but Jane had fled, and +Esther, cool and capable, was blocking the doorway. + +"Sit down, mother. I've got to know about this. What ring does she +mean?" + +For an instant the older woman hesitated, then with a little shrug she +turned back to the chair. The fury had died away as quickly as it +had arisen. + +"I knew you would be disagreeable," she said. "And you were bound to +hear about the ring some time. Jane is the most ungrateful child, and a +little tell-tale; the makings of a regular little cat! I'm sure I spent +her full share on her, and I've brought you something nice, too. Not +that I expect to be thanked for it. Of course I had to have some money. +I hadn't a rag to wear, not a rag. And I got everything ready made. It's +cheaper. Anyway, I can't stand dressmakers any more. They paw one so. I +can't bear to be touched, my wretched nerves! And I remembered the fuss +you made about the bills last time. You know you did make a fuss, +Esther, as if all your dear father left belonged to you and not to me--" + +"But what did you _do_?" + +"I'm telling you, amn't I? I sold the ring, of course." + +"Which ring?" + +"The ruby ring. It's the only one that is worth anything!" + +"You sold Aunt Amy's ring?" + +"If you wish to put it that way, yes. I consider it is as much my ring +as hers. She is my aunt and it is understood that all her things will +come to me. She has lived here ever since I was married and I think it's +a funny thing if she can't help me out occasionally. I simply had to +have money and the ruby was the only thing worth selling. Good Heavens! +Don't look so crazy. One would think I had stolen it!" + +"You have." + +Again Mrs. Coombe arose; this time without flurry. The little excitement +had done her good. The dull eyes were actually sparkling, the sallow +cheeks were flushed. She looked just as she used to look in one of her +little rages before the great change came. + +"That's enough, Esther. I'll take no more from you. I did what seemed to +me right. If Amy were in her right mind I should not have had to take +the ring, she would have offered it. Under the circumstances I did the +only sensible thing. Amy will never discover the loss. I am getting a +very good price for it from Jessica Bremner. It is a valuable jewel. She +snatched at the chance of getting it." + +Behind its whiteness Esther's face seemed to glow with pale flame. "Is +it possible that you have forgotten the history of that ring?" she +asked. "That it was poor Auntie's engagement ring and that, although she +can't remember anything about it, she knows it means something more than +life to her. And that she always says that she cannot die without the +ruby on her finger?" + +Mrs. Coombe looked uncomfortable, but kept her poise. + +"It's all rubbish. She'll forget all about it. Dying people don't think +of ruby rings. And anyway, she will probably outlive all of us. If +not--we can easily divert her attention." + +The girl looked at her step-mother in horror, half believing that this +must be some cruel joke. The callousness of the words seemed +unbelievable. But the reality of them could no longer be doubted and the +pale glow died out of her face, leaving it white and hard. + +"I do not understand you," she said slowly. "Somehow you do not seem +quite--human. But be sure of this, Aunt Amy shall have back her lover's +ring. Jane says it has not all been paid for. How much did you receive?" + +"I shall not tell you. And I warn you, Esther, not to waste your money. +If you buy it back, I shall sell it again." + +They were standing now facing each other. Esther took a step forward and +looked down steadily into her step-mother's face. Her own curious eyes +were wide open, they looked like blue stars, bright, cold and +powerful as flame. + +"No! You shall not." + +For a space Mary Coombe met that sword-like look, then her weaker will +gave way. Her eyes shifted and fell. Her hands began to pluck nervously +at the embroidery of her dress. She laughed, a little, affected laugh +with no mirth in it, turned and entered the house. + + + + +CHAPTER XIX + + +We have stated elsewhere that Coombe was conservative, but by this we do +not mean to imply that it was benighted. Far from it! True, it talked a +great deal before it ventured upon anything strange or new, referred +constantly to the tax rate and ran no risks, but at the time of which we +write it had decided to take a plebescite upon the matter of Local +Option and, a little later, the council wished to go so far as to +present Andrew MacCandless, who had served them five times as mayor, +with an address and a purse of fifty dollars. + +The Presbyterian church, too, although still clinging to solid doctrine, +was far removed from the tuning-fork stage. Through throes of terrible +convulsion it had come to possess an organ, a paid soloist, and a +Ladies' Aid, that insidious first thing in women's clubs. + +The first meeting of the Knox Church Ladies' Aid, after the return of +Mrs. Coombe and Jane, was held for the purpose of putting together a +quilt, not the old-fashioned kind, of course, but something quite +new--an autograph quilt, very chaste. + +It was a large meeting and, providentially, Mrs. Coombe was late. I say +providentially because, had she been early, it is difficult to imagine +how her fellow members would have eased their minds of the load of +comment justified by her indiscreet home-coming, and several other +things equally painful but interesting. The Ladies' Aid had its printed +constitution but it also had its unwritten laws and one of these laws +was that strictest courtesy must always be observed. No member, whatever +her failings, was ever discussed in meeting--when she was present. + +"What I cannot excuse," said Mrs. Bartley Simson, "is the tone of levity +in which she answered Mr. MacTavish when he met her on the way from the +station. It is possible that she had some good reason for coming on that +particular train. I am not one of those who hold that nothing can ever +justify Sunday travel. Exceptional cases must be allowed for. But the +frivolity of her excuse nothing can justify." + +"Besides," said Miss Atkins, the secretary, "it was a--it sounded +like--what I mean to say is that she could not possibly, _no one_ could +possibly, have forgotten what day of the week it was." + +A subdued chorus of "Certainly not" and "Absurd" showed the trend of +public opinion upon this point. + +"I once forgot that Wednesday was Thursday," said the youngest Miss +Sinclair, who always stood for peace at any price. + +"Don't be silly, Jessie!" The elder Miss Sinclair, who believed in war +with honour, jogged her sister's elbow none too gently. "That's a +different thing altogether. For my own part," raising her voice, "I +think that as a society we cannot be too careful how we minimise the +fact itself. To us, as a society, it is the fact itself that matters, +and not what Mrs. Coombe said about it. That, to a certain extent, may +be her own affair. But I hold, and I say it without fear of successful +contradiction, that no member of a community can disregard the Sabbath +in a public way without affecting the community at large. That is why I +feel justified in criticising Mrs. Coombe's behaviour. And I hope," here +she raised a piercing eye and let it range triumphantly over the circle, +"I sincerely hope that the minister has been told of this occurrence!" + +The meeting rustled with approbation. This, it felt, was something like +a proper spirit. There was no compromise here. A thrill of conscious +virtue, raised to the _n_th power, shot through the circle. + +"You think that Mr. Macnair ought to take cognizance of it officially?" +asked Miss Atkins. (Being the secretary she used many beautiful words.) + +"I do." + +"But he and Mrs. Coombe are such friends!" objected the younger Miss +Sinclair, who was a kindly creature. + +An electric silence fell upon the quilters. Every one looked toward the +president. + +"I cannot allow such insinuations to be made at this meeting," said the +President firmly. + +"But--but I did not insinuate anything!" stammered poor Miss Jessie who, +severely jogged by her sister and transfixed by the President's eye, had +turned the colour of the crimson square before her. + +"We all know," went on the President more mildly, "that Mr. Macnair +calls fairly often at the Elms. We may even have heard rumours to the +effect that he intends--I hardly know how to phrase it, but as our +minister is unmarried and Mrs. Coombe is a widow you will understand +what I mean. But, ladies, I may state on no less an authority than Miss +Annabel that Mr. Macnair has no such intentions. There is absolutely +nothing in it. His calls no doubt may be accounted for by the presence +of--er--affliction in the house." + +"Do you mean Aunt Amy?" A younger woman with a clever and rather pretty +face looked up. "Why, can't you see that there is a much simpler +explanation than that?" + +It was certainly unfortunate that Mrs. Coombe should have chosen this +moment to arrive. But the Ladies' Aid were used to interrupted +statements. It was felt to be very convenient that one of the windows +looked out directly upon the steps so that the meeting was never quite +taken by surprise. A sudden pause there might be, but late arrivals had +learned to expect that. It was the penalty for being late. + +"Dear Mrs. Coombe, so glad you have come!" said the hostess pleasantly. +"No, you are not very late. We are only just beginning." + +Every one nodded and smiled. Chairs were moved and sewing shifted to +provide space for the newcomer. A few left their work in order to shake +hands and there was a general readjustment of everything, including +topics of conversation. In the space of a few seconds it was noticed +that Mrs. Coombe wore a new hat, a new gown, new slippers and silk +stockings and that in spite of all these advantages they had never seen +her look worse. + +"Dear Mrs. Coombe, I think your belt-pin has become--allow me!" Miss +Milligan, dressmaker in private life, with a discreet swiftness, +twitched the blouse and skirt into place and deftly fastened it. At the +same time she closed a gap in the fastening of the blouse itself. + +Mary Coombe laughed. "Dear me! Am I undone? I must have forgotten to +ask Amy to fix me. These blouses that fasten in the back are such a +nuisance!" + +The President smiled politely, but with evident effort. Mrs. Coombe was +a prominent member. Still, on principle, she, a president, could not be +expected to approve of people who forgot to have themselves done up. +Supposing the minister had been present! + +"What are we doing this afternoon?" asked the unconscious delinquent +languidly. "Autograph quilts? I've got a lot of blocks for you--friends +of mine in the city." She began to fumble in the pretty workbag she +carried. "Gracious, I was sure I had them with me! Isn't that odd? I +can't find them." + +"Let me look," suggested Miss Jessie Sinclair kindly. + +But the other snatched back the open bag with a gesture which was almost +rude. + +"Oh, no--they are not there! I can't imagine what I have done with +them." She looked up in a bewildered way. Indeed the perturbation was so +out of proportion to the size of the calamity that the ladies questioned +each other with their eyes. + +The President tapped with her thimble upon the quilting frame and every +one became very busy. "I hope," she said, taking the conversation into +her own hands for safe keeping, "that you found all well upon your +return, Mrs. Coombe? I hardly ever seem to see Esther now. Did you know +that we have been talking of changing our meeting to Saturday afternoon +so that Esther and some more of our younger folk may join us? We thought +that it would be so nice for them--and for us too," she finished +graciously. + +Mrs. Coombe looked surprised. "I can hardly see Esther at a Ladies' Aid +Meeting," she said. "Did she tell you she would come?" + +"No. We have not yet told any one of the proposed change. But we all +felt--" + +"We all felt," interrupted Miss Sinclair, who was fairly sniffing the +air with the spirit of glorious war, "that the less time our young girls +have to go off philandering with young fools whom no one knows anything +about, the better it will be for everybody concerned!" + +Mary looked up with an air of pleased surprise. + +"Has Esther been philandering?" she asked eagerly. + +The President frowned. This was hardly according to Hoyle. + +"I really think," began Miss Jessie Sinclair indignantly, "that Esther +ought to be allowed to tell her mother--" + +"Gracious! Esther never tells me anything. And I'm dying to know. Who is +the 'young fool'?--do tell me, somebody." + +Strangely enough, now that the way was open, no one seemed to have +anything to say. + +"You've simply got to tell me now," urged Mary delightedly. "Unless it's +only a silly bit of gossip." + +This fillip had the desired effect. Everybody began to talk at once and +in five minutes Esther's step-mother knew all about the new doctor and +the broken motor. When they paused for breath, she laughed softly. + +"It's the most amusing thing I've heard in ages. Fancy--Esther! Oh, it's +delicious." She looked around the circle of surprised and disappointed +faces and laughed again. "Oh, don't pretend! You know very well that +you're not a bit shocked, really. And surely you don't think that I +ought to scold Esther? Why," with a little flare of her old-time +loyalty, "Esther is worth a dozen ordinary girls. I'd trust Esther with +Apollo on a desert island. But I'll admit I'm rather anxious to see the +young man. He must be rather nice if Esther agreed to show him around. +As for the accident," she shrugged her shoulders, "I know enough about +motors to know that that might happen any time." + +"You are right, of course," the President's tone was more cordial. "And +anyway we have no right to discuss Esther's affairs. The reference to it +grew out of the proposed change of meeting. And the change of meeting +was thought of chiefly because when Mr. Macnair heard about the escapade +he seemed much worried. Naturally, as he says, he carries all his young +people on his heart, and Dr. Callandar being such a newcomer--" + +"Oh, yes, naturally." Mary Coombe's little gurgle of amusement had a +note of cruelty in it, for she alone of all these women had guessed why +the Rev. Angus Macnair should have taken Esther's escapade so much to +heart. She knew, too, that the minister had no chance, but the idea of a +rival was novel--and entertaining. Could Esther really have taken a +fancy to this young doctor? Mary knew the Coombe gossips too well to +take their chatter seriously, but there might be something in it. At any +rate, there was enough to use as a conversational weapon against Esther. +She was becoming a little nervous of Esther lately. The girl was +positively growing up. Somehow, almost overnight it seemed, a new +strength had come to her, a strength which her step-mother's weakness +felt and resented. But now with this nice little story in reserve, +things might be more even. Mary's eyes sparkled as she thought of some +of the smart things she could say the next time Esther began to make a +fuss about--about the matter of the ruby ring, for instance. Esther had +been most disagreeable about that. Just as if any one could have +foreseen that Amy would miss it so soon, or indeed at all, since it had +been her fancy to keep it shut up in a stupid box. + +As a matter of fact, the affair of the ring had assumed the proportions +of a small catastrophe. Aunt Amy had been feeling so much better that it +had occurred to her to see if the ring were feeling better too. Only one +peep she would take, hopeful that at last its strange enchantment might +be past. If she could look into its depths without the blackness coming +close she would know, with utter certainty, that Dr. Callandar's +cleverness had circumvented the power of her old enemies. "They" would +trouble her no more. + +But when, flushed with hope, she looked--the ring was gone! + +Esther, reading in the sitting room, was startled beyond words by the +scream which rang through the house. She seemed to know at once what had +happened and her gaze flew to her step-mother, laden with bitter +reproach, before she sped up the stairs to Aunt Amy's room. The door was +open and the tragedy was plain to see. Aunt Amy stood by the bureau with +the empty box in her hand and on her face an expression so dreadful, so +hopeless that, with a sob, the girl tried to crush it out against +her breast. + +"What is it, dear? Don't look like that." + +"The ring, Esther! 'They' have taken the ring!" + +For an instant the girl hesitated, but common justice demanded that the +sordid truth be told. + +"No, dear. The ring is safe. It was taken from the box, but in quite an +ordinary, simple way. Don't tremble so! It is not lost. It is just as if +I had gone to the box and borrowed it--" + +As she faltered, the poor woman raised her head in an agony of hope. +"Have you got it, Esther? Oh, Esther, give it to me! I love you, Esther! +You shall have it when I am dead. But I can't die without it. I promised +somebody--I--I can't remember. Oh, Esther, don't keep it away from +me--give it to me now!" + +Bitter, angry tears filled the girl's eyes as she took the pleading, +fluttering hands in hers. + +"Don't, dear! Listen. It is quite safe. But I haven't got it. I promise +you solemnly I will get it back. You'll believe me, won't you? You know +I would not deceive you. And you won't be frightened? No one had +anything to do with taking it but ourselves. I am going to tell you just +how it happened--" + +"Don't bother. I'll tell her myself." + +In the doorway stood Mrs. Coombe, her eyes venomous with the anger of +tortured nerves. Her high voice trembled on the verge of hysteria, yet +she tried to speak with her usual mocking lightness. + +"There is no need to make a mystery of the thing, I'm sure. I took the +ring because I was hard up--needed money at once. You understand what +that means, I suppose, Amy? You never wore the ring, nor would you allow +me to wear it. It was simply wasted lying in that silly box. My own +jewelry is of much less value. Besides, I use it. One would have thought +that you would be glad to assist in some way with the--er--household +expenses. In any case, no such fuss is necessary, and I should advise +you," her voice grew suddenly cold and menacing, "not to scream like +that again. A few more such shrieks and--people will begin to wonder." +Without so much as a glance at Esther she passed on to her own room. + +"Don't mind her!" The indignant girl tried to draw the trembling woman +close. But Aunt Amy cowered away. Five minutes had undone the work of +weeks. All the doctor's carefully laid foundations were crumbling. +Esther, wrung with pity and remorse, stroked the grey hair in silence. +She expected an outbreak of childish tears, but it did not come. Rather, +the shivering grew less and presently Aunt Amy raised her head. + +"It was she--Mary--who took it?" she asked in a whisper. + +"Yes. But remember I have promised to get it back." + +Aunt Amy looked at her blankly. She did not seem to hear. + +"I never guessed it was Mary. Never! But now I know. I'll never be +fooled again." + +"Know what?" asked Esther uneasily. There was a look in Aunt Amy's eyes +which she disliked, a sly, cool look--more nearly mad than any look she +had ever surprised there. "Tell me what it is that you know," she +repeated coaxingly. + +But Aunt Amy would not tell. It was just as well, she thought, that +Esther should not know that at last, after many years, she had found out +the agent employed by "they" for her undoing. Ah, if she had only found +out sooner. The ruby ring might still be shining in its box. But of +course "they" knew that she would never suspect Mary, her own niece. +They were so clever! But now she could be as clever as they--oh, very, +very clever! + +"What did she mean about my screaming?" she asked, looking at Esther +cunningly. + +"Nothing, nothing at all! Don't think of it." + +"But she did. I know what she meant. She meant that if I +get--troublesome--she will shut me up!" + +"Nonsense!" declared Esther, thrilled to the heart with pity. "You must +never think such a thought, dear. You shall never live anywhere but here +with us. Why, you are our good angel, Auntie. We could never get on +without you--you know that." + +Aunt Amy nodded, stroking the girl's soft hand with her work-worn one. +"You are good and kind, Esther. I know you will take care of me, if you +can. And I'm not afraid just now. It will be all right if I am clever. I +must not be troublesome. If I am, she will put me away with the mad +people. The people that make faces and scream. I never scream. Until +to-day I haven't screamed for a long time. And I'll be more careful. Oh, +I can be very careful, now that I know!" + +Again the strange mad look. It flitted across her lifted eyes like a +dark shadow behind a window shade. And again Esther tried gently to +question her, but Aunt Amy was "clever." She didn't intend that Esther +should find out. + +The girl left her at last feeling both troubled and sad, but Mary Coombe +laughed at her fears. She was in one of her most difficult moods. + +"It was all a tempest in a tea cup, as usual," she declared pettishly. +"I do wish, Esther, that you would not be so disagreeable. She will have +forgotten all about the ring by to-morrow. All she needs is a little +plain speaking, and firmness." + +"Firmness! Cruelty, you mean. You terrified her." + +"Well, it had a good effect. She quieted down at once." + +"She is too quiet. It's that which troubles me. Surely you can see the +damage that has been done? All her new cheerfulness is gone. She is back +to where she was before the doctor helped her." + +"I never believed that any real improvement was possible. Insane people +never recover." + +"She is not insane! How can you say so? But how shall we explain the +change in her to Dr. Callandar? We can't tell him that--that you--" + +"Oh, don't mind me!" flippantly. + +"Anyway, the ring will soon be back, thank heaven! I have written to +Mrs. Bremner." + +"You wrote to Jessica?" + +"Certainly. I told you I should. It was the only thing to do." + +Mary Coombe's rage flickered and sank before the quiet force in the +girl's face and voice. With all the will in the world she was too weak +to oppose this new strength in Esther. And before her mortified pride +could frame a retort, the girl had left the room. + +It was of this quiet exit of Esther's that Mary was thinking as she +sewed on the autograph quilt. Better than anything else it typified the +change in the girl. It meant decision, and decision meant action. Mary +shrugged her shoulders and frowned over the quilt. Yes, undoubtedly, +Esther was getting troublesome. It might be well if she were married. + + + + +CHAPTER XX + + +Meanwhile, unconscious of her step-mother's troubled musings, Esther was +loitering delightfully on her way from school. Aunt Amy, who never +looked at a clock, but who always knew the time by what Jane called +"magic," was beginning to wonder what had kept her. Strain her eyes as +she would, there was no glint of a blue dress upon the long straight +road, and Dr. Callandar, who in passing had stopped by the gate, +declared that he had noticed a similar absence of that delectable colour +between the cross roads and the school house. + +"I thought that I might meet her," he confessed ingenuously, "but when +she was not in sight, I concluded that I was too late. Some of those +angel children have probably had to be kept in. Could you make use of me +instead? I run errands very nicely." + +"Oh, it isn't an errand." Aunt Amy smiled, for she liked Dr. Callandar +and was always as simple as a child with him. His easy, courteous +manner, which was the same to her as to every one else, helped her to be +at once more like other people and more like herself. "It's a letter. I +wanted Esther to read it to me. Of course I can read myself," as she saw +his look of surprise, "but sometimes I do not read exactly what is +written. My imagination bothers me. Do you ever have any trouble with +your imagination, Doctor?" + +"I have known it to play me tricks." + +"But you can read a letter just as it's written, can't you?" + +"Yes. I can do that." + +"Then your imagination cannot be as large as mine. Mine is very large. +It interferes with everything, even letters. When I read a letter myself +I sometimes read things which aren't there. At least," with a faint show +of doubt, "people say they aren't there." + +"In other words," said Callandar, "you read between the lines." + +Aunt Amy's plain face brightened. It was so seldom that any one +understood. + +"Yes, that's it! You won't laugh at me when I tell you that everything, +letters, handkerchiefs, dresses and everything belonging to people have +a feeling in them--something that tells secrets? I can't quite explain." + +"I have heard very sensitive people express some such idea. It sounds +very fascinating. I should like very much to hear about it." + +"Would you? You are sure you won't think me queer? My niece, Mary +Coombe, does not like me to tell people about it. She has no imagination +herself, none at all. She says it is all nonsense. But I think," +shrewdly, "that she would like to know some of the things that I know. +Won't you come in, Doctor? Come in and sit under the tree where it +is cooler." + +The doctor's hesitation was but momentary. He was keenly interested. And +at the back of his mind was the thought that Esther must certainly be +along presently. Fate had not favoured him of late. He had not seen her +for five days. It is foolish to leave meetings to fate anyway. Then, if +another reason were needed it was probable that if he stayed he would +meet Esther's mother. He was beginning to feel quite curious about +Mrs. Coombe. + +"Thanks. I think I will come in. All the trees in Coombe are cool, but +your elm is the coolest of them all. Let me arrange this cushion for +you. Is that right?" + +He settled Aunt Amy comfortably upon the least sloping portion of the +old circular bench and, not wishing to trust it with his own weight, sat +down upon the grass at her feet. + +"Now," he said cheerfully, "let us have a regular psychic research +meeting. Tell me all about it." + +"What's that?" suspiciously. + +"Psychic research? Oh, just finding out all about the queer things that +happen to people." + +"Do queer things happen to other people besides me?" + +"Why, of course! Queer things happen to everybody." + +Aunt Amy seemed glad to know this. + +"They never talk about them," she said wistfully. "But, then, neither do +I. Except to you. What was it you wanted me to tell you?" + +"Tell me what you mean when you say that you read in a letter what is +not written there. You see I haven't much imagination myself and I don't +understand it." + +"Neither do I," naively. "But it seems to be like this--take this +letter, for instance, when I found it in--well, it doesn't matter where +I found it--but as soon as I picked it up, I knew that it was a love +letter. I felt it. It is an old letter, I think. And some one has been +angry with it. See, it is all crumpled. But it is a real love letter. +All the love is there yet. When I took it in my hands it all came out +to me, sweet and strong. Like--like the scent of something keen, +fragrant, on a swift wind. I can't explain it!" + +"You explain it very beautifully," gravely. "I can quite understand that +love might be like that." + +"Can you?" with a pleased smile. "And can you understand how I feel it? +I can feel things in people, too. Love and hate and envy and all kinds +of things. I never say so. I used to, but people did not like it. They +always looked queer, or got angry. They seemed to think I had no right +to see inside of them. So I soon pretended not to see anything. But a +letter doesn't mind. This one," swinging the crumpled paper swiftly +close to his face, "is glad I found it. Can't you feel it yourself?" + +Callandar shook his head. "I am far too dull and commonplace for that!" +He smiled. "But I have no doubt it is all there, just as you say. Why +not? Our knowledge of such things is in its infancy." + +Aunt Amy stroked the paper with gentle fingers. "Yes, yes, it is all +there," she murmured. "But I may have read it wrongly for all that. The +written words I mean. I can't help reading what I feel. Once I felt a +letter that was full of hate, dreadful! And I read quite shocking things +in it. But when Esther read it, it was just a polite note, beginning +'Dear' and ending 'Your affectionate friend."' + +"It might have been very hateful for all that." + +"But no one knew it. That is why I am so anxious always to know if I +read things right. Will you read this letter to me?" + +"With pleasure--if I may." + +"Oh, it doesn't belong to any one. It isn't Esther's because it's too +old and it begins 'Dearest wife' and it isn't Mary's because it isn't +Doctor Coombe's writing; so you see I thought it might not hurt anybody +if I pretended it was mine." + +"No," gently, "I do not see why it would." + +"I never had a love letter of my own. Or if I did I cannot find it. The +only thing I ever had with love in it was the ruby ring, and that--" + +She checked herself suddenly; her small face freezing into such a mask +of tragedy that Callandar was alarmed. But to his quick "What is it?" +she returned no answer and the expression passed as quickly as it +had come. + +When he held out his hand for the letter, she seemed to have forgotten +it. Her gaze had again grown restless and vague. It would do no good to +question further, the rare hour of confession was past. + +"You both look very comfortable, I'm sure!" It was Esther's laughing +voice. She had come so quietly that neither of them had heard her. Aunt +Amy's vagueness vanished in a pleased smile and Callandar, as he sprang +to open the gate, forgot all about the unread letter and everything +else, save that she had come. + +Why was it, he wondered, that he could never recall her, save in dulled +tints. Lovely as she had lingered in his memory, her living beauty was +so much lovelier. There, in the shade of the elm, her blue dress flecked +with gold, the warm pallor of heat upon her face, her hair lying close +and heavy, a little pulse beating where the low collar softly disclosed +the slim roundness of her white throat, she was not only beautiful, she +was Beauty. She was not only Beauty, she was Herself, the one woman in +the world! He acknowledged it now, with all humility. + +The girl greeted him quietly. She did not, as was her custom, look up +at him with that sweet widening of the eyes which he had learned to +hunger for. The truth was that she, too, was moving slowly toward her +awakening. The days in which they had not met had been full of thoughts +of him. Dreams had come to her, vague, delicious bits of fancy which had +whispered in her ear and passed, leaving a new softness in her eyes, a +new flush upon her cheek. There was about her a dewy freshness which +seemed to brighten up the world. Vaguely her girl friends wondered what +had "come over" Esther Coombe, and at home Aunt Amy's pathetic eyes +followed her, dim with a half-memory of long past joy. But it was Mrs. +Sykes' Ann who best expressed the change in her beauty when, one day, +she said to Bubble: "Esther Coombe looks like she was all lighted up +inside and when she walks you'd think the wind was blowing her." + +So it happened that while yesterday she might still have smiled into the +doctor's eyes as she greeted him, to-day she shook hands without looking +at his face at all. + +Callandar found himself remarking that it was a fine day. Esther said +that it was beautiful--but dusty. A little rain would do good. She +fanned herself with her broad hat, and stopped fanning to examine +closely a tiny stain on the hem of her frock. + +"Dear me," she said, "I'm afraid it's axle grease! Mournful Mark gave me +a lift this morning." + +"Oh, I hope not!" anxiously from Aunt Amy, and referring, presumably, to +the grease. + +The doctor looked at the little stray curl on the nape of the graceful +neck and wished--all the foolish things that lovers have wished since +the world began. But he had a great longing to see her eyes. If he were +to say sharply, "Look at me!" would she look up? Absurd idea! And +anyway he couldn't say it, or anything else, for the first time in his +life Henry Callandar was tongue-tied. + +Did she, too, feel strange? Was that why she kept her eyes so +persistently lowered? No, it could hardly be that. She laughed and +talked quite naturally--seemed entire mistress of herself. + +"I know I am late, Auntie. It's Friday, you know, and I walked slowly. I +forgot that I had promised to help Jane wash the new pup. But there is +time yet. Supposing we have tea, English fashion, out here. I'll +tell mother--" + +"She is at the Ladies Aid, Esther." + +"Oh, yes. I forgot. Well, then you must entertain Dr. Callandar while I +see about tea." + +"No tea for me, thanks," said the doctor hastily. He didn't know why he +said it except that he wanted to say something, something which might +make her look at him. + +But she did not look. His refusal lost him a cup of tea and gained him +nothing whatever. + +"No tea?" Her tone was mildly wondering, but she was looking at Aunt Amy +while she spoke. "I'm sorry you are in a hurry. Bubble said you +were busy." + +"Not busy exactly. But it's office hours, you know. My partner grows +quite waxy if I'm late, and I'm late now." + +"Another day, then?" Esther's tone was charmingly gracious, but she +seemed to be addressing the gate post, as far as he could judge from the +direction of her gaze. + +Callandar picked up his hat, gloomily. There was nothing to do now but +take his leave. And if he had had any sense he might have been going to +stay for tea. Office hours be hanged! + +"Thank you, another day I shall be delighted." He took the hand she +offered and bowed over it. Delightful custom this of shaking hands! +Esther's hand was cool as a wind-blown leaf. Would she actually say +good-bye without looking at him? He held the hand firmly but she did not +seem to be conscious that he held it. She was smiling at some children +who were going by on the sidewalk. + +"Good-bye," said Callandar in a subdued voice. + +"Good-bye," said Esther sweetly. + +He dropped her hand, they bowed formally, and the foolish, poignant +little tragedy of parting was over. Not once had they looked into each +other's eyes. + +When he had gone Esther sank down upon the elm tree seat. + +"Oh, Auntie!" she said with a little sob in her voice. "I want--some +tea!" + +Aunt Amy glanced irresolutely from the open letter in her hand to the +girl's face, and decided to postpone the matter of the letter. "I'll get +it, Esther. You sit here and rest." + +When she returned the girl seemed herself again. She took the tea-tray +and kissed the bearer with a fervour born of remorse. "I am a Pig," she +declared, "and you are a darling! Never mind, we'll even up some day." + +"When you have had your tea, Esther, I've got a letter I want you to +read." + +"A letter? Who from? I mean, from whom? Gracious! I'll have to be more +careful of the King's English, now that I'm a school teacher." + +"I don't know. It is signed just 'H' and it's written to 'Dearest wife.' +You don't know who that could be, do you?" + +"Mother, perhaps?" + +"No. It's not in your father's writing and his name did not begin with +'H.'" + +"Where did you find it, dear?" + +"Up in an old trunk of your grandma's--I mean of Mary's mother's. One of +the trunks that were sent here after she died. Mary asked me to put moth +balls in it. This letter was all crushed up in a corner. I took it out +to smooth it, because I knew it was a love letter. You don't think any +one would mind?" + +"N--o." Esther, who knew Aunt Amy's feeling about love letters, could +not find it in her heart to disagree. "I think we may fairly call it +treasure-trove. It's only a note anyway." Her eyes ran swiftly over the +two short paragraphs upon the open sheet. + +"Dearest wife:-- + +"At last I can call you 'wife' without fear. Our waiting is over. Brave +girl! If it has been as long to you as to me, you have been brave +indeed. But it is our day now. Even your mother cannot object any +longer. I am coming for you to-morrow. Only one more day! + +"Dear, I think that in my wild impatience I did you wrong. But love does +not blame love. No wife shall ever be so loved as you. May God forget me +if I forget what you have done for me...." + +"What a strange letter!" Esther looked up wonderingly. + +"Is that all, Esther?" Aunt Amy's face was vaguely disappointed. "The +one I read was much longer than that." + +"That is all that is written here, Auntie. But it is a beautiful letter. +They had been separated, you see, and she had been brave and waited. One +can imagine--" + +The click of the garden gate interrupted her. + +"Here's your mother," said Aunt Amy, in a flurried tone. "Don't let +her--" + +"Is that the mail, Esther?" Mrs. Coombe's high voice held a fretful +intonation. Aunt Amy seized the letter and hid it in her dress. "She +shan't see it," she whispered childishly. + +"Is that the mail?" repeated Mrs. Coombe, coming up the walk. + +"No, there is no mail," said Esther, "No one has been to the post +office. Perhaps Jane had better run down now." + +"But you had a letter," suspiciously. "I'm sure I saw it. Where is it?" + +"Don't be absurd, mother. I have no letter. Nor would I think it +necessary to show it to you if I had. I am not a child." + +"You are a child. And let me tell you, a clandestine correspondence is +something which I shall not tolerate. Let me see the letter." + +Esther was feeling too happy to be cross. Besides it was rather funny to +be accused of clandestine correspondence. + +"I think I'll go and help Jane with the pup," she said cheerfully. "Too +bad you didn't come in sooner, mother. Dr. Callandar was here." + +"Then you do refuse to show me the letter?" + +"If I had one I should certainly refuse to show it. Why do you let +yourself get so excited, mother? You never used to act like this. It +must be nerves. Every one notices how changed you are." She paused, +arrested by the frightened look which replaced the futile anger on her +step-mother's face. + +"I'm not different. Who says I am different? It is you who are trying +to make a fuss. I'm sure I do not care about your letter. Why should I? +Your father always seemed to think you needed no advice from any one. +Only don't imagine that I am blind. I _saw_ you with a letter." + +Having triumphantly secured the last word, she turned to busy herself +with the tea-tray, and Esther, knowing the uselessness of argument, went +on toward the house. Aunt Amy attempted to follow but was stopped +by Mary. + +"Amy, what did that doctor want here?" + +"He came to see me." + +Mary laughed. "Likely!" she said. "This tea is quite cold. Was it he who +left the letter for Esther?" + +"Esther didn't have a letter. I had one." + +Again the incredulous laugh, and the dull red mounted into Aunt Amy's +faded cheeks. She clutched the treasured letter tightly under her dress. +This mocking woman should never see it! But as she turned again to leave +her, another consideration appealed to her unstable mind. Mary suspected +Esther--and nothing would annoy her more than to find herself mistaken. +On impulse Aunt Amy flung the letter upon the tea-tray. + +"There it is. Read it, if you like. It has nothing to do with Esther. Or +any one else. I found it in one of your mother's old trunks." + +Left alone, Mary Coombe drank her tea, which after all was not very +cold. She was not really interested in the letter, now that she had got +it. Had not a vagrant breeze tossed it, obtrusively, upon her lap, she +would probably not have looked at it. + +Listlessly she picked it up, opened it, glanced at the firm, clear +writing.... + +A sharp, tingling shock ran through her. It was as if some one had +knocked, loudly, at dead of night at a closed door! That writing--how +absurdly fanciful she was getting! + +"Dearest wife," she read, "at last I can call you 'wife' without +fear"--the vagrant breeze, which had tossed the letter into her lap, +tossed it off again. Her glance followed it, fascinated! + +Of course she had dreamed the writing? She had been terribly troubled by +dreams of late. But what had Amy said about finding the paper in her +mother's trunk? The whole thing was a fantastic nightmare. She had but +to lean forward, pick up the letter, read it properly and laugh at her +foolishness. + +But it was a long time before she found the strength to pick it up. When +she did, she read it quietly to the end with its scrawled "H." Then she +read it over again, word by word. Her expression was one of terror +and amaze. + +When she had finished she looked up, over the pleasant garden, with +blank eyes. Her face was ashen. + +"He came," she said aloud. "He came! But--_what did she tell him when he +came_?" + +The garden had no answer to the question. Somewhere could be heard a +girl's laugh and the sharp bark of a protesting puppy. Mary Coombe drew +her hand across her eyes as if to clear them of film and, trying to +rise, slipped down beside the elm-tree seat, a soft blot of whiteness on +the green. + +They found her there when they had finished washing the puppy, but +though she came quickly to herself under their eager ministrations, she +would not tell them what had caused her sudden illness. To all their +questionings she answered pettishly, "Nothing! Nothing but the heat." + + + + +CHAPTER XXI + + +When a man of thirty-five has at last shaken himself free from the +burden of an unhappy love affair, he is not particularly disposed to +welcome an emotional reawakening. He knows the pains and penalties too +well; the fire of Spring, he has learned, can burn as well as brighten. +Callandar thought that he had done with love, and a growing suspicion +that love had not done with him brought little less than panic. Upon the +occasion of Willits' second visit he had begun to realise his danger and +the professor never guessed how nearly he had persuaded him to leave +Coombe. Some deep instinct was urging flight, but the impulse had come +just a little bit too late. He could not go, because he wanted so very +much to stay. + +After Willits' departure he had deliberately tested himself. For five +days he did not try to see Esther and upon the sixth he realised finally +that seeing Esther was the only thing that mattered. Then had come the +short interview under the elm tree--an interview which had shown him a +new Esther, demure, adorable, with eyes which refused to look at him. He +had come away from that meeting with a new pulse beating in his heart. + +To doubt was no longer possible. He loved her. + +But she? Lovers are proverbially modest, but their modesty is fear +disguised. They hope so much that they fear to hope at all; it seemed +impossible to Callandar that Esther should not love him and yet it +seemed impossible that she should. Only one thing emerged clearly from +the chaos--the immediate necessity of finding out. + +"Why don't you ask her?" demanded Common Sense in that wearily patient +way with which Common Sense meets the vagaries of lovers. + +"But it is so soon," objected Caution, while Fear, aroused, whispered, +"Be careful. Give her time." Even Mrs. Grundy made herself heard with +her usual references to what people, represented by Mrs. Sykes, might +say, adding scornfully, "Why, you haven't met the girl's mother yet. +Don't make a fool of yourself, please." + +But over all these voices rose another voice, insistent, demanding to be +satisfied. It might be premature, it might be all that was rash and +foolish but he simply had to find out at once whether or not Esther +Coombe loved him. + +His final decision came one morning when driving slowly home from an all +night fight with death. He was tired but exultant, because he had won +the fight, and life, which slips so easily away, seemed doubly precious. +After all, he was no longer a boy. If life still held something +beautiful for him, why should he wait? He had waited so many +years already. + +Guiding the car with one hand, he slipped the other into his pocket and +opening a small locket which he found there, gazed long and earnestly at +the picture it contained. The face it showed him was a young face, fair, +rounded, childish. Dear Molly! his thought of her was infinitely tender. +He loved her all the more for the knowledge that he had not loved her +enough. Well, he could never atone now. She was gone--slipped away, he +thought, with but little more knowledge of living than the tiny baby he +had just helped to bring into the world. Brushing away the mist which +for a moment blurred his sight, Callandar kissed the picture gently and +shut the case. + +The dawn was golden now. The motor began to gather speed. An early +farmer getting into market with a load of hay, drew amiably to one side +to let it pass. From a, wayside house came the cheerful noise of opening +shutters; a milk cart rattled out of a nearby gate; the motor sped still +faster--the new day was fairly begun. + +Early as it was, Mrs. Sykes was busy washing the veranda. This was a +ritual, rigorously observed twice every day; in the morning with a pail +and broom, in the evening with the hose. Par be it from us to malign the +excellent Mrs. Sykes or to suggest that her opportune presence on the +front steps was due to anything save the virtue of cleanliness. Mrs. +Sykes, as she often said, couldn't abide curiosity. Still, it would be +very interesting to know whether Amelia Hill's latest was a boy or a +girl. Mrs. Hill had already been blessed with nine olive branches, all +girls, and had confided to Mrs. Sykes that if the tenth presented no +variation, she didn't know what on earth Hill would do--he having acted +so kind of wild-like last time. Mrs. Sykes, unable to resist the trend +of her nature, had advised that no variation could be looked for. "It +may be," she had said, "but after a run of nine, it isn't to be +expected. There's no denying that girls run in some families. I know +jest how you feel, Mrs. Hill, and, if I could, I'd encourage you, for +I'm a great believer in speaking the truth in kindness. But it's best to +be prepared, and a girl it will be, you may be sure." + +"You are up early, Mrs. Sykes," said the doctor cheerfully. "Wait till I +take the car around and I'll finish up those steps for you." + +"Land no! I won't let you, Doctor. You're clean tired out. I've got a +cup of hot coffee waiting. I don't suppose, with Amelia laid aside, any +of them Hills would think to give you so much as a bite. All girls too." + +"Not all girls now, Mrs. Sykes," said the doctor cheerfully. "A son and +heir arrived this morning. Fine little fellow. They appear to be +delighted." + +The discomfited prophet leaned against the door-post for support. + +"A boy? It can't be a boy! It doesn't stand to reason!" + +"It never does, Mrs. Sykes." + +"And I was so sure 'twould be another girl!" There was an infinitesimal +pause during which Mrs. Sykes' whole outlook readjusted itself, and then +with a heavy sigh she continued, "Poor Amelia Hill! She'll certainly +have her troubles now. I shouldn't wonder a mite if it didn't live. +Miracles like that seldom do. And if it does, it will be spoiled to +death. No boy can come along after nine sisters and not be made a sissy +of. Far better if it had been a girl in the first place. And yet I +suppose Amelia's just as chirpy as possible? She never was one to look +ahead to see what's coming." + +"Lucky for her!" murmured Callandar, as he picked his way over the +shining wetness of the veranda. "And now, Mrs. Sykes, I want you to do +me a favour. Don't go predicting to my patient that her boy baby will +die, or if he doesn't it would be better for him if he did. A woman who +has mothered nine children is entitled to a little peace of mind with +the tenth. Don't you think so?" + +"Land sakes, yes. If you put it that way. But the shock will be all the +worse when it comes. Still, if you want the poor thing left in a fool's +paradise I don't object. Perhaps it would be a good thing to have the +three littlest Hills over here to spend a week with Ann. I can stand +them if you can." + +"Good idea!" Callandar smiled at her, but attempted no thanks. He had +learned early that she was as shy about doing a kindness as a child who +hides its face, while offering you half of its lolly-pop. "I'll fetch +them. But some one will have to pick them out. Likely as not I'd bring +the middle three instead." + +"They are dreadful similar," assented Mrs. Sykes, pouring coffee. "I +don't know but what it was them Hill children that made me a +suffragette!" + +"What?" + +Mrs. Sykes did not notice the unflattering (or flattering) surprise in +the doctor's voice. + +"Yes. I think it was the Hill children as much as anything. There they +are, nine of them, like as peas in a pod, and all healthy. I shouldn't +wonder if the whole nine grows up--and what then? Amelia Hill just can't +hope to marry nine of them. Three out of the bunch would be about her +limit. And what are the others going to get? I say, give them the vote. +Land sakes! Why not? I ain't one to refuse to others what I don't +want myself." + + + + +CHAPTER XXII + + +Tired though he must have been, the doctor had never felt less like +sleep. There was a fever in his blood which the cool quietness of the +spare room could not soothe. The lavendered freshness of the bed invited +in vain. Crossing to the western window, he threw up the blind and +looked out to where, peeping out between roofs and trees, the gable +window of the Elms glittered in the early sun. The morning breeze blew +softly on his face, sweet with the scent of flowering pinks and +mignonette. In the orchard all the birds were up and singing. Every +blade of grass was gemmed with dew, sparkling through the yellow glory +of dawn like diamonds through a primrose veil. But Callandar, usually so +alive to every manifestation of beauty, saw nothing save the distant +glitter of the gable window. The morning, in which he could hardly hope +to see Esther, stretched before him intolerably long. + +Upon impulse he drew his desk to the window and, sitting down, began to +write: + +"Dear Old Button-Moulder-- + +"Behold the faulty button about to be recast! This is to be a big day. I +am writing you now because if she refuses me, I shan't be able to tell +you of it, and if she accepts me I shan't have time. I fancy you know +who she is, old man. I saw enlightenment grow in your eyes that day +after church. I hardly knew it myself, then, but now I am sure. Do you +remember that house we looked at one day? I have forgotten even the +street, but we can find it again. It had a long sloping lawn, you +remember, and stone steps and a beautiful panelled hall running straight +through to a walled garden which might well have fallen there by some +Arabian Nights enchantment. That is the house I mean to have for Esther. +I can see her there quite plainly, in her blue dress, filling the rose +bowl which stands upon the round table in a dusky corner of the hall. +Over her shoulder, through the open door, glows the riotous colour of +the garden. Her pure profile gleams like mother-o'-pearl against the +dark panelling--say, Willits, just go and look up that house, will you? +I am going to ask her to marry me. And I never knew before what a coward +I am. Was there ever a chap named Callandar who quoted uppish remarks +about being Captain of his Soul? If so, let me apologise for him. I +think the chap who wrote those verses could never have been in love--or +perhaps he wrote them after she said 'yes.' I'll telegraph the news. +Don't expect me to write. And don't dare to come down to see me. H.C. + +"P.S.--I came upon a good thing the other day. It is by Galsworthy, the +chap who writes English problem novels: + + "'If on a spring night I went by + And God were standing there, + What is the prayer that I would cry + To Him? This is the prayer: + O Lord of courage grave, + O Master of this night of spring, + Make firm in me a heart too brave + To ask Thee anything!'" + +"Rather fine, don't you think? Or is it just a madness of pride? On +second thought, I don't believe that I have arrived at the stage when I +can do without God. H." + +He folded the letter, stamped and addressed it and placed it upon the +table in the hall where Ann would find and post it. Then, lighting a +cigar, he sat down beside the open window and began to wonder how the +momentous meeting with Esther could be best arranged. Perhaps if he +walked out to the schoolhouse and waited until lunch time? No, it was +Saturday morning and there was no school. The obvious thing was to call +at the house, but this, the doctor felt, was sure to be unsatisfactory. +Not only was there Jane to think of and Aunt Amy--but there was also the +as-yet-unknown Mrs. Coombe. The visit would almost certainly end in a +formal call upon the family. He might perhaps send Bubble over with an +invitation to go fishing. No, that was too risky. Esther might refuse to +go fishing and that would be a bad omen. + +In a sudden spasm of nervousness Callandar threw the half-burned cigar +out of the window and, following it with his eyes, was not sorry to be +distracted by the sight of Ann in her night-dress, crying under the pear +tree. Ann crying was an unusual sight, but Ann in a night-dress was +almost unbelievable. The doctor knew at once that something serious must +have happened and went down to see. + +The child looked up at his approach, all the natural impishness of her +small face drowned in sorrow. In her open hand she held the body of a +tiny bird, all that was left of a fledgling which had tried its +wings too soon. + +"It toppled off and died," said Ann. "All its brothers and sisters +flewed away." + +"Heartless things!" said Callandar, and then seeing that comfort was +imperative he sat down beside the mourner and tried to do the proper +thing. He explained to her that the dead bird was only one of a +nest-full and that the dew was wet and that she was getting green stains +on her nightie. He reminded her that birds' lives, for all their seeming +brightness, are full of danger and trouble. Perhaps the baby bird was +just as well out of it. At least it would never know the lack of a worm +in season, nor the bitterness of early snow. This particular style of +comfort he had found very effective in cases other than baby birds, but +it didn't work with Ann. + +"I don't care," she sobbed, "it might have lived anyway. It never had a +chance to live." + +Living, just living, was with Ann clearly the great thing to be desired. + +Callandar stopped comforting and took the child on his knee. + +"I believe you've got the right idea, little Ann," he said. "It isn't so +much the sorrow that counts or the joy either, but just the living +through it. We're bound to get somewhere if we keep on. Don't cry any +more and we'll bury the little bird all done up in nice white fluffy +cotton. As Mrs. Burns says when any one dies: 'It's such a comfort to +have 'em put away proper.' And then after a while you and Bubble might +go fishing." + +"I can't." Ann showed signs of returning tears. "If Aunt lets me go +anywhere, I promised to go and help Esther Coombe pick daisies to fix +the church for to-morrow." + +Here was chance being kind indeed! But the doctor dissembled his +exultation. + +"Hum! too bad. Where did Miss Esther tell you to go?" he asked +guilelessly. + +"To the meadow over against the school." + +"What time?" + +"Half past two." + +"Well, cheer up, I'll tell you what--I'll go and help Miss Esther pick +the daisies. I can pick quite as fast as you. And I'll speak to Aunt +Sykes and make it right with her. So if you run now and get dressed you +and Bubble may go just as soon as you've had breakfast. And stay all +day. Be sure you stay all day, mind." + +A good sound hug was the natural answer to this and when the +conspirators met at breakfast everything had been satisfactorily +arranged. Ann had her holiday and the doctor's way lay clear before him. +For all his apparent ignorance Callandar knew that daisy field quite as +well as Ann. It was wild and lonely, yet full of cosy nooks and hollows. +Mild-eyed cows sometimes pastured there. It was a perfect paradise for +meadow-larks. Could any man ask better than to meet the girl he loved in +a field like that? + +"You're not eating a mite, Doctor." + +With a start, Callandar helped himself to marmalade. + + * * * * * + +So much for the morning of the eventful day. We have given it in detail +because it was so commonplace, so empty of any incident which might have +foreshadowed the happenings of the afternoon. Callandar was restless, +but any man is restless under such circumstances. He found the morning +long, but that was natural. Long afterwards he thought of its slow +moving hours, lost in wonder that he should have caught no glimpse, +heard no whisper, while all the time, through the beauty of the scented, +summer day, the footsteps of inescapable fate drew so swiftly near. +Fortunate indeed for us that the fragile house we dwell in is provided +with no windows on the future side, and that the veil of the next moment +is as impenetrable as the veil of years. + +What are they, anyway, these curious combinations of unforeseen +incidents which under the name of "coincidence" startle us out of our +dull acceptance of things? Can it be that, after all, space and +circumstance are but pieces in a puzzle to which the key is lost, so +that, playing blindly, we are startled by the _click_ which announces +the falling of some corner of the puzzle into place? Or is it merely +that we are all more closely linked than we know, and is "coincidence" +but the flashing of one of numberless invisible links into the light of +common day? Some day we shall know all about it; in the meantime a +little wonder will do us good. + +It was, of course, coincidence that this afternoon Mary Coombe should +offer to gather the marguerites for Esther and that, the Saturday help +having failed to materialise, Esther was glad of the offer which left +her free to help Aunt Amy in the kitchen. It was also coincidence that +Mary should choose to wear her one blue dress and her shady hat which +looked a little like Esther's. But, given these coincidences, it is easy +to understand why the doctor, passing slowly by the field of +marguerites, felt his heart bound at the supposed sight of Esther among +the flowers. + +Now that the moment had really come, his restlessness fell from him. He +felt cool, confident, happy! The world, the beautiful world, was gay in +gold and green. Over the rise, half hidden by its gentle undulation, he +caught the glint of a blue gown-- + +Running his car under the shade of some nearby trees, the doctor leapt +the pasture fence in one fine bound. The blue figure among the daisies +was stooping, her face hidden by a shady hat. No one else was in +sight--just he and she in all the lovely, sunny, breeze-swept earth! He +came towards her softly; called her name, but so low that she did not +hear. Then a meadow-lark, disturbed, flew up with his piercing "sweet!" +the stooping figure turned and he saw, in the clear sunlight, the face +under the shady hat-- + +Had something in his brain snapped? Or was he living through a nightmare +from which he would awake presently? The world, the daisy field, the +figure in blue, himself, all seemed but baseless fabrics of some +fantastic vision! + +For, by a strange enchantment, the face which should have been Esther's +face was the face of Molly Weston, his lost wife! + +It could not be! But it was. + +Incredible the swiftness with which nature rights herself after a +stunning shock. Only for a moment was Callandar left in his paradise of +uncertainty. The next moment, he knew that he beheld no vision, knew it +and accepted it as certainly and completely as if all his life had been +but a preparation for the revelation. + +"You!" he said. It was only a whisper but it seemed to fill the +universe. "You--Molly!" + +At the name, the hazel eyes which had met his so blankly sprang suddenly +alive--recognition, knowledge, fear, entreaty, flashed across them in +one moment's breathless space--then they grew blank again and Mary +Coombe fell senseless beside her sheaf of daisies. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIII + + +Bending over the form of his lost wife, Henry Callandar forgot Esther. +His mind, careful of its sanity, removed her instantly from the +possibility of thought. She was gone--whisked away by some swift genie +and, with her, vanished the world of blue and gold inhabited by lovers. + +There remained only that white, faded face among the daisies. With +careful hands he removed the crushed hat and loosened the collar at the +neck. It was Molly. Not a doubt of that. Not Molly as he remembered her +but Molly from whom the years had taken more than their toll, giving but +little in return. He could not think beyond this fact, as yet. And he +felt nothing, nothing at all. Both heart and mind lay mercifully numb +under the anaesthetic of the shock. + +Deftly he did the few things necessary to restore the swooning woman, +noting with a doctor's eye the first faint flush of pink under the dead +white nails, then the flutter of breath through the parted lips and the +slow unclosing of the hazel eyes which, at sight of him, sprang widely, +vividly into life. + +"Harry!" The name was the merest whisper and held a quiver of fear. He +remembered, stolidly, that just so had she whispered it upon the evening +of their hurried marriage. + +"Yes, Molly. It is all right. Don't be frightened!"--Just so had he +soothed her. + +She closed her eyes a moment while strength came back and then, raising +herself, slipped out of his arms with a little breathless movement of +avoidance. She seemed indeed to cower away and the fear in her eyes hurt +him with a physical pang. Instinctively he put out his hand to reassure +her, repeating his entreaty that she should not be frightened. + +"But I am frightened!" Her voice was hoarse. "You terrified me! You had +no right to come like that. You should have let me know--sent +word--or--or something." + +"Sent word?" He repeated the words, in a dazed way. "How could I? How +could I know?" + +"How could you come if you didn't know?" Already the miracle of +readjustment which in women is so marvellously quick, had given back to +Mary Coombe something of her natural manner. Besides, she had always +known that some day he might find her--if he cared to look. + +"Why should you come at all?" she flashed, raising defiant eyes. "The +time to come was long ago." + +"I did come." Callandar spoke slowly. "I came--" he paused, for how +could he tell her that his coming had been to a house of death. + +The bald answer, the strangeness of his gaze stirred her fear again. For +a moment they stared at each other, each busy with the shifting puzzle. +Then her quicker intuition abandoned the mystery of the present meeting +to straighten out the past. + +"Then you followed the letter?" + +"Yes, I followed the letter." + +"And you saw her--my mother?" + +"Yes, I saw your mother." + +Impulsively he moved toward her but she shrank back, plainly terrified. + +"Don't! I didn't know. I swear I did not know. I never saw the +letter--until last night. And I don't understand. What--what did my +mother tell you when you came?" + +"There was only one thing which would have kept me from you, Molly." + +"Only one thing? What?" she almost whispered. + +"She told me you were dead." + +The flash of understanding on her face showed that she, at least, had +shifted part of the puzzle into place. + +"I see now," she said slowly, "I have wondered ever since I saw the +letter. But I did not think she would go that far. Yet it was the +simplest way. There was no date on the letter--but I guessed that it +must have come too late." + +"Too late?" + +"Yes, or she would never have dared. Besides she might not have wanted +to. She didn't know. I never had the courage to tell her. But if the +letter had come in time--" + +She faltered, growing confused under his intense gaze. + +"In time for what?" he prompted patiently. + +She brushed the question aside. + +"Did you believe her when she said that?" + +"Yes. Why should I have doubted? It seemed to be the end. I fainted on +the doorstep. A long illness followed, when it was at its worst a friend +came--helped me to pull out. When I was well again, I searched for your +mother, employed detectives, but we never found her. Neither did we find +anything upon which to hang a doubt of what she had told me." + +"No. She was very clever." + +"But _why?_ For God's sake, why? Why should she lie to me? I had never +harmed her. We were married. I could give you a home. She knew it. I +told her. Why should she do this senseless, horrible thing?" + +She looked at him with wide eyes and stammered, + +"Don't--don't you know?" + +A sense of some hitherto undreamed horror came to him with that +stammering whisper. The spur of it brought some of his firmness back. + +"I do not know. There must have been a reason. You must tell me." + +He forced her, through sheer will, to lift her eyes to his. They were +startled and sullen. With a start he saw, what he had missed before, +that this woman, his wife, was a stranger. But he had himself well in +hand now and his gaze did not falter. There was no escaping its demands. +Her answer came in a little burst of defiance. + +"Yes, there was a reason. You may as well know it. Your letter and your +coming were both too late. I was married." + +The doctor was not quick enough for this-- + +"Yes, of course you were, but--" + +"Oh, not to you! Can't you understand? I was married to another man.... +You need not look like that! What did you expect? I warned you. I knew I +could never defy mother. I told you so. But you said it wouldn't be +long--that she need never know. And I waited and waited. I could have +married more than once but I wouldn't. I faced mother and said I +wouldn't. But every time it was harder. I couldn't keep it up. And you +didn't come. Then when he came and we thought he was so rich she made me +marry him. She _made_ me. I thought you were never coming back anyway. I +wrote you once telling you to come. You didn't answer." + +She paused breathless but he could find nothing to say. It seemed a +small thing that the letter must have missed him somewhere, his whole +mind was absorbed in trying to comprehend one stupendous fact. The +puzzle had shifted into place indeed. + +"I thought you didn't care any more," her words raced as if eager to be +done, "and mother gave me no peace. You will never understand how +terrified I was of mother. And he seemed so kind and was going to be +rich. He owned part of a gold mine--mother was sure it would mean +millions. But it didn't. Mother was fooled there!" with a gleam of +malice. "The mine turned out to be worthless--after we were married." + +Callandar drew a sharp breath and shook himself as if to throw off the +horror of some enthralling nightmare. + +"You married him--this man--knowing that you were a wife already?" + +"A fine sort of wife!" He quivered at the coarseness of meaning in her +tone. "We were never really married." + +"What do you mean?" + +"I mean that it was all a farce. What's a ceremony? For all I knew it +wasn't even legal. When you did not answer my letter I thought that was +what your silence meant. I asked a girl to ask her father who was a +lawyer if a marriage was legal when the girl was under age and the +parents didn't know about it. He said sometimes it wasn't." + +Callandar groaned. "And you married again--on that?" + +"Yes. I had to, anyway. I couldn't hold out against mother. I daren't +tell her. She left us after the wedding, when the mine failed, and went +back to Cleveland. It was there she must have got your letter, and the +note I found last night. And when you came, she told you I was dead--to +save the scandal. She was always different after that, though I never +guessed why. It was a lie, you see, and mother was terrified of telling +lies. It was the only thing she was afraid of. She believed that liars +go to hell." + +The tone in which she spoke of the probable torment of her mother was +quite without feeling. Callandar listened in fascinated wonder. Was this +Molly?--Pretty, kind-hearted Molly? + +"I cannot understand," he said in a stifled voice. "It is all too +horrible! This man you married--" + +"He is dead. He died a year ago. I thought at first that you must have +found out and that was why you came. I should have died of fright if you +had come while he was alive. He would never have understood--never! He +didn't like mother but he wasn't afraid of her. And I think that at last +he suspected that she had made me marry him for his money. But he was +always good. At first I was afraid all the time--oh, it was dreadful! I +think I have always been afraid--all my life--" Without warning she +threw her hands out wildly and broke into choking sobs, crying with the +abandon of a frightened child. Yet no one could have mistaken the +impulse of her grief. It was for herself she wept. + +Was it possible that she was a child still? A child in spite of her +woman's knowledge, and the dulled lustre of her hair? Callandar +remembered grimly that Molly's views of right and wrong had always been +peculiarly simple. She had never wished to do wrong, but when she had +done it, it had never seemed so very wrong to her. Her greatest dread +had always been the dread of other people's censure. + +"Don't cry," he said gently. + +She must have felt the change in his voice, for although her sobs +redoubled she did not again shrink from the hand he laid upon her hair. +It was all over. She had told him the truth. Surely he must see that he +was the one to blame, not she. + +After a while she dried her eyes and looked up at him timidly but with +restored confidence. + +"People need never know now!" she said more calmly. + +"People? Do people matter?" + +She picked a daisy and began nervously to strip it of its petals--a pang +of agony caught at the man's heart. So, only that morning, had he +imagined himself consulting the daisy oracle. "She loves me, she loves +me not." Absolutely he put the memory from him. Molly was speaking. + +"People do matter. They make things so unpleasant. Not that I care as +much about them as I used to; but still, one has to be careful. People +are so prying, always wanting to know things," she glanced around +nervously, "but let's not talk about them. I don't understand things +yet. How did you find me, if you thought I was--dead?" + +"Accident, if there be such a thing. I was driving down the road. I am +living in the town near here--in Coombe!" + +"But you can't! I live in Coombe. It is my home. There isn't a Chedridge +in the place." + +"My name is not Chedridge now. I took my uncle's name when I inherited +his money. I am called Henry Callandar." + +"Callandar!" Her voice rose shrilly on the word. "And you are living in +Coombe? Why you are--you must be--Esther's Dr. Callandar!" + +The man went deathly white, yet his enormous self-control, the fruit of +years, held him steady. + +Mary Coombe began to laugh weakly. "Why, of course, that explains it +all, don't you see? Haven't you placed me yet? Esther is my +step-daughter. The man I married was Doctor Coombe." + +"Good God!" The exclamation was revelation enough had Mary Coombe heard +it. But she did not hear it; this new aspect of the situation had seemed +to her so farcical that her laughter threatened to become hysterical. +"Oh, it's so funny!" she gasped. + +It was certainly funny--such a good joke! The Doctor thought he might as +well laugh too. But at the sound of his laughter, hers abruptly ceased. + +"Don't do that!" + +He tried to control himself. It was hard. He wanted to shriek with +laughter. Esther's step-mother, the mysterious Mrs. Coombe, was +Molly--his wife! Some mocking demon shouted into his ears the words he +had intended to say to her when he came to tell her that he and Esther +loved each other. He thought of his own high mood of the morning, of the +tender regret which he had laid away with the dead of the dead past. It +seemed as if all the world were rocking with diabolic laughter--Fate +plans such amusing things! + +He caught himself up--madness lay that way. + +"Please don't laugh!" said Mrs. Coombe a trifle fretfully. "At least not +so loudly. You startle me. My nerves are so wretched. And anyway it's +more serious than you seem to think. We shall have to discuss ways of +managing so that people will not know. Your being already acquainted +with Esther will help. It will make your coming to the house quite +natural. But it will be better to admit that we knew each other years +ago, were boy and girl friends or something like that. Your change of +name and my marriage will explain perfectly why we did not know each +other until we met. Nobody will go behind that. They will think it quite +romantic. The only one we need be afraid of is Esther. She is so quick +to notice--" + +She did not know about Esther then? She had never guessed that the girl +was more to him than a mere acquaintance. Thank God for that! And thank +God, above all, that the worst had not happened--Esther herself did not +know, would never know now-- + +"I believe it can come quite naturally after all," Mary went on more +cheerfully. "No one will wonder at anything if we say we are old +friends. And we can be specially careful with Esther. I wouldn't have +her know for anything. She is like her father. She would never +understand. She doesn't know what it is to be afraid, as I was afraid of +my mother. Do you think it is wicked that sometimes I'm glad she is +dead, mother, I mean?" + +He answered with an effort. "You used to be fond of your mother, Molly." + +"Oh, don't call me Molly. Call me Mary. It will sound much better. No +one has ever heard me called Molly here. If Esther heard it she would +wonder at once. You will be careful, won't you?" + +"Yes. I shall be careful." He had not heard what she said, save that she +had mentioned Esther's name. Rather he was thinking with a gratitude +which shook his very soul that fate had at least spared the innocent. +Esther was safe. She did not love him. He felt sure of that now. Strange +irony, that his deepest thankfulness should be that Esther did not +love him. + +A small hand fell like a feather upon his arm. + +"Harry!" + +"Yes, Molly!" + +He looked down into her quivering face and saw in it, dimly, the face of +the girl in his locket, not a mere outward semblance this time but the +soul of Molly Weston, reaching out to him across the years. Her light +touch on his arm was the very shackle of fate. Her glance claimed him. +Nothing that she had done could modify that claim--the terrible claim of +weakness upon the strength which has misled it. + +Vaguely he felt that this was the test, the ultimate test. If he failed +now he was lost indeed. Something within him reached out blindly for the +strength he had dreamed was his, found it, clutched it desperately--knew +that it held firm. + +He took the slight figure in his arms, felt that it still trembled and +said the most comforting thing he could think of. "Don't worry, Molly. +No one will ever know." + + + + +CHAPTER XXIV + + +Ester was sitting upon the back porch, hulling strawberries and watching +with absent amusement the tireless efforts of Jane to induce a very fat +and entirely brainless pup to shake hands. It had been a busy day, for +owing to the absence of the free and independent "Saturday Help" Esther +had insisted upon helping Aunt Amy in the kitchen. Now the Saturday pies +and cakes were accomplished and only the strawberries lay between Esther +and freedom. + +She had intended, a little later, to walk out along the river road in +search of marguerites, but when Mary, more than usually restless after +her fainting spell of yesterday, had offered to go instead, she had not +demurred. It would be quite as pleasant to take a book and sit out under +the big elm. Esther was at that stage when everything seems to be for +the best in this "best of all possible worlds." She was living through +those suspended moments when life stands tiptoe, breathless with +expectancy, yet calm with an assurance of joy to come. + +With the knowledge that Henry Callandar was not quite as other men, had +come an intense, delicious shyness; the aloofness of the maiden who +feels love near yet cannot, through her very nature, take one step +to meet it. + +There was no hurry. She was surrounded with a roseate haze, lapped in +deep content; for, while the doctor had learned nothing from their last +meeting under the elm, Esther had learned everything. She had not seemed +to look at him as they parted, yet she had known, oh, she had known very +well, how he had looked at her! All she wanted, now, was to be alone +with that look; to hold it there in her memory, not to analyse or +question, but to glance at it shyly now and again, feeding with quick +glimpses the new strange joy at the heart. + +"D'ye think He ever forgets to put brains into dogs?" asked Jane +suddenly. "Oh, you silly thing, don't roll over like that! Stop +wriggling and give me your paw!" + +"He, who?" vaguely. + +Jane made a disgusted gesture. "You're not listening, Esther! You know +there is only one Person who puts brains into dogs!" + +"But Pickles is such a puppy, Jane. Give him time." + +"It's not age," gloomily. "It's stupidness. All puppies are stupid, but +Pickles is the most abnormously stupid puppy I ever saw." + +Esther laughed. "Where did you get the word, ducky?" + +"From the doctor. It was something he said about Aunt Amy. Say, Esther, +isn't he going to take you driving any more? I saw him going past this +very afternoon. He turned down towards the river road. There was lots of +room. Next time he takes you, may Pickles and me go too?" + +"Pickles and I, Jane." + +"Well, may we?" + +"I don't know. Perhaps. When did the doctor go past?" + +"Nearly two hours ago. I wonder if there's some one kick down there? +Bubble says they're getting a tremenjous practice. I don't like Bubble +any more. He thinks he's smart. I don't like Ann, either. I shan't ask +her to my birthday party." + +"I thought you loved Ann." + +"Well, I don't. She thinks she's smart!" + +"Ann, too? Smartness must be epidemic." + +"It's all on account of the doctor," gloomily. "They can't get over +having him boarding at their place. I told Ann that my own father was a +doctor, but she said dead ones didn't count. Then I told her that my +mother didn't have to keep boarders anyway." + +"That was a naughty, snobbish thing to say. I'm ashamed of you!" + +"What's 'snobbish'?" + +"What you said was snobbish. Think it over and find out." + +Jane was silent, apparently thinking it over. The fat pup, tired with +unwonted mental exertions, curled up and went to sleep. Esther returned +to her dreams. Then, into the warm hush of the late afternoon came the +quick panting of a motor car. + +"There he is!" cried Jane excitedly. "Let's both run down to the gate to +see him." + +"Jane!" Esther's cheeks were the colour of her ripest berry. "Jane, come +here! I forbid you--Jane!" + +"He's stopping anyway. He'll be coming in. You had better take off that +apron.--Oh, look! Some one's with him. Why," with some disappointment, +"it's mother! He is letting her out. I don't believe he is coming in at +all--let go! Esther, you pig, let me go!" + +She wriggled out of her sister's firm hold but not before the motor had +started again; when she reached the gate it was out of sight. + +Mrs. Coombe surveyed her daughter coldly. "You are a very ill-mannered +child," she said, and putting her aside walked slowly up the path and +around the house to where Esther sat on the back porch. + +"Where are the daisies?" asked Esther, looking up from her berries. + +"The daisies?" vaguely. "Good gracious! I forgot all about the daisies." + +"Didn't you get any?" + +"Heaps, but the fact is I didn't bring them home. I felt so tired. I +don't know how I should have managed to get home myself if Dr. Callandar +hadn't picked me up." + +"Dr. Callandar?" Esther's voice was mildly questioning. + +"Yes, why not?" + +"I thought you had not met him." + +"Neither I had--at least I hadn't met him for a good many years." Mary +gave a little excited laugh. "But that's the funny part of it--he is an +old friend." + +Esther looked up with her characteristic widening of the eyes. The news +was genuinely surprising. And how agitated her mother seemed! + +"It is really quite a remarkable coincidence," went on Mary nervously. +"I was so surprised, startled indeed. Although it's pleasant, of course, +to meet an old schoolmate." + +"You and Doctor Callandar schoolmates?" The eyes were very wide now. + +Mary grew more and more confused. + +"Yes--that is, not exactly. I mean his name wasn't Callandar then. His +name was Chedridge. Did you never hear me speak of Harry Chedridge?" + +"Never." + +"Well, you never listen to half I say. And how was I to know that Doctor +Callandar was the Harry Chedridge I used to know? He took the name of +Callandar from an uncle--or something. Anyway it isn't his own." + +Esther hulled a particularly fine berry and carefully putting the hull +in the pan, threw the berry away. + +"Curiouser and curiouser!" she said, quoting the immortal Alice. "Did +you recognise him at once?" + +If it be possible for a lady of this enlightened age to simper, Mrs. +Coombe simpered. "He recognised me at once!" with faint emphasis on +the pronouns. + +The girl choked down a rising inclination to laugh. + +"Why shouldn't he? I suppose you haven't changed very much." + +"Hardly at all, he says; at least he says he would have known me +anywhere. But it's quite a long time, you know, terribly long. I was a +young girl then. Naturally, he was much older." + +"I should have thought so. That's why it seems queer--your having been +schoolmates." + +Mrs. Coombe looked cross. "I did not mean schoolmates in that sense." + +"Oh, merely in a Pickwickian sense!" Esther's laugh bubbled out. + +Mary arose. She was afraid to risk more at present, until she had been +to her room and--rested awhile. "You are rude, as usual," she said with +dignity. "When I said that Dr. Callandar and I were schoolmates I meant +simply that we were old friends, that we knew each other when we were +both younger. I do not see anything at all humorous in the statement." + +"No, of course not!" with quick compunction. "It's quite lovely. Just +like a book. Why didn't he come in?" + +The question was so cleverly casual that no one could have guessed the +girl's consuming interest in the answer. But its cleverness had overshot +the mark, for so colourless was the tone in which it was asked that Mary +did not notice it at all. Instead she retreated steadily along her +own line. + +"I hope I always treat your friends with proper courtesy, Esther. And I +shall expect you to do the same with mine. Dr. Callandar is a very old +friend indeed. Should he call to-night I wish you to receive him +as such." + +"I'll try," said the girl demurely. + +The way of escape was now open, but Mrs. Coombe hesitated. She seemed to +have something else to say. Something which did not come easily. "It's +horrid living in a town like Coombe," she burst out. "People always want +to know everything. We met the elder Miss Sinclair on the river +road--you know what that means! If people ask you any question--or +anything--you had better tell them at once that Dr. Callandar is not a +stranger." + +"I should not dream of suppressing the fact." + +"You see," again that odd hesitation, "he may call--rather often. +And--people talk so easily." + +Despite her care, Esther's sensitive face flamed in answer to the +quickened beat of her heart. What an odd thing for her mother to say! +What did she mean? Was it possible that he had already told her--asked +her? Or had she merely guessed? There was a moment's pause, and then, +"Let them talk!" said the girl softly. "It can't make any difference, to +them, how often Dr. Callandar calls." + +Mrs. Coombe looked doubtful, hesitated once more, but finally turned +away without speaking. As she went, she cast a careless glance at Aunt +Amy, who stood just within the kitchen doorway, a curiously watchful +look in her usually expressionless eyes. + +"Berries all ready, Auntie," said Esther cheerfully. "What's the matter +with me as a Saturday Help?" + +But Aunt Amy did not smile as she usually did. + +"She's gone to get dressed," she said abruptly, indicating with a +backward gesture Mrs. Coombe's retiring figure. + +"Well?" + +"For him. She's gone to get dressed for him." + +Esther was puzzled. "Why shouldn't she? Oh, I forget you didn't know! +It's quite a romance. Mother used to know Dr. Callandar when she was a +girl. 'We twa hae rin aboot the braes,' you know. Only it seems so +funny. Fancy, Dr. Callandar and mother! But we shan't have to worry any +more about her health. She can't possibly avoid him now." + +Aunt Amy was not listening. The curiously watchful look was still in her +eyes and suddenly, apropos of nothing, she began to wring her hands in +the strange, dumb way which always preceded one of her characteristic +mental agonies,--agonies which, far beyond her understanding as they +were, never failed to awake profound compassion in Esther. + +"What is it, dear?" she asked gently. "Are you not so well?" + +"Don't you ever feel things, Esther? Don't you ever sense +things--coming?" + +"No, dear. And neither do you, when you are well. You are tired." She +placed her hands firmly upon the locked hands of Aunt Amy and with +tender force attempted to separate them. But Jane, who had been a silent +but interested spectator, spoke eagerly. + +"Don't, Esther! Do let her tell us what is coming. You know she always +tells right when she wrings her hands. Go on, Auntie--" + +"Jane, be quiet! I'll tell you why afterwards. Auntie dear, sit down." + +'Aunt Amy's hands relaxed and the strange look faded. "It's nothing," +she said. "It's gone! I must be more careful. Do not mention it to your +mother, children. She might think me queer again, and I am not at all +queer any more. You have noticed that I'm not, haven't you, Esther? I'll +do anything you say, my dear." + +"Then lie out in the hammock while I get supper. The berries are all +ready. Then we'll all get dressed. Jane may wear one of her new frocks +and you shall wear your grey voile. It will be quite a party." + +"Will there be ice cream? Because if there isn't I don't want to get +dressed," sighed Jane. "My new things don't fit. They look like bags." + +"It will soon be holidays and then I'll fix them for you." + +Jane laid a childish cheek to her sister's hand. + +"Nice Esther," she cooed. "I'm sorry I called you a pig." Then, in a +change of tone as they left Aunt Amy resting in the hammock, "Esther, +why is Auntie so afraid of mother lately? She says such queer things I +don't know what she means." + +"Neither do I, dear. But I think it is just a passing fancy. She was +very much hurt about the ring being sold. When she gets it back she will +forget about it." + +"She looks at mother as if she hates her." + +"Oh, no!" in a startled tone. "How can you say such a thing, Jane?" + +"But she does. I've seen her. I don't blame her. I think it was +horrid--" + +"That's enough. You know nothing about it. Little girls who do not +understand have no right to criticise." + +"Fred says it was the most underhan--" + +"Jane, one word more and you shall have no berries to-night. Duck, don't +you realise that you are speaking in a very unkind way of your +own mother." + +The child's eyes filled with ready tears, but her little mouth was +stubborn. "Auntie's more my mother, Esther, and so are you. And it was +mean to take the ring and I don't care whether I have any berries +or not." + +Supper was a very quiet meal that night. Mrs. Coombe, interrupted in the +process of dressing, came down in an old kimono, but ate almost nothing, +Jane was sullen, Aunt Amy silent and Esther happily oblivious to +everything save her own happy thoughts. + +As soon as she could, she slipped away to her own room, and, choosing +everything with care, began to dress herself as a maiden dresses for the +eye of her lover. She was to be all in white, her dainty dress, her +petticoats, stockings and shoes. White made her look younger than ever, +absurdly young. He had never seen her all in white and she knew quite +well how soft it made the shadows of her hair, how startlingly blue her +eyes, how warm and living the ivory of her lovely neck. + +"Oh, I am glad I am pretty!" she whispered to her mirror. "Glad, glad!" +Then with a laugh at her own childishness she "touched wood" to +propitiate the jealous fates and ran down stairs to hide herself in the +duskiest corner of the veranda. + +It was delightful there. The cooling air was sweet with the mingled +perfumes of the garden border below, an early star had fallen, +sparkling, upon the blue-grey train of departing day, a whispering +breeze crept, soft-footed, through the shrubbery. Esther lay back in the +long chair and closed her eyes. For thirty perfect moments she waited +until the click of the garden gate announced his coming. Then she sprang +up, smiling, blushing,--peering through the screen of vines-- + +A man was coming up the path. At first sight he seemed a stranger, some +one who walked heavily, slowly--the doctor's step was quick and +springing. Yet it was he! She drew back, shyly, yet looked again. Some +one, in a pretty green silk gown, had slipped out from under the big elm +and was meeting him with outstretched hands. + +"Mother," thought Esther, "how strange!" + +They had paused and were talking together. Mary's high, sweet laugh +floated over the flowers, then her voice, a mere murmur. His voice, +lower still. Then silence. They had turned back, together, down the +lilac walk. + +Esther sat down again. She felt numb. She closed her eyes as she had +done before. But all the dreams, all the happy thoughts were gone. She +opened them abruptly to find Aunt Amy staring down upon her, dumbly, +wringing her hands. In the warm summer air the girl shivered. + +"What is it?" she asked a little sharply. But Aunt Amy seemed neither to +see nor hear her. She flitted by like some wandering grey moth into the +dim garden, still wringing her hands. + +Esther sat up. "How utterly absurd," she said aloud. Indeed she felt +heartily ashamed of herself. To behave like a foolish child, to startle +Aunt Amy into a fit and all because her mother and Dr. Callandar had +gone for a stroll down the lilac walk--the most natural thing in the +world. They would return presently. She had only to wait. But the +waiting was not quite the same. Those golden moments already sparkled in +the past. Nothing could ever be quite the same as if he had come +straight up the path to where she waited for him in the dusk. + + * * * * * + +In the living-room, Jane who had small patience with twilight, had +lighted the lamp. Its shaded beams fell in golden bars across the +veranda floor. The sky was full of stars, now, but the voice of the +breeze was growing shrill, as if whistling up the rain. + +They were coming back along the side of the house. Esther rose quickly +and slipped into the safety of the commonplace with Jane and the lighted +lamp. Mrs. Coombe entered first, there was an instant to observe and +wonder at her. She seemed a different woman, young, pretty, sparkling; +even her hair seemed brighter. Behind her came Callandar and when Esther +saw his face her heart seemed to stop. It was the face, almost, of a man +of middle age, a firm, quiet face with cold eyes. + +"Esther!" Mrs. Coombe's voice held incipient reproof. + +The girl came forward and offered her hand. The doctor, this new doctor, +took it, let it drop and said, "Good evening, Miss Esther," then turned +to Jane with a politely worded message from Ann and Bubble. + +"You can tell them I won't go," said Jane crossly. "They think they are +smart. Just because--" + +Esther slipped quietly from the room. In the hall outside she paused, +breathless. She felt as if she had run a long way. Shame enveloped her, +a shame whose cause she could not put into words. She only knew that she +had, in the few seconds of that cold greeting, been profoundly +humiliated. She quivered with the sting of unwarranted expectancy. But +if this had been all, it would have been well. There was something else, +some deeper pain surging through the smart of wounded pride, something +which led her with blind steps into a dark corner of the stairs where +she sat very quiet and still. + +Through the open front door, she could see the bars of lamplight on the +deserted veranda, and hear from the open windows of the living-room a +hum of conversation in which Jane seemed to be taking a leading part. +Then came the tinkle of the old piano and Mary's voice, singing, or +attempting to sing, for it was soon apparent that her voice sagged +pitifully on the high notes. + +Presently Jane came out, banging the door. Jane's manners, Esther +thought, were really very bad. She had probably banged the door because +she had been sent to bed and she had probably been sent to bed because +she had been saucy. Esther wondered what particular form her sauciness +had taken, but when Jane called softly, "Esther!" she did not answer. +She did not want to put Jane to bed to-night. The child flashed past her +up the stairs and soon could be heard from an upstair window calling +imperatively for Aunt Amy. But Aunt Amy, flitting through the dim garden +wringing her hands, did not hear. Jane, much injured, went to bed by +herself that night. + +In the lamp-lit room there was no more music. The murmur of voices grew +less distinct. There were intervals of silence. (Only very old friends +can support a silence gracefully--but of course these two were very old +friends.) Esther wondered, idly, how it would be best to explain her +absence to her mother. Toothache, perhaps? Not that the excuse mattered. +Mary never listened to excuses. She would be cross and fretful anyway +and complain that Esther never treated her friends with proper courtesy. +The best thing she could do would be to go to bed. But she made no +movement to go; the moments ticked by on the hall clock unnoticed. + +After a time, which might have been long or short, there was a stir in +the room and her mother's voice called "Esther! Esther!" + +The girl stood up, smoothed her white dress, slipped out on to the +veranda and into the garden. From there she answered the call. +"Yes, Mother?" + +"Where are you? You sound as if you had been asleep. Doctor Callandar is +going." + +Esther came lightly up the steps. + +"So soon?" + +"It is early," agreed Mrs. Coombe playfully, "but I can't keep him." + +Esther, herself in shadow, could see the doctor's face as he stood +quietly beside his hostess. It was full of an endless weariness. Her +pride melted. Impulsively she put out a warm hand-- + +"Good night, Miss Esther. How very sweet your garden is at night. But it +feels as if our fine weather were over. The wind begins to blow +like rain." + +Esther's hand dropped to her side. Perhaps he had not seen it in the +dusk. + + + + +CHAPTER XXV + + +We all know that strange remoteness into which one wakes from out deep +sleep. Though the eye be open, the Ego is not there to use it. For an +immeasurable second, the awakener knows not who he is, nor why, nor +where. Only there is, faintly perceptible, a reminiscent consciousness +whether of joy or sorrow, a certain flavour of the soul, sweet or +bitter, into which the Ego, slipping back, announces, "I am happy" or "I +am miserable." + +Esther had not hoped to sleep that night but she did sleep and heavily. +When she awoke it was to blankness, a cold throbbing blankness of +undefined ill being. Then her Ego, with a sigh, came back from far +places; the busy brain shot into focus; all the memories, fears, +humiliation of the night before stood forth clear and poignant. She +buried her face in the pillow. + +Yet, after the first rush of consciousness, there came a difference. +There always is a difference between night and day thoughts. Fresh from +its wonder-journey, the soul is braver in the morning, the brain is +calmer, the spirit more hopeful. After a half-hour's self-examination +with her face in the pillow Esther began to wonder if she had not been +foolishly apprehensive and whether it were not possible that half her +fears were bogies. The weight began to lighten, she breathed more +freely. Looking over the rim of the sheltering pillow the morning seemed +no longer hateful. + +Foremost of all comforting thoughts was the conviction that instinct +must still be trusted against evidence. Through all her speculations as +to the unexplained happenings of the previous day, she found that +instinct held firmly to its former belief regarding the doctor's +feelings toward herself. There are some things which one knows +absolutely and Esther knew that Henry Callandar had looked upon her as a +man looks upon the woman he loves. He had loved her that night when they +paddled through the moonlight; he had loved her when he watched for her +coming along the road, but most of all he had loved her when, under the +eye of Aunt Amy, they had said good-bye at the garden gate. This much +was sure, else all her instincts were foresworn. + +After this came chaos. She could not in any way read the riddle of his +manner of last night. Had the sudden resumption of his old friendship +with her mother absorbed his mind to the exclusion of everything else? +Impossible, if he loved her. Had purely physical weariness or mental +worry blotted her out completely for the time being? Impossible, if he +loved her. Then what had happened? + +Doubtless it would all be simple enough when she understood. She sighed +and raised her head from the pillow. At any rate it was morning. The day +must be faced and lived through. Any one of its hours might bring +happiness again. + +The rainstorm which had swept up during the night had passed, leaving +the morning clean. She needed no recollection to tell her that it was +Sunday. The Sabbath hush was on everything; no milkman's cans jingled +down the street; no playing children called or shouted; there was a bell +ringing somewhere for early service. Esther sighed again. She was sorry +it was Sunday. Work-a-day times are easiest. + +A rich odour of coffee, insinuating itself through the half open door, +testified mutely to the fact that Aunt Amy was getting breakfast. It was +later than usual. After breakfast it would be time to dress for church. +Every one in Coombe dressed for church. It was a sacred rite. One and +all, they had clothes which were strictly Sabbatarian, known indeed by +the name of Sunday Best. + +Esther's Sunday best was a blue, voile, a lovely blue, the colour of her +eyes when in soft shadow. It was made with a long straight skirt +slightly high at the waist, round neck and elbow sleeves and with it +went soft, wrinkly gloves and a wide hat trimmed with cornflowers. She +knew that she looked well in it--and the doctor would be in church. + +On this thought which flew into her mind like a swift swallow through an +open window, her lethargy fled and in its place came nervous haste; a +feverish impatience which brought her with a bound out of bed, flushed +and eager. Philosophy is all very well but it never yet stilled the +heart-beat of the young. + +Aunt Amy looked up in mild surprise as she hurried into the kitchen in +time to butter toast and poach the eggs. + +"Why, Esther!" she said in her bewildered way. "I thought--I didn't +think that you would get up this morning." + +"Why? I am perfectly well, Auntie. Where is mother?" + +"Oh, she's up! Picking flowers." + +Esther looked slightly surprised. It was not Mrs. Coombe's habit to rise +early or to pick flowers, but before she had time to comment, Mary +herself entered the kitchen with an armful of roses. + +"Hurry with your breakfast, Jane," she said, "I want you to take these +over to the doctor's office. I wonder you have not sent some to the poor +man before this, Esther. Mrs. Sykes' roses never amount to anything. +Shall I pour the coffee? I suppose you felt that you did not know him +well enough. But flowers sent in a neighbourly way would have been quite +all right. If you weren't always so stiff, people would like you better. +I felt quite ashamed of your behaviour last night. Of course it wasn't +necessary for you to stay in the room _all_ the evening, but it was +simply rude to run away as you did. You needn't make Jane an excuse. +Jane could put herself to bed, for once." + +"I did--" began Jane, but catching sight of her sister's face, went no +further. And Mrs. Coombe, who was always talkative when airing a +grievance, paid no attention. + +"If you are feeling huffy about the motor breaking down, you'll just +have to get over it," she went on. "It couldn't possibly have been Dr. +Callandar's fault anyway." + +"I am quite sure that it wasn't." + +"Then don't sulk. He is rather fine looking, don't you think? Though as +a boy he was almost ugly. It doesn't seem to matter in men--ugliness, I +mean. And of course in those days he could not afford to dress; dress +makes such a difference. I shouldn't be a bit surprised if his clothes +are English made. That baggy look that isn't really baggy, you know. +When I knew him his people were quite poor. Only a mother and sister. +The father shot himself. People said suicide ran in that family. But +Harry--Henry said that if it did, it was going to stop running. He said +such odd things. I was staying with friends when I met him, at a church +social. One meets all kinds at an affair like that. My friends didn't +ask him to the party they gave for me. For although they were a very +good family, the Chedridges, Henry was almost a hired man at that time, +working for old Dr. Inglis, to put himself through college. His mother +and sister never went out." + +"Were they both invalids?" + +"Don't be clever, Esther! I mean socially, of course. Jane, run up to my +dresser and look in the second drawer on the right hand side and bring +down my small photo case. I think I have a photo somewhere, not a very +good one, but enough to show how homely he was.... Amy, aren't you going +to eat any breakfast this morning?" + +Aunt Amy, who had been following her niece's unusual flow of talk with +fascinated attention, returned with a start to her untasted egg. Esther +tried to eat some toast and choked. In spite of all her resolutions she +felt coldly and bitterly angry. That her mother should dare to gossip +about him like that! That she should call him "ugly," that she should +speak with that air of almost insolent proprietorship of those wonderful +early years long, long before she, Esther, had come into his life at +all, it was unendurable! + +Do not smile, sophisticated young person. When you are in love you will +know, only too well, this jealousy of youless years; this tenderness for +photos and trifling remembrances of the youth of the one you love. You +will envy his very mother, who, presumably, knew him fairly well in the +nursery, and that first dreadful picture of him in plaid dress and +plastered hair will seem a sacred relic. + +In the meantime you may take my word for it, and try to understand how +Esther felt as she bent, perforce, over the photo of a dark-browed lad +whose very expression was in itself a valid protest against photography. + +"Ugly, wasn't he?" asked Mrs. Coombe. + +"Very," said Esther. + +"Perfectly fierce," said Jane, peering over her shoulder. "Really +fierce, I mean, not slang. He looks as if he would love to bite +somebody." + +"The photographer, probably." + +Esther shrugged her shoulders and laid the photo carelessly upon the +table. So careless was she, in fact, that a sharp "Look out!" from Jane +did not prevent a sudden jerk of her elbow upsetting her steaming cup of +coffee right over the pictured face. + +With an angry exclamation, Mary sprang forward to rescue her property +but Esther had already picked it up and was endeavouring to repair the +damage with her table napkin. + +"Oh, do take care!" said Mary irritably. "Don't rub so _hard_--you'll +rub all the film off--there! What did I tell you?" + +"Dear me! who would ever have dreamed it would rub off that easily?" +Esther surveyed the crumpled bits of photo with convincing dismay. + +"Any one, with sense. It's ruined--how utterly stupid of you, Esther." +Mary's voice quivered with anger. "You provoking thing! I believe you +did it on purpose." + +The cold stare from the girl's eyes stopped her, but she added +fretfully, "You are always doing things to annoy me. I can't think why, +I'm sure." + +"She was trying to dry it," declared Jane, belligerently. "She didn't +mean to hurt the old photo. Did you, darling?" + +"I can hardly see what my motive could have been," said Esther politely, +rising from the table. She had deliberately tried to destroy the +photograph and was exultantly glad that she had succeeded, yet, so +quickly does the actress instinct develop under the spur of necessity, +that her face and manner showed only amused tolerance of such a foolish +suspicion. + +Later, the culprit smiled understandingly at her image in the mirror as +she dressed for church. "I did not know I could be so catty," she told +her reflection, "but I don't care. She hadn't any right to have that +darling picture. Ugly, indeed!" The blue eyes snapped and then became +reflective. "Only she didn't think it ugly any more than I did. It was +just talk. She was certainly furious when the film rubbed off. I +wonder--" She fastened the last dark tress of hair, still wondering. + +All the way to church she wondered, walking demurely with Jane up +Oliver's Hill, while Mary, nervously gay, fluttered on a step or two +ahead. Jane found her unresponsive that morning. The acquaintances they +passed found her distant. They wondered if Esther Coombe were becoming +"stuck up" since she had a school of her own? For although, as Miss +Agnes Smith said, it is not quite the thing to do more than nod and +smile on the way to church, one doesn't need to pass one's friends +looking like an absent-minded funeral. + +Poor Esther! She saw nobody because she looked for only one. + +"Oh, Esther, Mrs. Sykes has a new bonnet. There she is, Esther, look!" + +"Very pretty," murmured Esther absently. + +Jane dropped her hand. "You're blind as well as deaf, Esther. It's +perfectly, dreadfully awful, and you know it!" + +Thus abjured, Esther managed to look at Mrs. Sykes' bonnet. And, having +looked, she laughed. Mrs. Sykes had certainly surpassed herself in +bonnets. And poor Ann, her skirts were stiffer, her pig-tails tighter +and her small face more mutinous than ever. The doctor was not of the +party. Esther had known that, long before Jane had noticed the bonnet. + +Still, there was nothing in that. He did not always walk with Ann to +church. He might not come up Oliver's Hill at all. He might come from +the opposite direction. He might be in church already. Esther's step +quickened. But she had no excuse for hurry. Unless one sang in the choir +or were threatened with lateness it was not etiquette to push ahead of +any one on Oliver's Hill. Decently and in order was the motto, so Esther +was sharply reminded when she had almost trodden on the unhastening +heels of Mrs. Elder MacTavish. + +Mrs. MacTavish turned in surprise but, seeing Esther, relaxed into the +usual Sunday smile and bow. + +"Good morning, Esther. Good morning, Mrs. Coombe. Good morning, Jane. +What perfect weather we are having. You are all well, I hope?" + +"Very well, thank you." + +"And dear Miss Amy?" + +"Very well indeed." + +"So sad that she never cares to come to church. But of course one +understands. And it must be a satisfaction to you all that she keeps so +well. I said to Mr. MacTavish only last night that I felt sure Dr. +Callandar was not being called in professionally. That is the worst of +being a doctor. One can hardly attend to one's social duties without +arousing fear for the health of one's friends. Not that Dr. Callandar is +overly sociable, usually." + +The last word, delivered as if by an afterthought, said everything which +she wished it to say. Esther's lips shut tightly. Mary Coombe flushed. +But she was quick to seize the opening nevertheless. + +"Such an odd thing, dear Mrs. MacTavish! Dr. Callandar turns out to be +quite an old friend of--of my family. We knew each other as boy and +girl. In his college days, you know." + +"How very pleasant. But I always understood your family lived in +Cleveland. Did Dr. Callandar take his degree in the States?" + +"Oh, no, of course not, but I was visiting in Canada when we knew each +other. Mutual friends and--and all that, you know." + +"Very romantic," said Mrs. MacTavish. Her tone was pleasantly cordial, +yet there was a something, a tinge--her quick glance took in Mrs. +Coombe's pretty dress and flowered hat, and the beginning of a smile +moved her thin lips. She said nothing. But then she did not need to say +anything. Mind reading is common with women. + +Mrs. Coombe was furious. Esther laughed suddenly, a bubbling, girlish +laugh, and then pretended that she had laughed because Jane had stubbed +her toe. Jane looked hurt, Mrs. Coombe suspicious and Mrs. MacTavish +amused. So in anything but a properly Sabbatical frame of mind the +little party arrived at the church door. + +Who does not know, if only in memory, that exquisite thrill of fear and +expectation with which Esther entered the place which might contain the +man she loved? Another moment, a breath, and she might see him!... And +who has not known that stab of pain, that awful darkness of the spirit, +which came upon her as, instantly, she knew that he was not there? + +He was not in the church. Mental telepathy is recognised as well by its +absence as by its presence. Esther knew that the church was empty of her +lover and that it would remain empty. He was not coming to church +to-day. Fortunate indeed that Mrs. MacTavish was not looking, for the +girl's lip quivered, an unnatural darkness deepened the blue of her +eyes. Then, smiling, she followed her mother up the aisle. Girls are +wonderfully brave and if language is given us to conceal our thoughts +smiles are very convenient also. + +Mary Coombe settled herself with a flutter and a rustle, and then, +behind the decorous shield of a hymn book, she whispered, + +"Did you see Dr. Callandar as we came in?" + +"No." + +"Look and see if he is here." + +The girl glanced perfunctorily around. + +"No," she said. + +Mrs. Coombe frowned. She was patiently annoyed and Esther felt cold +anger stir again. What difference could the doctor's absence possibly +make to Mary Coombe? + +The singing of the psalm and the reading were long drawn out +wearinesses. Esther had not come to church to worship that morning. We +do not comment upon her attitude. We merely state it. To-day, church, +the service and all that it stood for had been absolutely outside of +her emotions. Yet with the prayer came the thought of God and with the +thought a thrill of angry fear--a fear which was an inevitable after +effect of her very orthodox training. God, she felt dimly, did not like +people to be very happy. He was a jealous God. He was probably angry now +because she had come to church thinking more of Dr. Callandar than of +Him. "Thou shalt have no other Gods before me!" Awful, mystical words! +Did they mean that one couldn't have any human god at all? Not even a +near, kind protecting god--like the doctor? It frightened her. + +She found herself explaining to God that her lover was not really a +rival. That although she loved him so terribly it was in quite a +different way and would never interfere with her religious duties. Then, +feeling the futility of this, she pretended carelessness, trying to +deceive God into the belief that she didn't think so very much of the +doctor anyway. + +This was in the prayer, while she sat with her eyes decorously shaded by +her hand. Above her in the pulpit, the minister in an ecstasy of +petition set forth the needs of the church, the state and the +individual. Esther did not hear a word until a sudden dropping of his +voice forced a certain phrase upon her attention. He was praying, with +an especial poignancy for "that blessing which maketh rich and addeth +no sorrow." + +Was there such a blessing? A blessing which would make rich and add no +sorrow? No wonder the minister prayed for it. To Esther, whose mind was +saturated with the idea of God as the author of chastenings, the +possibility came with a shock of joy. She, too, began to pray, and she +prayed for one thing only, over and over--the blessing that maketh rich +and addeth no sorrow. There was no need, she felt, to specify further. +God was sure to guess what blessing she meant. + +A subdued rustle, a swaying as of barley in a gentle breeze and the +prayer was over. Esther removed her hand from her eyes and looked up at +the minister. For a tiny second his glance met hers. A thrill shot +through her, a thrill of dismay. With all the force of a new idea, it +came to her that she and he were in the same parlous case. He loved her, +as she loved--somebody else. + +And that meant that he must suffer, suffer as she had suffered last +night. Last week when he had told her of his love she had been +surprised, sorry and a little angry. But last week he had spoken of +unknown things. Love and suffering had been words to her then, now they +were realities. + +Then, for she was learning quickly now, came another flash of +enlightenment. They had been praying for the same thing. He, too, had +prayed for the blessing which maketh rich--and he had meant _her_. She +knew it. He had been asking God to give her to him. Horrible! + +Common sense shrank back before the invading flood of fear. What if God +had listened? What if He had answered? Ministers, she knew, have great +influence with God. What if He had said, "Yes"? What if all the trouble +of last night, the blankness of to-day, were part of the answer? + +"Never! Never!" she said. She almost said it aloud, so real had her fear +been. Her eyes, fixed upon the minister's face, were terrified, but her +soul was strong. Fearful of blasphemy, yet brave, she faced the bogie of +a God her thought had evoked, saying, "I make my own choice. Take my +lover from me if you will--I shall never give myself to another." + +All this was very wrong, shocking even, especially in church. But it +really happened and is apt to happen any Sunday in any church so long as +human love rebels at the idea of a Divine love less tender than itself. + +Gradually the panic fear died down. Esther's sane and well-balanced +nature began to assert itself. Some voice, small but insistent, began to +say, "God is not like that," and she listened and was comforted. She had +not yet come to the love which casts out fear, but she was done with the +fear which casts out love. + +So that when on the church steps in the sunshine she felt Angus +Macnair's hand tremble in hers, she was able to meet his eyes, +straightly, understandingly, but unafraid. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVI + + +The manner in which Dr. Callandar spent that tragic Sunday is not +clearly on record. We have watched Esther so closely that he has been +permitted to escape our observation, and it would be manifestly unfair +to expect any coherent account of the day from him. He knows that he +went for a walk, early, and that he walked all day. He remembers once +resting by the willow-fringed pool which had seen his introduction into +Coombe, but he could not stay there. Between him and that hot June day +lay the wreck of a world. Once he stumbled upon the Pine Lake road and +followed it a little way. But here, too, memory came too close and drove +him aside into the fields. There he tried to face his future fairly, +under the calm sky. But it was hard work. With such a riot of feeling, +it was difficult to think. His mind continually fell away into the +contemplation of his own misery. It was a bad day, a day which left an +ineffaceable mark. + +With night came the first sign of peace, or rather of capitulation. He +fought no more because he realised that there was nothing for which to +fight. There had never been, from the very first moment, a possibility +of escape, the smallest ray of hope. Fate had met him squarely and the +issue had never been in doubt. + +It was a "wonderful clear night of stars" when, having circled the town +in his aimless wandering, he found himself opposite the schoolhouse gate +and calm enough to allow his thoughts to dwell definitely upon Esther. +She, at least, was safe, and the knowledge brought pure thankfulness. +Not for anything in the world would he have had her entangled in this +tragic coil. Leaning over the gate he saw the school steps, faintly +white in the starlight. It needed small effort of imagination to see her +there as he had seen her that first day--a happy girl, looking at him +with the long, straight glance of unawakened youth. A great wave of +protecting love went out to meet that vision. Self was lost in its +immensity. As he had found her, so, please God, she was still and so he +would leave her. + +Then, somewhere in the back of his brain, a question sprang to vivid +life. Was she the same? He knew that all day he had been fighting back +that question. Last night something had frightened him--something +glimpsed for a moment in Esther's face when she had come in from the +garden to say good-night. Fancy, perhaps, or a trick of the lamplight. +She could not really have changed. He would not allow himself even to +dream that she had changed. + +By this time she would know about himself and Mary--know all that any +one was to know. He had insisted upon that. Mary had promised to tell +her to-day that they were to be married soon. Next time he saw her she +would look upon him with different eyes; eyes which would see not her +sometime friend and companion but her step-mother's future husband. He +must steel himself for this. Probably she would laugh a little. He hoped +she would laugh. Last night she had looked so--she had not looked like +laughter. If she should laugh it would answer the last doubt in his +heart. He would know that she was free. + +Presently he felt himself to be unbearably weary. Physical needs, +ignored all day, began to clamour. He must get home at once. No _outré_ +proceedings must raise the easy breath of gossip. He must not flinch, he +dared not run away, all must be done decently and in order. Let him only +keep his head now--the bravest man need not look too far into +the morrow. + +It must be late, he knew. The road into Coombe was deserted. All the +buggies of the country folk returning from evening service had passed +long ago and even the happy young couples indulging in a Sunday night +"after church" flirtation had decorously sought their homes. He looked +at his watch by the clear starlight. It was later even than he had +thought. No need to avoid passing the Elms, now; they would all be +asleep--he might perhaps be able to sleep himself if he knew that no +light burned in Esther's window. + +There was no light in the house anywhere. It stood black in the shadow +of its trees. The doctor found himself walking softly. His steps grew +slower, paused. Irresistibly the "spirit in his feet" drew him to the +closed gate from where he could see the black oblong of her window. + +"She is asleep," he thought. "Of course she is asleep. Thank God!" + +Then, on the instant of dropping his eyes from the window, he saw her. +She was standing quite near, in the shadow of the elm. + +"Esther!" The one word leaped from his lips like a cry. + +"Yes, it is I," she said. + +She offered no word of explanation nor did any need of one occur to +him. Moving from the shadow into the soft starlight she came toward him +like the spirit of the night. But when she paused, so close that only +the gate divided them, he saw that her eyes were wide and dark +with trouble. + +"I am so glad you came. I wanted to see you. I--I could not sleep." She +spoke with the direct simplicity of a child, yet nothing could have +shown more plainly that she was a child no longer. All her pretty +girlish hesitation, all her happy shyness had passed away on the breath +of the great awakening. It was a woman who stood there, pale, remote, +with a woman's question in her eyes. + +The keen shock of the change in her filled Callandar with rebellious +joy; it would be pain presently, but, just for the moment, love exulted +shamelessly, claiming her own. He tried to answer her but no words came. + +"You look very tired." She seemed not to notice his silence. "I must not +keep you. But there is a question I want to ask. Mother told me to-night +that you and she are to be married. Is it true?" + +How incredible she was, he thought. How perfect in her direct and simple +dignity. Yet there had crept into her tone a wistfulness which broke +his heart. + +"Yes. It is true." He could do no less than meet her on her own high +ground. + +"She said," the girl's sweet, remote voice went on, "that you had loved +each other all your lives. Is that true, too?" + +He had hoped that he might be spared the bitterness of this, but since +only one answer was possible, "It is true," he said hoarsely, "it is +true that we loved each other--long ago." + +"Long ago--and now?" He was to be spared nothing, it seemed. Her wide +eyes searched his face. Lest she should read it too plainly, he +bowed his head. + +Then suddenly, even as she drew back from him, hurt to the heart, some +trick of moonlight on his half-hidden face, linked to swift memory, +showed her another moonlight night, a canoe, a story told--and in a +flash the miracle had happened. Intuition had leaped the gulf of his +enforced silence--Esther knew. + +A great wonder grew in her eyes, an immense relief. + +"Why," she spoke whisperingly, "I see, I know! She, my mother, is the +girl you told me of. The girl you married--" + +She did not need the confirmation of his miserable eyes. It was all +quite plain. With a little broken sigh of understanding, she leaned her +head against the gate post and, all child again, began to cry softly +behind the shelter of her hands. + +"Esther!" + +He could say nothing, do nothing. He dared not even touch the dark, bent +head. But we may well pity him as he watched her. + +The girl's sobbing wore itself out and presently she lifted +tear-drenched eyes, like the blue of the sky after rain. Her tragic, +unnatural composure had all been wept away. + +"I understand--now," she faltered. "Before, I didn't. I thought dreadful +things. I thought that I--that you--oh, I couldn't bear the things I +thought! But it's better now. You did love me--didn't you?" + +"Before God--yes!" + +She went on dreamily. "It would have been too terrible if you hadn't--if +you had just pretended--had been amusing yourself--been false and base. +But I felt all along that you were never that. I knew there must be +some explanation and it didn't seem wrong to ask. Instead of pretending +that I didn't know all the things you had not time to say. Forgive me +for ever doubting that you were brave and good." + +"Spare me--" + +She was not yet old enough to understand the tragic appeal. For she +leaned nearer, laying her soft hand over his clenched ones. + +"It is all so very, very sad," she said with quaint simplicity which was +part of her, "but not so bad--oh, not nearly so bad as if you had been +pretending--or I mistaken. Think!--How terrible to give one's love +unworthily or unasked!" + +"But you do not love me," he burst out, "you cannot! You must not!" + +Never had he seen her eyes so sweet, so dark. + +"I do love you. And I honour you above all men." + +Before he could prevent her, she had stooped--her lips brushed his hand. + +"Oh, my Dear!"--He had reached the limit of his strength--instant flight +alone remained if he would keep the precious flower of her trust. And +she, too, was trembling. But in the soft starlight they looked into each +other's eyes, and what they saw there helped. Their hands clasped, but +in that moment of parting neither thought of self, so both were strong. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVII + + +Mrs. Sykes thought much about her boarder in those days and, for a +wonder, said very little. Gossip as she was, she could, in the service +of one she liked, be both wise and reticent. Perhaps she knew that +oracles are valued partly for their silences. At any rate her prestige +suffered nothing, for the less she said, the more certain Coombe became +that she could, if she would, say a great deal. Of course her pretence +of seeing nothing unusual in the doctor's engagement was simply absurd. +Coombe felt sure that like the pig-baby in "Alice," she only did it "to +annoy because she knows it teases." + +One by one the most expert gossips of the town charged down upon the +doctor's landlady and one by one they returned defeated. + +"True about the doctor and Mary Coombe? Why, yes of course it's true. +Land sakes, it's no secret." Mrs. Sykes would look at her visitor in +innocent astonishment. "Queer? No. I don't see anything queer about it. +Mary Coombe's a nice looking woman, if she is sloppy, and I guess she +ain't any older than the doctor, if it comes to that. No, the doctor +doesn't say much about it. He ain't a talking man. Sudden? Oh, I don't +know. 'Tisn't as if they'd met like strangers. As you say, they _might_ +have kept company before. But I never heard of it. I always forget, +Mrs. MacTavish, if you take sugar? One spoon or two? As you say, old +friends sometimes take up with old friends. But sometimes they don't. My +Aunt Susan found her second in a man who used to weed their garden. But +it's not safe to judge by that. Ann, hand Mrs. MacTavish this cup, and +go tell Bubble Burk that if he doesn't stop aggravating that dog, it'll +bite him some day, and nobody sorry." + +In this manner did Mrs. Sykes hold the fort. Not from her would Coombe +hear of those "blue things of the soul" which her quick eye divined +behind the quiet front of her favourite. But with the doctor himself she +had no reserves, it being one of her many maxims that "what you up and +say to a person's face doesn't hurt them any." The doctor was made well +aware that her unvarnished opinion of his prospective marriage was at +his disposal at any time. + +"I'm not one as gives advice that ain't asked," declared Mrs. Sykes with +sincere self-deception. "But what sensible folks see in Mary Coombe I +can't imagine. I may be biased, not having ever liked her from the very +first, but being always willing to give her a chance--which I may say +she never took. There's a verse in the Bible she reminds me of, +'Unstable as water'--Ann, what tribe was it that the Lord addressed them +words to?" + +"I don't know, Aunt." + +"There, you see! She doesn't know! That's what happens along of all +these Sunday Schools. In my day I'd be spanked and sent to bed if I +didn't know every last thing about the tribes." + +"Ann and I will go and look it up," said the doctor hastily, hoping to +escape; "it will be good discipline for both of us." + +"Land sakes! I'm not blaming you, Doctor. Naturally you haven't got your +mind on texts, and I don't blame you about the other thing either. Men +are awful easy taken in. My Aunt Susan used to say that the cleverer a +man was the more he didn't understand a woman. Dr. Coombe was what you'd +call clever, too, but it didn't help him any. Mind you, I'm not +criticising, far from it, but I suppose a person may wonder what a man's +eyes are for, without offence. No one knows better than you, Doctor, +that I'm not an interfering woman and I'd never dream of saying a word +against Mary Coombe to the face of her intended husband, but if I did +say anything it would have to be the truth and the truth is that a more +thorough-paced bit of uselessness I never saw." + +"Mrs. Sykes," the doctor's voice was dangerously quiet, "am I to +understand that you are tired of your boarder?" + +Mrs. Sykes jumped. + +"Land, Doctor, don't get ruffled! I'm real sorry if I've hurt your +feelings. I didn't mean to say a word when I set out. My tongue just +runs away. And naturally you have to stand up for Mrs. Coombe. I see +that. That'll be the last you'll hear from me and 'tisn't as if I'd ever +turn around and say 'I told you so' afterwards." + +This was _amende honorable_ and the doctor received it as such; but when +he had gone into his office leaving his breakfast almost untouched, Mrs. +Sykes shook her head gloomily. + +"You needn't tell me!" she murmured, oblivious of the fact that no one +was telling her anything. "You needn't tell me!" Then, with rare +self-reproach, "Perhaps I hadn't ought to have said so much, but such +blindness is enough to provoke a saint. If he'd any eyes--couldn't he +see Esther?" Mrs. Sykes sighed as she emptied the doctor's untasted cup. + +More frankly disconsolate, though not so outspoken, were Ann and Bubble. +Not only did they dislike the bride elect but they objected to marriage +in general. "A honeymoon will put the kibosh on this here practice, +sure," moaned Bubble. + +"Look at me. I'm not thinking of getting married, am I? No, and I'm +never going to get married either." + +"I am," said Ann, "and I'm going to have ten sons and the first one is +going to be called 'Henry' after the doctor." + +"Huh!" said Bubble, "bet you it isn't. Bet you go and call it after its +father. They all do." + +"No chance! Bet you I won't. I wouldn't call it 'Zerubbabel' for +anything." + +For an instant they glared at each other, and then as the awful +implication dawned upon Bubble his round face grew crimson and his voice +thrilled with just resentment. + +"Well, if you think you're going to marry me, Miss Ann, you're jolly +well mistaken." + +"Will if I like," said Ann, retiring into her sun-bonnet. + +Upon the whole, however, their affection for the doctor kept them +friendly. Both children felt that something was wrong somewhere. Their +idol was not happy. Bubble whispered to Ann of long hours when the +doctor sat in his office with an open book before him, a book the pages +of which were never turned. Ann told of weary walks when she trotted +along by his side, wholly forgotten. Only between themselves did they +ever speak of the change in him, and Henry Callandar was well repaid +for the careless kindness of his brighter hours by a faithful +guardianship, a quick-eyed consideration and a stout line of defence +which protected his privacy and ignored his moods without his ever being +aware of such a service. + +Esther he seldom saw. She was remarkably clever, he thought, with a +tinge of bitterness, in arranging duties and pleasures which would take +her out of his way. It was better so, of course. It was the worst of +injustice to feel hurt with her for doing what of all things he would +have had her do. But one doesn't reason about these things, one feels. + +Sometimes he wondered if that midnight interview with her at the gate +had ever really taken place--or had it been midsummer madness, too sweet +to exist even in memory? Certainly, in the Esther he saw now there was +nothing of the Esther of the stars. She wore her mask well. School had +closed for the holidays and the summer gaieties of Coombe were in full +swing. Esther boated, picnicked, played croquet and tennis. If there was +any change in her at all it showed only in a kind of feverish gaiety +which seemed to wear her strength. She was certainly thinner. Callandar +ventured to suggest to Mary that she was looking far from well. But Mary +laughed at the idea. She was very much annoyed with Esther. The girl +appeared to care nothing at all for the great event, refused to discuss +it, declined absolutely to put herself out in the slightest for the +entertainment of her mother's prospective husband, seemed to avoid him +in fact. Moreover, she openly expressed her intention of leaving home +immediately after the wedding. Mrs. Coombe was afraid people would talk. + +Of them all, Aunt Amy was the only one who understood. How her poor, +unsound brain arrived at the knowledge we cannot say. Perhaps Esther was +more careless in her presence, dropping her mask almost as if alone, or +perhaps Aunt Amy's strange psychic insight took no note of masks, or +perhaps--account for it as you will, Aunt Amy knew! Esther and Dr. +Callandar loved each other, and Mary stood between. This latter fact was +not at all surprising to Aunt Amy. Was it not the special delight of the +mysterious "They" to bring misery to all Aunt Amy loved, and was not +Mary their accredited agent? The affair of the ruby ring had proved her +that, though no one else must guess it. What would come of it all, Aunt +Amy could not tell. Wring her hands as she might she could not see into +the future. Often she would mutter a little as she went about her work, +or stand still staring, straining into the dark. No one noted any +difference in her save Jane, for Jane was as yet happily free to +observe. The others, caught up in the whirl of their own destinies, saw +nothing save the problems in their own anxious hearts. + +"Esther," said Jane one evening, "Aunt Amy is odder and odder and you +don't seem to care a bit." + +Esther, who was preparing to go to a garden party, turned back, a little +startled. + +"What do you mean, Jane?" + +"I don't know. Can't you see that she isn't happy?" + +"But she is better. She never complains. She almost never fancies things +now." + +"She goes into corners and stares--and she wrings her hands." + +"But she always did that, duck." + +Jane was not equal to a more lucid explanation. + +"It's not the same," she insisted. "I know it isn't. Esther, when you +go away, will you take Aunt Amy and me?" + +"How could I, dear? Your home is here. And you like Dr. Callandar, don't +you?" + +"I used to. But he never plays with the pup any more. He's different. +And you're different and mother's different. I don't want to live with +mother. That was a fib I told you the other day about the cut on my +head. I didn't fall and hurt it. It was mother She threw her clothes +brush at me." + +"Jane!" There was pure horror in her sister's voice. + +"Yes, she did. I went into her room when she was taking some medicine in +a glass and I asked her what it was. Honest, Esther, that is all I did. +And she screamed at me--and threw the brush." + +Esther came back into the room and sat down. + +"When was this?" in businesslike tones. + +Jane considered. "It was that day she wasn't down stairs at all, and +sent word to Dr. Callandar not to come--three days ago I think." + +"Yes, I remember. O Janie dear, it looks as if things were going to be +bad again! It must have been one of her very bad headaches. She was +probably in great pain. Of course she did not mean to throw the brush +Are you sure it was medicine she was taking?" + +"It was something in a glass," vaguely, "she was mixing it--look out, +Esther! You are spoiling your new gloves." + +The girl threw the crumpled gloves aside and drawing the child to her +knee kissed her gently. + +"It seems to me," she said slowly, "that big sister has been losing her +eyes lately. She must find them again; it isn't going to help to be a +selfish pig." + +"Help what, Esther?" + +Esther's only answer was another kiss, but when she had hurried out of +the room, Jane found something round and wet upon her hand. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVIII + + +Jane was still looking at the wet place on her hand when the doctor +entered. + +"Esther's been crying," she told him. In her voice was the awe which +children feel at the phenomenon of tears in grown-ups. + +Callandar felt his heart contract--Esther crying! But he could not +question the child. + +"I don't know why," went on Jane obligingly. "Esther's so strange +lately. Every one is strange. You are strange too. Am I strange?" + +"A little," said Callandar gravely. + +"Perhaps it's catching? Do you want mother? She is upstairs and her door +is locked. Perhaps she'll be down in a little while. She said Esther was +to stay in and entertain you, but Esther wouldn't. She has gone to a +garden party. I'll entertain you if you like." + +"That will be very nice." + +"Shall I play for you on the piano?" + +"Thanks. And you won't mind if I sit in the corner here and close my +eyes, until your mother comes?" + +"No. You may go quite to sleep if you wish. I'm not sensitive about my +playing. Bubble says you are nearly always tired now. He says you have +such a 'normous practice that you hardly ever get a wink of sleep. +That's what makes you look so kind of hollow-eyed, Bubble says." + +"So Bubble has been diagnosing my case, has he?" + +"Oh, he doesn't talk about professional cases usually. He said that +about you because Mrs. Atkins said that being engaged didn't seem to +agree with you. She said she was just as glad you didn't take a fancy to +her Gracie if prospective matteromony made you look like the dead +march in Saul." + +"Observing woman!" + +"What," resumed Jane, "is a dead march in Saul?" + +"It is a musical composition." + +Jane considered this and then dismissed it with a shrug. "It sounded as +if it was something horrid. Mrs. Atkins thinks she's smart. Anyway, I +didn't tell mother." + +"Well, suppose you run now and tell her that I am here." + +"Can't. The door is locked." + +"Then let us have some of the music you promised. I'll sit here and +wait." + +Strange to say, Jane's music was not unsoothing. She had a smooth, light +touch and the little airs she played tinkled sweetly enough from the old +piano. The weary, nerve-wrung man was more than half asleep when she +grew tired of playing and slipped off to bed without disturbing him. The +moments ticked themselves away on the big hall clock. Mrs. Coombe did +not come, nor did the doctor waken. + +He was aroused an hour later by a voice upon the veranda. It was +Esther's voice and in response to it he heard a deeper murmur, a man's +voice without doubt. There was a moment or two of low-toned talk, then +"Good-night," and the girl came in alone. + +She did not see him as she came slowly across to the table. He thought +she looked grave and sad, older too--but, so dear! With a weary gesture +she began to pull off her long gloves. + +"Who was it with you, Esther?" He tried hard to make the inquiry, so +devouringly eager, sound carelessly casual. + +She looked up with a start. + +"Oh--I didn't see you, Doctor! Mr. Macnair was with me. Did you wish to +see him?" She could play at the game of carelessness better than he. +"Where is mother?" she added quickly. + +"In her room, I think. Esther, are you going to marry Macnair?" + +The girl slipped off her second glove, blew gently into its fingers, +smoothed them and laid it with nice care upon the table beside +its fellow. + +"I do not know." + +He realised with a shock that he had expected an indignant denial. + +"You do not love him!" + +"No. Not now. He knows that. And I do not expect ever to love him. But +perhaps, after a long while, if I could make him happy--it is so +terrible not to be happy," she finished pathetically. + +Callandar could have groaned aloud; the danger was so clear. And how +could he, of all men, warn her. Yet he must try. He came quickly across +to where she stood and compelled her gaze to his. + +"Do not make that mistake, Esther! It is fatal. Try to believe that in +spite of--of everything, I am speaking disinterestedly. You are young +and the young hate suffering. You would marry him, out of pity. But I +tell you that no man's happiness comes to him that way. You will have +sacrificed yourself to no purpose. The risk is too awful. Wait. Time is +kind. You will know it, some day. But even though you do not believe it +now--wait. Wait forever, rather than marry a man to whom you cannot give +your heart." + +"That is your advice?" She spoke heavily. "You would like some day to +see me marry a man I could--love?" + +"Yes, a thousand times yes!" + +"I shall think over what you say." She was still gravely controlled but +it was a control which would not last much longer. She glanced around +the empty room with a quick caught breath. "Why are you left all alone?" + +"Is a keeper necessary?" Then, ashamed of his irritation and willing to +end a scene which threatened to make things harder for both of them, he +added in his ordinary tone, "I really do not know who is responsible for +such unparalleled neglect. Jane played me to sleep, I fancy. She said +her mother was upstairs but would be down presently. It must be late. I +had better go." + +"Wait a moment, I will see if there is any message from mother." + +As she left the room her light scarf slipped from her shoulders and fell +softly across his arm. Callandar crushed it passionately to his lips and +then, folding it carefully, laid it beside the gloves upon the table. +Even the scarf was not for him. Aunt Amy, passing through the hall on +her way upstairs, saw the dumb caress and shivered anew at the +mysterious power of "They" which could tear such a man as Callandar from +the woman he loved. + +Esther was gone only a moment and when she returned she brought with her +a change of atmosphere. Something had banished every trace of +self-consciousness from her manner. She looked anxious but it was an +anxiety with which no embarrassment mingled. + +"Doctor," she said at once, "mother seems to be ill. The door is locked +and she did not answer my knocking. Yet she is not asleep. I could hear +her talking. I think you ought to come up." + +An indescribable look flitted across the doctor's face. He looked at the +girl a moment in measuring silence and then pointed to a chair. + +"Sit down," he said briefly, "I thought that this would come. I have +been afraid of it for some time. Is it possible that you have no +suspicion at all in regard to these peculiar--illnesses--of your +mother's?" + +The startled wonder in her eyes was answer enough even without the +quick, "What do you mean?" + +Callandar's face grew gravely compassionate. "I think you ought to +know," he said. "I have put off saying anything because I was not +absolutely sure myself. And I have never had quite the right opportunity +of finding out. But I have had fears for some time now that your mother +is in the habit of taking some drug which--well, which is certainly not +good for her. Do not look so frightened. It may not be serious. Do you +remember when you first consulted me about your mother and how we both +agreed that the medicine she was taking for her nervous attacks might be +harmful? I was suspicious then, but there was little to go on, only her +fear of any one seeing the prescription, and a few general symptoms +which might be due to various causes. Since then I--I have noticed +things which have made me anxious. I think for her own sake as well as +yours and mine, the sooner the truth is known the better. Are you sure +the door is locked?" + +"Yes," the girl's voice was tense, "but the window is open. It opens on +the top of the veranda. You could enter there." + +"If that is the only way, I must take it. I thought, I hoped that if +things were as I feared she would tell me herself, but she never has. It +is useless, now, to hope for her confidence. The instinct is so strongly +for concealment. We must help her in spite of herself." + +"Hurry then! I shall wait here. You will call me if necessary?" + +She did not ask him exactly what it was that he feared nor did he tell +her, but for the first time in many weeks they were able to look at each +other as comrades look. The eruption of the old trouble into the new +obscured the latter so that, for the time at least, the sick woman +behind the locked door held first place in both their thoughts. + +It seemed to Esther that she waited a long time before the summons came. +Then she heard him call, "Esther!" It was a doctor's call, cool, +passionless, commanding. She flew up the stairs, closing Jane's door as +she hurried by. The door to her mother's room was open. It was brightly +lighted. The shade of the lamp had been removed and its garish yellow +fell full upon the bed and the strange figure which lay there. + +Mary Coombe had apparently thrown herself down fully dressed--but in +what a costume! Surely no nightmare held anything more bizarre. Esther +had no time to notice details but she remembered afterwards how the feet +were clothed in different coloured stockings and that while one +displayed a gaily buckled slipper, the other was carefully laced into a +tan walking boot. Just now she could see nothing but the face, for the +greatest shock was there. It did not look like Mary's face at all--it +was strange, old, yellow and repulsive. Her unbrushed, lustreless hair +hung about it in a dull mat, one of her hands was clutched in it--the +hand was dirty. + +A terrible thought struck every vestige of colour from Esther's cheek. +Her terrified gaze swept over the disordered room, up to the face of the +man who stood there so silently, then down again to the inert woman upon +the bed. Once, not long ago, she had seen a drunken man asleep upon the +roadside grass--like this. + +"Is it--is it drink?" The words were a whisper of horror. + +The doctor shook his head. + +"I wish it were. I wish it were only that. Have you never heard of the +drug habit--morphia, opium? That is what we have to fight--and it is +what I feared." + +"Oh!" It was a breath of relief. To Esther, who knew nothing of drugs, +or drug habits, the truth seemed less awful than the thing she +had imagined. + +"Is--is it serious?" she asked timidly. + +The doctor smiled grimly. "You will see. No need to frighten you now. +But it will be a fight from this on." He threw a light coverlet over the +helpless figure and replacing the shade on the lamp, turned down the +flaring wick. "I will tell you what I can, but at present it is very +little. Probably this began long ago, before your father's death. In the +first place there may have been a prescription--I think you said she had +had an illness in which she suffered greatly. The drug, opium in some +form probably, may have been given to reduce the pain--and continued +after need for it was gone without knowledge of its dangerous qualities. +Nervous people form the habit very quickly. Then--I am only +guessing--as the amount contained in the original prescription ceased to +produce the desired effect, she may have found out what drug it was that +her appetite craved. If she saw the danger then, it was already too +late. She could not give up voluntarily and was compelled to go on, +shutting her eyes to the inevitable consequences, if indeed she ever +clearly knew them." + +"But now that you know? It ought not to be hard to help her now that you +know. There are other drugs--" + +"Yes. There is a frying-pan and a fire. In fact I fear that she has +already tried that expedient herself. Some of the symptoms point to +cocaine. No, our best hope is in the decreasing dose with proper +auxiliary treatment. I cannot tell yet how serious the case may be. At +any rate there must be an end of the mystery. Every one in the house +must know, even Jane; for in this fight ignorance means danger. But," he +hesitated and his face grew dark, "you cannot realise what this is going +to mean. It is my burden, not yours. At least I have the right to save +you that. We must have a nurse--" + +A little eager cry burst from her. "Oh, no! Not that! You wouldn't do +that. You can't mean not to let me help." + +"You do not know--" + +"I do not care what it means. But if you won't let me help, if you shut +me out--" Her voice quivered dangerously, but with a spark of her old +fire she recovered herself. "You cannot," she added more firmly, +"because it is my burden as well as yours. Whatever she is to you, she +was my father's wife and I am responsible to him. Unless extra help is +really needed, no nurse shall take my place." + +"Very well," quietly. "Call Aunt Amy, then, and search the room. She +will sleep for a long time yet. When she wakes there must be no more of +the drug within her reach. I must find out the amount to which she has +been accustomed and arrange a decreasing dose. But if you are to be a +nurse, you know, you must expect a bad time. It will not be easy." + +Esther's reply was to call Aunt Amy and while the doctor explained to +the bewildered old lady the danger in which her niece stood and the +absolute importance of keeping all "medicine" away from her, Esther +quietly and swiftly searched the room. Boxes and drawers she unlocked +and opened, the dresser, the writing-table, the bureau, the long unused +sewing basket, all were examined without success. But in the locked box +which contained her father's portrait, she made another discovery which +woke a little throb of angry pity in her heart. There, still wrapped in +its carelessly torn off postal wrappings, lay the box containing the +ruby ring which Jessica Bremner had returned. Mary must have got it from +the post herself and had immediately hidden it, careless of the fact +that all Esther's careful savings had been necessary to make the return +possible. Without comment she slipped the ring into the bosom of +her dress. + +"Have you found anything?" + +"Nothing yet." + +Aunt Amy took a fascinated step nearer the figure on the bed. If +Callandar could have intercepted the look she cast upon it he might have +been warned of the subtle change which had taken place in her of late, +but the doctor had turned to help Esther. Aunt Amy could gaze +undisturbed. + +"She looks like Richard," said Aunt Amy suddenly. "Do you remember +Richard?" She brushed her hand over her eyes in a painful effort of +memory. "He was a bad man, a very bad man." + +"She means her brother Richard," explained Esther. "He has been dead for +ages. I believe he was not a family ornament." + +"Just like Richard," murmured Aunt Amy again with a quickly checked +chuckle. "But you ought to be glad of that. You won't have to marry her +now. You can marry Esther." + +If a shell had burst in the quiet room, it could scarcely have caused +more consternation. The doctor's stern face quivered, Esther's searching +hand dropped paralysed. Here was a danger indeed! Was their secret +really so patent? Or had it been but a vagrant guess of a clouded mind? + +Callandar recovered himself first. Without glancing at the girl he +walked quietly over to the bed and placing his hand upon Aunt Amy's +shoulder compelled wavering eyes to his. + +"Aunt Amy, you must never say that again." He spoke with the crisp +incisiveness of a master, but for once his subject did not immediately +respond. With a sulky look she tried to wrench herself free. + +"Why?" she questioned. But Callandar knew his business too +well to argue. "You must never say it again," he repeated. +"You--must--never--say--it--again!" + +The poor, weak lips began to quiver. Her own boldness had frightened her +quite as much as his vehemence. Her eyes fluttered and fell. + +"Very well, Doctor," she answered meekly. + +They searched now in silence and presently Esther emerged from the +closet with a pair of dainty slippers in her hand. + +"I think I have found something," she said. "There are three pairs of +party slippers and the toes of them are all stuffed with these." She +handed the doctor a package of innocent looking tablets done up in +purplish blue paper. + +Callandar glanced at them, shook them out and counted their number. + +"You are sure you have them all?" + +"I can find no trace of more." + +"Then I think we have a strong fight coming--but a good hope, too." + + + + +CHAPTER XXIX + + +Miss A. Milligan stood before the door of her select dressmaking +parlours, meditatively picking her teeth with a needle. We hasten to +observe that her teeth were quite clean and that this was merely a +harmless habit denoting intense mental concentration. Miss Milligan was +tall and full of figure with an elegant waist and a bust so like a +pin-cushion that it fulfilled the duties of that article admirably. Her +small bright eyes set in a wide expanse of face suggested nothing so +much as currants in an underdone bun, and just now, as she watched the +graceful figure of Mrs. Coombe, bride to be, disappear around the +corner, they gave the impression of having been poked too far in while +the bun was soft. + +The door of Miss Milligan's select parlours did not open upon the main +street, it being far from her desire to attract promiscuous trade. The +parlours, indeed, were situated upon one of the "nicest" streets in +Coombe and occupied a corner lot, so that a splendid view down two of +the most genteel residential streets was obtainable from their windows. +The only sign of business anywhere was a board of chaste design over the +doorway, bearing the simple legend, "A. MILLIGAN." Even the word +"Dressmaker" was considered superfluous. Also there was one window, near +the door, which from time to time displayed wonderfully coloured plates +of terribly twisting and elegantly elongated females purporting to be +the very latest from Paris (_France_). + +Mrs. Coombe was getting some "things" made at Miss Milligan's. It had +been rumoured at first that she had contemplated running down to Toronto +and Detroit, buying most of her trousseau there, but for some +unexplained reason the plan had been given up. Doctor Callandar, it +appeared, believed in patronising local tradesmen and had been +sufficiently ungallant to veto the Detroit visit altogether. Everybody +wondered why Mary Coombe stood it. Surely it was bad enough when a man +sets up to be a domestic tyrant after marriage. They were surprised at +Dr. Callandar--they hadn't thought it of him. + +"It is women like Mary Coombe who submit tamely to such indignities," +declared the eldest Miss Sinclair, "who have held back the emancipation +of women from the beginning of time." + +"She looks so poorly, too," agreed Miss Jessie. "I am sure she needs a +change. I should think that Esther would insist upon it." + +But Esther appeared in all things to back up Dr. Callandar. People +admitted that they were disappointed in Esther and only hoped that the +day would never come when she would be sorry. For if all the world loves +a lover, all the world is indulgent to a prospective bride and any one +could see that this particular bride was being denied her proper +privileges. Any one would think she was a child and not to be trusted +alone. Esther went with her everywhere, simply everywhere. Of course it +was sweet of Esther to be so attentive, but people didn't wonder that +her mother didn't like it. + +Such were the current comments of the town, sent out somewhat in the +nature of feelers, for behind them all, Coombe, having a very sensitive +nose for gossip, was uneasily aware that their cleverest investigators +were not yet in possession of the root of the matter. Every one seemed +to know everything, and yet--no wonder that Miss Milligan picked her +teeth in agonies of mental tumult at finding herself sole possessor of a +satisfactory explanation which she was bound in honour not to disclose. + +Mrs. Coombe had just been in. She had been having a "first fitting" and +in the privacy of the fitting room she had been perfectly frank with +Miss Milligan. She had told Miss Milligan "things." She had told her +things which would move a heart of stone, regardless of the fact that +Miss Milligan's heart was made of the softest of soft materials and beat +warmly under her spiky pin cushion. The fact that her eyes were hard and +black had nothing to do with it; mistakes in eyes occur constantly in +the best regulated families. At this very moment when her eyes were more +like currants than ever she was making up her mind that, come what +might, doctors or no doctors, she was not going to see a fellow +creature put upon. + +For, you see, Mrs. Coombe, poor little thing, had confided in Miss +Milligan. She had told her all about it, and like most mysteries, it had +turned out to be very simple. It seemed that Dr. Callandar, such a +perfectly charming man in most respects, had a most absurd prejudice +against patent medicines. This prejudice, common to the medical +profession on account of patents interfering with profits, was, in Dr. +Callandar's case, almost an obsession. Miss Milligan, being a sensible +person, knew very well that there are patents _and_ patents. Some of +them are frauds, of course, but there are others which are better than +any prescription that any doctor ever wrote. Miss Milligan did not speak +from hearsay, she had had an extensive experience the results of which +lent themselves to conversational effort. Therefore it is easy to see +how she understood and sympathised at once when Mrs. Coombe told her of +a remedy which she had found to be quite excellent but which the doctor +absolutely forbade her to use. + +"Not that he means to be inconsiderate, dear Miss Milligan, only he is +so very sure of his own point of view. Doctors have to be firm of +course. But you can see it is rather hard on me. The trouble is that I +cannot obtain the remedy I need in Coombe. It is a remedy very little +known and useful only in obscure nerve troubles. I have been in the +habit of getting it from a certain firm in Detroit, not a very +well-known firm, and now, of course, that is impossible--without +upsetting the doctor, which I hesitate to do." + +Miss Milligan was of the opinion that a little upsetting was just what +the doctor required. + +"No--o." The visitor shook her head. She could not bring her mind to it. +She would prefer to suffer herself. But did not Miss Milligan think +that, in face of such an unreasonable and violent prejudice, a little +innocent strategy might be justified? + +Miss Milligan thought so, very emphatically. + +Mrs. Coombe sighed. "I do so want to look well for the wedding, you +know. And really, nothing seems to help me like my own particular +medicine. It is hard, very hard, to be without it." + +Miss Milligan did not doubt it. It seemed, to her, a perfect shame. But +had Mrs. Coombe ever tried "Peebles' Perfect Pick-me-ups" for the +nerves? They were certainly very excellent. + +Yes. Mrs. Coombe had heard of them and no doubt they were very good for +some people. But constitutions differ so. On the whole she felt sure +that even "Peebles' Perfect Pick-me-ups" would not suit her nearly as +well as her own particular remedy. + +It was at this point that Miss Milligan stopped fitting and began to +pick her teeth, a sign, as we have before stated, of great mental +activity. If nothing would suit Mrs. Coombe but this one medicine and if +the medicine could be obtained in Detroit and if Mrs. Coombe had the +correct address--why not write for it? It was a brilliant idea, but Mrs. +Coombe shook her head. + +She had the address, naturally, and she had also thought of writing, but +it would be of no use. Esther and the doctor actually watched her mail. + +"Incredible!" + +"Oh, not in any offensive way. They did not mean to be tyrannous. They +were quite convinced that patent medicines were very injurious. But +women suffering from nerves (like yourself, dear Miss Milligan) know +that relief is often found in the least likely places and from remedies +not mentioned in the Materia Medica." + +Miss Milligan knew that very well. And people are so hard to convince. +When Mrs. Barker, over the hill, had first recommended that new +blood-purifier to Miss Milligan, Miss Milligan had laughed. But after +taking only six bottles she had thanked Mrs. Barker with tears in her +eyes. "And I must say," added she in a burst of virtuous indignation, +"that if I were going to Detroit to-morrow I would bring you back all +the patent medicine you wanted, Mrs. Coombe, and be very glad to +do it." + +This was most satisfactory save for one small fact, namely that Miss +Milligan was not going to Detroit to-morrow. Mrs. Coombe thanked her +very much and raised her arm (which shook sadly) while Miss Milligan +pinned in the underarm seam. + +"Even as it is," went on Miss Milligan, "I don't see why--a little +higher please, and turn a trifle to the light, thank you!--I don't see +why it can't be done. Nobody inspects my mail, thank heaven! and one +address is as good to a druggist as another." + +What a bright idea! Strange that it had never occurred to Mrs. Coombe to +arrange things so easily. It was very, very clever and kind of Miss +Milligan to think of it. But--people might talk! Think how upset the +doctor would be if their innocent little plot were spoken of abroad. +People are so unkind, quite horrid in fact. And as Esther and the doctor +were doing it all for her good they would naturally hate to have their +actions misunderstood. Of course, Mrs. Coombe knew that Miss Milligan +herself would never mention it to a soul. She felt quite sure of that, +still--as it did not appear how the little plot could be spread abroad +under those circumstances unless the lay-figure in the corner should +become communicative, Mrs. Coombe's sentence remained plaintively +unfinished. Miss Milligan, in spite of its being so very unnecessary, +found herself promising solemnly never to mention it. + +As the whole thing was entirely unpremeditated it seemed like a special +piece of good luck that Mrs. Coombe should have at that moment in her +pocket a note to the druggists (who were not called druggists, exactly) +and that all she needed to do was to add Miss Milligan's address, and +hand to that lady sufficient money to secure a postal note as an +enclosure. She did this very quickly and the whole little affair was +satisfactorily disposed of when Esther was seen coming hurriedly down +the street. + +"I thought," said Esther, who entered a little out of breath and with a +worried pucker between her eyes, "I thought that I would just run in and +see how the linings look." + +"You can never tell anything from linings," said Miss Milligan in an +injured tone. "Gracious! I don't suppose any one would ever want a dress +if they went by the way the linings look. I always advise my customers +never to look in the glass until I get to the material, what with seams +on the wrong side and all!" + +"There is really nothing at all to see as yet," assented Mrs. Coombe +crossly. + +Esther seated herself by the open window. + +"Very well," she said quietly. "I won't look. I'll just wait." + +Mrs. Coombe shrugged her shoulders and displaced a pin or two. There was +an injured look upon her face and Miss Milligan, replacing the pins, +wondered how it is that nice girls like Esther Coombe never see when +they're not wanted. + +The fitting went quickly forward. Mrs. Coombe seemed to have lost all +her genial expansiveness. Miss Milligan's pins had overflowed from her +pin-cushion into her mouth and Esther, who appeared tired, gazed +steadily out of the window. Only the humming of the machines in the +adjoining workroom and the subdued talk and laughter of Miss Milligan's +young ladies saved the silence from becoming oppressive. Occasionally, +when her supply of pins became exhausted, Miss Milligan would +contribute a cooing murmur to the effect that it did "set beautiful +across the shoulders" or that "the long line over the hip was +quite elegant." + +Without doubt the atmosphere had changed with the coming of Esther. Mrs. +Coombe became each moment more fidgety, she became, in fact, jerky! Her +hands twitched, her head twitched, she could not stand still and +suddenly she twitched herself out of Miss Milligan's hands altogether +and flinging herself into a chair declared that she couldn't stand any +more fitting that day. Even Miss Milligan's black currant eyes could see +that her nerves were terribly wrong--she looked ghastly, poor thing! And +all on account of a silly prejudice regarding patent medicines. + +Esther, who exhibited no surprise at her mother's sudden collapse, +helped Miss Milligan to unpin the linings. + +"My mother has been a little longer than usual without her tonic," she +calmly explained. "The other fittings can wait," and quickly, yet +without flurry, she found Mary's hat, bag, gloves and parasol and picked +up her handkerchief which she had flung upon the floor. + +Mrs. Coombe accepted these services without thanks, indulging indeed in +a little spiteful laugh which Miss Milligan obligingly attributed to her +poor nerves. Things had come to a pretty pass indeed, thought the +sympathetic dressmaker, when a grown woman is obliged to have her +medicine chosen for her like a baby. + +As she stood in the doorway watching the two ladies out of sight, a just +indignation grew within the breast so strongly fortified outside, so +vulnerable within; and without even waiting to call her giggling young +ladies to order, she pinned on her hat and departed to send Mrs. +Coombe's postal note to the Detroit druggist, who, oddly enough, was not +a druggist at all. + + + + +CHAPTER XXX + + +Esther and her step-mother set out upon their homeward walk in silence. +The older woman's face was drawn and bitter, Esther's thoughtful and +sad. Though there seemed no reason for haste, Mrs. Coombe's steps grew +constantly quicker until she was hurrying breathlessly. + +More than once the girl glanced at her anxiously as if about to speak, +yet hesitating. Then when the walk threatened to become a run she laid a +detaining hand upon her arm. + +"If you walk so very rapidly, mother, people will notice." It was the +only argument which never failed of effect. Mrs. Coombe's steps +slackened. + +"Besides," went on Esther eagerly, "every moment is a gain. Ten minutes +more will make this the longest interval yet. Don't you think you +could try...." + +"No!" + +The word was only a gasp and the face Mary turned for a moment on the +girl was livid. The eyes shone with hate. "You--you beast!" she muttered +chokingly. + +Esther turned a shade paler, but otherwise gave no sign that she had +heard. "Mother, just try, you are doing so well, so splendidly. The +doctor says ..." + +"Be quiet--be quiet! I hate him. I won't try. I won't be tortured--oh, +why can't you all leave me alone!" She began to sob and moan under her +breath, careless even of a possible passerby. Fortunately there was no +one, and they were already within sight of home. Esther, very white, +supported the shaking woman with her arm and they hurried on together. +At the door she would still have accompanied her but Mary flung herself +angrily from her hold and ran up the stairs with sudden feverish +strength. Esther turned into the living room and dropped into the +nearest chair. + +She was still sitting there without having removed either hat or gloves +when, a little later, Callandar entered. + +"Well, nurse," with a faint smile, "how are things to-day?" His quick +eye had noticed in a moment the girl's closed eyes and listless +attitude, but nothing in his tone betrayed it. + +"Very well, I think, until a little while ago. We were late in getting +home from the dressmaker's--" + +"I see. You look rather done up. The fact is you are overdoing things. +Rather foolish, don't you think?" + +"No," stubbornly. "I am all right." + +"You are exhausted and there is no need. Things are going well. The dose +is steadily diminishing, more quickly than she suspects. It looks as if +we might begin to breathe again. It is a great gain to feel reasonably +sure that she has no more of the stuff hidden anywhere. If she had, she +would have used it during that last crisis." + +The girl in the chair winced. She hated even to think of the night to +which his words referred. "Yes," she said, "but--but there won't be any +more times like that, will there?" + +"Yes," grimly. "We are not through yet. But every crisis will be a +little easier--if things go as they are going." + +Esther sighed. "It is very terrible, isn't it?" she said. "And really it +doesn't seem fair, for it wasn't her fault; in the beginning she didn't +know. And she does suffer so." + +"We must not think of it in that way. It helps more to think of the +suffering she is escaping. What she is going through now is saving her, +body and soul. It is taking her out of torment and leading her back to +life, and sanity. You don't know, but I do, and any struggle, any +suffering is mild compared to the horrors before her if she kept on. She +was taking some cocaine too. The word means nothing to you, but to a +physician it spells hell. So you see--it gives one strength." + +Esther sat up and straightened her collar. "I'm ashamed of myself," she +said. "No wonder you want another nurse. But I won't resign yet. And I +wanted to ask you--do you think it is necessary now to be with her +whenever she goes out? She hates it so. I think she is getting to hate +me, too. Where could she possibly get the stuff? None of our local +stores would sell it without a prescription." + +"I know. But in a case like this you can never be sure of anything. No, +we must not relax in the slightest. Even as it is, I am continually +afraid." He began to pace the room restlessly. "There may be a weak spot +somewhere, some loop-hole we have forgotten. I think the druggists are +safe and the mail is watched. That last supply, you are sure it was all +destroyed?" + +"Yes, I burned it. At least I gave it to Aunt Amy to burn. I couldn't +leave mother." + +"Well, let us call Aunt Amy, and make sure. I believe I am foolishly +nervous, but--" without finishing his sentence the doctor walked to the +door and waited there until Aunt Amy answered his call. + +"Auntie," said Esther, "you remember the little package I gave you that +night when mother was so ill? It was done up in purplish blue paper." + +"Yes, Esther." + +"Do you remember what you did with it, dear?" + +Aunt Amy looked frightened. + +"I--I don't know. I've a very good memory, Esther. But somehow I'm not +quite sure." + +"You will remember presently," said Callandar kindly. "We want to be +quite sure that it was destroyed. You know, I explained to you, that +Mary must take no more of that medicine. It is very dangerous...." + +"What does it do?" unexpectedly. + +"It is a kind of poison. It makes people very ill, so ill that in time +they die." + +"Mary likes it. She says it makes her nerves better and puts her to +sleep." + +"When did she say that?" + +"When she asked me if I had any." + +The doctor and the girl exchanged a quick look. + +"And you gave her some?" + +"Oh, no, I couldn't. I had burned it in the stove--I remember now." + +They both drew a breath of intense relief. But when she had left them, +Callandar looked very sober. "There, you see," he said, "was a +possibility we had overlooked." + +"Yes, and it would have been my fault. I should have made sure long ago. +It is hard to get out of the habit of taking things for granted." + +"Yet it is the one thing we must never do. In this we must trust no one, +and nothing. Then we shall win. If there is no relapse now, the worst, +the slowest part, is over. Soon you will be free, dear girl--and God +bless you forever for what you have been to her and to me." + +She answered him only with a wistful smile and when he had gone, she +sighed. She would be free soon, he said. Strange that he could not see +that it was her freedom that she dreaded. Hard as it had been, hard as +it was, there was a still harder time coming--the time when she would be +free--free, to leave forever the man she loved. + +The present with its load of duty and anxiety, the constant strain of +watching, its bearing of poor Mary's thousand ingratitudes seemed dear +and desirable when she thought of the black gulf of separation at the +end of the tortuous way. But of course he could not guess. How could he? +Men are so different from women. + +She knew, though, that she was coming to the end of her strength. Not +even the doctor guessed how great the strain of those past weeks +had been. + +When Mary had awakened to find that her secret was discovered she had +been like a mad thing. There had been rage, tears, protestations, +hysterical denials--finally confession and anguished promises. That she +had never realised the reality of her danger, nor the extent of her +servitude was plain. It seemed easy enough to promise. Esther and the +doctor were making a terrible fuss about nothing, as usual. She grew +sulky under Callandar's warnings and her fury knew no bounds when she +found that certain of her hidden stores had been confiscated. She +demanded that the supply be left in her hands; was not her +promise enough? + +But all this was before she knew what denial meant, before she realised +that the way back along the path she had trodden so easily was +thick-set with suffering; that every backward inch must be fought for +with agony and tears. Then she had broken down altogether, had raved and +pleaded. The very knowledge of the depth to which she had fallen, +threatened to send her deeper still. Callandar soon realised that if she +were to be saved it must be in spite of herself. There were but two +points of strength in her weak nature; one the newly awakened, yet +capricious passion for himself, and the other that ruling terror of her +life, which of all her inherent safeguards was the last to give way +under the assaults of the drug, namely, "What will people say?" but +neither of these, nor both of them together, could stand for a moment +before the terrible appetite when once its craving was denied. + +Twice she failed her helpers just when they were beginning to hope. In +her first search Esther had not exhausted the hiding places of the +poison and, to retain the temptation by her, Mary had lied and lied +again. Twice when the crises of her desire had come upon her she had +given way, helplessly, completely; and twice they had begun all over +again. The third time she had not been able to procure the drug, had +been compelled to fight through on the decreasing dose which the doctor +had allowed. + +No wonder Esther shuddered when she thought of that night! Yet at the +time she had stood beside the moaning woman, white and firm, when even +Callandar had staggered for a moment from the room. + +Next morning they had taken heart of hope again. Undoubtedly Mary had +exhausted the supply, and the possibility of its being replenished +seemed remote. It was only a matter of time now; of care, of +unremitting, yet gentle vigilance and Mary would be cured. The bride +could go to her husband, clean and in her right mind. And Esther +would be free. + +Strangely enough, it was Mary herself who objected to a hastening of +their remarriage. Perhaps in spite of her inevitable deterioration there +was that in her still which forbade her going to him as she was. Perhaps +it was only another and more obscure effect of the drug; some downward +instinct which made her dread the putting of herself within the circle +of her husband's strength. She would fight her fight outside. Why? Was +it because she would conquer of herself, or because she did not really +wish to conquer at all? + +To Esther, Mary's refusal came as a reprieve. But to Callandar it was +but a lengthening out of torture. Man's love must always, in its +essence, be different from woman's; though many women seem incapable of +recognising this fact. To Esther, now that she had put aside her first +half-understood glimpse of passion, it was sweet to be near him, to hear +his voice, to touch his hand and, above all, to spend her strength in +his service. But to him the strain was almost intolerable. The sight of +her, the touch of her, the whole soul-shattering nearness of her beauty +meant constant conflict; all the fiercer since it must be unsuspected. + +Willits, the only man who had been told the truth, watched the fight +with admiration, sharply touched with anxiety. Expert in the moulding of +buttons, he knew very well that Callandar was drawing rather recklessly +upon his newly acquired strength. If the tension did not slacken soon +there might be another physical breakdown, and then--Willits shrugged +his shoulders. It would be entirely too bad if this very fine button +were to be spoiled after all. His heart was sore for his friend. + +"You see," Callandar had written in one of his rare letters, "it was a +right instinct which warned me that no man escapes the consequences of +his own acts. There did come a short, golden time when I put the voice +of instinct behind me and dared to think that I, at least, had shaken +myself free. Closing the door of yesterday, I boldly knocked open the +door of to-morrow--and lo, to-morrow and yesterday were one! + +"I know, now, that even had poor Mary been dead, as I believed, the +payment would have been exacted in some other way. When my brain is +clear enough to think, I have flashes of thankfulness that payment is +permitted to take the form of expiation. I can save Mary, and I will. In +some strange and rather dreadful way her need is my salvation. + +"I have said nothing of Esther. How can I? The other day I heard Miss +Sinclair say that Esther Coombe was losing all her good looks. 'Thin as +a rail, and peeked as a pin' were the words she used. To me she has +never been so lovely. She is thinner; there are hollows in her cheeks; +her lips are no longer a thread of scarlet. The transparent lids of her +deep, wonderful eyes droop often and her hair seems to have lost its +life and hangs soft and very close to her face. I love her. I love her +as a man loves a woman, as a knight loves his lady, as a Catholic loves +the Madonna! This terrible strain must soon be over for her. I am doing +all in my power to hurry on the marriage. She is young. She is bound to +forget. When she leaves here she goes out of my life--and may God +speed her! + +"She is to go to Toronto. Lorna Sinnet has good friends there and they +will take her into their circle. She will begin to taste a fuller life, +and as her interests expand the old wound will heal. She will find +happiness yet. When Mary recovers, she and I will return to Montreal. I +am quite fit now. I feel that I can never work hard enough. Mary will +like the excitement of city life, and I rely upon you and Lorna to make +our coming as easy as possible. How is Lorna? A talk with her will be +a tonic. + +"Does not all this sound admirably lucid and sensible? I want you to see +that I am not losing my hold--that I have finally faced down the problem +of the future. And there is one thing that has come to me out of all +this, a wonderful thing; I have forgotten Fear. It seems to me that all +my life I have lived in fear. Now I am not afraid...." + +It was when Bubble was entering the post office for the purpose of +posting this letter that he met Miss Milligan, coming out. Miss Milligan +was evidently in a hurry, so great a hurry that she had not time to +question Bubble upon affairs in general as was her usual custom. Instead +she asked him to do something for her. It was a trifling service, only +to deliver to Mrs. Coombe a small postal packet which she held in +her hand. + +"It will only take you a few moments, Zerubbabel," she said. "I was +going to deliver it myself but Mrs. Stanton wants a fitting right away. +I ought not to have come down to the post at all. But I promised Mrs. +Coombe--does Dr. Callandar permit you to run messages in your +spare time?" + +"Sure," declared the youth, "only I don't get much spare time. The +doctor's terrible busy. Since we got the phone in, it's ringing all the +time! But I guess I can slip over to Mrs. Coombe's or if I see Jane I +can give the parcel to her." + +"No!" Miss Milligan seemed struck with a sudden hesitancy. "You must +not give it to Jane, you must give it to Mrs. Coombe. Dear me, I believe +I had better take it myself." + +Without listening to the boy's polite protests she hurried off again. +Bubble gazed after her with relieved astonishment. + +"Guess it must be something for the wedding," declared he, sapiently. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXI + + +The next day was the day of the Presbyterian Sunday school picnic. It +was bound to be beautiful weather, because it always was. The +Presbyterians seemed to have an understanding with Providence to that +effect. But Jane, who must have been born a sceptic, was up very early +just to see that there was no mistake. + +There was a hint, just a hint, of autumn in the air. On the window-sill +lay a golden leaf. It was the forerunner. The garden lay quiet, +brooding; the rising sun shone softly through a yellow haze. + +Jane shivered deliciously in her thin night gown. It was going to be a +perfectly glorious, scrumptious day. She leaned farther out to make sure +that the leaves of the small silver maple beneath her window were not +turned wrong side up--a sure sign of rain. And as she looked, she +noticed a curious thing--the side door was open. + +Somebody else must be up. If it were Esther, Jane decided that she would +call "Boo" very loudly and surprise her; but it was her mother and not +Esther who came out of the open door. Jane drew back, watching through +the curtains. She thought her mother looked very pretty in her dressing +gown with her hair down and her bare feet thrust into pink satin mules. +It was a pity, Jane thought, that she wasn't as nice as she looked. And +how curiously she was acting. She was actually climbing up the little +ladder which led to the bird house by the side of the lawn. Jane knew +there was nothing at all in the bird house, for she herself had placed +the ladder there the day before. Whatever was she doing? Jane giggled, +for one of Mary's slippers had fallen off leaving her foot bare. But she +didn't seem to care. She was putting her hand far into the bird house. +Jane watched the hand carefully to see what it might bring out. But it +came out empty. Mary hurriedly climbed down the ladder, picked up her +slipper, glanced quickly around the empty garden and ran back into the +house closing the door without a sound. + +Jane was puzzled. What had her mother hoped to find in the bird house? +She crept back into bed, wondering, and just as she was slipping off to +sleep, the solution came. "She was hiding something," thought Jane, +sleepily, "and when I get up I'll find out what it is." + +Little things are the levers which move the big things of life. Had it +been any other day save the day of the picnic, Jane would certainly have +found out what Mary hid in the bird house and many things might have +been different. But there was so much to do that morning and Ann and +Bubble came over before Jane finished breakfast so that in the +delightful hurry of getting ready and packing baskets, she forgot +all about it. + +There was a disappointment, too, at the last moment, for just when they +were all ready and the doctor had come with the motor, Mrs. Coombe +decided that she really did not feel equal to going and that meant that +Esther had to stay behind. Jane showed signs of tears. Ann and Bubble +protested volubly. Even the doctor did his best to change +Mary's decision. + +"You really ought to come, Mary," he said, "the drive alone will do you +good, and if you get tired of it, I can bring you home early." He looked +at her rather anxiously as he spoke but she did not seem ill. She looked +better than usual for her eyes were brighter and her face was +faintly flushed. + +"No, I won't come to-day. I'm tired. There is not the slightest need for +Esther to stay. I am going to stay in my room with a good book." + +"Oh, Esther, do come! Oh, Esther, you promised!" Thus Ann and Bubble, +while Jane pulled at her frock. + +Mary looked on with a slightly acid smile. The doctor drew her aside. + +"Won't you come?" he asked patiently. "You see how disappointed the +children are." + +"Yes, about Esther. And Esther does not need to stay. It's absurd. Are +you never going to trust me?" + +"You know it isn't you that we distrust. It is something stronger than +you, or any of us. Mary, be patient, just a little longer. You want to +be free, don't you?" + +She hid the glitter in her eyes, against his coat. "Yes, of course. Only +don't ask me to go to-day. It excites me. I want to be quiet." + +"Very well, and you promise--" + +"Yes, I'll promise anything. And if Esther stays I'll be decent to her. +Though why you bother about her so much, I don't see. She is nothing +to you." + +"She is very much to you," sternly. + +"Yes--a spy! Oh, well, don't let's quarrel. Be sure to be back early for +the supper party to-night. Mr. Macnair and Annabel are invited. You can +bring them with you in the motor. It is just as well Esther isn't +going. There'll be lots of little things to attend to." + +"That's settled then." Knowing that further persuasion was useless, he +kissed her and turned to quiet the eager children. + + * * * * * + +Almost she held her breath as she watched him go. Her small hands +twisted, a pulse beat visibly in her temple, her lips worked, she shook +from head to foot. Nevertheless she stood there, controlling herself, +until the motor horn had honked its farewell to a chorus of children's +laughter. Then, as one released from some desperate strain, she turned +and fled to her room.... + +"Mother!" Esther came in slowly, unpinning her hat. There was no answer +to her call. But she had not expected any. In her sulky moods Mrs. +Coombe often went for days without speaking to her step-daughter. When +the girl saw that she had gone to her room she was rather relieved than +otherwise; it meant at least a peaceful afternoon. Mary, in her room, +was considered safe and all that Esther need do was to be ready in order +to accompany her if she decided to go out. + +She was not disappointed at missing the picnic. It was getting rather +hard to be gay. And it would be nice to have everything ready when the +party returned. + +It was a quietly beautiful afternoon and as the girl went about her +simple tasks she was not unhappy. Already she was learning the great +lesson which many more fortunate lovers miss, that the rarest fragrance +of love lies in its bestowal. That is why love is of all things most +securely ours. + +Once she called up to the blowing curtains of Mrs. Coombe's window. + +"Mother, won't you come and help me with the flowers?" But no hand +pushed the curtain aside, nor did she receive any answer. Perhaps Mary +was really asleep. In that case she was sure to be amiable at +supper time. + +Everything was daintily ready and Esther had had time to slip on her +prettiest frock when the "honk" of the returning motor brought a faint +colour into her pale cheeks. + +"Dear me, you've got quite a colour, Esther," said Miss Annabel Macnair +in a slightly injured voice. She had come intending to tell Esther how +badly she was looking and to recommend a tonic. + +"I don't see why you didn't come to the picnic." + +"Oh, Esther," Jane's plain little face was radiant, "you missed it! It +was the nicest picnic yet. I won one race and Bubble won another, and +Ann won't speak to either of us. She says she hates her aunt because +she'd have won a race too if she hadn't had so much starch in her +petticoats. But Mrs. Sykes says she wouldn't be a mite surprised if Ann +has a bad heart--not a wicked heart, just a bad one, the kind that makes +you drop down dead. Some of Ann's folks died of bad hearts, Mrs. Sykes +says. But the doctor says it's all nonsense. He agreed with Ann that it +wasn't anything but petticoats--Oh, say! how pretty the table looks. Did +mother say you could use the best china?" + +"Seeing that it's Esther's china on her own mother's side, I guess she +can use it if she likes," said Aunt Amy, mildly belligerent. "I thought +you might want to set the table before we got home, Esther, and I was so +afraid you might forget and use the sprigged tea set. But the doctor +said you'd be sure not to." + +"That's one of her queer notions, I suppose?" said Miss Annabel in a +stage whisper plainly heard by every one. "How odd! Can you come +upstairs with me, Esther? I want to speak to you most particularly and I +haven't seen you for ages. + +"Not that I haven't tried," she continued in her jerky way as they went +up the stairs together; "but you seem to be always with your mother. +Going to lose her soon. Natural enough. I said to Mrs. Miller, 'There's +real devotion.' Possible to overdo it though. Marriage is terribly +trying. For relatives. But long engagements are worse. How was it you +didn't get to the picnic?" + +Esther murmured that she hadn't quite felt like going to the picnic. + +"Well, you didn't miss much. Even Angus wasn't as cheerful as usual. +Inclined to be moody. And that brings me to what I wanted to tell you. +Remember that last time you had lunch with us?" + +"Yes." + +"Remember me saying that I never ask questions, but that I always find +out? Well--I have." + +"Have what?" asked Esther, who had not been following. + +"Found out. Found out what is the matter with my brother. Exactly what I +thought. He is the victim of an unhappy attachment. Unreciprocated!" + +"But--" + +"You remember you laughed at me, Esther. Suggested liver. And when I +mentioned your mother you almost convinced me that I was wrong. Although +I am never wrong. It _is_ your mother, Esther. My poor brother, +brokenhearted, quite--utterly!" + +This was so amazing that Esther waited for more. + +"I suppose he felt certain of her until Dr. Callandar stepped in. Could +hardly believe it. When I told him of your mother's reputed engagement +he was not in the least disturbed. Said 'Pshaw!' Couldn't imagine such a +possibility. I said, 'I assure you it is the truth, Angus,' and he +merely remarked, 'Well, what if it is?' in a most matter of fact way. +Quite calm!" + +"And you think--" + +"My dear, I am sure. All put on. To deceive me. Although I never am +deceived. So I waited. And then one night last week I happened to get +home from a business session of the Ladies' Aid, early. I went in +quietly. Angus was in his study, without a light, but the door was a +little bit open, and I could hear his voice quite plainly. He was +praying--" + +"Oh, please--" + +"My dear, I couldn't help hearing. I didn't listen. I was rooted to the +spot. Positively! He--" + +"You must not tell me, Miss Annabel, I won't listen." + +"Very well, my dear. Perhaps you are right. Couldn't tell you his very +words anyway. I cannot remember them. He was very eloquent, terribly +worked up! And he was praying for Her. That's what he called your +mother, just Her. It sounded almost--almost popish, you know! Then +suddenly he stopped as if something had cut him off--sharp. There was a +silence. So long I began to be frightened and then he cried out loud, +'Not for me! Not for me!' It was dreadful! But it proves my point, I +think. Why, my dear, whatever is the matter?" + +Esther, leaning against the window frame, was sobbing weakly. + +"Dear me! I had no idea you would feel it so badly. Take a sip of +water--do!" + +Esther struggled to regain her self-control. + +"It seems so--sad," she faltered. + +"Yes, of course. It is sad. And I have great sympathy with my poor +brother," went on Miss Annabel pinning down her hair net. "But do you +know, I sometimes think," she hesitated and a slow blush arose in her +middle-aged cheek, "I sometimes think that people in love aren't to be +pitied after all. Though it is hardly a thought to express to a young +girl like you. + +"You know," she went on awkwardly as Esther still made no remark, "they +feel a great deal, of course, but it must be so very _interesting_. A +little cold cream for my nose, Esther. If I leave it until I get home I +shall certainly peel." + +Esther provided the cream and a powder puff. She felt sick at heart. Her +calmer world of the afternoon burst like a bubble leaving only a tear +behind. The vision of Angus Macnair in the dark study reaching out +frantic hands for the thing he knew could never be his, seemed a last +touch of unendurable irony. Surely some one, somewhere, must be moved to +dreadful mirth at these blunders of the fates. From the echo of such +laughter commonplace was the only refuge. Esther bathed her eyes and +called to Jane to let her mother know that supper was ready. + +The sounds of the child's cheerful tattoos upon Mrs. Coombe's door +accompanied them down the stairs, but when they had waited a few +minutes, Jane came quietly into the room alone. + +"Mother doesn't answer me, Esther." + +Miss Annabel looked surprised, then curious. Esther felt her face flame. +It was really too bad of Mary to make things so much harder than she +need. Her refusal to answer could only mean that she had determined to +be thoroughly disagreeable; and with company in the house. But her +annoyance was abruptly checked by the effect of the news upon the +doctor. It was not annoyance she read in his eyes. It was dismay. With a +murmured sentence, which may or may not have been excuse, he turned +from the room. + +"I am so sorry," explained Esther smoothly. "Mother is not at all well, +one of her old headaches. The doctor has gone up to see if he can be +of any use." + +Miss Annabel shook her head gloomily. "Mark my words," she said, "your +mother ought to take those headaches of hers more seriously. A headache +seems a little thing, but I know of a case--" + +With Esther's sympathetic encouragement the good lady launched upon a +recital of melancholy happenings more or less connected with headaches +which occupied her attention very pleasantly and prevented any one else +from saying anything until the return of the awaited guest. He came in +looking as usual and bearing an apology from the hostess for her sudden +indisposition. "Nothing at all serious," he added lightly. "It is +possible that she may join us later." But it was noticeable that as he +spoke he did not look at Esther nor could her anxious glance read the +impassive sternness of his face. + +It was not a successful meal. In spite of the pretty table, the dainty +food, the well kept up fire of conversation, the beautiful evening out +of doors, the softly shaded light inside, from first to last the supper +was a nightmare. Of what avail the careful pretence that nothing was +wrong? A very miasma of dread enveloped that table, a thing so palpable +that Miss Annabel found herself starting at a sound, the minister's +ready tongue faltered on a favourite phrase, Esther's clear voice grew +blurred, Aunt Amy wrung her hands, Jane's eyes were wide with +unchildlike care. Only Callandar seemed undisturbed, courteous, +interested. + +It was a relief to them all when after an uncomfortable half-hour with +coffee on the veranda the minister suddenly remembered a forgotten +committee meeting and hurried Miss Annabel away with half her parting +words unspoken. The doctor, still courteous and interested, walked down +with them to the gate. He would wait, he said, a little longer to see +how Mrs. Coombe found herself. Esther carried off a subdued and silent +Jane to bed. + +"Esther," whispered Jane as her sister bent to kiss her, "why do lovely, +lovely days always end so badly?" + +"They don't, Janie." + +The child sighed. "Mine do. I never had a perfect day in all my life." + +"You will have. Every one has perfect days--sometime." + +"Have you, Esther?" + +"Yes, dear." + +Jane looked up sleepily. "Perhaps mine will come to-morrow!" + +Esther went slowly down stairs and out into the garden. Callandar was +coming up the path from the gate. He walked slowly. When they met, he no +longer avoided her glance. + +"Well?" She had no need to ask. Yet she did ask, falteringly. + +"We have failed," he said briefly. + +The quiet hopelessness of his voice left no room for argument. Esther +opened her lips to protest, but found nothing to say. + +"She has outwitted us," he went on. "How? who can say? They have the +cunning of the devil! There is only one thing to do now. Only one way--" + +"You mean?--" + +"The wedding must take place at once. I suppose the farce is really +necessary. But there must be no more delay. Only the unsparing use of a +husband's authority can save her now. I shall take her away. I must be +with her day and night. In France there is a place I know, beautiful, +isolated. I shall take her there. If all else fails there is the +treatment of hypnotic suggestion. But--I shall not fail, I dare not!" + +Blindly she put out her hand--he clasped it gently--yet not as if he +knew whose hand it was. Then, laying it aside, he passed by, and, +leaving her sobbing in the dusk, went on into the house and up the +stairs to the closed room. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXII + + +It became quickly known in Coombe that, owing to Mrs. Coombe's delicate +health, the wedding would take place much sooner than had been expected. +A sea voyage, it was conceded, was the necessary thing and as Dr. +Callandar would not allow his fiancée to go away alone it seemed only +fair that he should make haste to go with her. Comment on all these +points was much more restrained than usual because, just at this time, +Coombe withstood the shock of finding out that Dr. Callandar was no less +than Dr. Henry Chedridge Callandar of Montreal. No, not his brother, nor +his cousin, but the man himself! + +Of course Coombe had suspected this all along. Never for a moment had it +been really deceived. Over and over again it had said: "My dear, that +young man is not a mere local practitioner, mark my words!" From the +first, Coombe had observed the marks of true distinction in him. He was +so odd! He seemed to care nothing at all for appearances, and, as +everybody knows, this comfortable attitude of mind is the privilege of +the famous few. Besides, there was the matter of the marriage. Coombe +had been right in thinking that Mary Coombe had not gone into the matter +blindfold. She had known very well upon which side her bread was +buttered, and as to her giving way to his whims in the absurd way she +did--that, too, was understandable under the circumstances. + +What puzzled Coombe, now, was how she had managed it. She was not +pretty, at least not very pretty. She was not young, at least only +comparatively young. And goodness knows, she was not clever! Hardly a +mother in Coombe but had at least one daughter prettier, younger and +cleverer; a daughter, in fact, who could give Mary Coombe aces and kings +and still win out. Why had the doctor not been attached to one of these? +It was incomprehensible. Even if, through a misplaced devotion to his +profession, he had determined to marry into a doctor's family--there was +Esther! Esther Coombe was a fine girl and quite nice looking before she +had begun to "go off." Even as it was she had more to recommend her than +her step-mother. There seemed to be a general impression that all men +are fools. + +"If they would only let some woman with sense choose their wives for +them," declared the eldest Miss Sinclair in a burst of confidence, "they +might get along fairly well. But if ever a man gets married to the right +woman, it happens by accident." + +Nevertheless, at a special meeting of the Ladies' Aid, called for the +purpose, it was decided to give the bride a present. They had not +intended to do it for fear of establishing a precedent. But when it came +out who Dr. Callandar was, it hardly seemed right to let one of their +best known members go from them to a more exalted sphere in a city +(which many of them might, from time to time, feel inclined to visit) +without showing her by some small token how very highly she was held in +their regard. Every one could see the sense of this and the vote was +unanimous. In regard to the nature of the gift there was more diversity +of opinion, but it was finally decided that, as the value of this kind +of thing lies not in the gift but in the spirit of the giving, a brown +jar with the word "Biscuits" in silver lettering would do very well. +Carving knives were thought of but as Mrs. Atkins very fitly said, +"Everybody is sure to give carving knives"--a phenomenon which all the +ladies accepted as a commonplace. + +Of the prospective bride herself, Coombe saw little. She remained very +much at home. She had lost much of her spasmodic energy, was inclined to +be moody and even rude. Her state of health accounted naturally for this +and also for the arrival of a new inmate at the Elms, a cool and capable +looking person who was discovered, after much amazed enquiry, to be a +trained nurse. Not a hospital nurse exactly but a kind of special nurse +whose duties included massage, and the giving of certain baths and +things which the doctor thought strengthening. Her name was Miss Philps. +Coombe never got behind that. No one could ever boast that she knew more +of Miss Philps than her name. She was, and remains to this day, +a mystery. + +There are people like that, although this was Coombe's first experience +of one. Miss Philps was not a recluse. Everywhere Mrs. Coombe went, Miss +Philps went too. Even Esther was not more assiduous in her attentions. +She was not a silent person either, far from it. She bubbled over with +precise and cheerful comment, she appeared to talk even more than was +absolutely necessary and it was only upon her departure that her +entertainers noticed that she had said nothing at all. A very baffling +person to deal with. Coombe could not manage to "take to" her at all and +great sympathy was felt for Mrs. Coombe when she was reported to have +said to Miss Milligan that going out with Miss Philps felt exactly like +a jail delivery--whatever that might be! + +But if Miss Philps was not appreciated at large it was different in her +own immediate circle. She had not been at the Elms a day before Esther +recognised the doctor's wisdom in getting her. She was discreet, +capable, kindly. The burden upon the girl's shoulders grew momentarily +lighter. Miss Philps, with her matter of fact cheeriness, her strength +and her experience, was exactly what that house of overstrained +nerves needed. + +"Dear me," she said, "you're all as fidgety as corn in a popper. And no +need for it. I've nursed dozens worse than your mother, Miss Esther, and +had them right as a trivet before I got through. As long as we can keep +her hands off the stuff--and that's what I'm here for. So don't worry!" + +Esther drew a deep breath. It was certainly good to feel the strain +lifting, to have time for dreams again. The time was so pitifully short +now. Two more weeks and she would leave Coombe behind her. The old life +would be definitely over and done with. Looking back, she could see that +it had been a happy life, and the future looked so dark. In youth, all +life's happenings seem so terribly final. Every parting feels like a +parting forever. Esther felt quite sure that she would never return +to Coombe. + +In the week before the wedding, freed from her continual attendance upon +her mother, she unobtrusively paid farewell to all her old haunts and +favourite places. It was a sweet sadness. She did not taste the sweet, +but it was there. As one grows older, one does not linger over sad +moments. It is because the sweet has vanished, only the bitter remains. +But in untried youth sadness has a touch of beauty, a glamour of +romance which shrouds its deepest pain. It is as if something within us, +infinitely wise, were smiling, knowing well that for the young there is +always to-morrow. + +The maple by the schoolhouse turned early that year. When Esther, in her +pilgrimage, came to say good-bye it welcomed her with all the glory of +autumn. Against its greener brothers it stood out, naming, defiant. +Beside it, the red pump seemed no longer red. Red and yellow, its +falling leaves tossed themselves into the girl's lap as she sat upon the +porch steps. It is almost certain that, as Esther gathered them, she +compared her sad heart to a leaf which had fluttered from the tree of +happy life. There seemed no outlook for her. She could not see through +winter into spring. + +The school children with their new teacher (whom Esther could not help +but feel was sadly incompetent) had all gone home and it was very quiet +on the porch steps. She closed her eyes and dreamed and clearly through +her dream she heard, as she had heard that first morning in early +summer, a determinedly cheerful, yet husky, voice singing. Some one was +coming down the hill. + + "From Wimbleton to Wombleton is fifteen miles; + From Wombleton to Wimbleton is fifteen miles; + From Wimbleton to Wombleton, from Wombleton to Wimbleton, + From Wimbleton to Wombleton,--" + +The song trailed off into silence as it had done before. The girl's +closed eyes smarted with tears--"Oh, it is a very long way!" she +murmured, and burying her face in fallen leaves she felt that at last +she knew the meaning of despair. + +But though his voice had echoed through Esther's dream, Callandar was +not on the long hill nor anywhere near it. Unlike Esther, he paid no +farewells during these last days. He avoided the hill particularly and +drove past the schoolhouse seldom and always at top speed. If the sight +of the turning maples moved him at all it was not because he compared +his lost happiness to a fallen leaf. Callandar was long past such gentle +sadnesses as these. Every day he filled as full of work as possible. He +walked far and hard in hope of tiring himself into dreamless sleep at +night. And every day his face grew older, greyer, more sternly set. + +At the very last, and as if inspired by some special imp of the +perverse, Mary declared that she must have a church wedding. Opposition +was useless. With all the distorted force of her drug-ridden brain, she +desired this one thing. She wept, she coaxed, she raved. Every woman, +she stormed, had a right to a proper wedding. She had always been +cheated, she had been a pawn shoved about at the bidding of others, her +own wishes never consulted. Was there any reason, any reason at all, why +she should not be properly married in the church? + +He ventured quietly to remind her that there were peculiar circumstances +in the case. But she burst out at that. He was ashamed of her. Ashamed +of his own wife. If there were peculiar circumstances whose fault were +they? Not hers, surely? Would she be where she was now if he had not +neglected her all those years? Anyway, peculiar circumstances or not, +she would be married decently or she would not be married at all. + +With set lips, the doctor gave in. Opposition maddened her, and, after +all, one farce more or less could not matter much. + +"Very well," he said, "make your own arrangements." + +Immediately, Mary became amiable. She was quite polite to Miss Philps, +almost pleasant to Esther. Into the preparations for the wedding she +entered with some of her old spasmodic energy. The occasion, she +determined, should be a talked of one in Coombe. She made plans, a fresh +one every day, and talked of them continually. + +Only--there was one plan of which she did not speak. There was one +unsaid thing which matured quietly, covered by the noise of much +talking. Yet this plan more than any other would have to do with the +success of her last appearance in Coombe. It would be foolish indeed, +she decided, to let any promise, however well-meant, stand in the way of +this success. She could not, and would not, face a crowded church +feeling as she felt now. That was absurd! She would need some little +stimulant to help her carry it off. A very slightly increased dose would +do it. Only sufficient to banish that horrible craving, to give her a +long, satisfying sleep and then just a touch more, very little, to brace +her in the morning. Enough to send warm tingling thrills of well being +through her tired body, to brighten her eyes, to clear her brain and +steady her shaking nerves--to make her young again, young and a bride. + +Only this once! Never again. + +Of what use to continue the sophistries which justified her treachery to +herself! Perhaps of the three it was she who suffered most during that +last week. She lived in an agony of anticipation, a hell of desire for +which a sane pen has no description. Yet no one must suspect that she +anticipated or desired anything--not the cool-eyed Miss Philps, not +Esther, not the doctor, not even Jane. The mask must not slip for one +single moment. So far, they suspected nothing; but they were always on +their guard, always. A careless look, an unconsidered movement might +betray her, and then--! She raved in her room sometimes when she thought +of a possible balking of her purpose. + +She was very clever. She still had self-control when it was necessary to +have it in the furtherance of the one devouring passion. Only when she +was quite alone did she ever give way. The doctor thought her +wonderfully docile and took heart of hope. A month or two alone with her +in Prance and all would be well. In the meantime, patience! Naturally +she was full of childish whims. He smiled at her indulgently when she +asked him to request Miss Philps to stay outside of the fitting room at +Miss Milligan's. "For you know," she said, "it is bad luck, very bad +luck, for any person to see one, in one's wedding gown before the proper +time. And anyway," the grey eyes filled with easy tears, "I'm sure it +isn't good for me never to be trusted, not even with silly Miss +Milligan." + +The plea seemed genuine. It was like Mary to be concerned about the +wedding-dress superstition. And what possible danger could there be? +Miss Milligan in all probability had never heard the fatal names of +opium and cocaine save as unpleasant things associated with Chinese and +tooth-drawing. It was absurd to imagine Mary coming to harm there. + +From this you will see that, upon the occasion of the last discovery, +Mary had lied desperately and well. The "cache" in the bird-house had +been found, but Miss Milligan's name had never been connected in the +most remote way with that relapse. Mary had sworn that the new supply +had not been new at all but had formed part of an old cache which she +had hidden, in a place which even she had forgotten, all quite +accidentally. And although many supplementary enquiries were made, the +real truth had remained undiscovered. + +So in the simplest way in the world, Mary secured several uninterrupted +"fittings" with Miss Milligan while the excellent Miss Philps sat +without and waited. + +"This is positively the last time I shall have to trouble you, dear Miss +Milligan," said her customer sweetly. "Of course, as soon as we are +married, I am going to tell Dr. Callandar all about it and when he sees +how very much better my medicine has made me, he will be quite ready to +withdraw his objections. In the meantime I am sure you feel, as I do, +that our little ruse has been quite justifiable!" + +Miss Milligan did. She felt quite proud of her part in it. It is +something to help a fellow woman and still more to get the better of a +fellow man. Especially such a celebrated man as Dr. Callandar! She would +order the fresh supply at once, that very afternoon, by the first mail. +And as soon as the packet came she would see that Mrs. Coombe had it in +person. "There is certain to be a few last touches necessary to the +dress after it has been sent home," she remarked with a smile of truly +Machiavellian subtlety. + +"Yes!" said Mary. "That night--after the dress comes home!" She spoke +sharply, unnaturally. Her face turned a dull, pasty white. She shook so +that Miss Milligan was thoroughly frightened. But presently she +controlled herself and forced a pathetic smile. + +"You see, dear Miss Milligan, how much I need it." + +"Indeed a blind bat could see that!" said the dressmaker pityingly. +"Shall I call the nurse?" + +But Mrs. Coombe would not hear of Miss Milligan calling the nurse! + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIII + + +It is the onlooker who sees most of the game and Aunt Amy was an ideal +onlooker. Always self-effacing and silent, she was now more silent and +self-effacing still. Consequently the principal actors tended to forget +their parts when in her presence. No one explained anything to Aunt Amy +but no one concealed anything from her. She simply "didn't matter." So +far as the playing out of the little drama was concerned, Aunt Amy was +supposed to be safely off the stage. She looked and listened, had her +strange flashes of psychic insight and came to her own conclusions about +it all, quite undisturbed by facts as they appeared to others. Her +conclusions were very simple. Esther loved the doctor. The doctor loved +Esther. That, in spite of this, Callandar was deliberately planning to +marry Mary she considered a purely arbitrary matter arranged by those +mysteriously malignant powers known as "They." Callandar, himself, had +clearly no choice, Esther was helpless, and Mary triumphed easily and +inevitably because Mary was one of "Them" herself. Aunt Amy had become +firmly convinced of this latter fact. Everything went to prove it--the +theft of the ring, the threat to shut her (Amy) up, the easy triumph +over Esther, and a thousand and one trifles all "confirmation strong as +proofs of holy writ." Of course it would be impossible to make this +clear to Esther or the doctor. Amy realised that and did not try. But in +her own mind she thought of it continually. And her little pile of proof +mounted higher day by day. + +Esther, absorbed in the care of her step-mother, was not even aware that +Aunt Amy noticed her growing listlessness, her heavy eyes, her fits of +brooding. She did not know that a silent foot paused before her closed +door, listening. All she knew was that it was relief unspeakable to be +with Aunt Amy, to let drop the mask of cheerful energy without fear of +questioning or of wonder. Aunt Amy didn't matter. + +Mary, too, felt that it was needless to hoodwink Amy. No need to pretend +with her. She might show herself as irritable, as conscienceless, as +nerve-racked and disagreeable as she chose without fear of displaying +"symptoms." Aunt Amy was not looking for symptoms, indeed Mary thought +she grew more stupid daily. After her marriage something would really +have to be done about Amy. She hoped the doctor wouldn't be silly +about it. + +Even Dr. Callandar was not careful to hide his burden from those faded +eyes. He was more self-conscious even with Ann or Bubble than he was +with her. What matter if she did see his mouth harden or his eyes +burn?--Poor Aunt Amy, such things could have no meaning for her. She was +a soul apart. + +A soul apart indeed, how far apart none of them quite realised; yet near +enough to love--and hate. As the days went by and Esther drooped like a +graceful plant athirst for water there grew in Aunt Amy's twisted brain +a slow corroding anger. The timid, bitter anger of a weak nature which +is often more deadly than the lordly passion of the strong. + +If she could only do something. If she could only outwit "Them"! She +would do anything at all, if she could only find the thing to do. It was +terrible to be so helpless. It was maddening to have to be so careful. +Yet careful she must be, she never forgot that. Often as she went about +the house or stood in the sunny kitchen rolling out her flaky pie-crust, +she pondered over ways and means. But none seemed suitable. Some of her +plans were fantastic to a degree, but she always had sense enough to +reject them in the end. In her planning she was conscious of no sense of +right or wrong but only of suitability. There could be no question of +right or wrong in dealing with "Them." They were outside the pale. No. +What she wanted was something simple and effective. A little poison, +now--in a pie? But Amy knew nothing of poison, nor how to obtain any, +nor how to use it effectively in a pie when once obtained. She might +consult the doctor perhaps? But something warned Aunt Amy that the +doctor would not take kindly to the idea of a little poison in a pie. So +this beautiful scheme had to be given up. She sighed. + +"What a big sigh, Auntie!" Esther, who was sitting at the table peeling +apples, looked up questioningly. "A penny for your thoughts." + +A look of cunning came over Aunt Amy's face. And instead of speaking her +real thoughts she said, "I was thinking of weddings, Esther." + +"But why the sigh?" + +"I don't like weddings. Once there was a young girl going to be married. +She was very happy. She was so happy that she was afraid to look at her +own face in the glass. And it was eleven o'clock on Tuesday. I mean she +was waiting for eleven o'clock on Tuesday. She was to be married then. +But just one minute before the time, something happened--the clock +stopped, I think. Anyway eleven o'clock on Tuesday never came. So she +could not get married. And she grew old and her flowers fell to pieces. +It was very sad." + +"Poor Auntie!" + +Aunt Amy moved uneasily. "Do you know who the girl was, Esther?" + +"Don't you know, Auntie?" + +"No, that is, I am never sure. Sometimes I think I used to know her. But +she's gone. I never see her now. I'd like to find her if I could." + +"You will find her some day, Auntie. Try not to fret about it." + +It was seldom indeed that Aunt Amy spoke even thus vaguely of that other +self of hers which she had lost in the tragedy of her youth. Esther's +heart was full of pity as she listened. What was her own trouble +compared to this? She at least would have her memories. + +"There is just one chance," went on Aunt Amy, now gently excited. She +had never spoken of this chance before but she felt that Esther might +like to hear of it. "Just one chance! You see, the world being +round--the world is round, isn't it, Esther?" + +"Yes." + +"Well, the world being round there is a chance that, if she waits long +enough, eleven o'clock on Tuesday may come around again. Then if she is +ready and if she has the ring he gave her, the red ring, and if they are +both very quick they may be married after all." + +"Oh, Aunt Amy, _dear_! That is why you love the ruby ring?" + +But the old lady's memory was clouding again. She looked bewildered and +would say no more. Esther kissed her with new tenderness. "I am so glad +you have it safely back," she whispered. "You need never be afraid of +losing it again." + +Aunt Amy found it hard to make the pies that morning. She was enveloped +in a deep sadness, a sadness which in some misunderstood way seemed +inseparable from the idea of that lost friend of hers, the girl-bride +whose marriage hour had never struck. It seemed to Aunt Amy that the +girl had been waiting a very long time and was tired. Even if the world +were round, it was a very big world and eleven o'clock on Tuesday took a +wearisome time to travel around it. She could not understand why she +should feel so terribly sorry for the waiting girl, but she did. A hot +tear fell into the pie-crust. That would never do! The pie-maker +furtively dried her eyes and came back to the consideration of more +immediate problems. + +It may seem strange that no one noticed the morbid state of Aunt Amy at +this time. But it would have been more strange if any one had noticed +it. Of outward signs there were practically none. Even the silent +hand-wringing had ceased. She ceased to rebuke Jane for stepping upon +the third stair; she ceased to talk of the peculiarities inherent in +sprigged china. She was more and more careful not to mention "Them," +and, as always, her housekeeping was a wonder and a delight. + +She even offered to make Mary's wedding-cake. An offer which Mary +received graciously. No one could make fruit cake like Aunt Amy and if +it proved too big for the house oven the baker could bake it in his. +Jane was delighted. She told Bubble that it was to be a "hugeous" cake, +the like of which was never seen in Coombe and she defied Ann to produce +any relative or ancestor whatever whose wedding-cake had even faintly +approached such dimensions. Ann retorted that big wedding-cakes were +vulgar and that her Aunt Sykes did not think it proper for a widow woman +to have a wedding-cake at all. + +The making of the cake was a great mental help to Aunt Amy. It seemed to +ease her mind and aid her to think clearly. She thought of many things +as she prepared the materials, made most clever plans. That all the +plans had to do with the preventing of the marriage and the final +circumventing of "Them" goes without saying. There was one especially +good plan which came to her while she stoned the raisins. Still another, +while the currants were being looked over, and a third, more brilliant +than either, while she chopped the candied peel. The trouble was that +when she came to mix all her ingredients into the batter, her plans +began to mix up too, until all was hopeless confusion. It was most +disheartening! And the wedding, now, only a few days off. She wanted to +go away into a corner and wring her hands, but if she did, some one +might notice--and then "They" would have the chance they were looking +for. Aunt Amy was too clever for that! + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIV + + +The day before the wedding, the wedding dress came home. No one had seen +it. Mary's superstition in regard to this point was indulgently smiled +at by everybody. + +"But hadn't I better see it on you just once," suggested Esther. "Some +trifle may have been forgotten and a missing hook and eye might spoil +the effect of the whole thing." + +"Oh, I have thought of that. Miss Milligan is going to run in after +supper to see that everything is right. Then if anything is needed she +can attend to it at once. Of course, it doesn't matter about Miss +Milligan seeing it--for bad luck I mean." + +"How about me?" asked Callandar, smiling. + +"You!" with a playful shriek, "you would be worse than anybody. You +would hoodoo it entirely!" + +"How about little girls?" asked Jane coaxingly. + +Mary turned suddenly peevish. "Don't bother me, Jane. I shall not let +any one see it and that's enough." But their combined suggestions had +disturbed her, and it was only upon their serious assurance that of +course her wishes would be respected that her amiability returned. + +Yet it was apparent that she felt rather worried about the dress herself +for she had worked herself into a small fever of nervous anxiety before +the promised appearance of Miss Milligan for the last fitting. When at +last that lady arrived, a trifle late, and very much out of breath, Mary +would hardly let her say good evening to the others, before hurrying +her upstairs. + +"And I think," said she hesitatingly, "that I shan't come down again +to-night. I am tired. If the doctor calls in, tell him that I am trying +to get a good rest for to-morrow. Good night, Miss Philps. Good +night, Esther!" + +To the girl's astonishment she kissed her. A light, hot kiss which fell +on her cheek like a fleck of glowing ash. Yet it was a real kiss and may +have meant that the giver was not ungrateful. Jane, too, had a good +night kiss that night; but Aunt Amy had already gone upstairs. + + * * * * * + +"Well?" They were safely in the upstairs room now and the door was +closed. + +"I've got it. It came on the afternoon mail. I went down to the post +office specially. I knew you kind of counted on it for to-morrow." + +With the glee of a child playing conspirator Miss Milligan dived into +the recesses of the reticule she carried. "Here it is. No, that's +peppermints. But it's here somewhere--" + +"Oh, hurry!" Mary almost snatched the packet from the friendly hand. At +sight of it she turned deathly white and began to shake as she had +shaken that day in the fitting-room. But this time she recovered +quickly, almost before Miss Milligan had noticed it. + +"Thank you so much," she said. With the last effort of her self-control +she forced herself to place the packet upon the dresser. She wanted to +snatch at it to tear it open, to scream with the relief of the tablets +in her hand, but she did none of these things. Instead she thanked Miss +Milligan again and proceeded to talk of other things, anything that +would do to fill up the short time necessary to conceal the real purpose +of the visit so that Esther and Miss Philps would not suspect--never for +a moment suspect! + +"Do you think we really need try on the dress?" asked the conscientious +Miss Milligan. + +Mrs. Coombe thought not. It was quite all right, she felt sure of that. +And really she was a little tired. It had been a trying day. She +moistened her lips and tried to smile, keeping her eyes well away from +the tempting heaven in the little pasteboard box. Would the woman +never go! + +Fortunately Miss Milligan was a lady who prided herself upon her good +sense and also upon her proper pride. She always knew, she declared, +when she was not wanted, and, strange as it may seem, it began to dawn +upon her that this was one of those rare occasions. Mrs. Coombe was very +pleasant, of course, but Miss Milligan missed something, a certain +cordiality which might have tempted her to prolong her stay. She was not +offended, for if she considered that her self-denying journeys to the +post office were meeting with less than their just deserts, she was not +a woman to insist upon gratitude where gratitude was not freely given. +She stayed therefore no longer than the fiction of dress-fitting +required and then with a somewhat strained "good night" passed down the +stairs and out of the house. + +Mary waited, rigid as a statue, until she heard the front gate close, +then, the last defence down, she sprang to the dressing table--tearing +off the paper from the package as a puppy dog might tear the covering +from a bone. A glass of water stood ready. Her shaking hands reached for +it, counted the number of tablets and slipped them in. Then, with a long +breath of relief, the tension relaxed. She raised her eyes, triumphing +eyes, to the mirror and saw--Aunt Amy watching her from the doorway. + +She had forgotten to lock the door! + +But it was only Aunt Amy. + +Fear and relief came in almost the same breath. She steadied herself +against the dresser. + +"Shut the door!" + +Aunt Amy obeyed. But she shut herself inside the door. "What do you +want?" Mary never wasted words on Amy--"Ah!" + +With a motion so swift that it seemed like a conjuror's miracle, Aunt +Amy had slipped from her stand by the door, snatched up the open box, +and was back again before the choking cry on the other's lips had +formed itself. + +"Esther says you musn't take these," said Aunt Amy in her colourless +voice. + +For a second Mary hesitated. If she made the murderous spring which +every baffled nerve in her tortured body urged her to make, Amy would +scream. A scream would mean, Miss Philps--Esther--the doctor: agony and +defeat. With a mighty effort she held herself. She tried to +speak quietly. + +"Don't be a fool, Amy. This is some medicine the doctor gave me himself. +Hand it to me at once." + +Aunt Amy smiled. It was a sly little smile. It made Mary want to rave, +for it said more plainly than words that Aunt Amy knew. Swiftly she +changed her tactics. Her face softened, became gentle, entreating-- + +"Amy--dear. I am only going to use a little. If you love me, give me the +box." + +Useless! Aunt Amy still smiled. She put the box behind her. With her +other hand she felt for the door knob. + +"Amy, give it to me! What have I ever done to you?" + +"You stole my ring." In exactly the same tone she might have said, "You +are a murderess." + +The ring! Mary had forgotten the ring. Wait, perhaps it was not hopeless +even yet. Amy placed an absurd value on that ring--and she, Mary, had +the gem in her possession. She did not know that Esther had found and +restored it. To her it was still in the box at the bottom of her drawer. +A dazzling plan flashed through her excited brain. She would bribe Amy +with the ring. The thought nerved her. + +"Do you really want your ring back?" she asked sweetly. + +Aunt Amy paused with her hands on the door knob. + +"I have it back." + +"Oh, no. You haven't. It is in a box in my drawer." + +"It is not. Esther gave it to me!" But there was a spark of fear in +Amy's eyes. Contradiction so easily confused her. _Had_ Esther given her +the ring? She felt oddly uncertain. + +Mary laughed, and the laugh increased Aunt Amy's confusion. After all it +was quite possible that Mary had taken the ring again. It had been +locked away and hidden, but locks and hiding-places were never an +obstacle to "Them." + +"I've got it safe enough!" taunted Mary, tormentingly. + +The spark of fear flamed. Amy took a swift step forward. "Give it to +me!" + +"Give me the box--and I will." + +Aunt Amy had ceased to care about the box. Almost she placed it in the +outstretched hand, then, with quick cunning, caught it back. + +"The ring first." + +Mary shrugged her shoulders. She felt cool enough now. It was going to +be easy. She turned to the bureau and began to pull things out of the +drawer, scattering them anywhere. She could not remember exactly where +she had put the ring. As she searched, she talked. + +"There is nothing to be tragic about," she said. "I intended to give you +your ring anyway--some day. And the medicine is nothing that will hurt. +It is only something to make me sleep so that I shan't look a sight +to-morrow. I am taking only a little. No one will know. I shall not even +oversleep. But if Esther or any of them knew, they would make a fuss. +You must promise not to tell them--before I give you the ring. Just tell +Esther that I do not want to be disturbed early. I'll wake myself, in +plenty of time for the wedding." + +"In plenty of time for the wedding!" For a moment Amy wondered what it +was about the phrase which sounded familiar? Then she seemed to see, as +in a dream, the vision of a young girl all in white, with flowers in her +hands, sitting alone in a room waiting, watching a clock--a clock which +never quite came round to the hour of eleven on Tuesday. Time has a +great deal to do with weddings, evidently. People who wish to be married +must be ready at the fateful moment, otherwise they have to +wait--forever, perhaps. "Plenty of time"--suddenly a flash of direct +inspiration seemed to coordinate her scattered faculties. She saw +clearly a plan, a beautiful, simple plan to prevent the marriage. What +if Mary should _not_ wake in plenty of time for the wedding? What if the +hour, the wedding hour, should not find her ready? The thing was so +simple! If one tablet would make Mary sleep, two would make her sleep +longer. For the moment she forgot even the ruby ring in her childish +pleasure at such a clever idea. Her worn face was lit by a satisfied +smile as she swiftly, quietly dropped more tablets from the box into the +glass--one--two--she was not quite sure how many! + +"Here is the ring," said Mary turning at last from the disturbed drawer +with a cardboard box in her hand. It was the box from which Esther had +taken the ring long before, but Mary was in too great a hurry to open +it. She did not doubt that it contained the ring. For once in her life +Mary thought she was playing fair. + +They completed the exchange in silence, Mary wondering a little at the +pleasant change which she saw in Amy's face. But she was too hurried to +enquire into the cause of it. She hardly waited to hear her promise not +to tell Esther but fairly pushed her from the room. Then, secure behind +her locked door, she wiped the perspiration from her forehead and sank +exhausted into the nearest chair. + +When her strength came back her first care was to hide the remaining +tablets in a safe place in her travelling bag, she never intended to use +them again, never! But it would do no harm to feel that she could trust +herself to leave them alone, as of course she could. Then she loosened +her hair, not pausing to brush it, and, slipping off her dress, wrapped +herself in a certain flowered dressing gown. Not one of the dainty new +ones, but a gown whose lace was yellowed and torn, a gown which felt +like an old friend but which, after to-night, she would wear no more-- + +Listen! Was that some one at the door? + +Only Miss Philps calling good-night. Mary answered "Good-night" in a +sleepy voice, and the step passed on. It left her shaking like a leaf in +the wind. What else indeed was she? A fluttering, fading leaf shaken in +the teeth of a wind of dread and mad desire. + +All was quiet now. She would be disturbed no more that night. Her +shaking hands rattled the spoon which stirred the mixture in the glass. +The familiar motion quieted her. Here, right in her hands, was peace, +rest, a swift and magical release from the torment of appetite denied. +To-morrow--but why think of to-morrow? She might be stronger then. +Everything might be easier. All she really needed was a long +night's sleep. + +She turned out the light and throwing up the blind stood for a moment +looking out into the soft moonlight. The moon was clear. It would be a +beautiful day for the wedding! Smiling, she picked up the glass and +with a whispered, "Here's to the bride!" raised it to her eager lips +and drank. + + * * * * * + +Silence settled down upon the Elms. There was a harvest moon that night, +a glorious rounded moon more golden than silver. The garden slumbered, +wrapped in mellow light, even the shadows gleamed faintly luminous. The +breeze, roaming at will, shook drowsy perfume from the lingering +flowers, but for all it aped the summer it was unmistakably an autumn +breeze, melancholy, earth-scented. It stirred the curtains at Mary's +window; rustled through the great bowlful of crimson leaves upon +Esther's writing table and softly stirred the dark hair of the girl as +she sat with her face hidden in her curved arms. For a very long time +she sat there while the moon looked in and looked away again and who +can tell what her thoughts were, or if she thought at all. + +By and by she rose and went to the window, looking out to where a month +ago she had stood by the garden gate under the stars. It was drenched +with moonlight now and the shadow under the elm tree was dark. + +What was that? A darker shadow in the shadow? Esther's hand caught at +the curtain, her heart gave a great leap and then grew still. She knew +who stood there. This was the good-bye he could not speak. Tears fell +unheeded down the girl's pale cheeks. If during those last days she had +had any doubt of the love which loyalty to Mary had helped him hide so +well, they were all swept away now. A warm spot grew and glowed in her +heart and a line from that old immortal love lyric which she had learned +in her school days came back vivid with eternal truth. + + "I had not loved thee, dear, so much + Loved I not honour more." + + + + +CHAPTER XXXV + + +It was a perfect day for the wedding. Autumn at her brightest and gayest +before her new bright robes began to brown. Soft air, mellow sun, +cool-lipped breeze, horizon veiled in tinted mist--a gem of a day, the +jewel of a season. + +"Them as has, gets," murmured Mrs. Sykes, gloomily, as she tied on her +Sunday bonnet. She rather resented the kindness of nature upon this +present occasion. A nice rain would have suited her mood better. + +Nevertheless, much as her mind misgave her in regard to the wedding, she +was early on her way to the Elms to see if she could help. + +"They're sure to be flustrated," she told herself. "Aunt Amy's just as +likely as not to lose what little bit of head she has and hired help are +broken reeds. Esther will have the brunt of it. She'll be glad enough to +see me, I'll be bound." + +Do not imagine that Mrs. Sykes was curious. Curiosity was a failing +which she systematically repudiated. But she was a very helpful person +and it was wonderful how many opportunities of helpfulness she found +upon solemn or joyous occasions. If, while helping, her ears were open, +and her eyes shrewd, can she be blamed for that? There may be people +with ears who hear not but they do not live in Coombe. The only +difficulty is to manage to be, like Mr. Micawber, on the spot. + +Mrs. Sykes was early, but not too early. When she slipped in at the side +door there was already a stir of unusual movement in the house but the +final flutter was still measurably distant. Jane dashed past with +crimped hair and white ribbons flying. Miss Philps, very stately in a +new gown, was arranging flowers in geometrical patterns. Dr. Callandar, +self-possessed as ever, talked upon the veranda with Professor Willits +who had arrived the night before. Aunt Amy was busy in the kitchen. +Esther, flushed and excited, with eyes that flashed blue fire, seemed +everywhere at once. + +"Oh, Mrs. Sykes," she exclaimed, "how nice of you to come! Won't you +please get Jane and tie her up--her ribbons, I mean? It is almost time +to dress." + +"Would you like me to assist?" asked Miss Philps, looking up from a +geometrical pattern. + +"Oh, thanks, Miss Philps. There are some hooks I cannot manage. But +mother will probably need a lot of help. I thought you were with +her now." + +"No. She has not yet sent for me." Miss Philps drew out her watch and +consulted it. "Dear me!" with slight surprise, "it is much later than I +thought. Perhaps I had better go up." + +Esther looked worried. "I believe you had--if she hurries at the last +she will be terribly excited. Aunt Amy told me she wished particularly +not to be disturbed this morning, but surely she has forgotten how late +it is getting." + +"I'll go up," said Miss Philps. "It's time for her tonic anyway, and we +must persuade her to eat something. When you are ready for me to hook +your dress, call. I can easily manage you both." + +This is all that Mrs. Sykes heard, for just then Jane flew by again like +a returning comet and had to be captured and properly tied up. Mrs. +Sykes, as she admitted herself, was no hand at fancy fixings but she was +painstaking and conscientious and the bow-tying absorbed all her +energies. She was getting on very well and had almost succeeded in +adjusting the last bow when a cry from the room above startled her into +the tying of a double knot. + +"What was that?" + +It was not a loud cry--but there was something in it which brought Mrs. +Sykes' heart leaping into her throat, which sent Esther reeling against +the stair baluster, which brought the doctor, white-faced from the +veranda--it was the kind of cry which carries in its note the psychic +essence of terror and disaster. + +Mrs. Sykes for all her iron nerve felt suddenly faint. Jane began to +cry. The doctor and Esther had raced up the stairs. But there was no +repetition of the cry. Instead there was silence. Then a murmur of +voices and sounds of ordered activity overhead. + +Clearly something had happened. But what? Mrs. Sykes wanted very much to +go and see. But the glimpse she had caught of Callandar's eyes as he +sprang to the stair, the look of white horror in Esther's face as she +followed him, and above all, that strange terrifying Something in the +cry she had heard seemed to discourage enquiry. The good lady turned her +attention to the comforting of Jane. After all, if she waited long +enough she could hardly help hearing all about it. At first hand, too. + +It seemed a long time that she waited. Miss Philps came up and down the +stairs several times but she did not appear to see Mrs. Sykes. Jane +stopped crying and wandered out into the garden. Still Mrs. Sykes +waited and presently Aunt Amy came in, looking quite excited and asked +eagerly what time it was. Mrs. Sykes told her, adding with asperity that +these were fine goings-on, and that they'd all be late for the wedding +if they didn't hurry up. + +"Yes, I think they will. I'm almost sure they will," said Aunt Amy, and +she laughed as a child laughs when it is greatly pleased. + +"Dear me, she is much madder than I thought," murmured Mrs. Sykes. +"Whatever is the matter? What are they doing?" she asked in a +louder tone. + +Aunt Amy raised a finger, "Hush! she's asleep. Let us tidy up the room. +I don't think she is going to wake up for a long time yet. And then +she'll have to wait till the world goes round again." + +"Well of all the--" began Mrs. Sykes, but she was interrupted by the +entrance of Professor Willits. With the virtuous air of one who strictly +minds her own business she began to tie her bonnet strings. + +"Don't go, Mrs. Sykes," said the professor gravely. "I think--I'm afraid +you may be needed." + +"I hope nothing serious has happened?" faltered Mrs. Sykes, now +thoroughly disturbed, but he did not seem to hear her. He was listening +intently to the sounds overhead. They were very slight sounds now and +presently they ceased altogether. Willits looked more anxious. Then, in +the midst of a new, heavier silence, Dr. Callandar himself came down +the stairs. + +At first sight he appeared almost as usual. He did not notice Mrs. Sykes +but went straight across the room to Willits. + +"Nothing--any use--" he began haltingly. Then suddenly the words ceased +to come. His lips moved but there was no sound. With an expression of +intense surprise he lifted his hand to his head, and swayed awkwardly +into the nearest chair. + +"Land sakes, look out! he's going to fall," cried Mrs. Sykes in terror. + +"Breakdown," said the professor briefly. "I expected something of the +kind. Help me to get him to the car." + +"Oh, Land, Land," moaned; Mrs. Sykes, "whatever"--but realising that the +time for questioning was not yet, she did what she was told without +more words. + +"Better send for Dr. Parker," said Willits crisply to Miss Philps who +had come in quietly. "Better tell the minister, too. Keep the little +girl down stairs. I'll be back as soon as I can. Mrs. Sykes, I shall +want you to come with me." + +"Oh, Land--" but she got no further, the car was off like the wind. + +Later when the doctor had been put to bed like a child and telegrams +dispatched which would bring a specialist and a nurse on the afternoon +train, the good lady drew a long breath and decided that she couldn't +"last out" a moment longer. + +Drawing Willits from the room her questions burst forth in their +unstemmed torrent. + +The tall man listened at first in bewilderment. Then, as the true +inwardness of the case dawned on him, a look which was almost admiration +came over his angular countenance. + +"Why, Mrs. Sykes," he said, "is it possible that you do not know? I +would have told you before but I took your knowledge for granted. The +poor lady whom my friend was to marry was found dead in her bed. She +died during the night. An overdose of sleeping powder." + + + + +CHAPTER XXXVI + + +Autumn that year was short and golden. Winter came early. In November it +stormed, thawed, stormed again and began to freeze in earnest. The frost +bit deeply but one night when its grip was sure, the temperature rose a +little and snow began to fall. For days and nights it snowed, softly, +steadily, without wind, and then the clouds parted and the sun shone +out--a far off sun in a sky as blue as summer and cold as polar seas. +The air tingled and snapped with frost. In the azure cup of the sunlit +sky it sparkled like golden wine, and, like wine, it thrilled and +strengthened. People stamped their feet and beat their hands to keep +warm but smiled the while and murmured: "Glorious!" + +So much for the weather--since it was the weather which became the main +factor in helping Coombe forget the tragedy at the Elms. Wonder is no +nine-day affair in Coombe. One sensation is carefully conserved until +the next one comes along, but in this case the early winter with its +complete change of interests, its sleighing, skating and snow-shoeing, +its reawakening of business and social bustle proved a distraction +almost as effective as battle, murder or sudden death. The talk died +down, the interest slackened, and the principal actors were once more +permitted to become normal persons living in a normal world. + +For a time it had seemed that this desired condition would never be +obtained. Coombe had felt the breath of a mystery. It was supposed to +know everything and suspected that it knew nothing--a state of things +aggravating to any well regulated community. + +There had been an inquest, of course, and at the inquest the whole sad +affair was supposed to have been made plain. It was simplicity itself. +Simplicity, in fact, was its most annoying characteristic. Mrs. Coombe, +it appeared, had been for a long time somewhat of a sufferer from an +obscure trouble, referred to generally as "nerves." For the relief of +this trouble, one of whose symptoms was insomnia, she had, from time to +time, had recourse to narcotics which, as everyone knows, are dangerous, +if not, as many thought, positively immoral. Undoubtedly the poor lady +had died from an overdose. It was easy, the coroner said, for a +sympathetic mind to reconstruct the details of the terrible occurrence. +It was the night before the wedding and the deceased had retired early. +Miss Milligan, who had run in for a last look at the wedding gown, and +who had been the very last person to see and speak with her, deposed +that she had appeared more than ordinarily tired and seemed anxious to +be alone. Asked if she detected any other signs of disordered nerves the +witness had said, no. The deceased had not appeared worried about +anything? No. The wedding gown had been quite satisfactory? Quite. + +No more questions were asked and Miss Milligan had not thought it +necessary to go into the matter of the getting of the nerve tonic. The +dead woman's harmless little deception was safe in her hands. It hadn't +anything to do with the case anyway. Although in her own heart Miss +Milligan blamed Dr. Callandar severely for not allowing the poor woman +to use her tonic constantly. Had he done so the final tragedy might +never have happened. Needless to say this good lady never knew what she +had done. The fact that Mary Coombe had been a drug victim under +treatment did not come out at the inquest. The coroner knew, but he was +a sensible man and a very kind one. It hardly needed the logical +arguments of Miss Philps or the heart-broken entreaties of Esther to +convince him that knowledge of this fact was not for the general public. +The only legally necessary information was the cause of death and that +was simple enough. Easily understood, too, for given a tendency to +sleeplessness and the excitement incident to a wedding, what more +natural than that the excited bride should have sought relief in her +customary sleeping draught. + +The mistake, the taking of a lethal dose, was, as all such mistakes are, +inexplicable. Did her hand shake? Had she miscounted the number of +tablets? Had she, in her nervous state, deliberately risked a larger +dose whose danger she did not realise? These questions would never be +answered. She had been alone in her room, nor was there a thread of +evidence upon which to hang a theory. Esther, the nurse, Jane, Dr. +Callandar (poor man!) had noticed nothing out of the ordinary when they +had parted from her that last time. Aunt Amy's evidence was not taken. +No one thought to question her and she volunteered no information. Of +all the household at the Elms she was least disturbed by the tragedy, +but, naturally, one does not expect the mentally weak to realise sorrow +like ordinary people. This exemption was, as many did not fail to +remark, one of their compensations. So in this, as in other things, Aunt +Amy did not matter. She went her quiet way undisturbed, the one +contented and peaceful person in that house of shock and horror. + +Why, then, since all was so plain, did Coombe scent a mystery? It would +be hard to say. Perhaps the curious behaviour of Dr. Callandar was +partly responsible. When the news of his sudden breakdown became known +the first natural comment was, "So, you see, he did love her after all." +But, upon longer consideration this did not seem to meet the case. A man +may be genuinely in love with a woman and yet not be stricken, as had +the doctor, by her sudden death. Dimly, Coombe felt that there must be a +cause behind the cause. Miss Sinclair, the eldest, even went so far as +to quote Shakespeare to the effect that "men have died and the worms +have eaten them, but not for love." True, the doctor was not dead but +his illness was proving a very long and stubborn one. In its early +stages he had been taken away to Toronto for special treatment and had +been quite unable to see any one, even the minister, before he left. +Mrs. Sykes alone, with the exception of the trained nurses, had laid +eyes on him since his sudden collapse on the day of the wedding. And +Mrs. Sykes, miraculously, had nothing to say. + +It was rumoured, however, that his brain was affected, that he was +paralysed, that he was deaf and blind, that he was dying of slow +decline. Somehow the town felt that Mary Coombe, living or dead, did not +loom large enough as a cause of such disintegration. + +Esther's actions, too, were part of the puzzle. It had been confidently +supposed that she would go away at once for a rest and change. Every one +knew that the Hollises had offered to take her with them on a long trip +to the Pacific Coast. But Esther had declined to go. She declined to go +anywhere. Worn out as she was with strain and grief, she persisted in +disregarding the advice of everybody. ("So headstrong in a young girl! +But Doctor Coombe, her father, was always like that.") Apparently she +intended to go on exactly as if nothing had happened and to all +arguments said nothing save, "I think it will be best," or, "I am not +fit for strange scenes just now," or something equally futile. Coombe +was quite annoyed with Esther--so stubborn! + +Only to Miss Annabel did the girl attempt to justify her attitude when +that kind soul had exhausted persuasion and was inclined to feel both +worried and hurt. + +"Don't you see," she explained haltingly, "I can't go away. I don't want +to. I can't make the effort. Here every one understands and will make +allowances. I want to be quiet, to rest, to think. I want to get back to +where I was before--if I can." + +"Before what, my dear?" + +"Before--everything! I can't explain. But I know it is the only way I +shall ever be content. I want to take my school again and to go on +working and looking after Jane and Aunt Amy. Although," with a little +smile, "it is really Auntie who looks after Jane and me. Won't you help +me, dear Miss Annabel? I am quite sure that this is the only thing +to do." + +"You are a strange girl, Esther. One would think you would be crazy to +get away. Look at Angus! He's going. He has suddenly found out that a +trip to the Holy Land is necessary if one is to speak intelligently upon +many portions of the Bible. Absurd! But I never let him dream that I +know that isn't his reason. And I hope you won't. It is all over now and +the sooner he forgets the better. But I think even you are convinced, +now, that I was right about--you know to what I refer!" + +Esther murmured something indistinguishable and Miss Annabel departed +much pleased with her own perspicacity. And she did help. She let it be +known at the Ladies' Aid that she quite understood Esther and approved +of her. After all, it was senseless to run away from trouble since +trouble can run so much faster. And it was natural and right of Esther +to feel that nowhere could she find so much sympathy and consideration +as in her own town. Travelling was fatiguing anyway. + +As for the school, that was easily arranged. A little discreet wire +pulling and Esther was once more established as school mistress of +District Number Fifteen. People shook their heads, but by the time of +the first snowstorm they had ceased to prophesy nervous prostration, and +by the time sleighing was fairly established they were ready to admit +that the girl had acted sensibly after all. + +No one guessed that there was another reason for Esther's refusal to go +away. It was a simple reason and had to do with the fact that in Coombe +the mails were sure and regular. Travellers miss letters and strange +addresses are uncertain at best, but in Coombe there was small chance of +any untoward accident befalling a certain weekly letter in the +handwriting of Professor Willits. Esther lived upon these letters. Brief +and dry though they were, they formed the motive power of her life and +indeed it was from one of them that she had received the impetus which +roused her from her first trance of grief and horror. + +"My dear young lady (Willits had written). + +"I believe that there are times when the truth is a good thing. It might +be tactful to pretend that I do not know the real reason of Calendar's +collapse but it would also be foolish. I think he is going to pull +through. Now the question is--how about you? Are you going to be able to +do your part? + +"Let me be more explicit. It may be a long time before our friend is +thoroughly re-established in health but it is quite probable that he +will be well enough, and determined enough, to face some of his problems +in the spring. He will turn to you. Are you going to be able to help +him? When he comes to you will he find a silly, nervous girl, all +horrors and regrets and useless might-have-beens or will he find you +strong and sane, healthily poised, ready to face the future and let the +dead past go? For the past is dead--believe me! + +"You have seemed to me to be an excellently normal young person, but no +doubt the shock and trouble of late events have done much to disturb +your normality. Can you get it back? On the answer to that, depends +Callandar's future. I shall keep you informed, weekly, of his progress." + +Esther had thought deeply over this letter. Its brief, stern truth was +exactly the tonic she needed. Like a strong hand it reached down into +her direful pit of morbid musings, and, clinging to it, she struggled +back into the sunlight. Above all and in spite of everything, she must +not fail the man she loved! + +At first she had to fight with terrors. She feared she knew not what. +The vision of Mary upon the bed, still and ghastly in the golden light +of morning, came back to shake her heart. The memory of Callandar's +face, of the frantic struggle to drag the dead woman back to life, made +many a night hideous. The endless questioning, Could it have been +prevented? Could I have done more? tortured her, but by and by, as she +faced them bravely, these terrors lost their baleful power. Her youth +and common-sense triumphed. + +The school helped. One cannot continue very morbid with a roomful of +happy, noisy children to teach and keep in order. Jane's need of her +helped, for she, dared not give way to brooding when the child was +near. Aunt Amy helped--perhaps most of all. She was a constant wonder +to the girl, so cheerful was she, so thoughtful of others, so forgetful +of herself. Her little fancies seemed to have ceased to fret her, there +was a new peace in her faded eyes. Sometimes as she went about the house +she would sing a little, in a high thready voice, bits from songs that +were popular in her youth. "The Blue Alsatian Mountains" or "When You +and I Were Young, Maggie" or "Darling Nellie Grey." She told Esther that +it was because she felt "safe." "The blackness hardly ever comes now," +she said. "I don't think 'They' will bother me any more." + +"Why?" asked Esther, curious. + +But Aunt Amy did not seem to know why--or if she knew she never told. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXVII + + +A robin hopped upon the window sill of School-house Number Fifteen and +peered cautiously into the room. He had no business there during lesson +hours and the arrival of Mary's little lamb could not have been more +disturbing. The children whispered, fidgeted, shuffled their feet and +banged their slates. + +"Perhaps they do not know it is spring," thought the robin and ruffling +his red breast and swelling his throat he began to tell them. + +"It is spring! It is spring! It is spring!" + +The effect was electrical. Even the tall young teacher turned from her +rows of figures on the blackboard. + +"Come out! come out! come out!" sang the robin. + +The teacher tapped sharply for order and the robin flew away. But the +mischief was done. It was useless to tell them, "Only ten minutes more." +Ten minutes--as well say ten years. The little fat boy in the front seat +began to cry. A long sigh passed over the room. Ten minutes? The teacher +consulted her watch, hesitated, and was lost. + +"Close books," she ordered. "Attention. Ready--March." The jostling +lines scrambled in some kind of order to the door and then broke into +joyous riot. It was spring--and school was out! + +Their teacher followed more slowly, pausing on the steps to breathe +long and deeply the sweet spring air. In a corner by the steps there was +still a tiny heap of shrinking snow, but in the open, the grass was +green as emerald, violets and wind flowers pushed through the tangle of +last year's leaves. The trees seemed shrouded in a fairy mist of green. +Robins were everywhere. + +The girl upon the steps was herself a vision of spring--the embodiment +of youth and beautiful life. Coombe folks admitted that Esther Coombe +had "got back her looks." Had they been less cautious they might have +said much more, for the subtle change which had come to Esther, the +change which marks the birth of womanhood, had left her infinitely +more lovely. + +From the pocket of the light coat she wore she brought forth a handful +of crumbs and scattered them for the saucy robins and then, unwilling to +hasten, sat down upon the steps to watch their cheerful wrangling. +Peeling for more crumbs she drew out a letter--a single sheet covered +with the crabbed handwriting of Professor Willits. At sight of it a soft +flush stole over her face. She forgot the crumbs and the robins for, +although her letter was two days old and she knew exactly what it +contained, the very sight of the written words was joy to her. Like all +Willits' notes it was short and to the point. + +"Our friend has gone," she read. "We wanted to keep him for a month yet, +but the robins called too loudly. He left no word of his destination, +only a strange note saying that at last he was up the hill and over. May +he find happiness, dear lady, on the other side." + +One thing I notice--this recovery of his is different from his former +recovery. If I were not afraid of lapsing into sentiment, I should say +that he has achieved a soul cure. The morbid spot which troubled him so +long is healed. A psychologist might explain it, but you and I must +accept the result and be thankful. It is as if his subconscious self +had removed a barrier and signalled 'Line clear--go ahead.' It is more +than I had ever dared to hope. + + Your friend, + E.P. Willits. + +"P.S.: Are you ready?" + +Esther looked at the postscript and smiled--that slow smile which lifted +the corner of her lips so deliciously. + +"May we wait for you, Teacher?" + +"Not to-day, dears." + +The children moved regretfully away. Presently the school yard was +deserted. The busy robins had finished quarrelling over their crumbs and +were holding a caucus around the red pump. In the quietness could be +heard the gurgle of the spring rivulets on the hill. + +Was there another sound on the hill, too? A far off whistling mingled +with the gurgling water and twittering birds? Esther's hand tightened +upon the letter--she leaned forward, listening intently. How loud the +birds were! How confusing the sound of water! But now she caught the +whistling again-- + + "_From Wimbleton to Wombleton is fifteen miles_"-- + +The familiar words formed themselves upon the girl's lips before the +message of the tune reached her brain and brought her, breathless, to +her feet. He was coming--so soon! + +Panic seized her. Her hand flew to her heart--she would hide in the +school-room, anywhere! Then she remembered Willits' postscript, the +postscript which she had thought so needless. Her hand fell to her side. +The panic died. Next moment, head high and eyes smiling, she walked down +to the gate. + +He was coming along the road under the budding elms--hatless, carrying a +knapsack. His tweeds were splashed with mud from the spring roads, his +face was thin, his hair was almost grey. Yet he came on like a conqueror +and there was nothing old or tired in the bound wherewith he leaped the +gate he would not pause to open. + +"Esther!" + +She looked up into his eyes and found them shadowless. Her own eyes +veiled themselves, + +Neither found anything to say. + +But overhead a robin burst into heavenly song. + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 10438 *** diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..9997f2c --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #10438 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/10438) diff --git a/old/10438-8.txt b/old/10438-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..1a4784d --- /dev/null +++ b/old/10438-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,12045 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook, Up the Hill and Over, by Isabel Ecclestone +Mackay + + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + + + + + + + +Title: Up the Hill and Over + +Author: Isabel Ecclestone Mackay + +Release Date: December 12, 2003 [eBook #10438] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK UP THE HILL AND OVER*** + + +E-text prepared by Brendan Lane, Charlie Kirschner, and the Prooject +Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team + + + +UP THE HILL + +AND OVER + +BY + +ISABEL ECCLESTONE MACKAY +Author of "The House of Windows," etc. + + + + + + + _The road runs back and the road runs on, + But the air has a scent of clover_. + _And another day brings another dawn, + When we're up the hill and over_. + + + +TO MY MOTHER + +WHO MIGHT HAVE LIKED THIS BOOK HAD SHE LIVED TO READ IT + + + + + +CHAPTER I + + + "From Wimbleton to Wombleton is fifteen miles, + From Wombleton to Wimbleton is fifteen miles, + From Wombleton to Wimbleton, + From Wimbleton to Wombleton, + From Wombleton--to Wimbleton--is fif--teen miles!" + +The cheery singing ended abruptly with the collapse of the singer upon a +particularly inviting slope of grass. He was very dusty. He was very +hot. The way from Wimbleton to Wombleton seemed suddenly extraordinarily +long and tiresome. The slope was green and cool. Just below it slept a +cool, green pool, deep, delicious--a swimming pool such as dreams +are made of. + +If there were no one about--but there was some one about. Further down +the slope, and stretched at full length upon it, lay a small boy. Near +the small boy lay a packet of school books. + +The wayfarer's lips relaxed in an appreciative smile. + +"Little boy," he called, somewhat hoarsely on account of the dust in his +throat, "little boy, can you tell me how far it is from here to +Wimbleton?" + +Apparently the little boy was deaf. + +The questioner raised his voice, "or if you can oblige me with the exact +distance to Wombleton," he went on earnestly, "that will do quite +as well." + +No answer, civil or otherwise, from the youth by the pool. Only a +convulsive wiggle intended to cover the undefended position of the +school books. + +The traveller's smile broadened but he made no further effort toward +sociability. Neither did he go away. To the dismayed eyes, watching +through the cover of some long grass, he was clearly a person devoid of +all fine feeling. Or perhaps he had never been taught not to stay where +he wasn't wanted. Mebby he didn't even know that he _wasn't_ wanted. + +In order to remove all doubt as to the latter point, the small boy's +head shot up suddenly out of the covering grass. + +"What d'ye want?" he asked forbiddingly. + +"Little boy," said the stranger, "I thank you. I want for nothing." + +The head collapsed, but quickly came up again. + +"Ain't yeh goin' anywhere?" asked a despairing voice. + +"I was going, little boy, but I have stopped." + +This was so true that the small boy sat up and scowled. + +"I judge," went on the other, "that I am now midway between Arden, +otherwise, Wimbleton, and Arcady, sometime known as Wombleton. The +question is, which way and how? A simple sum in arithmetic will--little +boy, do not frown like that! The wind may change. Smile nicely, and I'll +tell you something." + +Urged by necessity, the badgered one attempted to look pleasant. + +"That's better! Now, my cheerful child, what I really want to know is +'how many miles to Babylon?'" + +A reluctant grin showed that the small boy's early education had not +been utterly neglected. "Aw, what yeh givin' us?" he protested +sheepishly, "if it's Coombe you're lookin' for, it's 'bout a mile and a +half down the next holler." + +"Holler?" the stranger's tone was faintly questioning. "Oh, I see. You +mean 'hollow,' which being interpreted means 'valley,' which means, I +fear, another hill. Little boy, do you want to carry a knapsack?" + +"Nope." + +"No? Strange that nobody seems to want to carry a knapsack. I least of +all. Well," lifting the object with disfavour, "good-day to you. I +perceive that you grow impatient for those aquatic pleasures for which +you have temporarily abjured the more severe delights of scholarship. +Little boy, I wish you a very good swim." + +"Gee," muttered the small boy, "gee, ain't he the word-slinger!" + +He returned to the pool but something of its charm was dissipated. Vague +thoughts of school inspectors and retribution troubled its waters. Not +that he was at all afraid of school inspectors, or that he really +suspected the stranger of being one. Still, discretion is a wise thing +and word-slinging is undoubtedly a form of art much used in high +scholastic circles. Also there had been a remark about a simple sum in +arithmetic which was, to say the least, disquieting. With a bursting +sigh, the small sinner scrambled to his feet, reached for the hated +books, and disappeared rapidly in the direction of the halls of +learning. + +Meanwhile the stranger, unconscious of the moral awakening behind him, +plodded wearily up the steep and sunny hill. As he is our hero we shall +not describe him. There is no hurry, and there will be other occasions +upon which he will appear to better advantage. At present let us be +content with knowing that there was no reason for the hat and suit he +wore save a mistaken idea of artistic suitability. "If I am going to be +a tramp," he had said, "I want to look like a tramp." He didn't, but his +hat and coat did. + +He felt like a tramp, though, if to feel like a tramp is to feel hot and +sticky and hungry. Perhaps real tramps do not feel like this. Perhaps +they enjoy walking. At any rate they do not carry knapsacks, but betray +a touching faith in Providence in the matter of clean linen and +tooth brushes. + +Before the top of the hill was reached, Dr. Callandar wished devoutly +that in this last respect he had behaved like the real thing. In setting +out to lead the simple life the ultimate is to be recommended--and +knapsacks are not the ultimate. They are heavy things with the property +of growing heavier, and prove of little use save to sit upon in damp +places. The doctor's feelings in regard to his were intensified by an +utter lack of dampness anywhere. The top of the hill was a sun-crowned +eminence, blazingly, blisteringly, suffocatingly hot. The valley, spread +out beneath him, was soaked in sunshine, a haze of heat quivered visibly +above the roofs of the pretty town it cradled. There was a river and +there were woods, but the trees hung motionless, and the river wound +like a snake of brass among them. + +The doctor regarded both the knapsack and the prospect resentfully. He +had hoped for a breeze upon the hill-top, and there was no breeze. +Raising his hand to remove his hat, he noticed that the hand was +trembling, and swore softly. The hand continued to tremble, and holding +it out before him he watched it, interestedly, until a powerful will +brought the quivering nerves into subjection. + +"Jove!" he muttered. "Not a moment too soon--this holiday!" + +Then, hat in hand, he started down the hill. + +It was a long hill, very long, much longer than it had any need or right +to be. It had a twist in its nature which would not allow it to run +straight. It meandered; it hesitated; it never knew its own mind, but +twisted and turned and thought better of it a dozen times in half a +mile. It was a hill with short cuts favourably known to small boys and +to tramps with a distaste for highways; but this tramp, not being a real +one, knew none of them, and was compelled to do exactly as the hill did. +The result was, that when at last it slipped into the cool shade of a +row of beeches at its base, its victim was as exhausted as itself. + +He was thirsty, too, and, worse still, he knew from a certain dizzy +blindness that one of his bad headaches was coming on--and there still +lay another mile between him and the town. Pressing his hand against his +eyes to restore for the moment their normal clearness of vision, he saw, +a short way down the road, a gate; and through the gate and behind some +trees, the white gleam of a building. But better than all, he saw, +between the gate and the building, a red pump! Then the blindness and +pain descended again, and he stumbled on more by faith than by sight; +blundering through the half-open gate, his precarious course directed +wholly by the pump's exceeding redness, which shone like a beacon +fire ahead. + +Fortunately, it was a real pump with real water and a sucker in good +standing, warranted to need no priming. At the stroke of the red handle +the good, cool water gurgled and arose with a delightful "plop!" It +splashed from the spout freely upon the face and hands of the victim of +the long hill--delicious, life-giving! The delight it brought seemed +compensation almost for heat and pain and weariness. Callandar felt that +if he could only let its sweetness stream indefinitely over his closed +eyes it would wash away the blindness and the ache. Perhaps-- + +"I am afraid I cannot allow you to use this pump!" said a crisp voice +primly. "This is not," with capital letters, "a Public Pump!" + +Callandar wiped the surplus water from his face and looked up. There, +beside him in the yellow haze of his semi-blindness, stood the owner of +the voice. She appeared to be clothed in white, tall and commanding. +Surrounded by the luminous mist, her appearance was not unlike that of a +cool and capable avenging angel. + +"This pump," went on the angel with nice precision, "is not for the use +of pedestrians." + +"Ah!" said the pedestrian. + +"If you will continue down the road," the voice went on, "you will find, +when you reach the town, a public pump. You may use that." + +The pedestrian, feeling dizzier than ever, sat down upon the pump +platform. It was wet and cool. + +"The objection to that," he said wisely, "is simple. I cannot continue +down the road." + +"I should like you to go at once," patiently. "There is a pump--" + +The pedestrian raised a deprecating hand. + +"Let us admit the pump! Doubtless the pump is there, but there is a pump +here also, and a pump in the hand is worth two pumps, an ice-box and a +John Collins in town. You doubtless know the situation created by +Mahomet and the mountain? This is the same, with a difference. In this +case the pump will not come to me and I cannot go to the pump. Therefore +we both remain _in statu quo_. Do I make myself plain?" + +Apparently he did, for there was no answer. Logic, he concluded, had +achieved its usual triumph. The avenging angel had withdrawn. Blissfully +he stooped again, closing his eyes to the cool drip of the water, but +scarcely had they felt its chill relief when a sharp bark caused them to +fly open with disconcerting suddenness--the avenging angel had returned, +and with her was an avenging dog! Seen through the mist, the dog +appeared to be a bull pup of ferocious aspect. + +"I am sorry," the cool voice had no ruth in it, "but it is my duty not +to allow tramps upon these grounds. If you will not go, I must ask +the dog--" + +"ASK the dog!" In spite of his aching head the tramp (now no longer +pedestrian) laughed weakly. + +"Oh, please don't ask him!" he entreated. "He looks too awfully willing! +Besides, I begin to perceive that my presence is not desired. Naturally +I scorn to remain." + +Very slowly he raised himself from the damp pump platform by means of +the red pump-handle. In this manner he achieved an upright position +without much difficulty and all might have gone well had he behaved like +a proper tramp. But forgetting himself, under the tyranny of training +and instinct, he attempted, in deference to the sex of the angel, to +raise his hat (which was not on his head anyway). In so doing he +released the red pump-handle, lost his balance, struggled wildly to +regain it, and then collapsed with a terrible sense of failure and +ignominy, right into the open jaws, as it were, of the avenging dog! + + + + +CHAPTER II + + +He had a fancy that something cool and kind was licking his hand.... + +It felt like the tongue of a friendly dog. He seemed to have been +dreaming about dogs. Something soft and cold lay on his head. It felt +like a wet handkerchief ... the pain had dulled to a slow throbbing ... +if he opened his eyes he would know who licked his hand and what it was +that lay upon his head ... on the other hand, opening his eyes might +bring back the pain. It seemed hardly worth the risk ... still, he would +very much like to know-- + +Without being able to decide the question, he fell asleep. + +When he awoke, his head was clear and the pain was gone. He felt no +longer unbearably tired, but only comfortably weary, deliciously drowsy. +Had he been at home in his own bed he would have turned over and gone +cheerfully to sleep again. As it was, he opened his eyes with a zestful +sense of curiosity. + +He was lying, very easily, upon soft grass. Above him spread the thick +greenery of a giant maple; his head rested upon a cushion and close +beside him, with comforting nose thrust into his open palm, lay a +ferocious-looking bull pup. The pup grinned with delight at his +tentative pat; barked fiercely, and then grinned again as if to say, +"Don't mind me, it's only my fun!" + +There was a noise somewhere, a loud, cheerful noise--the noise of +children playing. Not one child, nor two, but children--lots of them! +This was perplexing; and another perplexing thing was the nearness of a +white stoop which led up to the door of a white building; neither stoop +nor building had he ever seen before. Again the dog barked, loudly, and +as if in answer to the bark, the door above the stoop opened and a young +girl came out. She cast a casual glance at him as he lay under the tree, +and, settling herself daintily upon the white steps, opened a small +basket and took from it a serviceable square of white damask and a +lettuce sandwich. He could see the lettuce, crisp and green, peeping out +at the edges. + +At the sight, he was conscious of a strange sensation; an almost +forgotten feeling to which, for the moment, he could put no name. + +And then, as the girl bit into the sandwich, illumination came. He was +_hungry_! But what an unkind, inconsiderate girl!--Another bite and the +sandwich would be gone-- + +"I am awake," he suggested meekly. + +"So Buster said." The girl smiled approvingly at the dog. "Good Buster! +You may come off guard, sir. Run away and get your lunch." + +With a delighted bark for thanks the bull pup trotted away. Callandar's +sense of injury deepened. The girl had begun upon a second sandwich. +Perhaps there were only two! + +"Are you hungry, Mr. Tramp?" asked the girl innocently. + +"I think," he said, pausing in order to give his words full weight, "I +am starving!" Then, as the blissful meaning of this first feeling of +healthy hunger dawned upon him, he added solemnly: "Thank the Lord!" + +"Yes?" There was a cool edge of surprise in the girl's voice. She +proceeded thoughtfully with the second sandwich. + +"Yes. Hunger is a beautiful thing, a priceless possession. Money cannot +buy it, skill cannot command it. The price of hunger is far +above rubies." + +The girl looked down upon him and smiled. It was such a dear little +smile that for a moment its recipient forgot about the disappearing +sandwich. + +"I am so glad," she said warmly, "that you feel like that!" + +There was a slight pause. "Because," she went on, finishing the last +bite of the second sandwich, "until now I had always thought that hunger +wasn't a bit nice. Unless, of course, one has the power to gratify it." + +"Fortunately," said Callandar a little stiffly, "I have that power." + +The girl raised her eyebrows. They were long and straight and black, and +she raised them charmingly. But she was a most unkind and heartless +girl, for all that. Never while he lived would he ask her for a +sandwich. With a comfortable feeling of security his hand felt for his +well-filled pocketbook. It was gone! + +"By Jove!" + +Stronger ejaculation seemed forbidden by the Presence on the steps. He +tapped all his pockets carefully. The pocketbook was in none of +them--and he had used the last cent of loose change for a glass of milk +for breakfast. + +"I suppose," the girl had apparently not noticed his sudden +discomfiture, "that you mean you have money? But the nearest place where +money would be of use is Coombe, and Coombe is a full mile away. It is +a pity that my principles, and the principles of the school-board, +should be all against the feeding of tramps. Otherwise I might offer you +a sandwich." + +"You might," bitterly, "but I doubt it!" + +"Even now, putting the school-board aside, I might offer you one if you +were to ask prettily and to apologise to me for making rather a fool of +me this morning over there by the pump!" + +The pump! Why, of course, the pump! It all came back to him now--the +pump, the avenging angel! (Had this been the avenging angel?) The +avenging dog!--Oh, heaven, was _that_ the avenging dog? + +He burst into a boyish shout of laughter. + +"There are only two sandwiches left," she warned him. The doctor stopped +laughing. + +"Oh, please!" he said. + +There was something very pleasant about him when he used that tone; a +persuasive charm, a trace of command. The girl liked it--and passed +a sandwich. + +"Anyway it was you who took for granted that I was a tramp," he smiled +at her. "If I remember rightly I was hardly in a condition to contradict +you. Not but that it was a natural conclusion. I am curious to know why +you changed your mind." + +"Oh! as soon as you fainted I knew. Tramps don't faint!" + +"Not ever?" + +"Well--hardly ever! And besides--look at your hands!" + +The doctor looked, and blushed. + +"Dirty?" he ventured. + +"Not half dirty enough! And it wasn't only your hands. I noticed--oh! +lots of things!" For no perceptible reason a tiny blush fluttered +across the whiteness of her face like a roseleaf chased by the wind. The +pleasure of watching it made the doctor forget to answer, and the +girl went on: + +"I know lots more about you than that you aren't a tramp. I know what +you are. You are a doctor!" triumphantly. + +"A Daniel come to judgment!" + +"Yes, a Daniel! Only I wouldn't have been quite so sure if you hadn't +dropped this out of your pocket." With a gleeful laugh she held up a +clinical thermometer. + +The doctor laughed also. "Men have been hanged on less evidence than +that," he admitted. "All the same I don't know where it came from. Some +one must have judged me capable of wanting to take my own temperature. +Anything else?" + +"Only general deductions. You are a doctor, you are going to +Coombe--deduction, you are the doctor who is going to buy out Dr. +Simmonds's practice." + +Callandar scrambled up from his pillow with a look of delighted surprise +on his face. + +"Why--so I am!" he exclaimed. + +"You say that as if you had just found it out." + +"Well, er--you see I had forgotten it--temporarily. My head, you know." + +The suspicion in the girl's eyes melted into sympathy. "I suppose you +know," she said with quite a motherly air, "that old Doc. Simmonds +hasn't really any practice to sell?" + +"No? That's bad. Hasn't he even a little one? You see" (the sympathy had +been so pleasant that he felt he could do with a little more of it), "I +could hardly manage a big one just now. As you may have noticed, my +health is rather rocky. Got to lay up and all that--so it's just as +well that old Simpkins' practice is on the ragged edge." + +"The name is Simmonds, not Simpkins," coldly. + +"Well, I didn't buy the name with the practice. My own name is +Callandar. Much nicer, don't you think?" + +"I don't know. A well-known name is rather a handicap." + +This time the doctor was genuinely surprised. + +"A handicap? What do you mean?" + +"People will be sure to compare you with your famous namesake, Dr. +Callandar, of Montreal. Everyone you meet," with a mischievous smile, +"will say, 'Callandar--ah! no relation to Dr. Henry Callandar of +Montreal, I suppose?' And then they will look sympathetic and you will +want to slap them." + +"Dear me! I never thought of that! I had no idea that the Montreal man +would be known up here. In the cities, perhaps, but not here." + +The girl raised her straight black brows in a way which expressed +displeasure at his slighting tone. + +"You are mistaken," she said briefly. "I must go now. It is time to ring +the bell. The children are running wild." + +For the first time the doctor began to take an intelligent interest in +his surroundings, and saw that the tree, the white stoop and the small +white building were situated in a little, quiet oasis separated by a low +fence from the desert of a large yard containing the red pump. On the +other side of the fence was pandemonium! + +"Why, it's a school!" he exclaimed. + +The school-mistress arose, daintily flicking the crumbs from her white +piqué skirt. + +"District No. 15. The largest attendance of any in the county. I really +must ring the bell." She flicked another invisible crumb. "I hope," she +added slowly, "that I haven't discouraged you." + +"Oh, no! not at all. Quite the contrary. It seems unfortunate about the +name, but perhaps I can live it down. It isn't as if I were just out of +college, you know.--In fact," as if the thought had just come to him, +"do I not seem to you to be a little old for--to be making a +fresh start?" + +The girl's eyes looked at him very kindly. It was quite evident that she +thought she understood the situation perfectly. "I shouldn't worry about +that, if I were you," she said. "Young doctors are often no use at all. +A great many people _prefer_ doctors to be older! I know, you see, for +my father was a doctor. He was Dr. Coombe; for many years he was the +only doctor here, the only doctor that counted," with a pretty air of +pride. "The town was named after his father-I am Esther Coombe." + +The doctor acknowledged the introduction with a bow and a quick smile of +gratitude. + +"You are really very kind, Miss Coombe," he said. "If--if I should take +Dr. Spifkin's practice, I hope I may see you sometimes. It is not far +from here, is it, to the town--pump?" + +Esther laughed. "No, but I do not live out here. I only teach here. We +live in town, or almost in. You will pass the house on the way to the +hotel. But before you go--" with a gleeful smile she handed him his lost +pocketbook--"this fell out of your coat when I pull--helped you under +the tree. I should have given it to you before, but I wanted you to +understand just how far the blessing of hunger depends upon one's power +to gratify it." + +They laughed together with a splendid sense of comradeship; then with a +startled "I really must ring the bell!" she turned and ran up the steps. + +Smilingly he watched her disappear, waiting musingly until a sudden +furious ringing told him that school was called. + + + + +CHAPTER III + + +Two sandwiches, an apple, and a glass of water may save a man from +starvation, but they do not go far towards satisfying the reviving +appetite of a convalescent. Walking with brisk step down the road, +Callandar began to imagine the kind of meal he would order--a clear +soup, broiled steak, crisp potatoes--a few little simple things like +that! He fingered his pocketbook lovingly, glad that, for the first time +in some months, he actually wanted something that money could buy. + +Now that noon was past, the intense heat of the morning was tempered by +a breeze. It was still hot and his footsteps raised little cyclones of +dust which flew along the road before him, but the oppression in the air +was gone, and walking had ceased to be a weariness. The mile which +separated him from Coombe appeared no longer endless, yet so insistent +were the demands of his inner man that when a town-going farmer hailed +him with the usual offer of a "lift," he accepted the invitation +with alacrity. + +"Better," he murmured to himself, "the delights of rustic conversation +with a good meal at the end thereof than lordly solitude and +emptiness withal." + +But contrary to expectation the rustic declined to converse. He was a +melancholy-looking man with a long jaw and eyes so deep-set that the +observer took them on faith, and a nose which alone would have been +sufficient to identify him. Beyond the first request to "step up," he +vouchsafed no word and, save for an inarticulate gurgle to his horse, +seemed lost in an ageless calm. His gaze was fixed upon some indefinite +portion of the horse's back and he drove leaning forward in an attitude +of complete bodily and mental relaxation. If his guest wished +conversation it was apparent that he must set it going himself. + +"Very warm day!" said Callandar tentatively. + +"So-so." The farmer slapped the reins over the horse's flank, jerked +them abruptly and murmured a hoarse "Giddap!" It was his method of +encouraging the onward motion of the animal. + +"Is it always as warm as this hereabouts?" + +"No. Sometimes we get it a little cooler 'bout Christmas." + +The doctor flushed with annoyance and then laughed. + +"You see," he explained, "I'm new to this part of the country. But I +always thought you had it cooler up here." + +The manner of the rustic grew more genial. + +"Mostly we do," he admitted; "but this here is a hot spell." Another +long pause and then he volunteered suddenly: "You can mostly tell by +Alviry. When she gets a sunstroke it's purty hot. I'm going for the +doctor now." + +"Going for the doctor?" Callandar's gaze swept the peaceful figure with +incredulous amusement. "Great Scott, man! Why don't you hurry? Can't the +horse go any faster?" + +"Maybe," resignedly, "but he won't." + +"Make him, then! A sunstroke may be a very serious business. Your wife +may be dead before you get back." + +The deep-set eyes turned to him slowly. There seemed something like a +distant sparkle in their depths. + +"Don't get to worrying, stranger. It'll take more 'an a sunstroke to +polish off Alviry." + +"Was she unconscious?" + +"Not so as you could notice." + +"But if it were a sunstroke--look here, I'll go with you myself. I am a +doctor." + +"Kind of thought you might be," he responded genially. "Thinking of +taking on old Doc. Simmonds's practice?" + +"I don't know. But if your wife--" + +The rustic shook his head. "No. You wouldn't do for Alviry. She said to +get Doc. Parker, and a sunstroke ain't going to change her none. But if +she likes your looks she'll probably try you next time. Tumble fond of +experiments is Alviry--hi! giddap!" He slapped his horse more forcibly +with the loose reins and settled into, mournful silence. + +"Going to put up at the Imperial?" he asked after a long and peaceful +pause. + +"I want to put up somewhere where I can get a good meal and get it +quickly." + +The mournful Jehu shook his head gloomily. + +"You won't get that at the Imperial." + +"Where had I better go?" + +"There ain't any other place to go--not to speak of." + +The doctor let fall a fiery exclamation. + +"What say?" + +"I said that it must be a queer town." + +"I'm a little hard of hearing, now and agin. But I gather you're not a +church-going man. It's a great church-going place, is Coombe. Old Doc. +Simmonds was a Methody. We were kind of hoping the next one might be a +change. There's two churches of Presbyterians and they're tumble folk +for hanging together." + +The doctor laughed. "Thanks for the tip. I'll remember. Coombe is +considered a healthy place, isn't it?" + +"Danged healthy." + +The commiseration in the other's tone lent to the simple question such +an obvious meaning that the doctor hardly knew whether to be amused +or annoyed. + +"Heavens, man! I'm not an undertaker. I asked because I'm rather rocky +myself. That is, partly, why I'm here." + +The mournful one nodded. "Good a reason as any," he assented sadly. + +"By the way--er--there used to be a Dr. Coombe here, didn't there? +Didn't he live somewhere hereabouts?" + +The sad one turned his meditative eyes from their focus upon the horse's +back and rested them upon the open and guileleas face by his side. Then +from deep down in his brawny throat came a sudden sound. It was +unmistakably a chuckle. Without the slightest trace of an accompanying +smile, the sound was startling. + +"What's the matter?" asked the doctor irritably. + +"Nothing. Only when anybody's seen Esther, they always start asking +about old Doc. Coombe. It gives them a kind of opening. Yes, that's the +old Coombe place--over there. The one with the fir trees and the big elm +by the gate." + +"A pleasant house," said Callandar in a detached voice. + +"So-so. The old Doc. uster putter around considerable. But they say his +widow isn't doing much to keep it up. Tumble flighty woman, so they say. +Young, you know, just about young enough to be the old Doc.'s +daughter--" + +"But--" + +"Oh! Esther ain't her child. Esther's ma died when she was a baby. There +is a child, though, Jane they call her, a pindling little thing. But +p'r'aps you've met Jane too?" + +"I did not say--" + +"No, but I thought likely if you'd met one, you'd have met the other. +Jane's nearly always hanging around Esther 'cept in school hours. Awful +fond of Esther she is. Folks say that Esther's more of a mother to Jane +than her own ma. But I dunno. Alviry says it's a shame the way Esther's +put upon; all the cares of the house when she had ought to be playing +with her dolls. Stepmother with 'bout as much sense as a fly. Old Aunt +Amy, nice sort of soul but--" he touched his head significantly and +heaved the heaviest sigh yet. + +"Do you mean to say that there is an aunt who isn't quite sane?" asked +Callandar, surprised. + +"_I_ don't say so. Some folks does. Alviry says she's a whole lot wiser +than some of the rest of us." + +From the tone of this remark it was evident that Alviry's observation +had been intended personally. Callandar choked back a laugh. + +"What say?" asked the other suspiciously. + +"I said, rather hard luck for a young girl." + +The mournful one nodded and relapsed into melancholy. The doctor +turned his attention to the house which a flicker of the whip had +pointed out. It was long and low, with wide verandas and a somewhat +neglected-looking lawn. At one side an avenue of lilacs curved, and on +the other stood a stiff line of fir trees. The front of the house was +well shaded by maples and near the gate stood a giant elm-tree, around +the trunk of which ran a circular seat. It all looked cool, green and +inviting. As the old horse walked sedately past, a woman's figure came +out of one of the long windows and flung itself lightly, yet, even at +that distance, with a certain suggestion of impatience, into one of the +veranda chairs. + +"That'll be Mrs. Coombe now," volunteered his informant. "Tumble saucy +way she has of flinging herself around--jes' like a young girl! Mebby +you can see what sort of dress she's got on. Alviry'll be int'rested +to know." + +"It's too far off," said Callandar, amused. "All I can see is that the +lady is wearing something white." + +"Went out of weeds right on the dot, she did! It's not much over a year +since the old Doc. died. Esther's still wearing some of her black, but +jes' to wear them out, not as symbols. Mrs. Coombe's got a whole new +outfit, Alviry says. Turrible extravagant! Folks says it takes Esther +all her time paying for them with her school money. But I dunno. +What say?" + +"I didn't say anything. But, since you ask, do you think all this is any +of my business?" + +"Well, since you ask, it ain't. 'Tisn't my business either; but it kind +of passes the time. Giddap!" + +Perhaps the old horse knew he was getting near the end of his journey +for, contrary to expectation, he did "giddap" with a jerk which nearly +unseated the doctor and caused a flicker of mild surprise to flit across +the sad one's face. + +"Turrible fast horse, this," he confided, "all you got to do is to get +him going." + +"Don't let me take you out of your way. If you'll tell me the +direction--" + +"Sit still, stranger. I'm going right past the Imperial. Hardly any +place in Coombe you can go without going past the Imperial. It's what +you call a kind of newclus." + +As he spoke, the horse, now going at a fairly respectable rate, turned +into the main street of the town; a main street, thriftily prosperous +but now somewhat a-doze in the sun. Half-way down, the intelligent +animal stopped with another jerk for which the doctor was equally +ill-prepared. Before them stood a modest red brick building, three +stories in height, with a narrow veranda running across the lowest story +just one step up from the pavement. On the veranda were green chairs and +in the chairs reclined such portion of the male Coombers as could do so +without fear and without reproach. Along the top of the veranda was a +large sign displaying the words, "HOTEL IMPERIAL." + +Callandar alighted nimbly from the democrat, that being the name of the +light spring wagon in which he had travelled, and shook his good +Samaritan by the hand. "Thank you very much," he said, "and I sincerely +hope that the sunstroke will not have terminated fatally by the time you +reach home." + +The deep-set eyes turned to him slowly and again he fancied a twinkle in +their mournfulness. "If it does," said the sad one tranquilly, "it will +be the first time it ever has--giddap!" + +As no one came forth to take his knapsack, Callandar slung it over his +shoulder and entered the hotel. The parting remark of his conductor had +left a smile upon his lips, which smile still lingered as he asked the +sleepy-looking clerk for a room, and intimated that he would like lunch +immediately. + +"Dining room closed," said that individual shortly. + +"What do you mean?" + +"Dining room closes at two; supper at six." + +"Do you mean to say that you serve nothing between the hours of two and +six?" + +"Serve you a drink, if you like," with an understanding grin at his +questioner's dusty knapsack. + +Forgetting that he had become a Presbyterian, the doctor made a few +remarks, and from his manner of making them the clerk awoke to the fact +that knapsacks do not a hobo make nor dusty coats a tramp. Now in Canada +no one is the superior of any one else, but that did not make a bit of +difference in the startling change of demeanour which overtook the +clerk. He straightened up. He removed his toothpick. He arranged the +register in his best manner and chose another nib for his pen. When +Callandar had registered, the clerk was very sorry indeed that the hotel +arrangements were rather arbitrary in the matter of meal hours. He was +afraid that the kitchen fires were down and everything cold. Still if +the gentleman would go to his room, he would see what could be done-- + +The gentleman went to his room; but in no enviable frame of mind. So +wretched was his plight that he was not above valuing the covert +sympathy of the small bell-boy who preceded him up the oilclothed +stairs. He was a very round boy: round legs, round cheeks, round head +and eyes so round that they must have been special eyes made on purpose. +There was also a haunting resemblance to some other boy! Callandar +taxed his memory, and there stole into it a vision of a pool with +willows. He chuckled. + +"Boy," he said, "have you a little brother who is very fond of going to +school?" + +"Nope," said the boy. (It seemed to be a family word.) "I've got a +brother, but he don't sound like that." + +"You ought to be in school yourself, boy. What's your name?" + +"Zerubbabel Burk." + +"Is that all?" + +"Yep. Bubble for short." + +"Have you ever known what it is to be hungry?" + +"Three times a day, before meals!" + +"Well, I'm starving. Do you belong to the Boy Scouts?" + +"Betyerlife." + +"Well, look here. I am an army in distress. Commissariat cut off, +extinction imminent! Now you go and bring in the provisions. And, as we +believe in honourable warfare, pay for everything you get, but take no +refusals--see?" He pressed a bill into the boy's ready hand and watched +the light of understanding leap into the round eyes with pleasurable +anticipation. + +"I get you, Mister! Here's your room, number fourteen." + +The boy disappeared while still the key with its long tin label was +jingling in the lock. The doctor opened the door of room number fourteen +and went in. + +Rooms, we contend, like people, should be considered in relation to that +state in which it has pleased Providence to place them. To consider +number fourteen in any environment save its own would be manifestly +unfair since, in relation to all the other rooms at the Imperial, +number fourteen was a good room, perhaps the very best. A description +tempts us, but perhaps its best description is to be found in its effect +upon Dr. Callandar. That effect was an immediate determination to depart +by the next train, provided the next train did not leave before he had +had something to eat. + +He was aroused from gloomy musings by a discreet tap announcing the +return of the scouting party. The scouting party was piled with parcels +up to its round eyes and from the parcels issued an odour so delicious +that the doctor's depression vanished. + +"Good hunting, eh?" + +"Prime, sir. 'Tisn't store stuff, either! As soon as I see that look in +your eye I remembered 'bout the tea-fight over at Knox's Church last +night and how they'd be sure to be selling off what's left, for the +benefit of the heathen." The boy gave the roundest wink Callandar had +ever seen and deposited his parcels upon the bed. "They always have +'bout forty times as much's they can use. Course I didn't get you any +_broken_ vittles," he added, noticing the alarm upon the doctor's face. +"It's all as good as the best. Wait till you see!" + +He began to clear the wash-stand in a businesslike manner, talking all +the time. "This here towel will do for a cloth. It's bran' clean--cross +my heart! I borrowed a dish or two offen the church. They know me.... +We'll put the chicken in the middle and the ham along at this end and +the pie over there where it can't slip off--" + +"I don't like pie, boy." + +"I do. Pie's good for you. We'll put the beet salad by the chicken and +the cabbage salad by the ham and the chow-chow betwixt 'em. Then the +choc'late cake can go by the pie--" + +"Boy, I don't like chocolate cake." + +"Honest? Ah, you're kiddin' me! Really? Choc'late cake's awful good for +you. I love chocolate cake. This here cake was made by Esther Coombe's +Aunt Amy--it's a sure winner! Say, Mister, what do you like anyway?" + +"Ever so many more things than I did yesterday. By Jove, that chicken +looks good!" + +"Yep. That's Mrs. Hallard's chicken. I thought you'd want the best. She +ris' it herself. And made the stuffin' too." + +"Did she 'ris' the ham also?" + +"Nope. It's Miss Taylor's ham. Home cured. The minister thinks a whole +lot of Miss Taylor's curin'. Ma thinks that if Miss Taylor wasn't quite +so hombly, minister might ask her jest on account of the ham. You try +it--wait a jiffy till I sneak some knives!" + +Callandar looked at the decorated wash-stand and felt better. He had +forgotten all about the room, and when the knives came, in even less +than the promised jiffy, he forgot everything but the varied excellences +of the food before him. The chicken was a chicken such as one dreams of. +The salads were delicious, the homemade bread and butter fresh and +sweet; the ham might well cause feelings of a tender nature towards its +curer! The chocolate cake? He thought he might try a small piece and, +having tried, was willing to make the attempt on a larger scale. The boy +was a most efficient waiter, discerning one's desires before they were +expressed. But when they got to the pie, the doctor drew up another +chair at the pie side of the table and waved the waiter into it. + +There was no false modesty about the boy; neither did he hold malice. If +he had felt slightly aggrieved at not having been invited earlier, he +forgot it after the first mouthful and for a time there was no further +conversation in number fourteen. The doctor had temporarily discarded +his theory that it is better to rise from the table feeling slightly +hungry. The boy had never had so foolish a theory to discard. The +chicken, the ham, the pie, disappeared as if conjured away. The boy +grew rounder. + +"Boy," said the doctor at last, "hadn't you better stop? You are +'swelling wisibly afore my werry eyes!'" + +The boy shook his head, but presently he began to have intervals when he +was able to speak. + +"Better plant all you can," he advised. "Ma says the grub here would +kill a cat. I eat at home. Ma wouldn't risk my stomach here. +It's fierce." + +"But I'll have to eat, boy. Isn't there another hotel?" + +"Yep; two. But you couldn't go to them. This here's the only decent one. +Gave you a nice room anyway." He looked around admiringly. "Going to +stay long?" + +"No--that is, yes--I don't know! How can I stay if I can't eat?" + +The boy picked his round white teeth thoughtfully with a pin. + +"You might get board somewheres." + +This was a new idea. + +"Why--so I might! Does Mrs. Hallard who raises chickens or Miss +What's-her-name who cures ham, keep boarders?" + +"Nope. But they're not the only oysters in the soup--There's the bell! +They never give a man a minute's peace. Say, if you don't really like +that pie, don't waste it--see? Tell you about boarding-houses later." + +Callandar had to clear the table himself. This he did by the simple +expedient of putting everything on top of everything else. But he did +not waste anything, a precaution whose value he realised that night upon +returning from the dining room where he had spent some time in looking +at that repast known to the Imperial as supper. Bubble, the bell boy, +found him with his mind made up. + +"Boy," he said, "you have saved my life. But I fear I can sojourn no +longer in your delightful town. Find me the first train out in the +morning.". + +The boy's face fell. + +"Ain't you going to stay? Why, it's all over town that you're the new +doctor come to take old Doc. Simmonds's practice. Mournful Mark, that +you drove up with, told it. He said he shouldn't wonder if you're real +clever. Says he suspects you're an old friend of Doc. Coombe's +folks--went to college with the doctor, mebby. Says that likely Alviry +will have you next time she gets a stroke." + +"Tempting as the prospect is, boy, I fear ..." + +"Oh, dang it! There's the bell again." + +He darted out, bumped down the sounding stairs and, while the doctor was +still considering the words of his ultimatum, appeared again at the +door, this time decorously on duty. + +"A call for you, sir," said Bubble primly. + +"A--what?" + +"A call, sir. Mrs. Sykes wants to know if the new doctor will call +'round first thing in the morning to see Mrs. Sykes's Ann. She dunno, +but she thinks it's smallpox." + +"Quit your fooling, boy." + +"Cross my heart, doctor!" + +"Smallpox?" + +"Oh!" cheerfully, "I don't cross my heart to that. Mrs. Sykes always +thinks things is smallpox. Ann's had smallpox several times now. But the +rest is on the level. What message, sir?" + +Callandar hesitated. (And while he hesitated the Fateful Sisters +manipulated a great many threads very swiftly.) "What train ..." he +began. (The Fateful Sisters slipped a bobbin through and tied a cunning +knot.) Without knowing why, Callandar decided to stay. He laughed. +Bubble stood eagerly expectant. + +"Tell Mrs. Sykes I'll come, and ..." but Bubble did not wait for the +end of the message. + + + + +CHAPTER IV + + +Coombe is a pretty place. It has broad streets, quiet and tree-lined. It +has sunny, empty lots where children play. No one is crowded or shut in. +The houses stand in their own green lawns, and are comfortable and even +picturesque. The Swiss chalet style has not yet come to Coombe, so the +architecture, though plain, is not productive of nightmare. The roads +are like country roads, soft and yellowish; green grass grows along the +sides of many of them, and board sidewalks are still to be found, +springy and easy to the tread. There is a main street with macadamised +roadway and stone pavements, real flat stone, for they were laid before +the appearance of the all-conquering cement. There is a postoffice with +a tower and a clock, a courthouse with a fountain and a cannon, a park +with a bandstand and a baseball diamond, a townhall with a belfry and no +bell, an exhaustive array of churches, the Imperial Hotel, and the +market. We mention the market last (as we were taught at school) because +on account of its importance it ought to come first. + +When Dr. Callandar, having been efficiently valeted by Bubble, set out +to pay his first professional call, he drew in deep breaths of the +pleasant air with a feeling of well-being to which he had long been a +stranger. He had slept. In spite of the room, in spite of the chocolate +cake, in spite of the pie, he had slept. And that alone was enough to +make the whole world over. It was still hot but with a heat different +from the heat of yesterday. A little shower had fallen during the night. +There was a sense of the north in the air, a light freshness, very +invigorating. He liked the quiet shaded streets; the cannon by the +courthouse amused him; the number of church steeples left him amazed. He +felt as if he had stumbled into a dream-town and must walk carefully +lest he stumble out. + +Bubble had given him very complete directions, indeed so minute were +they that we will omit them lest some day you find the way yourself and +drop in on Mrs. Sykes when she is not expecting company. But Dr. +Callandar in his amused absorption had forgotten that he was going to +Mrs. Sykes at all, when he was recalled to a sense of duty by a sharp +hail from the corner house of a street he had just passed. Looking back, +he saw, half-way down the road, a tall, red woman leaning over a gate, +who, upon attracting his attention, began waving her arms frantically, +after the manner of an old-fashioned signalman inviting a train to "Come +on." Callandar's step quickened in spite of himself and he forgot his +idle musings. + +"Land sakes! I thought you'd never get here!" exclaimed the red woman +fervently. "I suppose that imp of a boy didn't direct you right. Lucky I +knew you as soon as you passed the corner. Mark Morrison may be as +useless as they make 'em, but he's got a fine gift for description. Come +right in. I'm dreadful anxious about Ann. It don't seem like measles, +and she's had chicken-pox twice, and if she's sickening for anything +worse I want to know it. I ain't one of them optimists that won't +believe they're sick till they're dead. Callandar's your name, Mark +says--any chance of your being a cousin to Dr. Callandar of Montreal +that cured Mrs. Sowerby?" + +"No, I am not that Dr. Callandar's cousin." + +"I told Mark 'twasn't likely--or you wouldn't be here. Not if he'd any +family feeling. I'm a great believer in a man making his own +stepping-stones anyway," she went on with a friendly smile; "we ought to +rise up on ourselves, like the poet says, and not on our cousins." + +"A noble sentiment," said Callandar gravely, as he followed her up the +walk, across a veranda so clean that one hesitated to step on it, and +into a small hall, bare and spotless, where he was invited to hang +up his hat. + +"You're younger than I expected," went on Mrs. Sykes kindly. "I hope you +ain't entirely dependent on your practice in Coombe?" + +The amazed doctor was understood to murmur something about "private +means." + +"That's good. You'd starve if you hadn't. Coombe's a terrible healthy +place and poor Doc. Simmonds didn't pay a call a week. I just felt like +some one ought to warn you. I despise folks who hold back from telling +things because they ain't quite pleasant. Know the worst, I always say; +it's better in the end. Of course, as Mark says, your being a +Presbyterian will make considerable diff'rence. Some folks thought Doc. +Simmonds was pretty nigh an infiddle!" + +Too overcome by his feelings to answer, Callandar followed her up the +narrow stair and into a clean bright room with green-tinted walls and +yellow matting on the floor. + +Mrs. Sykes waved a deprecatory hand, at once exhibiting and apologising +for so much splendour. + +"This is the spare-room," she explained. "And there," pointing to the +high, old-fashioned bed, "is Ann." + +Callandar crossed the immaculate matting gingerly, taking Ann on faith, +as it were, for, from the door, no; Ann was visible, only a very small +dent in the big whiteness of the bed. + +"Ann! Here's the doctor!" + +A small black head and a pair of frightened black eyes appeared for a +moment as if by conjuration, and instantly vanished. + +"Ann!" said Mrs. Sykes more sternly. + +There was a squirming somewhere under the bedclothes, but nothing +happened. + +"Great Scott!" exclaimed the doctor, "you've got the child in a +feather-bed!" + +Mrs. Sykes beamed complacently. + +"Yes, I have. It may seem like taking a lot of trouble for nothing, but +you never can tell. I ain't one of them that never prepares for +anything. Jest as soon as Ann gets sick I move her right into the +spare-room and put her into the best feathers. Then if she should be +took sudden I wouldn't have anything to regret. The minister and the +doctor can come in here any hour and find things as I could wish.... +Ann! what do you mean by wiggling down like that? Ann--come up at once! +The doctor wants to see your tongue." + +This time the note of command was effective. The black head came to the +surface, again followed by the frightened eyes and plump little cheeks +stained with feverish red. + +"Some cool water, if you please," ordered the doctor in his best +professional manner. Mrs. Sykes opened her lips to ask why, but +something caused her to shut them without asking. + +When she had left the room, Callandar leaned suddenly over and lifted +Ann bodily out of the dent and placed her firmly upon a pillow. It was a +very plump pillow, evidently filled with the "best feathers," but +compared with the bed it was as a rock in an ocean. + +"Now," he said gravely, "you are safe, for the present. You are on an +island; but be very careful not to slide off for if you do I may never +be able to look at your tongue." + +The child's hands grasped the island convulsively. + +"Don't hold on like that," he warned. "You might tip." He leaned close +so that she might see the smile in his eyes, "And if you tipped ..." + +The child gave a sudden delighted giggle. "I'd go right in over my head, +wouldn't I?" + +"Yes. And next time you were rescued you might feel more inclined to +tell your aunt what you had been eating before you became ill." + +Ann stopped giggling. + +"You don't need to tell _me_," went on the doctor, "because I know!" + +"How d'ye know?" + +"Magic. Be careful--you were nearly off that time! Does your aunt know +anything about those things you ate?" + +"No." + +"Very well. But you must promise not to eat those particular things +again. Not even when you get the chance." Then as he saw the woe upon +her face, "At least, not in quantities!" + +"Cross my heart!" said Ann, relieved. + +"Here's the water," said Mrs. Sykes, returning. "Ann, get right back +into bed. Do you want to get your death? Haven't I told you till I'm +tired to keep your hands in? Is it measles, Doctor? She's subject to +measles. Perhaps it's the beginning of scarlet fever. But if it's +smallpox I want to know. No good ever comes of smoothing things over." + +The doctor smiled at Ann. + +"It isn't smallpox this time, Mrs. Sykes." + +"Did you look at them spots on the back of her neck?" + +"Yes. A little rash caused by indigestion. I wouldn't worry." + +"Don't mind me. I'm used to worrying. I don't dodge my troubles like +some I know. Indigestion? It looks more like eczema. Eczema is a +terrible trying thing. But if the child's got it I don't want it called +indigestion to spare my feelings." + +"But it's not eczema! It's indigestion--and prickly heat. I'm afraid +Ann's stomach has been giving trouble. It has been hotter than is usual +here, I understand. Heat often upsets children. While I write out a +prescription, you might bathe her face and hands." + +Mrs. Sykes gazed doubtfully at the water. "She was done once last night +and once this morning just before you came in," she remarked in an +injured tone. "But if you think she needs it again, this sort of water's +no good. Nothing's ever any good for Ann except hot water and soap." + +The doctor looked up from his writing in surprise. Then as the meaning +of the thing dawned upon him, he laughed heartily. + +"Oh, Ann's as clean as the veranda floor!" he explained. "This is just +to cool her off. Let me show you--doesn't that feel nice, Ann?" + +"Lovely!" blissfully. + +Mrs. Sykes sniffed. + +"I suppose that's some new-fangled notion? I never heard before of +cooling people off when they've got a fever. In my time, the hotter you +were, the hotter you were made to be, till you got cool naturally. I +suppose," with half-interested sarcasm, "that you'd give her cold water +to drink if she asked for it?" + +"Certainly." + +"Well, I expect she knows better than to ask for it!" + +Feeling Ann's imploring gaze, Callandar resorted to diplomacy. + +"The fact is, Mrs. Sykes," he said pleasantly, "there really isn't very +much wrong with Ann. You have been letting your forethought and your +natural anxiety run away with you. There is not the slightest occasion +for alarm. If there were, I should not dream of hiding it from one so +well-prepared as yourself. As it is, you have taken a lot of needless +trouble--this beautiful feather-bed, for example! I feel sure that Ann +would do very well in her own bed." + +The victim of the feathers gave a relieved gasp which her aunt mistook +for a sigh of regret. + +"Her own bed's well enough for anything ordinary," she admitted in a +mollified tone. "Even if it is a store mattress." + +"Quite good enough. Many a little girl would be glad of it." The +doctor's tone was virtuous. "If you will allow me, I shall carry her in +now. You see, she is cooler already. By to-morrow, if she takes her +medicine, she ought to be as well as ever." + +Ann's own room turned out to be on the shady side, and though not so +grand as the spare-room, it was pleasantly cool. The little bed with the +hard mattress and the snowy counterpane was infinitely to be preferred +to the ocean of feathers, and the rescued maiden lay back on her smaller +pillows with a sigh of gratitude. + +"Sure you won't tell?" she whispered as he laid her down. + +"Honour bright. Cross my heart! But you must take the medicine. It's +nasty, but not too nasty, and you mustn't squeal--or it will be the +spare-room again. Red cheeks and prickly heat are consequences, but +feather-beds and medicine are retribution." + +"That's right, Doctor," said Mrs. Sykes, who had heard the last words. +"There's nothing like a word about retribution when a person's sick. It +helps 'em to realise their state. I don't hold with the light-minded +that want to get away from retribution. Depend upon it, they're the very +folks that's got it coming to them. Yes. No one needs to go around +denying that there's a hell, if their feet are planted upon a rock and +they know they're never going there. It's years now since I've looked +hell in the face and turned my feet the other way. But I do say that if +I'd decided to go straight ahead in the broad and easy path, I wouldn't +try to shut my eyes to the end of it, like some folks! Are you putting +up at the Imperial, Doctor?" + +"'Putting up' exactly expresses my condition." + +"Well, you may as well know at once that a doctor in a hotel will never +get any forwarder in Coombe. You'll have to get boarding somewhere. Have +you looked around yet?" + +"No. I--" + +"Then I don't mind telling you that the spare-room is to let and the +little room down below that has a door of its own and seems made exactly +for a doctor's office. I shouldn't mind letting you have them if you +feel sure that the smells wouldn't get loose all through the house and +in the cooking. There's a barn where you could keep your horse." + +"I haven't got a horse," protested Callandar feebly. + +"But of course you'll be getting one. A doctor has to have a horse. If +you can't pay for it down, Mark knows some one who'd let you have a good +one on time. You can trust Mark, if he _is_ mournful. Of course I don't +say that these rooms are the only rooms to let in Coombe, but I do think +they're about as good as you can get--being so near to Dr. Coombe's old +house. People get used to coming for a doctor down this street." + +"But that was, over a year ago." + +"It takes more 'an a year for Coombe folks to change their ways. Only +this day week I saw Bill Brooks tearing down this way on account of Mrs. +Brooks' being took kind of unexpected, and Bill losing his head and +forgetting all about Dr. Coombe being dead and Dr. Parker living on the +other side of the town." + +"And you think that if I'd been here he would have 'tore' in here?" + +"If he hadn't I'd just have called out to him as he went by. He was that +wild he'd have taken anybody." + +"I see," with humility. "I lost a good chance there!" + +"Well, if you live here you'll get others. Why, from the spare-room +windows you can see the corner window down at the Coombe place. I could +make out to let you have your meals, too. Only I'd expect you to be as +reg'lar as Providence permitted. I know a doctor is bound to be more +aggravating in that way than other folks, but if you'd be as regular as +lay in you, I'd put up with it. 'Tisn't as if I wasn't always prepared. +When will you want to move in?" + +"Really, I--I don't know--" The bewildered Callandar glanced for help to +Ann, but met only clasped hands and an imploring stare. "I'll--I'll let +you know," he faltered. + +Thinking it over afterwards, he could never understand why he did not +promptly refuse to be coerced, but at the time surrender seemed the only +natural thing. Besides, he couldn't stay another day at the Imperial. He +had to go somewhere. Perhaps it was his destiny to secure Ann against +further feather-beds. Anyway, he accepted it. + +"Oh, goody!" cried Ann, clapping her hands. + +"Ann! put your hands under those clothes. How often must I tell you that +you'll get your death? If you like, Doctor, there's nothing to prevent +your moving in to-morrow. I'll need a day to air the feather-tick and +make some pie." + +The doctor was at last roused to action. + +"There are conditions," he said hastily. "If I come here, there is to be +no feather-tick and no pie!" + +"No feather-bed?" in amazement. + +"No pie?" Ann's voice was a sorrowful whisper. + +"You see," Callandar explained, "I am here partly for my health. My +health cannot lie on feather-beds nor eat pie--well, perhaps," with a +glance at Ann, "an occasional pie may do no harm. But I shall send down +some springs and a mattress. I have to use a special kind," hastily. + +"Oh! it's spinal trouble, is it?" Mrs. Sykes surveyed him +commiseratingly. "You look straight enough. But land! You never can +tell. Them spinal troubles are most deceiving. Terrible things they are, +but they don't shorten life as quickly as some others. Not that that's a +blessing! Mostly, folks as has them would be glad to go long before they +are took. Still, it gives them some time to be prepared. I remember--" + +"I must go now, Mrs. Sykes. Give Ann some of the medicine as soon as it +comes. It isn't exactly spinal trouble that is the matter with me, you +know, but--er--I'll send down the kind of mattress I like. In fact, I +shall probably wish to furnish my rooms myself. You won't mind, +I'm sure." + +"Land sakes, no, I don't mind! Most doctors are finicky. Don't worry +about the medicine. I'll see that Ann takes it." + +She watched him go with a glance in which satisfaction and foreboding +mingled. "Poor young feller!" she mused. "He didn't like what I said +about his spine a mite. Back troubles makes folks terrible touchy." + + + + +CHAPTER V + + +Two days after the installation of what Mrs. Sykes persisted in calling +the "spinal mattress," Esther Coombe was late in getting home from +school. As was usually the case when this happened, Jane, designated by +mournful Mark as "the Pindling One," was sitting on the gatepost gazing +disconsolately down the road. There were traces of tears upon her thin +little face and the warmth of the hug which returned her sister's +greeting was evidence of an unusually disturbed mind. + +"Why aren't you playing with the other children, Jane?" + +"I don't want to play, Esther. Timothy's dead." + +"Yes, I know, dear. But Fred has promised you a new puppy--" + +"I don't want a new puppy. I want Timothy." + +"But Timothy is so much happier, Jane. He was old, you know. In the +Happy Hunting Grounds, he will be able to frisk about just like other +dogs. Wouldn't you like an apple?" + +Jane considered this a moment and decided favourably. But her tale of +woe was not yet complete. "Mother's ill again," she announced gloomily. +"I mustn't play band or nail the slats on the rabbits' hutch. Aunt Amy +gave me my dinner on the back porch. I liked that. I wouldn't go in the +house, not till you came, Esther." + +The straight brows of the elder sister came together in a worried frown. + +"You know that is being silly, Jane." + +"I don't care." + +"You must learn to care. Run now and get the apple and ask Aunt Amy to +wash your face." + +Jane tripped away obediently, her griefs assuaged by the mere telling of +them, and Esther passed into the house by way of the veranda. It was a +charming veranda, long and low, opening through French windows directly +into the living room which, like itself, was long and low, and charming. +There is a charm in rooms which can be felt but not described. It exists +apart from the furnishings and even the occupants; it is an essence, +haunting, intangible--the soul of the room! only there are many rooms +which have no soul. + +Through the living room at the Elms vagrant breezes entered, loitered, +and drifted out again, leaving behind them scents of sun-warmed flowers. +The light there was soft and green. The comfortable chairs invited rest; +the polished rosewood table, the bright piano shining in the brightest +corner, the smooth old floor in whose rug the colours had long ceased to +trouble, the general air of much used comfort, satisfied and refreshed. + +Esther loved the room. Her first childish memory was of the rosewood +table shining like a pool in the lamplight and of her own wondering face +reflected in it, with her father's laughing eyes behind. In every way it +was associated with the beginnings of things. The magic of all music +began for her in the sweet, thin notes of the old square piano; the key +to fairy land lay hidden somewhere in that shelf of well-worn books. + +Yet to-night she entered with a hesitating step. It was obvious that she +felt no pleasure in the cool greenness. The room was the same room but +it was as if the expression on a well-known face had unaccountably +changed and become forbidding. The girl sighed as she flung her hat +upon a chair. + +"Esther," Jane's voice, somewhat obscured by the eating of the promised +apple, came through the open window, "are you sure about Timothy being +in the Happy Hunting Grounds?" + +"Of course, dear." + +"But he wasn't what you would call a Christian, Esther?" + +"He was a good dog." + +"Can Timothy chase chickens there?" + +"Probably." + +"And cats?" + +"Certainly cats." + +"Is that what happens to bad cats when they die?" + +Esther viewed this logical picture of everlastingly pursued cats with +some dismay. + +"N-o. I don't suppose it would be real cats." + +"But Tim wouldn't chase anything but real cats." + +"Jane, I wish you wouldn't talk with your mouth full." + +Being thus reduced to giving up the argument or the apple, Jane +abandoned the former. It was clear that Esther was not in the mood for +argument. The child's quick observation had not failed to note the +lagging step, nor the quick sigh. She nodded her head as if in answer to +some spoken word. + +"Yes, I know. I feel like that, too. That's why I didn't come in before; +that's why I'm not really in yet. It catches you by the throat and makes +you breathe funny. What is it, Esther?" + +"Why--I don't know, Jane. It's loneliness I think--missing Dad." + +The child shook her head. But whatever her objection might have been it +was beyond her power of expression. She slid off the veranda step and +wandered back into the garden. There was another apple in the pocket of +her apron, and apples are great comforters. + +Left alone, Esther with a resolutely cheerful air took down a blue bowl +and proceeded to arrange therein the day's floral offerings. A sweet and +crushed mixture they were, pansies, clove-pinks, mignonette, bleeding +hearts, bachelors' buttons, all short stemmed and minus any saving touch +of green, but true love offerings for all that. Wordless gifts most of +them, prim little bunches, hot from tight clasping in chubby hands, +shyly and swiftly deposited on "Teacher's desk" when the back of that +divinity was turned. The blue bowl took kindly to them all, and as the +girl's clever fingers settled and arranged the glowing chaos it seemed +that with their crushed fragrance something of the lost spirit of the +room came back. Just so had she arranged hundreds of times the sweet +smelling miscellanies which had been her father's constant tribute from +grateful patients. + +She had almost finished when the door opened to admit a little, grey +wisp of a woman with a mild white face and large faded eyes which might +once have been beautiful. She was dressed entirely in lavender, a +fondness for this colour being one of the many harmless fancies born of +a brain not quite normal. The rather expressionless face brightened at +sight of the girl by the table. + +"Why, Esther--I didn't hear you come in. Have you put a mat under the +bowl? See now! You have marked the table." + +Esther good humouredly reached for a table-mat, for the polish of this +particular article of furniture was the pride of Aunt Amy's life. "It's +all right, Auntie. It's not really a mark. Look, aren't they sweet? It +is like one of father's posies. Is mother any better?" + +"The children must think a lot of you, Esther!" + +"Yes, although I think they would bring flowers to any one, bless 'em! +Is mother--" + +"Your mother hasn't been down all day. I went up with her dinner but she +didn't take any. She wouldn't answer." + +"Auntie, don't you think she ought to do something about these +headaches?" + +"I don't know, Esther. She'll be all right to-morrow. She always is." + +"Yes. But they are getting more frequent, and you know--she is so +different. She can't be well. Haven't you noticed it?" + +"No," vaguely. + +"Well, Jane has. So it can't just be imagination. She ought to consult a +doctor." + +"She won't." + +"But it's absurd! What shall we do if she goes on like this? If there +were only some one who would talk to her! She won't listen to me because +she is older and married and--all that. All the same she doesn't seem +older when she acts like this--like a child!" + +"Well, you know, Esther, there isn't any doctor here that your mother +just fancies." + +The girl stooped lower over the blue bowl, perhaps to hide the little +smile which crinkled up the corner of her mouth. The faint colour on her +cheek may have been a reflection from the flowers. + +"Yes, but haven't you heard? There is a new doctor. He seems quite +different--I mean they say he is awfully nice. Mrs. Sykes' Ann was +telling me all about him. He is going to board with Mrs. Sykes. The +child just worships him already. Perhaps mother might see him." + +"I shouldn't worry," said Aunt Amy placidly. "This pepper-grass will be +very nice for tea. Did you tell Jane she might have two apples, Esther?" + +"No. I told her she might have one. But I don't suppose two will hurt +her." Esther was used to Aunt Amy's inconsequences which made impossible +the discussion of any subjects save the most trivial. But she sighed a +little as she realised anew that there was no help here. + +"Jane is feeling badly about Timothy," she explained. "Don't you think +we might have tea in here, Auntie? It is so cool." + +Aunt Amy, who had been anxiously rubbing an imaginary spot on the table, +looked up with a startled air. "Oh, Esther!" she said, in the voice of a +frightened child. Then with a child's obvious effort to control rising +tears, "Of course, if you say so, Esther. But--but do you feel like +risking the round table? Couldn't we have it on the little table in +the corner?" + +The girl settled the last of her flowers and pushed back her hair with a +worried gesture. A pang of mingled irritation and anxiety lent an edge +of sharpness to her soft voice. + +"Auntie dear! I thought you had quite forgotten that fancy. You know it +is only a fancy. Round tables are just like other tables. And you +promised me--" + +"Yes, I know, but--" + +"Well, then, be sensible, dear. We shall have tea in here." Then seeing +the real distress on the timid old face, the girl's mood softened. "No, +we shan't," she declared gaily. "We'll have it as usual in the dining +room. You will fix the pepper-grass and I shall set the table." + +But the end of Aunt Amy's vagaries was not yet. She hesitated, flushed +and more timidly, yet as one who is compelled, begged for the task of +setting the table herself. "For you know, Esther, the sprigged tea-set +is so hurt if any one but me arranges it. Yes, of course, it is only a +fancy, I know that. But the sprigged tea-set does feel so badly if I +neglect it. All the pink in it fades quite out. You must have noticed +it, Esther?" + +The girl sighed and gave in. Usually Aunt Amy's vagaries troubled her +little. Disconcerting at first, they had quickly become a commonplace, +for the coming of Aunt Amy to the doctor's household had been too great +a blessing to invite criticism. Esther had soon learned to express no +surprise when told that the sprigged china had a heart of extreme +sensitiveness, and that the third step on the front stair disliked to be +trodden upon, and that it was dangerous to sit with one's back to a +window facing the east. All these and numberless other strange facts +were part of Aunt Amy's twilight world. To her they were immensely +important, but to the family the really important thing seemed that, +with trifling exceptions, the new inmate of the household was gentle and +kind; her housekeeping a miracle and her cooking a dream. In the years +she had lived with them there had been but one serious thrill of +anxiety, and that came when Dr. Coombe had discovered her endeavouring +to infect Jane with her delusions. This had been strictly forbidden and +the child's mind, duly warned, was soon safeguarded by her own growing +comprehension. Jane quickly understood that it was foolish to shut the +garden gate three times every time she came through it, and that no one +save Aunt Amy thought it necessary to count all the boards in the +sidewalk or to touch all the little posts under the balustrade as one +came down stairs. Some of the prettier, more elusive fancies she may +have retained, but, if so, they did her no harm. + +As for Aunt Amy herself, she lived her shadow-haunted life not +unhappily. Dr. Coombe she had worshipped, yet his death had not affected +her as much as might have been feared. Perhaps it was one of her +compensations that death to her was not quite what it is to the more +normal consciousness. It was noticeable that she always spoke of the +doctor as if he were in the next room. Her devotion to him had been +caused by his success in partially relieving her of the most distressing +burden of her disordered brain--the delusion of persecution. Aunt Amy +knew that somewhere there existed a mysterious power known vaguely as +"They" who sought unceasingly to injure her. Of course it was only once +in a while that "They" got a chance, for Aunt Amy was very clever in +providing no opportunities. More than once had she outwitted "Them." +Still, one must be always upon one's guard! From this harrowing delusion +the doctor had done much to deliver her, indeed she had become more +normal in every way under his care. It was only now, a year after his +death, that Esther imagined sometimes that there was a slipping back-- + +The ill effects of sitting at a round table, for instance? It was a long +time since this particular fancy had been spoken of and Esther had +considered it gone altogether. Yet here it was, cropping out again and +just at a time when other problems threatened. Things seemed determined +to be difficult to-day. + +The fact was that Esther was suffering from the need of a confidant. +Really worried as she felt about her step-mother's health, the burden of +taking any determined action against the wishes of the patient herself +was a serious one for a young girl. Yet in whom could she confide? Girl +friends she had in plenty but not one whose judgment she could trust +before her own. Had the minister been an older man or a man of different +calibre she might have gone to him, but the idea of appealing to Mr. +Macnair was distasteful. Neither among her father's friends was there +one to whom she cared to go for advice concerning her father's widow. +They had one and all disapproved, she knew, of the sudden second +marriage and Dr. Coombe had never quite forgiven their disapproval. + +Often she felt like refusing the responsibility altogether. After all, +her step-mother was a woman quite old enough to manage her own affairs. +If she wished to foolishly imperil her health why need Esther care? Why +indeed? But this train of reasoning never lasted long. Always there came +a counter-question, "If you do not care, who will?" And the dearth of +any answer settled the burden more firmly upon her rebellious shoulders. +For one thing there was always the inner knowledge that Mary Coombe was +weak and that she, Esther, was strong. She had always known this. Even +when her father had brought home his pretty bride and Esther, a shy, +silent child of eleven, had welcomed her, she had known that the +newcomer was the weaker spirit. The bride had known it too. She had +never attempted to control Esther, leaving the child entirely to her +father--a bit of unwitting wisdom which did much to smooth daily life +at the Elms. If the doctor saw his wife's weakness of character it is +probable that it did not interfere with his love for her. Why need she +be strong while he was strong enough for two? But he had forgotten one +thing--the day when she would have to be strong alone! + +The realisation came to him upon his death-bed. Esther was sure of this. +He could not speak, but she had read the message of his eyes, the appeal +to the strength in her to help the other's weakness. No getting away +from the solemn charge of that entreating look! + + * * * * * + +Esther was thinking of that look now, as she sat alone in the dusk of +the veranda. Tea was over and Aunt Amy was putting Jane to bed. From her +mother she had had no word. Blank silence had met her when she had taken +the tea tray upstairs and called softly through the closed door. Mrs. +Coombe was probably asleep. She would be better to-morrow; but before +long she would be ill again, and the interval between the attacks was +becoming shorter. + +There was anger as well as anxiety in the girl's mind. Her healthy and +straightforward youth had little patience with her step-mother's +unreasonable caprices. For her illness she had every sympathy, but for +the morbid nervousness which seemed to accompany it, none at all. These +constant headaches, the increasing nervous irritability from which Mrs. +Coombe suffered lay like a shadow over the house. Yet the sufferer +refused to take the obvious way of relief and persisted in her refusal +with a stubbornness of which no one would have dreamed her light nature +capable. Still, willing or unwilling, something must be done. Aunt Amy, +too, was becoming more of an anxiety. Once or twice lately she had +spoken of "Them," a sign of mental distress which Dr. Coombe had always +treated with the utmost seriousness. Perhaps if a doctor were called in +for Aunt Amy, Mrs. Coombe would lose her foolish dread of doctors and +allow him to prescribe for her also. And if the new doctor were half as +clever as Mrs. Sykes said he was--Esther's heart began to warm a little +as her fancy pictured such a pleasant solution of all her problems. The +little smile curved her lips again as she thought of the maple by the +schoolhouse steps, and the lettuce sandwiches and--and everything. She +closed her eyes and tried to recall his face as he had looked up at her. +Instinctively she knew it for a good face, strong, humorous, kindly, but +strong above all. And it was strength that Esther needed. When she went +to bed that night her burden seemed a little lighter. + +I believe he can help me, she thought, and it isn't as if he were quite +a stranger. After all, we had lunch together once! + + + + +CHAPTER VI + + +Undoubtedly Esther slept better that night for the thought of the new +doctor. It cannot be said that the doctor slept better because of her. +In fact he lay awake thinking of her. He did not want to think of her; +he wanted to go to sleep. Twice only had he seen her. Once upon the +occasion of the red pump and once when casually passing her on the main +street. There was no reason why her white-rose face with its strange +blue eyes and its smile-curved lips should float about in the darkness +of Mrs. Sykes' best room. Yet there it was. It was the eyes, perhaps. +The doctor admitted that they were peculiar eyes, startlingly blue. Dark +blue in the shade of the lashes, flashing out light blue fire when the +lashes lifted. But Mrs. Sykes' boarder did not want to think about eyes. +He wanted to go to sleep. He did not want to think about hair either. +Although Miss Coombe had very nice hair--cloudy hair, with little ways +of growing about the temple and at the curve of the neck which a blind +man could not help noticing. In the peaceful shadows of the room it +seemed a still softer shadow framing the vivid girlish face. + +Still, on the whole, sleep would have been better company and when at +last he did drop off he did not relish being wakened by the voice of Ann +at his door. + +"Doc-ter, doc-ter! Are you awake? Can I come in?" + +"I am not awake. Go away." + +Ann's giggle came clearly through the keyhole. + +"You've got a visitor," she whispered piercingly through the same +medium. "A man. A well man, not a sick one. He came on the train. He +came on the milk train--" + +"You may come in, Ann." The doctor slipped on his dressing gown with a +resigned sigh. "What man and why milk?" + +"I don't know. Aunt Sykes kept him on the veranda till she was sure he +wasn't an agent. Now he's in the parlour. Aunt hopes you'll hurry, for +you never can tell. He may be different from what he looks." + +"What does he look?" + +Ann's small hands made an expressive gesture which seemed to envisage +something long and lean. + +"Queer--like that. He's not old, but he's bald. His eyes screw into you. +His nose," another formative gesture, "is like that. A nawful big nose. +He didn't tell his name." + +"If he looks like that, perhaps he hasn't any name. Perhaps he is a +button-moulder. In fact I'm almost certain he is--other name Willits. +Occupation, professor." + +"But if he is a button-maker, he can't be a professor," said Ann +shrewdly. + +"Oh, yes he can. Button-moulding is what he professes. His line is a +specialty in spoiled buttons. He makes them over." + +"Second-hand?" + +"Better than new." + +Ann fidgeted idly with the doctor's cuff-links and then with a flash of +her odd childish comprehension, "You love him a lot, don't you?" she +said jealously. + +The doctor adjusted a collar button. + +"England expects that every man shall deny the charge of loving +another," he said, "but between you and me, I do rather like old +Willits. You see I was rather a worn-out button once and he made me +over. Where did you say he was?" + +"In the parlour--there's Aunt! She said I wasn't to stay. I'll get it." + +Indeed the voice of Mrs. Sykes could be heard on the stairs. + +"Ann! Where's that child? Doctor, you'd think that child had never been +taught no manners. You'll have to take a firm stand with Ann, Doctor. +Land Sakes, I don't want to make her out worse'n she is, but you might +as well know that your life won't be worth living if you don't set +on Ann." + +"All right, Mrs. Sykes. Painful as it may be, I shall do it. Are you +sure it's safe to leave a stranger in the parlour?" + +Mrs. Sykes looked worried. "I hope to goodness it's all right, Doctor. +He's been in the parlour half an hour. I don't think he's an agent, +hasn't got a case or a book anywhere. But agents are getting cuter every +day. Naturally I didn't like to go so far as to ask his name. And I'm +not asking it now. Curiosity was never a fault of mine though I do say +it. Still a woman does like to know who's setting in her front parlour." + +"And you shall," declared Callandar kindly. "Just hang on a few moments +longer, dear Mrs. Sykes, and your non-existent but very justifiable +curiosity shall be satisfied." + +The parlour at Mrs. Sykes opened to the right of the narrow hall. Its +two windows, distinguished by eternally half-drawn blinds of yellow, +looked out upon the veranda, permitting a decorous gloom to envelop the +sacred precincts. Mrs. Sykes was too careful a housekeeper to take risks +with her carpet and too proud of her possessions to care to hide their +glories altogether; hence the blinds were never wholly drawn and never +raised more than half way. In the yellow gloom, one might feast one's +eyes at leisure upon the centre table, draped in red damask, mystic, +wonderful, and on its wealth of mathematically arranged books, the +Bible, the "Indian Mutiny" and "Water Babies" in blue and gold. This +last had been a gift to Ann and was considered by Mrs. Sykes to be the +height of foolishness. Still, a book is a book, especially when bound in +blue and gold. + +Upon the gaily papered walls hung a framed silver name-plate and two +pictures. One a gorgeously coloured print of the lamented Queen Victoria +in a deep gold frame, and the other a representation of an entrancing +allegorical theme entitled "The Two Paths," illustrating the ascent of +the saint into heaven and the descent of the sinner into hell. At the +top of this picture was the legend, "Which will you choose?"--implying a +possible but regrettable lack of taste on the part of the chooser. + +Into this abode of the arts and muses came Callandar, alert and smiling. +It was hardly his fault that he stumbled over the visitor who, whether +in awe or fear of these unveiled splendours, had retreated as far as +possible toward the door. + +"Don't mind me!" said the visitor meekly. + +"Willits! by Jove, I thought it would be you! Say, would you mind not +sitting on that chair? It's just glued!" + +The visitor arose with conspicuous alacrity. He was a tall man with a +domelike head, piercing eyes and formidable nose. Ann's description had +been terribly accurate. He observed the tail of his coat carefully and +finding no damage, seemed relieved. + +"Sit here," said Callandar affably. "And don't expect me to make you +welcome, because you aren't. What misfortunate chance has brought you +to Coombe?" + +"Neither fortune nor chance had anything at all to do with it," declared +the visitor. "I followed your luggage. I wanted to see you." + +"Well, take a good look." + +"I think you can guess why." + +"Yes," with a sigh. "I was always a good guesser. And, frankly, Willits, +I wish you hadn't." + +"I do not doubt it. But, first, is there any other place where we can +talk?" + +"Don't you like this?" innocently. + +The Button-Moulder's look of surprised anguish was sufficient answer. +Callandar laughed. + +"You always were a bit narrow in your views, Willits. How often have I +impressed upon you that beauty depends upon understanding? I don't +suppose you have even tried to understand this room? No? Will it help +any if I tell you that Mrs. Sykes went without a spring bonnet that she +might purchase the deep gold frame which enshrines Victoria the Good, or +if I explain that Joseph Sykes, deceased, whose name you see yonder upon +that engraved plate, was the most worthless rogue unhung. Yet the silver +which displays--" + +"Not in the least," interrupted the other hastily. "The place is a +nightmare. Nothing can excuse it! And you--how you stand it I +cannot see." + +"My dear man, I don't stand it. I am not allowed to. It's only upon +special occasions that any one is allowed to stand this room. You are a +special occasion. But as you seem so unappreciative we can adjourn to my +office if you wish." + +"You have an office?" + +"Certainly. A doctor has to have an office. This way." + +Callandar strode across the room and opened a door in the opposite wall. +It led into another room, smaller, with no veranda in front of it, yet +with a window looking toward the road and two side windows through which +the after flush of sunrise streamed. Its door opened upon a small stone +stoop set in the grass of the front lawn. The furniture of the room was +plain, not to say severe. Cool matting covered the painted floor, +hemstitched curtains of linen scrim hung at the windows. There was a +businesslike desk, a couch, a reclining chair, a stool by the door; +another chair, straight and uncompromising, behind the desk. That +was all. + +Willits looked around him in a kind of dazed surprise. "Office!" he kept +murmuring. "_Office_!" + +"All rather plain, you see," said Callandar regretfully. "But for a +beginner with his way to make, not so bad. My patients, three up to +date, quite understand and conceal their commiseration with perfect good +breeding. Also, the room has natural advantages, it is in the nature of +an annex, you see, with a door of its own. Quite cut off from the rest +of the house save-for the door by which we entered, the parlour door, +which Mrs. Sykes informs me I may lock if I choose although she feels +sure that I know her too well to imagine any undue liberties +being taken!" + +The Button-Moulder with a gesture of despair made as if to sit down upon +the nearest chair, but was prevented with kindly firmness by his host. + +"Not that chair, please. It may not be quite dry. I glued--" + +The voice of the visitor suddenly returned. It was a very dry voice; +threadlike, but determined. + +"Then if you will kindly find me a chair which you have not glued I +shall sit down and dispose of a few burning thoughts. Callandar, as soon +as you have finished playing the fool--" + +"Consider it finished, old man." + +"Then what does this, all this"--with a sweeping hand wave--"mean? You +cannot seriously intend to stay here?" + +"Why not?" + +"Your question is absurd." + +"No, it isn't. Let it sink in. Why should I not stay here? Examine the +facts. I am ordered change, rest, interest, good air--a year at least +must elapse before I take up my life again. I must spend that year +somewhere. Why not here? It is healthy, high, piney, quiet. I had become +utterly tired of my tramping tour. All the good I can get from it I have +got. Chance, or whatever you like to call it, leads me to this place. A +place which needs a doctor and which this particular doctor needs. There +is nothing absurd about it." + +The tall man observed his friend in interested silence. Apparently he +required time to adjust his mind to the fact that Callandar was in +earnest. The badinage he brushed aside. + +"Then you really intend--but how about this office? If it is not a +torn-fool office, where does the necessary rest come in?" + +"Rest doesn't mean idleness. I should die of loafing. As a matter of +fact since coming here I have rested as I have not rested for a year. +Look at me! Can't you see it? Or is the renovation not yet visible to +the naked eye? Great Scott! I don't need to vegetate in order to +rest, do I?" + +"No." Another pause ensued during which the gimlet eyes of the professor +were busy. Then he seemed suddenly to leap to the heart of the matter. + +"And--Lorna?" He asked crisply. + +It was the other's turn to be silent. He flushed, looked embarrassed, +and drummed with his fingers upon the table. + +"Of course I have no right to ask," added Willits primly. + +"Yes, you have, old man. Every right. But I knew you had come to ask +that question and I didn't like it. The answer is not a flattering +one--to me. Nor is it what you expected. To be brief, Lorna won't have +me. Refused me--flat!" + +Blank surprise portrayed itself upon the professor's face. + +"The devil she did!" + +"Confess now!" said Callandar, smiling. "You thought I was the one to +blame? There was retributive justice in your eye, don't deny it!" + +"But, I don't understand! I thought--I was sure--" + +"I know. But she doesn't! Not in that way. As a sister--" + +"That's enough! I--Accept my apology. I feel very sorry, Henry." + +Again that look of embarrassment and guilt upon the doctor's face. + +"No. Don't feel sorry! See here, let's be frank about the whole thing. +It was a mistake, from the very beginning, a mistake. Miss Sinnet, +Lorna, is a girl in a thousand. But--I did not care for her as a man +should care for the woman he makes his wife. Nor did she care for +me--wait, I'm not denying that there was a chance. We were very +congenial. She might have cared if--if I had cared more greatly." + +"Henry Callandar! Are you a cad?" + +"No. Merely a man speaking the exact truth. I thought I might risk it, +with you. Lorna Sinnet is not a woman to give her love and take a +half-love in return. She was more clear-sighted than you or I. We should +both have been very miserable." + +Elliott Willits sighed. He was a very sensible man. He prided himself +upon being devoid of sentiment, but even the most sensible of men, +entirely devoid of sentiment, do not like to see their well laid +plans go wrong. + +"Well," he said, "I was mistaken. Let us say no more about it." + +Callandar's eyes softened, melted into misty grey. He laid his arm +affectionately over the other's thin shoulders. "Only this," he said. +"That no man ever had a better friend! I know you, old Button-Moulder. I +know your ambition to make of me a 'shining button on the vest of the +world!' You thought that Lorna might help. But I failed you there. I'm +sorry. That was really the bitterness of the whole thing---to fail you!" + +"You owe me nothing," gruffly. + +"Only my life--my sanity." + +"I shall doubt the latter if you stay here." + +"No, you will see it triumphantly vindicated. I tell you I am better +already. Look at my hand! Do you remember how it shook the last time I +held it out for you. A few more months of this and it will be steady as +a rock. Ah! it's good to be feeling fit again! And it isn't only a +physical improvement." His smile faded and rising he began to pace the +room. "I doubt if even you fully understand the mental depression that +was dragging me down. No wonder Lorna would have none of me! Strange, +that I cannot understand my own case as I understand the cases of +others. Do what I would, I could not heal myself, the soul of the matter +persistently escaped me. I was beginning to be as much the victim of an +obsession as any of the poor creatures whom I tried to cure." + +"You never told me of that." + +"No, I was afraid to speak of it. It would have made it seem more real. +But I can tell you now, if you are sure you will not be bored." + +"I shall not be bored," said Willits quietly. + + + + +CHAPTER VII + + +"In order to make you understand, I'll have to go back," said the doctor +musingly, "a long way back. Some of the story you already know, but now +I want you to know it all. But first--when you found me in that +hospital, a useless bit of human wreckage, and forced me back into life +with your scorn of a coward and your cutting words, what did you think? +What did I tell you? It is all hazy to me." + +"You told me very little. It was plain enough. You had come a bad +cropper. Some girl, I gathered. You had lost her, you blamed yourself. +You talked a great deal of nonsense. I inferred--the usual thing!" + +"You were mistaken. It was at once better and worse than that. But let's +begin at the beginning. My father was a fairly wealthy man--but a +dreamer. He made his money by a clever invention and lost it by an +investment little short of idiotic. Like many unpractical men he had +rather fancied himself as a man of business and the disillusion killed +him. He--shot himself. My mother, my sister and myself were left, with +nothing save a small sum in the bank and the deed of the modest house we +lived in. Adela was twenty-one and I was nineteen. We sold the house, +moved into rooms; Adela learned shorthand and went into an office. I +wanted to do the same. But mother was adamant. I must finish my college +course and take my degree; she and Adela could manage until I could make +it up to them later. It was hard, but it seemed the only sensible +thing to do-- + +"I faced the task of working my way through college with a thankful +heart, for though I pretended that I did not care, it would have been a +terrible thing to have given up my life's ambition. The thought of Adela +trudging to the office hurt--it was the touch of the spur. I needn't +tell you, you can guess how I worked! People were kind. One summer, old +Doctor Inglis, whose amiable hobby it was to help young medical +students, engaged me for the holidays as his chauffeur and general +helper at a wage which would see me through my next term. It seemed an +unusual piece of luck, for he lived only twenty miles from my mother's +home and an electric tram connected the towns. One night I went with +Adela to a Church Social--of all places--and that is where the story +really begins, for it was at the Social that I met Molly Weston. It +seemed the most casual of all accidents, for you can imagine that I did +not frequent churches in those days, and Molly, too, had come there by +chance. She was dressed in pink, her cheeks were pink, she wore a pink +rose in her hair. She was the prettiest little fairy that ever smiled +and pouted her way into a boy's heart. Before I left her I was madly in +love--a boy's first headlong passion. Adela was amazed, teased me in her +elderly sister way but never for a moment took it seriously. Molly was a +mere bird of passage, an American girl staying with friends for a brief +time, therefore my infatuation was a humorous thing. But it was not so +simple as that. Molly stayed on, Dr. Inglis was indulgent, we met +continually. If her friends knew of it they did not care. It was just a +flirtation of their pretty guest's. As a serious factor I was quite +beneath the horizon, a young fellow working his way through college, and +with, later on, a mother and sister to support. + +"Molly understood the situation. At least she knew all the facts. I +doubt if she ever understood them. She was one of those helpless, +clinging girls who never seem to understand anything clearly. I remember +well how I used to agonise in explanation, trying to make her see our +difficulties and to face them with me. But when I had talked myself into +helpless silence she would ruffle my hair and say, 'But you really do +love me, don't you, Harry?' or 'I don't care what we have to do, so long +as mother doesn't know.' + +"I soon found out that her one strong emotion was fear of her mother. +She was fond of her but she feared her as weak natures fear the strong, +especially when bound to them by ties of blood. I was allowed to see her +photograph--the picture of a grim hard face instinct with an almost +terrible strength. No wonder my pretty Molly was her slave. One would +have deemed it impossible that they were mother and daughter. Molly, it +appears, was like her father, and he, poor man, had been long dead. +Molly would do anything, promise anything, if only her mother might not +know. She had not the faintest scruple in deceiving her, but this I +laid, and still lay, to the strength of her love for me. + +"She did love me. She must have loved me--else how could her timid +nature have taken the risk it did? + +"Summer fled by like a flash. Molly stayed with her friends as long as +she could find an excuse and then went on for a brief week in Toronto. +It was the week, of course, that I returned to college. We hoped that +she could extend her stay, but her mother wrote 'Come home,' and there +was no appeal from that. Then I did a desperate thing. Without Molly's +knowledge I wrote to her mother telling her that I loved her daughter +and begging, as a man begs for his life, to be allowed to ask her to +wait for me. The letter was a lie in that it concealed the fact that my +love was already confessed but I felt it necessary to shield Molly. I +received no answer to the letter, but Molly received a telegram, 'Come +home at once.' + +"I can leave you to imagine the scene--my despair, Molly's tears! Never +for an instant did she dream of disobeying and I--I felt that if she +went I should lose her forever. + +"Willits, there is something in me, devil or angel, which will not give +up. Nothing has ever conquered it yet and Molly was like wax in my +hands--so long as 'Mother' need not know. I do not attempt to excuse +myself; what I did was dastardly, but it did not seem so then. The night +before she left, she stole away from home. I had a license and we were +married by a Methodist minister. He knew neither of us and probably +forgot the whole incident immediately. It was a marriage only in name +for we said good-bye at Molly's door. She left next morning. I never saw +her again." + +Into the silence which followed, the professor's words dropped dryly. + +"What was your idea in forcing a meaningless marriage?" + +"I loved her. I knew that it was the only way. Madly as I loved her, I +knew that Molly was weak as water. I could not, would not, run the risk +of letting her leave me without the legal tie. But I justified it to +myself--I could have justified anything, I fear! I vowed a vow that she +would be repaid for the waiting as never woman yet was paid. She wept on +my shoulder and said, 'And you really do love me, Harry--and you'll +swear mother need never know?' + +"I swore it. There were to be no letters. Molly was too terrified to +write and still more terrified of receiving a letter. She would live in +constant dread, she said, if there were a possibility of such a thing. +Weak in everything else she was adamant in this. + +"I went back to work. I worked with the strength of ten. Health, +comfort, pleasure, all were subordinated to the fever of work. I hoped +that I might steal a glimpse of her sometimes. She promised to try to +return to Toronto. But my letter must have alarmed the mother. I found +out, indirectly, that shortly after her return, Mrs. Weston whisked her +off to Europe. They were gone a year. When they returned I was in the +far west with a government surveying party, earning something to help me +with my last year's college expenses. When I was again in Toronto she +had vanished. Gone, as I afterward learned, to stay with an aunt in +California. Her mother, alive to danger, was not going to risk a +meeting, and my vow to Molly left me helpless. But how I worked! + +"That last year things began to come my way. Adela married a fine young +fellow, wealthy and generous. My mother went to live with them in their +western home, Calgary, where they still are. Then Thomas Callandar, my +mother's brother, who had never bothered about any of us living, died, +and left me a handsome property, adding, as you already know, the +condition that I take the family name. You remember that my father's +name, the name under which I married Molly, was Chedridge. + +"Nothing now held me from Molly--in another month I would have my +degree, and free and rich I could go to claim her. It seemed like a +fairy tale! In my great happiness I broke my promise and wrote to her, +to the California address, hoping to catch her there. In three weeks' +time the letter came back from the dead letter office. I wrote again, +this time to the Cleveland address, a short note only, telling her I was +free at last. Then, next day, I followed the letter to Cleveland, wealth +in one hand, the assurance of an honourable degree in the other. + +"I had no trouble in finding the house. It was one of a row of houses, +nondescript but comfortable, in a pleasant street. It seemed familiar--I +had seen Molly's snapshots of it often. I cannot tell you what it felt +like to be really there--to walk down the street, up the path, up the +steps to the veranda. I was trembling as with ague, I was chalk-white I +knew--was I not in another moment to see my wife! + +"I could hear the electric bell tingle somewhere inside. Then an awful +pause. What if they were not at home? What if they lived there no +longer? I knew with a pang of fear that I could not bear another +disappointment. + +"There was a sound in the hall, the door knob moved--the door opened. I +gasped in the greatness of my relief for the face in the opening was +undoubtedly the face of Molly's mother. They were at home. They must +have had my letter--they must be expecting me-- + +"Something in the woman's face daunted me. It was deathly and strained. +Surely she did not intend to continue her opposition? Yet it confused +me. I forgot all that I had intended to say, I stammered: + +"'I am Henry Chedridge. I want to see Molly. I am rich, I have my +degree--' + +"'You cannot see her!' she said. Just that! The door began to close. But +I had myself in hand now. I laid hold of the door and spoke in a +different tone. The tone of a master. + +"'This is foolish, Mrs. Weston. I thought you understood. I can and I +will see your daughter. Molly is my wife!' + +"She gave way at that. The door opened wide, showing a long empty hall. +The woman stood aside, made no effort to stop me, but looking me in the +eyes she said: 'You come too late. Your wife is not here. Molly +is dead!' + +"Then, in one second, it seemed that all the years of overwork, of +mental strain and bodily deprivation rose up and took their due. I tried +to speak, stuttered foolishly, and fell like dead over the door-sill of +the house I was never to enter. + +"You know the rest, for you saved me. When I struggled back to life, +without the will to live, you shamed and stung me into effort. You +brought the new master-influence into my life, taught me that the old +ambition, the old work-ardour was not dead. Those months with you in +Paris, in Germany, in London at the feet of great men saw a veritable +new birth. I ceased to be Henry Chedridge, lover, and became Henry +Callandar, scientist. All this I owe to you." + +The other raised his hand. + +"No, not that. Some impulse I may have given you, but you have made +yourself what you are. But--you have not told me all yet?" + +"No." Again the doctor began his uneasy pacing of the room. "The rest is +harder to tell. It is not so clear. It has nothing to do with facts at +all. It is just that when I first began to show signs of overwork this +last time I became troubled with an idea, an obsession. It had no +foundation. It persisted without reason. It was fast becoming +unbearable!" + +He paused in his restless pacing and Willits' keen eyes noticed the look +of strain which had aroused his alarm some months ago. Nevertheless he +asked in his most matter-of-fact tone, "And the idea was--?" + +Callandar hesitated. "I can hardly speak of it yet in the past tense. +The idea is--that Molly is not dead!" + +"Good Heavens!" ejaculated the professor, startled out of his calm. "But +have you any reason to doubt? To--to base--" + +"None whatever. No enquiries which I have made cast doubt upon the +mother's words. But on the other hand I have been unable to confirm +them. I cannot find where my wife died--except that there is no record +of her death in the Cleveland registries. She did not die in Cleveland." + +"But you have told me that they were seldom at home. That the mother was +a great traveller." + +"Yes. The want of evidence in Cleveland proves nothing." + +"Did you feel any doubt at first?" + +"Absolutely none. The gloomy house, the empty hall, the white face and +black dress of the woman in the door, the look of horror and anger in +her eyes--yes, and a kind of grim triumph too--all served to drive the +fatal message home. Dead!--There was death in the air of that house, +death in the ghastly face--in the cruel, toneless words!--After my +tedious recovery I made an effort to see Mrs. Weston, although I had +conceived a horror of the woman, but she was gone. The house had been +sold. I tried to trace her without result. She seemed to have vanished +off the face of the earth." + +"And how long ago did the whole thing happen?" + +"Twelve years. I was twenty-three when I went to claim my bride. I am +thirty-five now." + +"Dear me!" said the little man sincerely, "I have always thought you +older than that! But twelve years is--twelve years! And you say this +doubt is a very recent thing?" + +"Yes. I have told you the thing is absurd. But I can't help it." + +"Have you made any further enquiries?" + +"Yes, uselessly. There is a rumour that Mrs. Weston, too, is dead. A +lady who used to know them tells me that she is certain she heard of her +death--in England, she thinks, but upon being questioned was quite at +sea as to where or when or even as to the original source of her +information. She remembers 'hearing it' and that's all. Then I sought +for the aunts, the maiden ladies whom Molly visited in California. They +too are gone, the older died during the time I lay ill in the hospital. +The younger one was not quite bright, I believe, and was taken away to +live with some relatives in the East. It was not Molly's mother who +fetched her. It was a man, a very kind man whom the old lady, my +informant, had never seen before. She said he had a queer name. She +could not remember it, but thought he was a physician. I imagine that +the kind friend was an asylum doctor." + +"Very likely. And could your informant tell you nothing of the niece--if +Molly had visited there?" + +"She remembered her last visit very well but her memories were of no +value. She was a sweet, pretty child, she said, and she often wondered +how she came to have such a homely mother. She evidently disliked Mrs. +Weston very much, and when I asked her if she had ever heard of Molly's +death she said no, but that she was not a bit surprised as she had +always predicted that the pretty, little, white thing would be worried +into an early grave. I noticed the word 'white' and asked her about it, +for the Molly I knew had a lovely colour. Her memory became confused +when I pressed her, but she seemed quite sure that the girl who came +that winter with her mother was a very pale girl--looked as if she might +have come south for her health." + +"All of which goes to prove--" + +"Yes--I know. Poor Molly! Poor little girl! I believe in my heart that +our mad marriage killed her. Without me constantly with her, the fear of +her mother, perhaps the doubt of me, the burden of the whole disastrous +secret was too much. And it was my fault, Willits--all my fault!" He +turned to the window to hide his working face. "Do you wonder," he added +softly, "that her poor little wraith comes back to trouble me?" + +"Come, come, no need to be morbid! You made a mistake, but you have +paid. As for the doubt which troubles you--it is but the figment of a +tired brain. The mother could have had no possible reason for deceiving +you. You were no longer an ineligible student--and the girl loved you. +Besides, there was the legal tie. Would any woman condemn her daughter +to a false position for life? And without reason? The idea is +preposterous. Come now, admit it!" + +"Oh, I admit it! My reasoning powers are still unimpaired. But reason +has nothing to do with that kind of mental torture. It is my soul that +has been sick; it is my soul that must be cured. And to come back to the +very point from which we started, I believe I shall find that cure +here--in Coombe." + +"With Mrs. Sykes?" dryly. + +"Certainly. Mrs. Sykes is part of the cure." + +"And the other part?" + +"Oh--just everything. I hardly know why I like the place. But I do. Why +analyse? I can sleep here. I wake in the morning like a man with the +right to live, and for the first time in a year, Willits, a long +torturing year, I am beginning to feel free of that oppression, that +haunting sense that somewhere Molly is alive, that she needs me and that +I cannot get to her. I had begun to fear that it would drive me mad. +But, here, it is going. Yesterday I was walking down a country road and +suddenly I felt free--exquisitely, gloriously free--the past wiped out! +That--that was why I almost feared to see you, Elliott, you bring the +past so close." + +The hands of the friends met in a firm handclasp. + +"Have it your own way," said the professor, smiling his grim smile. +"Consider me silenced." + +The doctor's answer was cut off by the jingling entrance of Mrs. Sykes +bearing before her a large tray upon which stood tall glasses, a beaded +pitcher of ice cold lemonade and some cake with white frosting. + +"Seeing as it's so hot," said she amiably, "I thought a cold drink might +cool you off some. Especially as breakfast will be five minutes late +owing to the chicken. I thought maybe as you had a friend, doctor, a +chicken--" + +"A chicken will be delicious," said the doctor, answering the question +in her voice. "Mrs. Sykes, let me present Professor Willits; Willits, +Mrs. Sykes! Let me take the tray." + +Mrs. Sykes shook hands cordially. "Land sakes!" she said. "I thought you +were a priest! Not that I really suspicioned that the doctor, good +Presbyterian as he is, would know any such. But priests is terrible +wily. They deceive the very elect--and it's best to be prepared. As it +is, any friend of the doctor's is a friend of mine. You're kindly +welcome, I'm sure." + +"Thank you," said the professor limply. + +The doctor handed them each a glass and raised his own. + +"Let us drink," he said, "to Coombe. 'Coombe and the Soul cure!'" + +"Amen!" said Willits. + +"Land sakes!" said Mrs. Sykes. "I thought it was his spine!" + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + + +Zerubbabel Burk sat upon his stool of office in the doctor's consulting +room, swinging his legs. Would-be discoverers of perpetual motion might +have received many hints from Bubble, though he himself would have +scorned to consider the swinging of legs as motion. He was under the +delusion that he was sitting perfectly still. For the doctor was asleep. + +Asleep, at four o'clock on a glorious summer day! No wonder his friend +and partner wore a tragic face. + +"Doesn't seem to care a hang if he never gets any patients!" mused +Bubble, resentfully, stealing a half fond, half angry glance at the +placid face of the sleeper. "Only two folks in all day and one a kid +with a pin in its throat. And all he says is, 'Don't worry, son, we're +getting on fine!' We'll go smash one of these days, that's what we'll +do--just smash!" + +"Tap-tap" sounded the blinds which were drawn over the western windows. +A pleasant little breeze was trying to come in. "Buzz" sounded a fly on +the wall. Bubble arose noisily and killed it with a resounding "thwack." + +"Wake the doctor, would you?" he said. "Take that!" + +But even the pistol-like report which accompanied the fly's demise +failed to ruffle the sleeper. Bubble returned disconsolate to +his stool. + +"Smash," he repeated, "smash is the word. I see our finish." + +The pronoun which Bubble used nowadays was always "we." He belonged to +the doctor body and soul, but it was no servile giving. The doctor also +belonged to him, and it was with this privilege of ownership that he now +found fault with his idol. Had any one else objected to the doctor's +afternoon rest he would have found reason and excuse enough; but in his +own heart he was puzzled. Such indifference to the appearances, such +wilful disregard of "business" could hardly, he thought, be real; yet, +for an imitation, it was remarkably well done. Bubble admired even while +he deprecated. + +Why, he did not even go to church so that the minister might introduce +him around as "Dr. Callandar, the new brother who has come amongst us." +Neither did he walk down Main Street, nor show himself in public places. +When he went walking he went early in the morning and directed his steps +toward the country. About all the usual means of harmless and necessary +advertising he did not seem to know Beans! Bubble looked disconsolately +out of the window. There was Ann, now, coming across the yard. School +must be out, and still the doctor slept. + +"Anybody in?" asked Ann in a stage whisper. + +"Not just now. Been very busy though. Doctor's resting. Stop that +noise." + +"I'm not making any noise! He's part my doctor anyway. I'll make a noise +if I like--" + +"No you won't, miss!" + +"But I don't _like_," added Ann with her impish smile. "If he's asleep +what are you staying here for? Come on out." + +Bubble regarded the tempter with scornful amazement. + +"That's it!" he exclaimed, "jest like I always said, women haven't any +sense of honour. What d'ye suppose I'm here for?" + +"Not just to swing your legs," placidly. "He doesn't need you when he's +asleep, does he? Come on and let's get some water-cress. He'd like some +for his tea--dinner I mean. Say, Bubble, why does he call it dinner?" + +"Because he comes from the city, Silly! They don't have any tea in the +city. They have breakfast when they get up and lunch at noon and dinner +about seven or eight or nine at night. Then if they get hungry before +bed-time they have supper. The doctor says he never gets hungry after +dinner so he don't have that." + +Ann considered this a moment. + +"They do so have tea!" she declared. "I heard Mrs. Andrew West telling +about it. She said her sister in Toronto had a tea specially for her." + +"Oh," with superb disdain, "that's just for women. If they can't wait +for dinner they get bread and butter and tea in the afternoon. But they +have to eat it walking around and they only get it when they go out +to call." + +Ann sighed. "I'd like to live in the city," she murmured. "Say, don't +you feel as if you'd like a cookie right now?" + +Bubble squirmed. But his Spartan fortitude held. + +"In business hours? No, thank you. 'Tisn't professional. Look silly, +wouldn't I, if one of our patients caught me eating?" + +"How many to-day?" + +"That'd be telling. 'Tisn't professional to tell. Doctor says if a man +wants to succeed, he's got to be as dumb as a noyster in business!" + +"Pshaw!" said Ann, "Aunty'll tell. She always counts. Then you don't +want a cookie?" + +"Well--later on--Cricky! here's some one coming! You scoot--pike it!" + +"I won't!" Ann stood her ground, peering eagerly around the rose bush. +"It's only Esther Coombe. She'll be coming to see Aunt--no--she's coming +here! Hi, Bubble, wake him up--quick!" + +"Hum, Hum!" said Bubble in a loud voice, rattling a chair. The sleeper +made no movement. + +Ann, brave through anxiety, flew across the room and shook him with all +the strength of her small hands. The heavy lids lifted and still +Ann shook. + +"Is it an earthquake?" asked the victim politely. + +"No--it's a patient! Oh, do get up. Oh, goodness gracious, look at your +hair!" + +The doctor passed his hand absently over a disordered head. "Yes," he +said, "I have always thought that shaking is not good for hair. Dear me! +I believe I have been asleep!" + +Ann threw him a glance of mingled admiration and reproach and vanished +through the parlour door just as the step of the patient sounded upon +the stone steps. + +"Why, Bubble Burk!" said a voice. "What are you doing here?" + +At the sound of the voice, sleep fled from the doctor's eyes. He arose +precipitately. + +"I'm workin'," Bubble's voice was not as confident as usual. "This here +is Dr. Callandar's office. Mrs. Sykes' visitors go round to the +front door." + +"Oh! But it's the doctor I wish to see. Is he in?" + +Bubble was now plainly agitated. + +"If you'll just wait a moment, I'll--I'll see." + +Leaving Esther smiling upon the steps he disappeared into the shaded +office and pulled up the blinds. The couch had been decorously +straightened. The office was empty! Bubble gave a sigh of relief and his +professional manner returned. + +"He isn't just what you might call in," he explained affably to Esther. +"But he'll be down directly. Walk in." + +Esther walked in and took the seat which Bubble indicated. + +"Somebody sick over at your house?" with ill-concealed hope. + +Esther dimpled. "Not dangerously, thank you." + +"Then it's just tickets for the choir concert. I might have known. But +you're too late. Doctor's got half a dozen already. He--" + +Further revelations were cut short by the entrance of the doctor +himself. A doctor with sleep-cleared eyes, fresh collar, and newly +brushed hair. A doctor who shook hands with his caller in a manner which +even the professional Bubble felt to be irreproachable. + +"Bubble, you may go." + +With a grin of satisfied pride the junior partner departed, but once +outside the gloomy expression returned. + +"It's only choir-tickets!" he told Ann, who was waiting around the +corner of the house. "Come on--let's go fishin'." + +Inside the office Esther and the doctor looked at each other and smiled. +He, because he felt like smiling; she, because she felt nervous. Yet it +was not going to be as awkward as she had feared. With a decided sense +of relief she realised that Dr. Callandar looked exactly like a doctor +after all! Convention, even in clothes, has a calming effect. There was +little of the weary tramp who had quenched his throat at the school +pump in the well groomed and quietly capable looking doctor. With a +notable decrease of tension Esther saw that the man before her was a +stranger, a pleasant, professional stranger, with whom no embarrassment +was possible. + +As for him he realised nothing except that Coombe was really a +delightful place. He felt glad that he had stayed. + +"No one ill, I hope, Miss Coombe?" His tone, even, seemed to have lost +the whimsical inflection of the tramp. + +"No, Doctor. Not ill exactly. It is Aunt Amy. We cannot understand just +what is the matter. You see, Aunty imagines things. She is not quite +like other people. Perhaps," with a quick smile as she thought of Mrs. +Sykes, "perhaps you may have heard of her--of her fantastic ideas? They +are really quite harmless and apart from them she is the most sensible +person I know. But lately, just the other day, something happened--" + +He checked her with an almost imperceptible gesture. "Could you tell me +about it from the beginning?" + +Esther looked troubled. "I do not know much about the beginning. You +see, Aunt Amy is my step-mother's aunt, and I have only known her since +she came to live with us shortly after my father's second marriage. But +I know that she has been subject to delusions since she was a young +girl. She was to have been married and on the wedding day her lover +became ill with scarlet fever, a most malignant type. She also sickened +with it a little later; it killed him and left her mentally twisted--as +she is now. Her health is good and the--strangeness--is not very +noticeable. It has usually to do with unimportant things. She is +really," with a little burst of enthusiasm, "a Perfect Dear!" + +The doctor smiled. "And the new development?" + +"It is not exactly new. She has always had one delusion more serious +than the others. She believes that she has enemies somewhere who would +do her harm if they got the chance. She is quite vague as to who or what +they are. She refers to them as 'They.' Once, when she came to us first, +she was frightened of poison and, although my father, who had great +influence over her, seemed to cure her of any active fear, for years she +has persisted in a curious habit of drinking her coffee without setting +down the cup. The idea seemed to be that if she let it out of her hands +'They,' the mysterious persecutors, might avail themselves of the +opportunity to drug it. Does it sound too fantastic?" + +"No. It is not unusual--a fairly common delusion, in fact. There is a +distinct type of brain trouble, one of whose symptoms is a conviction of +persecution. The results are fantastic to a degree." + +Well, the day before yesterday Aunt Amy was drinking her coffee as +usual, when she heard Jane scream in the garden. She is very fond of +Jane, and it startled her so that she jumped up at once, forgetting all +about the coffee, and ran out to see what was the matter. Jane had cut +her finger and the tiniest scratch upsets poor Auntie terribly. She is +terrified of blood. When she came back she felt faint and at once picked +up the cup and drank the remaining coffee. I hoped she had not noticed +the slip but she must have done so, subconsciously, for when I was +helping her with the dishes she turned suddenly white--ghastly. She had +just remembered! + +'They've got me at last, Esther!' she said with a kind of proud +despair. 'I've been pretty smart, but not quite smart enough.' + +I pretended not to understand and she explained quite seriously that +while she had been absent in the garden 'They' had seen her half-filled +cup and seized their opportunity. It was quite useless to point out that +there was no one in the house but ourselves. She only said, 'Oh, "They" +would not let me see them "They" are too smart for that.' Overwhelming +smartness is one of the attributes of the mysterious 'They.' + +"I hoped that the idea would wear away but it didn't; it strengthened. +In vain I pointed out that she was perfectly well, with no symptom of +poisoning. She merely answered that naturally 'They' would be too smart +to use ordinary poisons with symptoms. 'I shall just grow weaker and +weaker,' she said, 'and in a week or a month I shall die!' I tried to +laugh but I was frightened. Mother advised taking no notice at all and I +have tried not to, but I can't keep it up. She is certainly weaker and +so strange and hopeless. I am terrified. Can mind really affect matter, +Doctor Callandar?" + +"No. As a scientific fact, it cannot. But it is true that certain states +of mind and certain conditions of matter always correspond. Why this is +so, no one knows, when we do know we shall hold the key to many +mysteries. The understanding, even partial, of this correspondence will +be a long step in a long new road. Meanwhile we speak loosely of mind +influencing matter, ignoring the impossibility. And, however it happens, +it is undoubtedly true that if we can, by mental suggestion, influence +your Aunt's mind into a more healthy attitude the corresponding change +will take place physically." + +"But I have tried to reason with her." + +"You can't reason with her. She is beyond mere reason. I might as well +try to reason you out of your conviction that the sun is shining. A +delusion like hers has all the stability of a perfectly sane belief." + +"Then what can we do?" + +"Since that delusion is a fact for her we must treat it as if it were a +fact for us." + +"You mean we must pretend to believe that the danger is real?" + +"It is real. People have died before now of nothing save a fixed idea of +death." + +"Oh!" + +"But don't worry. Aunt Amy is not going to die. When may I see her? If I +come over in a half an hour will that be convenient?" + +Esther rose with relief. How kind he had been! How completely he had +understood! She had been right, perfectly right, in coming to him. In +spite of Mrs. Coombe's ridicule, Aunt Amy's need had been no fancy. And +there was another thing; he was coming to the house. Her mother would +see him--and presto! her prejudice against doctors would vanish--he +would cure the headaches, and everything would be happy again. + +The doctor, watching keenly, thought that she must have been troubled +greatly to show such evident relief. + +"One thing more," he said. "Was there, do you know, any history of +insanity in your aunt's family?" + +The girl paled. The idea was a disturbing one. + +"Why--no--I think not. I never heard. You see, she is not my Aunt, +really, but my step-mother's aunt. There was a brother, I think, who +died in--in an institution. He was not quite responsible, but in his +case it was drink. That is different, isn't it? Does it make any +difference?" + +"No--only it may help me to understand the case. Good-afternoon." + +He watched her go, through a peep-hole made by Bubble in the blind. + +"Pretty, isn't she?" said a reflective voice below him. + +The doctor started. But it was only Mrs. Sykes who had stepped around +the house corner to pluck some flowers from the bed beneath the window. +As he did not answer, the voice continued, "That boy Burk has gone +fishing. I told you you'd regret putting that new suit on to him, brass +buttons and all! Not that I want to say anything against the lad and his +mother a widow, but when a person's dealing with a limb of mischief a +person ought to know what to expect. Anybody sick over at +Esther's house?" + +The doctor, leaning against the door in deep reverie, did not seem to +hear. Mrs. Sykes, after a suspicious glance, decided that perhaps he +really had not heard, and proceeded. + +"Not that I'm asking out of curiosity, Land sakes! But I've got some +black currant jelly that sick folks fancy. I could spare a jar as +well as not." + +A pause. + +The flower picker bunched her flowers into a tight round knot which she +surveyed with pride. "That step-mother of Esther's now," she said. "I +don't hold much with her. Flighty, I call her. Delicate, too, if looks +don't lie. Men are queer. The only thing queerer is women. What d'ye +suppose a sensible middle-aged man like Doctor Coombe ever saw in that +pretty doll? And what did she see in him--old enough to be her father? A +queer match, I call it. But they do say that her side of it is easy +explained. Anyway it must have been a trying thing when the doctor's +gold mine didn't--" + +Mrs. Sykes' flow of words ceased abruptly, for rising from a last +descent upon the rose bush she saw that her audience had vanished. + +"Dear me! I hope he didn't think I was trying to be curious," said Mrs. +Sykes. + + + + +CHAPTER IX + + +It required some persuasion to induce Aunt Amy to consent to see the +doctor. Doctors, she had found (with the single exception of Dr. +Coombe), were terribly unreasonable. They asked all kinds of questions, +and never believed a word of the answers. + +"And if I have a doctor," she declared tearfully, "I shall have to go to +bed. And if I go to bed who will get supper? The sprigged tea-set--" + +"But you won't need to go to bed, Auntie. You aren't ill, you know; just +a little bit upset. If you feel like lying down why not use the sofa in +my room? And even if you do not wish to see the doctor for yourself," +Esther's tone was reproachful, "think what a good opportunity it is for +us to get an opinion about mother. Don't you remember saying just the +other day that you thought mother was foolish to be so nervous +about doctors?" + +"Yes, but she needn't stay in the room, need she, Esther? I don't want +her in the room. She laughs. But I would like to lie on your sofa and if +I must see him I had better wear my lavender cap." + +"Yes, dear, and you will not mind mother staying--" + +"But I do mind, Esther. And anyway she can't," triumphantly, "because +she has gone out." + +"Gone out? Mother? But she knew the doctor was coming and she +promised--" + +"Yes, I know. She said to tell you she had fully intended staying in +until the doctor had been, but she had forgotten about the Ladies' Aid +Meeting. She simply had to go to that. She said you could attend to the +doctor quite as well as she could and that it was all nonsense anyway, +because there was nothing whatever the matter with me." The faded eyes +filled with tears again and Esther had much ado to prevent their +imminent overflow. + +She settled Aunt Amy upon the couch and adjusted the lavender cap +without further betrayal of her own feelings, but in her heart she was +both angry and hurt. Her mother had known of the doctor's intended visit +and had distinctly promised to remain in to receive him. What would Dr. +Callandar think? It was most humiliating. + +The Ladies' Aid Meeting was plainly an excuse for a deliberate shirking +of responsibility. Or, worse still, Mrs. Coombe, divining Esther's +double motive, may have left the house purposely to escape seeing the +doctor on her own account. Esther well knew the stubbornness of which +she was capable upon this one question, and the cunningness of it was +like her. She had made no objections; she had not troubled to refuse or +to argue--she had simply gone out. + +Well, it was something to feel that she, Esther, had done what she +could. At any rate, there was no time to worry, for the doctor was +already coming up the walk. + +Esther hurried to the door. It relieved her to find that he seemed to +expect her, and showed no offence on realising that the patient's +nearest relative was not at home to receive him. Indeed, he seemed to +think of no one save the patient herself. His manner, Esther thought, +was perfect. Had she been a little older she might have suspected such +perfection, deducing from it that Callandar, like herself, was +subconsciously aware of an interest in the situation not altogether +professional. But the girl made no deductions and certainly there was no +trace of any embarrassment in the doctor's way with his patient. It took +only a moment for Esther to decide that here, at least, she had done the +right thing. She waited only long enough to see the frightened look in +Aunt Amy's eyes replaced by one of timid confidence and then, murmuring +an excuse, slipped away, leaving them together. + +Callandar also waited while the startled eyes grew quiet and then lifted +the fluttering hand into his own firm one. + +"Creatures of habit, we doctors, aren't we?" he said, smiling. "Always +taking people's temperatures." + +Aunt Amy ventured upon a vague answering smile. + +"I understand," continued the doctor, "that you have reason to fear that +you have been poisoned?" + +The hand began to flutter again, but quieted as the pleasant, confident +voice went on: + +"Your niece has told me something of the case but no details. Perhaps +you can supply them for me. When exactly did it happen and what kind of +poison was it?" + +The fluttering hand became quite still and the eyes of Aunt Amy slowly +filled with a great amazement. Here was an unbelievable thing--a doctor +who did not argue or deny or playfully scold her for "fancies." A doctor +who took her seriously and showed every intention of believing what she +said. No one, save Dr. Coombe, had ever done that-- + +"It is always best in these cases to get the details from the patient +herself," went on the doctor, encouragingly. + +No, he was not laughing! Aunt Amy could detect nothing save the gravest +of interest in his kindly eyes. An immense relief stole over her. A +relief so great that Callandar, watching, felt his heart grow hot +with pity. + +"Oh, doctor!" she cried feebly, "I--" a rush of easy tears drowned the +rest of the sentence. + +Callandar let her cry. He knew the value of those tears. Presently when +she grew more quiet he exchanged her soaking bit of cambric for his own +more serviceable square. Aunt Amy dried her eyes on it and handed it +back as simply as a child. + +"Pray excuse me," she begged, "but--the relief! I might have died if you +had not come." She went on brokenly. "You see," dropping her voice, "my +relatives are _queer_. They have strange ideas. When I know things quite +well they tell me I am mistaken. Mary, my niece, laughs. Even Esther, +who tries to help me, thinks I do not know what I am talking about. They +all argue in the most absurd manner. If I do not pretend always that I +agree with them I have no peace. Sometimes when I tell some of the +things I know, Esther looks frightened and says I am not to tell Jane. +So I try to keep everything to myself. I don't want the children to be +frightened. They are young and ought to be happy. I was happy when I was +young--at least, I think it was I. Sometimes I'm not sure whether it +wasn't some other girl--I get confused--" + +"Don't worry about it," said the doctor calmly. "Or about Miss Esther +either. I want to hear all about the poison." + +Aunt Amy remembered her precarious condition with a start. Her eyes grew +vague. + +"I don't know how They put it in," she said. "I didn't see Them, you +know. I left my cup of coffee standing while I went to find Jane. I +heard her crying. She had cut her finger and when I had bound it up I +felt faint, so I foolishly forgot and picked up the coffee and drank it. +I wasn't quite myself or I should never have been so careless." + +The doctor seemed to appreciate this point. "Did you taste anything in +the coffee?" he asked. + +"No. Of course They would be too clever for that!" + +"And when did you begin to feel ill?" + +"Just as soon as I remembered that I had forgotten to pour out a fresh +cup." The naïveté of this statement was quite lost upon the +eager speaker. + +Esther, who had re-entered the room, opened her lips to improve this +opportunity for argument but, meeting the doctor's eye, refrained. +Callandar took no notice of the significant admission. + +"Where do you feel the pain now?" he asked. + +Aunt Amy appeared disturbed. + +"Mostly in my head--I--I think." She moved restlessly. + +Callandar appeared to consider this. + +"But I suppose," he said thoughtfully, "that you really feel very little +actual pain. None at all perhaps?" + +Aunt Amy admitted that she could not locate any particular pain. + +"Weakness is the predominating symptom," went on the doctor. "It is, in +fact, a very simple case. All the more serious, of course, for being so +simple, _if_ we did not understand it. But now that we know exactly what +is wrong we need have no fear." + +Aunt Amy's vague eyes began to shine. + +"Shall we get the better of them again?" she asked eagerly. + +"We certainly shall," kindly. "Miss Esther, I am going to leave some +medicine for your aunt; these little pink tablets. She must have one +every two hours and two at bedtime. When she has taken them for two days +I shall send something else. You will notice an improvement almost at +once. Even in an hour or two, perhaps. By the end of the week all +medicine may be discontinued." + +He crushed a little pink tablet in a spoon, mixed it with water, and +watched the old lady while she eagerly swallowed it. + +"There!" he exclaimed. "That is the beginning! All we need now is a +little rest and quiet. Nothing to excite the patient and a tablet +regularly every two hours." He arose, affecting not to see Aunt Amy's +grateful tears. "And of course," he added as if by an afterthought, +"_They_ won't know anything about this. They will think that, having +taken the coffee, the result is certain. They will take for granted that +They have finished you, in fact! So cheer up, it is worth a little +illness to be rid of the fear of Them forever." + +A lightning flash of hope lit up the worn face upon the pillow. "Oh, +Doctor! Do you really think I am free?" + +"Sure of it." + +Aunt Amy sank back with a long sigh; her lined face grew suddenly +peaceful. Esther, who had observed the little scene with wonder, said +nothing, but taking the tablets, kissed her Aunt, and led the way out +in silence. + +"Well?" + +As they stood together in the hall she could see the amused twinkle in +the doctor's eye. + +"I don't like it! You lied to her!" + +"So I did," cheerfully. + +"These tablets," holding up the glass vial, "what are they?" + +"Tonic." + +"And the medicine which you are going to send later?" + +"More tonic." + +"But she thinks--you gave her to understand that they are the antidote +for the poison which you know does not exist." + +"No. They are the antidote for a poison which does exist--medicine for a +mind diseased." + +"It's--it's like taking advantage of a child." + +"So it is, exactly. I suppose you have never taken advantage of a child, +for the child's good?" + +"Certainly not." + +"Never told one, gave one to understand, so to speak, that a kiss will +cure a bumped head?" + +"That's different!" + +"Never told your school class during a thunderstorm that lightning never +hurts good children?" + +"That's very different." + +"And yet all the time you know that lightning falls upon the just and +unjust equally." + +Esther was silent. The doctor laughed. + +"I fear we are both sad story-tellers," he said gaily. "But in Aunt +Amy's case the fibbing will all be charged to my account, you are merely +the nurse. A nurse's duty is to obey orders and not frown (as you are +doing now) upon the doctor. You will find that I shall effect a cure. +Seriously, I do not believe that you have any idea of what that poor +woman has been suffering. If the delusion of living in continual danger +can be lifted in any way even for a time, it will make life over for +her. You would not really allow a scruple to prevent some alleviation of +your Aunt's condition, would you?" + +The girl's downcast eyes flashed up to his, startlingly blue. + +"No. I would not. I love her. I would tell all the fibs in the world to +help her. But all the time I should have a queer idea that _I_ was doing +wrong. It would be common sense against instinct." + +"Against prejudice," he corrected. "The prejudice which always insists +that truth consists in a form of words." + +They were now in the cool green light of the living room. Esther stood +with her back to the table, leaning slightly backward, supporting +herself by one hand. She looked tired. There were shadows under her +eyes. The doctor felt an impulse of irritation against the absent mother +who let the girl outwear her strength. + +"My advice to you is not to worry," he said abruptly. "You are tired. +More tired than a young girl of your age ought to be. You cannot teach +those imps of Satan--I mean those charming children--all day and come +back to home cares at night. Will it be possible for me to speak to Mrs. +Coombe before I go?" + +Watching her keenly he saw that now he had touched the real cause of the +trouble. + +"I am sorry," began Esther, but meeting his look, the prim words of +conventional excuse halted. A little smile curled the end of her lips +and she added, "Since she went out purposely to escape you, it is +not likely." + +"Your mother went out to escape me?" in surprise. + +"In your capacity of doctor only. You see," with a certain childish +naïveté, "she hasn't seen you yet. And mother dislikes doctors very +much. Oh!" with a hot blush, "you will think we are a queer family, +all of us!" + +"It is not at all queer to dislike doctors," he answered her cheerfully. +"I dislike them myself. At the very best they are necessary evils." + +"Indeed no! And when one is ill it seems so foolish--" + +"Is Mrs. Coombe ill?" + +"I don't know. I think so. She has headaches. She is not at all like +herself. I hoped so much that you would meet her this afternoon, and +then she--she went out!" + +"And this is really what is troubling you, and not Aunt Amy?" + +"Yes. You see, Aunt Amy has been quite all right until the last two +days. But mother--that has been troubling us a long time." + +"How long?" + +"Almost since father died--a year ago." + +"But--don't you think that if Mrs. Coombe were really ill her prejudice +would disappear? People do not suffer from choice, usually." + +"No. That is just what puzzles me!" She did indeed look puzzled, very +puzzled and very young. + +"If I could help you in any way?" suggested Callandar. "You may be +worrying quite needlessly." + +"Do people ever consult you about their mothers behind their mother's +back?" + +"Often. Why not?" + +"Only that it doesn't seem natural. Grown-up people--" + +"Are often just as foolish as anybody else!" + +"Besides, I doubt if I can make you understand." Now that the ice was +broken Esther's voice was eager. "I know very little of the real trouble +myself. It seems to be just a general state of health. But it varies so. +Sometimes she seems quite well, bright, cheerful, ready for anything! +Then again she is depressed, nervous, irritable. She has desperate +headaches which come on at intervals. They are nervous headaches, she +says, and are so bad that she shuts herself up in her room and will not +let any of us in. She will not eat. I--I don't know very much about +it, you see." + +"You know a little more than that, I think, perhaps when you know me +better?--It is, after all, a matter of trusting one's doctor." + +"I do trust you. But feelings are so difficult to put into words. And +the greatest dread I have about mother's illness is only a feeling, a +feeling as if I knew, without quite knowing, that the trouble is deeper +than appears. Jane feels it too, so it can't be all imagination. It is +caused, I think, by a change in mother herself. She seems to be growing +into another person--don't laugh!" + +"I am not laughing. Please go on." + +"Well, one thing more tangible is that the headaches, which seem to mark +a kind of nervous crisis, are becoming more frequent. And the +medicine--" + +"But you told me that she took no medicine!" + +"Did I? Then I am telling my story very badly. She has some medicine +which she always takes. It is a prescription which my father gave her a +few months before he died. She had a bad attack of some nervous trouble +then which seems to have been the beginning of everything. But that time +she recovered and it was not until after father's death that the +headaches began again. Father's prescription must, long ago, have lost +all effect, or why should the trouble get worse rather than better? But +mother will not hear a word on the subject. She will take that medicine +and nothing else." + +"Do you know what the medicine is?" + +"No. Father used to fill it for her himself. She says it is a very +difficult prescription and she never has it filled in town, always in +the city." + +"But why? Taylor, here, is quite capable of filling any prescription. He +is a most capable dispenser." + +"Yes--I know. But mother will not believe it." + +"And you say it does her no good whatever?" + +"She thinks that it does. She has a wonderful belief in it. But she gets +no better." + +The doctor looked very thoughtful. + +"She will not allow you to try any kind of compress for her head?" + +"No. She locks her door. And I am sure she suffers, for sometimes when I +have gone up hoping to help I have heard such strange sounds, as if she +were delirious. It frightens me!" + +"Does she talk of her illness?" + +"Never, and she is furious if I do. She says she is quite well and +indeed no one would think that anything serious was wrong unless they +lived in the house. Any one outside would be sure that I am worrying +needlessly. Am I, do you think?" + +"I can't think until I know more. But from what you tell me, it looks as +if this medicine she is taking might have something to do with it. If it +does no good, it probably does harm. Perhaps it was never intended to +be used as she is using it. Otherwise, as you say, the attacks would +diminish. At the same time a blind faith in a certain medicine is not at +all uncommon. One meets it constantly. Also the prejudice against +consulting a physician. It is probable that Mrs. Coombe does not realise +that she is steadily growing worse. Could you let me examine the +medicine?" + +Esther hesitated. + +"It is kept locked up. But, I might manage it. If I asked her for it she +would certainly refuse. I--I should hate to steal it," miserably. + +"I see. Well, try asking first. It is just a question of how far one has +the right to interfere with another's deliberately chosen course of +action. The medicine is probably injurious, even dangerous. I should +warn her, at least. If she will do nothing and you still feel +responsible I should say that you have a moral right to have your own +mind reassured upon the matter." + +Esther smiled. "I believe I feel reassured already. Perhaps I have been +foolishly apprehensive and it never occurred to me that the medicine +might be at fault; at the worst I thought it might be useless, not +harmful. If I could only manage to have you see it without _taking_ it! +There must be a way. I'll think of something and let you know." + +"Do." The doctor picked up his hat for the second time. He was genuinely +interested. He had not expected to find a problem of any complexity in +sleepy Coombe. The cases of Aunt Amy and the peculiar Mrs. Coombe seemed +to justify his staying on. It was pleasant also to help this charming +young girl--although that, naturally, was a secondary consideration! + +Esther ran upstairs with a lightened heart. + + + + +CHAPTER X + + +"I really could not help being late, Esther! I tried to hurry them but +Mrs. Lewis was there. You know what _she_ is!" + +Mrs. Coombe sank gracefully into a veranda chair. Out of the corners of +her eyes she cast a swift glance at the face of her step-daughter and, +as the girl was not looking, permitted herself a tiny smile of malicious +amusement. She was a small woman but one in whom smallness was charm and +not defect. Once she had been exceedingly pretty; she was moderately +pretty still. The narrow oval of her face remained unspoiled but the +small features, once delicately clear, appeared in some strange way to +be blurred and coarsened. The fine grained skin which should have been +delicate and firm had coarsened also and upon close inspection showed +multitudes of tiny lines. Her fluffy hair was very fair, ashy fair +almost, and would have been startlingly lovely only that it, too, was +spoiled by a dryness and lack of gloss which spoke of careless treatment +or ill health, or both. Still, at a little distance, Mary Coombe +appeared a young and attractive woman. The surprise came when one looked +into her eyes. Her eyes did not fit the face at all; they were old eyes, +tired yet restless, and clouded with a peculiar film which robbed them +of all depth. Curiously disturbing eyes they were, like windows with +the blinds down! + +If her eyes were restless, her hands were restless too and she kept +snapping the catch of her hand-bag with an irritating click as +she spoke. + +"I know I ought to have been here when the doctor called to see Amy," +she went on, "but I could not get away. Mrs. Lewis talked and talked. +That woman is worse than Tennyson's brook. She makes me want to scream! +I wonder," musingly, "what would happen if I should jump up some day and +scream and scream? I think I'll try it." + +"Do!" + +"What did Doctor Paragon-what's-his-name say about Amy?" + +"He thinks we have been treating Aunt Amy wrongly. He thinks she should +be humoured more. His name is Callandar." + +"Callandar? What an odd name! It sounds half-familiar. I must have heard +it somewhere. There is a Dr. Callandar in Montreal, isn't there? A +specialist or something." + +"I think this is the same man. But if it is he, doesn't want it known. +He is here for his health, and he has never taken the trouble to correct +the impression that he is a beginner working up a practice. I thought so +myself at first." + +"At first?" + +"When I first saw him. I have met him several times." + +Mrs. Coombe was evidently not sufficiently interested to pursue the +subject. "Whoever he is," she said fretfully, "I hope he is not going to +allow Amy to fancy herself an invalid." + +"He is going to cure the fancy." + +"Oh!" dubiously. "Well, I hope he does! I find I must run over to +Detroit for a few days." + +"What?" + +"It would be provoking to have her ill while I'm away. No one else can +manage Jane properly while you're at school. Where is Jane?" + +"I don't know. You are not speaking seriously, are you?" + +"I certainly am. At a pinch I suppose I could take Jane with me. She +needs new clothes. But I'd rather not bother with her. Her measure will +do quite as well. I wish you would call her. I've got some butterscotch +somewhere. Here it is." The restless hands fumbled in the hand-bag. "No, +it isn't here, how odd! I promised Jane--" + +"Mother, when did you decide to go away?" + +"Some time ago. It doesn't matter, does it? I had a letter from Jessica +Bremner to-day. She asks me to come at once. It's in this bag somewhere. +I declare I never can find anything! Anyway, she wants me to come." + +"When did you get the letter?" + +"On the noon mail, of course." + +Esther turned away. She knew very well that there had been no letter +from Detroit on the noon mail. But there seemed no use in saying so. +These little "inaccuracies" were becoming common enough. At first Esther +had exposed and laughed at them as merely humorous mistakes; but that +attitude had long been replaced by a cold disgust which did not scruple +to call things by their right names. She knew very well that Mary Coombe +had developed the habit of lying. + +"You see," went on the prevaricator cheerfully, "it would be necessary +to run down to Toronto soon anyway. I haven't a rag fit to wear and +neither has Jane. But Detroit is better. Things are much cheaper across +the line. And easy as anything to smuggle. All you need to do is to wear +them once and swear they're old." + +"An oath is nothing? But where is the money coming from?" + +Mrs. Coombe shrugged her shoulders. "One can't get along without +clothes! And even if I could, there is another reason for the trip. My +medicine is almost finished. I can't risk being without that." + +It was the opportunity for which Esther had waited. She spoke eagerly. + +"Why not try getting it filled here? I'm sure they are as careful as +possible at Taylor's." + +The hand-bag shut with a particularly emphatic click. Mrs. Coombe rose. + +"We have discussed that before," she said coldly. "It is a very +particular prescription and hard to fill. As it means so much to me in +my wretched health to have it exactly right, I am surprised at +you, Esther!" + +Esther put the surprise aside. + +"You could get it by mail, couldn't you?" + +"I shall not try to get it by mail." + +"But Taylor's are absolutely reliable. Why not give them a chance? If it +is not satisfactory I shall never say another word. It seems so +senseless going to Detroit for a few drugs which may be had around the +corner. Perhaps it is not as difficult to fill as you think. Let me show +the prescription to Dr. Callandar--" She stopped suddenly for Mrs. +Coombe had grown white, a pasty white, and she broke in upon the girl's +suggestion with a little inarticulate cry of rage, so uncalled for, so +utterly unexpected, that Esther was frightened. For a moment the film +seemed brushed from the hazel eyes--the blinds were raised and angry +fear peeped out. + +"You wouldn't dare!" The words were a mere breath. Then meeting the +girl's look of blank amazement she caught herself from the brink of +hysteria and added more calmly, "What an impossible suggestion! I need +no second opinion upon the remedy which your father prescribed for me +and I shall take none. As for the journey, I shall ask your advice when +I wish it. At present I am capable of managing my own affairs. I shall +come and go as I like." + +The would-be firm voice wavered wrathed badly toward the end of this +defiance, but the widely opened eyes were still shining and as she +turned to enter the house, Esther caught a look in them, a gleam of +something very like hate. + +"So that is what comes of asking," said Esther sombrely. + +She did not follow her step-mother into the house but remained for a +while on the veranda, thinking. It was clearly useless to reopen the +subject of the prescription. For some reason Mrs. Coombe regarded it as +a fetish. She would not trust it to Taylor's. She would not allow a +doctor to see it; there remained only the suggestion of Dr. Callandar +that it be inspected without her consent. Esther knew where the +prescription was kept, but-- + +Women are supposed, by men, to have a defective sense of loyalty and it +is a belief fairly well established, also among men, that there is a +fundamental difference in the attitude of the sexes to that high thing +called honour. Esther was both loyal and honourable. To deceive her +step-mother, however good the motive, could not but be horrible to her +and just now, being angry with a very young and healthy anger, she was +less willing than ever to lose her own self-respect in the service of +Mary Coombe. + +"I won't!" said Esther firmly, and went in to prepare Aunt Amy's supper. + +"I don't feel like I ought to be eating upstairs this way," fussed the +invalid as Esther came in with the tray. "I am so much better. That +medicine the doctor gave me helped me right away. He must be a very +smart man, Esther." + +"It looks like it, Auntie." + +"I don't doubt I'll be around to-morrow just like he said. So I don't +want you staying home from school. That girl you get to take your place +is kind of cross with the children, isn't she?" + +"She is strict." + +"Well, don't get her. I don't like to think about the children being +scared out of their lives on my account. So I'll just get up as usual. I +could get up now if necessary. And my mind feels better." + +"Your _mind_?" Never before had Esther heard Aunt Amy refer to "her" +mind as being in any way troublesome. + +"Yes. I suppose you never knew, but sometimes I have felt a little +worried about my mind." + +"Whatever for?" The surprise which still lingered on the girl's voice +was balm to Aunt Amy's soul. She laughed nervously. + +"Of course it was foolish," she said, "but really there have been times +when I have felt--felt, I can hardly express it, but as if there were a +little something _wrong_, you know. Did you ever guess that I felt like +that, Esther?" + +"No, Auntie." + +Aunt Amy shivered. For a moment her faded eyes grew large and dark. "I'm +glad you did not guess it. It is a dreadful feeling, like night and +thunder and no place to go. A black feeling! I used to be afraid I might +get caught in the blackness and never find a way out and then--" + +"And then what, dear?" + +"Why, then--I'd be mad, Esther!" + +"Oh, darling, how awful!" Esther's warm young arms clasped the trembling +old creature close. "You must never, never be afraid again! Why didn't +you tell me and let me help?" + +"I couldn't. You would not have believed me. And it would have +frightened you. And you might have told Mary. If Mary knew of it she +would be certain to be frightened and if she was frightened she would +send me away. Then the darkness would get me." + +"It never shall, Auntie. No one shall ever send you away! And you won't +be afraid any more, will you?" + +"No, not if you don't keep telling me that things I know aren't true. I +know they are true, you see, but when you say they aren't it makes my +head go round." + +"We'll be more careful, dear! And here is your medicine before you have +your supper." + +Aunt Amy turned cheerfully to the supper tray. + +"Your mother need not be told about it," she observed. "She wouldn't +understand. She was in a while ago to say she hoped I'd be better in the +morning. She is going to the city. What she came for was to ask me to +lend her my ruby ring. She never understands why I can't lend it to her. +I told her she might have the string of pearls and the pearl brooch and +the ring with the little diamonds and anything else except the ruby. +You see, I might die before she got back, and I couldn't die without the +ruby ring on my finger. I promised somebody--I can't remember whom--" + +"I know, dear, don't try to remember." + +"Mary says it is shameful waste to leave it lying shut up in the box in +my drawer. But it has to lie there. If I took it out now it would stop +shining immediately. And it must be all red and bright when I die, like +a shining star in the dark. Then, afterwards, you can have it, Esther. +You don't mind waiting, do you?" + +"Gracious! I hope I'll be an old woman before then! So old that I shan't +care for ruby rings at all." + +Aunt Amy looked at the girl's pretty hand wistfully. "I'd like to give +it to you right now, Esther. But you know how it is. I can't. If the red +star did not shine I might lose my way. Some one told me--" + +"I know, Auntie. I quite understand. And you have given me so many +pretty things that I don't need the ruby." + +"You may have anything else you want. But of course the ruby is the +loveliest of all. If I could only remember who gave it to me--" + +"Perhaps you always had it," suggested Esther, hastily, for she knew +quite well the tragic history of the ruby. + +"Perhaps. But I don't think so. I love it but I never dare to look at +it. It makes the blackness come so near. Does it make you feel +that way?" + +"No--I don't know--large jewels often give people strange feelings they +say." + +"Do they?" hopefully. "Go and look at it now. Don't lift it out of the +box. Just open the lid and look in. Perhaps you will feel something." + +Esther went obediently to the drawer where the beautiful jewel had lain +ever since Aunt Amy's arrival. As no one outside knew of its existence +it was considered quite safe to keep it in the house. The box lay in a +corner under a spotless pile of sweet smelling handkerchiefs. Esther +snapped open the lid of the case and looked in. She looked close, closer +still, bending over the open drawer-- + +"Do you feel anything, Esther?" + +The girl's answer came, after a second's pause, in a strained voice. +"The drawer is so dark, I can't tell!" + +"Take it to the window," said Aunt Amy. + +Esther lifted the case from the drawer and carried it into a better +light. Her eyes were panic-stricken. For her indecision had been only a +ruse to give herself time to think. She had known the moment she opened +the case that the ruby was gone! + +"It does make me feel queer," she said, closing the case. "I'll put it +away." + +"Is it a black feeling?" with interest. + +"I think it is." + +"Then you are kin to it," said Aunt Amy sagely. "Your mother never has +any feeling about it at all. Except that she would like to wear it. She +was looking at it when she was in. She was as cross as possible when I +told her she could not take it with her." + +Esther gathered up the tea things without a word. Her curved mouth was +set in a hard red line. At the door she paused and turning back as if +upon impulse, said: "If it makes you feel like that, I would advise you +not to look at it, Auntie. It will be quite safe. I'll see to that. I'll +appoint myself 'Guardian of the Ring.'" + + + + +CHAPTER XI + + +Esther carried the tea-tray into the kitchen and stood for a moment +beside the open window letting the sweet air from the garden cool the +colour in her cheeks. Through the doorway into the hall she could see +into the living room where Jane sat at the table in a little yellow pool +of lamplight, busy with her school home work. Farther back, near the +dusk of one of the veranda windows, Mrs. Coombe reclined in an easy +chair. Her eyes were closed; in the half light she looked very pretty, +very fragile; her relaxed pose suggested helplessness. Unconsciously +Esther's innate strength answered to the call; her hard gaze softened. +To apply the terms liar and thief to that dainty figure in the chair +seemed little short of brutality. Mary was weak, that was +all--just weak! + +At the sound of the girl's step in the doorway Mrs. Coombe opened her +eyes. They were very filmy to-night, blank, contented. Her nervousness +seemed to have left her. Perhaps she was half asleep, for she yawned, an +open, ugly yawn, which she did not trouble to raise her hand to hide. + +"I have decided to take Jane with me, Esther." + +"I don't want to go," said Jane. + +"Well, you are going--that's enough." + +"If you have really decided to go," began Esther slowly, "I think you +are wise to take Jane. We cannot tell yet just how Aunt Amy may be." + +The child returned to her book with a discontented sigh. Esther came +nearer and spoke in a lower tone. "But before you go," she said, "please +don't forget to replace Aunt Amy's ring. If she were to find it gone it +would be no joke but a serious shock, as I suppose you know." + +Mrs. Coombe laughed. And Esther realised that a laugh was the last thing +she had expected. For anger, evasion, denial, she had been prepared. +Mary would probably storm and bluster in her ineffective way--and return +the ring. Instead-- + +"How did you know I had it?" she asked good humouredly. + +"I saw that it was gone." + +"And the deduction was obvious? Well, this time you are right. I did +take it. I expect I have a right to borrow my own Aunt's things if she +is too mean to lend them. It's a shame of her to want to keep the only +decent jewel we have shut up. Amy gets more selfish every day." + +"But you will put it back before she misses it?" + +Mrs. Coombe could see her step-daughter's face quite plainly and its +expression made her wince, but she was reckless to-night. After all, why +pretend? If Esther intended to eternally interfere with her affairs the +sooner an open break came, the better. + +"Perhaps, perhaps not. Certainly not until I return from my visit." + +Esther fought down her rising dismay. + +"Mother, don't you understand what you are doing? The ring is Aunt Amy's +You have no right to take it!" + +"I've a right if I choose to make one." + +"If Auntie finds out it is not in its box, we cannot tell what the +effect may be!" + +"She needn't find out. What she doesn't know won't hurt her!" + +"But--it is stealing!" + +Mrs. Coombe laughed. "What a baby you are, Esther, for all your solemn +eyes and grown-up airs. Stealing--the idea! Anyway you need not worry +since you are not the thief." She yawned again, rose, and declared that +she felt quite tired enough to go to bed. + +When she had gone, Jane left her lessons and came to her sister's side. + +"Esther, do I really have to go away with Mother?" + +"It looks like it, Janie. But you'll like it. Mrs. Bremner has a little +girl." + +"I don't like little girls." + +"Then you ought to! The change will probably do you good." + +Jane looked dubious. "Things that I don't want never do me any good. +Will you help me with my 'rithmetic?" + +"I will when I come back." + +"Where're you going?" + +"Out. I'll not be long. Answer Aunt Amy's bell if it rings, like a dear +child." + +Esther's decision had been made, as many important decisions are, +suddenly, and without conscious thought. All the puzzling over what was +right and wrong seemed no longer necessary. Without knowing why, she +knew that it had become imperative to get some good advice and get it at +once. If she had been disturbed and uneasy before, she was frightened +now. Something must be done, if not for Mary's sake at least for the +sake of the honoured name she bore, and for Jane's sake! + +"Mother doesn't seem to _know_ when a thing is wrong any more!" was the +burden of the girl's thought as she hurried upstairs. + +She knew where the prescription was kept--in a little drawer of her +father's old desk, a drawer supposed to be secret. To-morrow Mary would +take it away with her. Esther opened the drawer without allowing herself +a moment for thought or regret. The paper was there, folded, in its +usual place. + +With a sigh of relief she seized it, hurried to her own room for her hat +and then out into the summer night. A brisk five minute walk brought her +to Mrs. Sykes' gate, and there, for the first time, she hesitated. + +"Evening, Esther!" called Mrs. Sykes cheerfully from the veranda. "Come +right along in. Mrs. Coombe told Ann you might be over to borrow the +telescope valise if she decided to take Jane. Rather sudden, her going +away, isn't it? Hadn't heard a word about it until the Ladies' Aid--come +up and sit on the veranda and I'll get it." + +"I didn't come for the telescope," said Esther. "I came to see Dr. +Callandar." + +"Oh," with renewed interest. "Well, he's in. At least he's in unless he +went out while I was upstairs putting Ann to bed. That's his consulting +room where the light is. It's got a door of its own so folks won't be +tramping up the hall--but of course you know. You were here this +afternoon. Funny, Mrs. Coombe going away with your poor Auntie sick and +all! I suppose it _is_ your Auntie, since it can't be Jane or +Mrs. Coombe?" + +"Yes, it is Aunt Amy. She has not been very well." + +"The heat, likely. Heat is hard on folks with weak heads. Not that your +Auntie's head ever seems weaker than lots of other folks. Won't you come +up and sit awhile?--Well, ring the bell." + +Mrs. Sykes voice trailed off indistinctly as Esther rounded the veranda +corner and stood by the rose bush before the doctor's door. She pushed +the new electric bell timidly. + +"You'll have to push harder than that!" called Mrs. Sykes. "It sticks +some!" + +But the door had opened at once, letting out a flood of yellow light. + +"Miss Coombe--you?" + +"It's Esther Coombe come about her Aunt Amy," called the voice from the +veranda. + +Hastily the doctor drew her in and closed the door with an emphatic +bang. Then for the second time that day they looked into each other's +eyes and laughed. + +"Do you think my patients will stand that?" he asked her ruefully. + +"Oh, we are used to Mrs. Sykes, we don't mind." + +"That's good! Ah, I see you have the mysterious prescription. It wasn't +so hard after all, was it? Probably your mother was quite as anxious +as you." + +"No, she refused to let me show it you. I took it. To-night was the only +chance, for she is going away to-morrow and will take it with her." + +"And how about your Presbyterian conscience?" Still with a twinkle. + +"Silenced, for the present. But look at it quickly for the silence may +not last. It seemed that I simply had to help mother, in spite of +herself. And there was no other way. All the same I shall despise myself +when I get time to think." + +The doctor took the paper with a smile. "When that time comes I shall +argue with you, though argument rarely affects feeling. To my mind you +are doing an eminently sensible thing." + +He opened the paper and peered at it under the lamp; looked quickly up +at the girl's eager face and then from her to the paper again. + +"What is it?" she asked anxiously. + +"Why--I don't know. Where did you get this?" + +"In the secret drawer of father's desk." + +"Was the prescription always kept there?" + +"Yes." + +The doctor folded the paper again and handed it to her. "Does this look +like the prescription?" + +"Yes, of course. It is the prescription." + +"I'm afraid not. Come and look." + +Esther seized the paper eagerly and saw--a neatly written recipe for +salad dressing! + +Hot and cold with mortification, she stared at it blankly. "I have been +nicely fooled," she said in a low voice. + +"Am I permitted to smile, or would it hurt your feelings?" + +"It is not at all funny! Of course the real prescription has been +removed. She must have suspected. You see, I asked her to let me have +it. Oh!" with sudden shame and anger. "She guessed that I might take it, +don't you see?" + +"I am afraid you are right. But now at least I should think that you +have done your whole duty. It would look as if Mrs. Coombe was herself +aware of the inadvisability of continuing this prescription. Why else +should she be so careful to prevent you showing it to me? At the same +time she is determined to go on using it. We cannot prevent her." + +"Can we do nothing?" + +"When I see her I shall be better able to judge." + +"But she is going away." + +"Then we must wait. If it is, as I suspect, a case of disordered nerves +aggravated by improper treatment, the instinct is strongly for +concealment. Do you find, for instance, that Mrs. Coombe is not as frank +in other matters as she used to be?" + +A shamed blush crimsoned the girl's cheek, but the doctor's tone was +compelling and she answered in a low voice: "Yes, I think so." + +"Don't look like that. It is only a symptom of something rotten in the +nervous system." + +"Isn't there such a thing as character?" bluntly. + +"As distinct from the nervous system? Some say not. But we do not need +to venture such a devastating belief to know, well, that a dyspeptic is +usually disagreeable. In potential character he may be equal to the +cheeriest man who ever ate a hearty dinner. Think of Carlyle." + +"I don't like Carlyle." + +"But don't you admire him?" + +"No. Do you remember the story of the beggar who picked up his hat one +day and instead of giving him sixpence, Carlyle said, 'Mon, ye may say +ye hae picked up the hat of Thomas Carlyle.'" + +The doctor laughed. "Oh he had a guid conceit o' himself--must you go?" +For Esther had risen. + +"Yes, thank you. Oh, please do not come with me. It is only a step. I'd +much rather not. Mrs. Sykes would conclude that the whole family were in +danger of immediate extinction." + +She was so evidently perturbed that the doctor laid down his hat, but +for the first time it occurred to him that Mrs. Sykes was not an +unmixed blessing. + +Esther was holding out her hand. + +"Then you think we can safely leave it until mother returns?" + +"I think we shall have to, and if things have been going on as long as +you think, a week more or less will make no very material difference. In +any case we cannot examine a lady by force or prevent her from getting a +prescription until one knows it to be dangerous." + +"No, of course not. Good-night, and--thank you, Doctor!" + +"And I am not to be allowed to walk home with you?" + +"Truly, I would rather not." + +"Then good-night, and don't worry." + +He watched her flit down the dusky path, heard the click of the gate +latch, and turned back into the office to wonder why it seemed suddenly +bare and empty! + + + + +CHAPTER XII + + +Mrs. Coombe had been in the city a week when one morning Ann, who was +feeling lonely without Jane, sat swinging upon the five-barred gate and +whistling intermittently for Bubble. She had become very tired of +waiting. She knew that Bubble could hear. The five-barred gate was +within easy hearing distance of the house, and both doors and windows of +the office were open. Therefore it became each moment more evident that +the whistles were being deliberately ignored. + +"Horrid, nasty boy!" exclaimed Ann, climbing to a precarious seat on the +highest of the five bars. "Well, if he waits until I come to get him, +he'll--just wait!" + +It was very hot on the gate. The vacant field on the other side, where +the Widow Peel pastured her cow, was hot, too, but if one cut across the +field and circled the back of the Widow Peel's cottage one substantially +lessened the distance between oneself and the cool deliciousness of the +river. The Widow Peel was near-sighted and hardly ever noticed one +rushing over her beds of lettuce and carrots and onions, or if she did, +she could not "fit a name to 'em." + +Ann sighed and swung her brown legs. Should she or should she not go in +search of Bubble? Going would mean a distasteful swallowing of proper +pride; not going would mean--no Bubble. It would be a case of cutting +off one's nose--Ann's small white teeth came together with a +little click. + +"I'll go. But I'll pay him out afterwards." + +With this thoroughly feminine decision she tumbled off the gate, raced +across the orchard and, having paused a moment to regain breath and +poise, appeared casually at the office door. The office looked cool and +empty; Bubble was not upon his official stool. Perhaps, after all, he +had not heard the whistles! Perhaps-- + +"What d'ye want?" asked a gruff voice from behind the desk. + +Ann jumped, and then tried to look as if she hadn't. + +"I knew you were there!" she said. "But just you wait till the doctor +catches you at it!" Mounting the step she frowned across at Bubble who, +in the doctor's favourite attitude, was reclining in the doctor's chair. +"I suppose you think you look like him, but you don't, nor act like him +either. If he was sitting there and a lady came in, he'd be up too quick +for anything. And if the lady was polite and stayed on the doorstep +(just like I am) he would say, 'Pray come in, madam,' and then he'd set +a chair and--" + +"Oh, cut it out!" Bubble's dignity collapsed with his attitude. The +tilted chair came down with a bang and its occupant settled himself more +naturally upon a corner of the desk. "Don't bother me! I can't come out. +Doctor's away. Some one's got to attend to business. See those +medicines? Well, don't you go handling them! This here is for Lizzie +Stephens (measles), and that there is for Mrs. Nixon (twins). If they +got mixed I'd be responsible. Run away!" + +"Where's the doctor?" asked Ann, ignoring. + +"The doctor is out. You needn't wait. He won't be back all day." + +"Where'd he go?" + +"Little girls mustn't ask questions!" + +Ann's small face wrinkled into an elfish grin. "I know where he's gone," +she said slyly. + +"Yes, you do!" This sarcastic comment was Bubble's most emphatic +negative. + +"Very well, then, I don't." + +Not to be outdone, Ann volunteered no further information. She sat down +on the step and waited. + +Bubble busied himself with tying up the bottles. Presently he stepped +out from behind the desk. + +"Think you can mind the office while I run around with these medicines?" +he asked sternly. + +"Sure!" Ann's assent was placid. + +"What'll you say if any one comes and asks for the doctor--or me?" + +"You're out delivering medicines and the doctor's been called away very +sudden." + +"What'll you tell them if they ask you what he's been called away to?" + +"Oh, I'll just say they needn't worry, 'tisn't anything catching." + +Bubble allowed his face to relax. He even displayed a grudging +admiration for this feminine diplomacy. + +"And you wouldn't be telling lies, either," he remarked approvingly. +"All the same," with a return to gloom, "we can't keep it a secret. +Folks are bound to find out. You can bet your eyes on that!" + +Ann nodded. "I expect most of them know by now. Any one that wanted to +could see them. _He_ didn't seem to care. They drove right down the main +street and you could see the picnic basket sticking out at the side!" + +"O cricky! Isn't that just like him? You'd think he wanted the whole +town to know he'd gone off picnicking with a girl. But I'd have thought +Esther Coombe would have better sense!" + +"It wasn't Esther's fault. She couldn't act as if she was ashamed of +him, could she? When a gentleman asks a lady to go out in his automobile +she can't ask him to drive down the back streets." + +"If he had only taken her at night!" groaned the harassed junior +partner. "But no, he must take a whole day off and him with two patients +on his hands. Look at me! Have I ever asked off to go on any picnics? +Not on your tintype. Business is business. Doctors can't fool round like +other folks." + +Ann nodded agreement. Things were coming her way very nicely. She +glanced at the wrathy Bubble out of the corners of her eyes. "I didn't +think he'd be mean like that," she remarked craftily. + +"Like what? He isn't mean!" + +"To make you stay in all day." + +"He didn't. Not him! He gave me fifty cents and told me to take a day +off. 'Just run around with the medicine, Bubble,' says he, 'and then you +can hike it. I have a feeling in my bones,' he says, 'that nobody's +going to die to-day.'" + +"Well, then--" + +"A man has a sense of duty for all that." + +"Well," rising with a dejected air, "if you're not coming, good-bye. It +will be lovely paddling! Aunt's given me some lettuce sandwiches and two +apple turnovers. One was for you, but I suppose I can eat them both. The +sugar's leaked all round the edge--lovely!" + +The stern disciple of business watched her tie on her sun-bonnet with +mingled feelings. It began to look as if she was really going! + +"Good-bye," said Ann. + +Bubble's red face grew a shade redder. + +"Just like a girl!" he said bitterly. "Because a man's got to deliver +two medicine bottles, off she goes and won't wait for him. And the +farthest I've got to go is over to Mrs. Nixon's. The whole thing won't +take five minutes." + +Sun-bonnets are splendid things for hiding the face! Had Bubble seen +that slow smile of victory there is no telling what might have happened. +But he did not see it. And Ann was too good a general to exult openly. +Her answer was carefully careless. "I'll wait--if you'll hurry up!" + +But the look which she threw after his hastily retreating figure was as +old as Eve. + +Meanwhile the doctor and Esther, who had been so criminally careless of +professional appearances as to drive down Main Street with a picnic +basket protruding, were enjoying themselves with an enjoyment peculiar +to careless people. Esther had forgotten about the pile of uncorrected +school exercises which were supposed to form her Saturday's work; the +doctor had forgotten about the measles and the twins. Rain had fallen in +the night and the dust was laid, the trees were intensely green. + +Neither of them knew exactly how this pleasant thing had come about, +although, as a matter of crude fact, Mrs. Sykes had played the part of +the god from the machine. This energetic lady had made the doctor's +professional career her peculiar care and it had occurred to her that, +as a resident physician, he was disgracefully ignorant of the +surrounding country. At the same moment she had remembered that +to-morrow was Saturday, and that for trapesing the country and +meandering around in outlandish places there was no one in town equal to +Esther Coombe. + +"But," objected the doctor, "I hardly know Miss Coombe well enough to +ask a favour of her." + +Mrs. Sykes opined that that didn't matter. "Land sakes," she declared, +"it would be a nice state of affairs if one huming-being couldn't do a +kindness to another without being acquainted a year or two." Besides, +Esther, as the old doctor's daughter, might almost be said to have a +duty toward the newcomer. Mrs. Sykes felt sure that Dr. Coombe would +have insisted upon proper attentions being shown, since he was always +"the politest man you ever saw, and terrible nice to strangers." + +Mrs. Sykes also, with the assistance of Aunt Amy, had provided the large +basket. They might not need it all, but then again they might. It was +best to be prepared. And, anyway, no one should ever say that she, Mrs. +Sykes, "skimped" her boarders' meals. As for the big shawl, once +belonging to a venerated ancestress, it is always safe to take a big +shawl on a country trip even in June heat with the thermometer going up. + +The doctor agreed to everything, even the shawl. Whether one is taking a +rest cure or not, it is distinctly pleasant to look forward to a day in +the country with a lovely girl. Esther had taken his request quite +simply. It seemed only natural to her that he should wish to explore, +while the invitation to act as guide was frankly welcomed. Indeed her +girlish gaiety in the prospect had shown very plainly that such holidays +had been rare of late. School did not "keep" on Saturday, Jane was away, +and Aunt Amy was so much better that she could leave her without +misgiving. Bubble alone prophesied disaster, and at him they +all laughed. + +There is a little folder published by the Town Council which gives a +very good idea of the country around Coombe. We might quote this, but it +will be much better for you to go some time and see things for yourself. +Dr. Callandar saw a great deal that day, but was never very clear +afterwards in his descriptions. It was rocky in spots, he knew, and wild +and sweet and piney. And there were little lakes. He remembered the +lakes particularly because--well, because of what came later. + +They had their lunch on the shores of a jewel-like bay, sitting upon the +shawl of Mrs. Sykes' grandmother. Esther had many memories of the place. +She had often camped there with her father. But it had been wilder then. +Once a bear had come right up to the door of her tent. + +"By Jove!" said the doctor enviously, "what did you do?" + +"I said 'shoo'!" + +"And did he?" + +"Yes, he did. He was a nice bear, very obedient. Some days later father +and I saw Mrs. Bear trot across the clearing with two baby bears behind. +They were moving. I think Mr. Bear was looking for a house when he +called on me." + +Altogether it was a magic day. There is an erroneous belief that magic +has died out of the world. But in our hearts we all know better. Which +of us has not lived through the magic hours of a magic day? Which of us +does not know that land, unmapped, unnamed, a land whose sun is +brighter, whose grass is greener, whose sky is bluer, and whose every +road runs into a golden mist? Magic land it must be, for much seeking +cannot find it. No one, not the wisest nor the best, may enter it at +will; but for every one at some time the unseen gate swings open, birds +sing, flowers bloom, the glory and the dream descend! Poor indeed, +unutterably poor and cheated of his heritage is he who has not +passed that way. + +They were not in love, of course. They were too happy for that. Love is +the greatest thing in the world, but it is seldom quite happy. Esther +and the doctor were not lovers but lingered in that deliciously +unconscious state of "going-to-be-in-love-presently" which is nothing +less than heavenly. Therefore they ate their lunch with appetite and +laughed about the story of the bear. Both were surprised when the +doctor's watch told them it was time to think of home. + +They came back very slowly along the shaded trail to where the car stood +waiting in the brilliant light of the declining sun. + +"Just a moment," said the doctor, and cranked vigorously. A confusion of +odd noises ensued, from which, somehow, the right noise did not emerge. + +"Just a moment," he repeated. "There appears to be something loose--or +tight--or something. If you'll just sit out on the grass a moment, Miss +Esther, I'll see what it is." + +Esther descended. The grass was just as pleasant to sit upon as the car +seat and she knew nothing whatever about the tricky ways of motors. + +"Just a moment," said Callandar for the third time, and disappeared +behind the bonnet. Fifteen minutes after, he reappeared with a very hot +face decorated fantastically with black. + +"She's sulking," he announced gloomily. + +"Is she?" Esther's tone held nothing save placid amusement. + +"Just a moment." The doctor banged down the bonnet and effaced himself +once more. This time under the body of the car. + +Motors are mysterious things. Why a well-treated, not to say pampered, +car which some hours before had been left in perfect condition and +excellent temper should abruptly turn stubborn and refuse to fulfil its +chief end is a problem which we shall not attempt to solve. Every one +who has ever owned a motor knows that these things be. + +The doctor, a modest man, considered himself a fair mechanician. In +expansive moments he, who made nothing of his undoubted excellence in +his own profession, was wont to boast that you couldn't teach him much +about motors! He had laughed to scorn the remark of his Scotch chauffeur +that "they things need a deal o' humourin'!" Humour a thing of cogs and +screws? Absurd! One must master a motor, not humour her. + +Half an hour later he emerged from the car's eclipse and sank, a +pitiable figure, upon the grass beside Esther. + +"Won't it go?" asked Esther dreamily. It had been very pleasant sitting +there watching the sun set. + +The master of motors made a tragic gesture. "No," he said, "she won't." + +"Shake her," said Esther. + +Dr. Callandar pushed back his sweat-bedewed hair with fingers which left +a fearsome streak above his left eyebrow. The girl laughed. But the +doctor's decorated face was rueful. + +"Do you know, Miss Esther, I'm afraid it isn't a bit funny." His tone, +too, was sober; and Esther, suddenly more fully alive to the situation, +noticed that the hands clasped recklessly about the knees of once +spotless trousers were shaking, just a little. He must be awfully tired! + +"That's because you can't see yourself. Give the motor a rest. There is +plenty of time. Let's have tea here instead of on the way home. There is +cold tea and chicken-loaf, bread and butter, and half a tart." + +The doctor brightened. "You may have the half-tart," he concluded +generously. "And in return you will forgive me my pessimism. I believe I +am hungry and thirsty and--if I could only swear I should be all right +presently." + +Esther put her small fingers in her ears and directed an absorbed gaze +toward the sunset. + +Callandar laughed. + +"All over!" he called. "Richard is himself again. And now we have got to +be serious. Painful as it is, I admit defeat. I can't make that car +budge an inch. It won't move. We can't push it. We have no other means +of conveyance. Deduction--we must walk!" + +"Yes, only like most deductions, it doesn't get us anywhere. We _can't_ +walk." + +"Not to Coombe of course. Merely to the nearest farm house." + +"There isn't any nearest farm house." + +"Then to the nearest common or garden house." + +"I thought we were going to be serious. Really, there is no house within +reasonable walking distance. We are quite in the wilds here. Don't you +remember the long stretches of waste land we came through? No one builds +on useless ground. The nearest houses of any kind are over on the other +side of the lake. The beach is good there and there are a few summer +cottages and a boarding house. Farther in is the little railway station +of Pine Lake--" + +"Jove! That's what we want! Why did you try to frighten me? Once let us +reach the station and our troubles are over. There is probably an +evening train into Coombe." + +"There is. But we shall never catch it. We are on the wrong side of the +lake. We have no boat. There is a trail around but it is absolutely out +of the question, too far and too rough, even if we knew it, which we do +not. It would take a woodsman to follow it even in daylight." + +"But--" The doctor hesitated. He was beginning to feel seriously +disturbed. It seemed impossible that they could be as isolated as Esther +seemed to think. Distance is a small thing to a powerful motor eating up +space with an effortless appetite, which deceives novice and expert +alike. It is only when one looks back that one counts the miles. He +remembered vaguely that the nearest house was a long way back. + +"I'll have another try," he answered soberly, "and in the meantime, +think--think hard! There may be some place you have forgotten. If not, +we are in rather a serious fix." + +"There are no bears now," said Esther. + +"There are gossips!" briefly. + +The girl laughed. The thought of possible gossip seemed to disturb her +not at all. "Oh, it will be all right as soon as we explain," +confidently. "But Aunt Amy will be terrified. If we could only get word +to Aunt Amy! I don't mind so much about Mrs. Sykes, for she is always +prepared for everything. She will comfort herself with remembering how +she said when she saw it was going to be a lovely day: 'It may be a fine +enough morning, Esther, but I have a feeling that something will happen +before night. I have put in an umbrella in case of rain and a pair of +rubbers and a rug and you'd better take my smelling salts. I hope you +won't have an accident, I'm sure, but it's best to be forewarned.'" + +The doctor glanced up from his tinkering to join in her laugh. He felt +ashamed of himself. The possibility of evil tongues making capital of +their enforced position had certainly never entered into the thought of +this smiling girl. Yet that such a possibility might exist in Coombe as +well as in other places he did not doubt. And she was in his charge. The +thought of her clear eyes looking upon the thing which she did not know +enough to dread made him feel positively sick! + +When he spoke to her again there was a subtle change in his manner. He +had become at once her senior, the physician, and man of the world. + +"Miss Esther," he said, leaving his futile tampering with the machine, +"I can see no way out of this but one. I am a good walker and a fast +one. I shall leave you here with the car and the rugs and a revolver +(there is one in the tool box), and go back along the road. I shall walk +until I come to somewhere and then get a carriage or wagon--also a +chaperone--and come back for you. It is positively the only thing +to do." + +Esther's charming mouth drooped delicately at the corners. "Oh no! +That's not at all a nice plan. I'm afraid to stay here. Not of bears, +but of tramps--or--or something." + +"Where there are no houses there will be no tramps." + +"There may be. You never can tell about tramps. And I couldn't shoot a +tramp. The very best I could do would be to shoot myself--" + +"But--" + +"And I might bungle even that!" pathetically. + +"But, my dear girl--" + +"And anyway, I've thought of another plan. There is a place on the lake, +on this side. Not a house exactly, but a log cabin, where old Prue +lives. Did you ever hear of old Prue? She is a man-hater and a recluse +and lives all by herself in the bush. It is a dreadful place and she +keeps a fierce dog! But perhaps she keeps a boat, too. She must keep a +boat," cheerfully, "because she lives right by the water and I know she +fishes. If she would only let us have the boat! But I warn you she may +refuse. She is like the witch in 'Hansel and Gretel.' Do you remember--" + +But at the first mention of the boat, the doctor had sprung to action +and was now standing ready laden with the basket and the rug. With the +air of a man who has never heard of "Hansel and Gretel" he slipped a +most businesslike revolver into a pocket of his coat. "For the dog, if +necessary," he said. "We must have that boat! Is it far?" + +"Quite a walk. About two miles through the bush. But I know the way and +the trail is fairly good, or should be. It branches off from the one we +took this morning." + +The sun was gone when they turned back into the woods but the wonderful +after-light of the long Canadian sunset would be with them for a good +time yet. There was no breeze to stir the trees, but the air had cooled. +It was not unpleasantly hot, now, even in the thickest places. The +doctor stepped out briskly. + +"Listen!" Esther paused with uplifted finger. The trees were very still +but in the undergrowth the life of the woods was beginning to stir. +Startled squirrels raced up the fallen logs, glancing backward with +curious but resentful eyes. Hidden skirmishings and rustlings were +everywhere and something brown and furry darted across the path with a +faint cry. + +"Don't you feel as if you were in some fairy country?" asked the girl. +"You can feel and hear them all about you though they keep well hidden. +A million eager eyes are watching, Lilliputian armies lie in ambush +beneath the leaves. How quiet they are now that we have stopped moving, +but as soon as we go on the hurry and skurry will break out afresh! We +are the invading army and the fairies fly to help the wood-folk protect +their homes." + +As they branched into the deeper path the light grew dimmer. Outside, it +would still be clear golden twilight but here the grey had come. And now +the trees grew closer together and a whispering began--a weird and +wonderful sighing from the soul of the forest; the old, primeval cry to +the night and to the stars. + +It was almost dark when they reached the tiny clearing by the lake. +Across the cleared space the water could be seen, faintly luminous, with +the black square of the cabin outlined against it. There was no sign of +life or light from the dark windows. A dog began to bark sharply. + +"He is chained!" said Callandar. "We are fortunate." + +"How can you tell?" + +"A free dog never barks in that tone. I think he has been a bad dog +to-day. Killing chickens, perhaps, or chasing cats. A man-hater, like +your old witch, is certain to have cats! I wonder where she is? Does she +count going to bed at sundown as one of her endearing peculiarities?" + +"Quite the contrary, I imagine. Let's knock." + +They raced up the path to the door like children and struck some lusty +blows. No one answered. The door was locked and every window was blank. + +"Knock again!" + +They knocked again, banged in fact, and then rattled the windows. + +"She could never sleep through all that racket!" said Callandar with +conviction. "She must be out. Well, out or in, we've got to get that +boat. Let's explore--this path ought to lead to the lake." + +"Shall we steal it?" in a delighted whisper. + +"We probably shall. You won't mind going to jail, I hope?" + +"Not at all!" The doctor was walking so rapidly that Esther was a little +out of breath. "Only, the oars--are certain--to be locked--in the +house!" she warned jerkily. + +"Then we shall serve sentence for house breaking also." + +"Oh, gracious!" Esther stumbled over the root of a tree and nearly fell. +But the doctor only walked the faster. They scrambled together down the +steep path and over the stretch of rocky beach to where the tiny float +lay a black oblong on the water. The boat house was beside it. + +"Eureka!" cried the doctor, springing forward. + +But the door of the boat house was open and the boat was gone. + + + + +CHAPTER XIII + + +It is a fact infinitely to be regretted, but the doctor swore! + +"Well, did you _ever!_" exclaimed Esther. She was a little tired and +more than a little excited, a condition which conduces to hysteria, and +collapsing upon the end of the float she began to laugh. + +"I wish," said the doctor judicially, "that I knew exactly what you find +to laugh at." + +"Oh, nothing! Your face--I think you looked so very murderous. And you +did swear--didn't you?" + +"Beg your pardon, I'm sure," stiffly. + +For an instant they gazed resentfully at each other. The doctor was +seriously worried. Esther felt extremely frivolous. But if he wanted to +be stiff and horrid,--let him be stiff and horrid. + +"I declare you act as if it were my fault the old boat is gone!" she +remarked aggrievedly. + +"Don't be silly!" + +An uncomfortable silence followed. Esther began to realise how tired she +was. Callandar stared out gloomily over the darkening lake. + +"Anyway it's bad enough without your being cross," said Esther in a +small voice. + +"Cross--my dear child! Did I seem cross? What a brute you must think me. +But to get you into this infernal tangle!--If this old woman is out in +the boat she'll have to come back some time. She can't stay out on the +lake all night." + +Esther, who thought privately that this was exactly what the old woman +might do, made no reply. She rather liked the tone of his apology and +was feeling better. + +"Then there is the dog. If she is anywhere near, she will be sure to +hear the dog. From the noise he is making she will deduce burglars and +return to protect her property. As a man-hater she will have no fear of +a mere burglar. Luckily for us, that dog has a carrying voice!" + +Scarcely had he spoken than the dog ceased to bark. + +"Shall I go and throw sticks at it?" asked Esther helpfully. + +"Hush! The dog must have heard something. Let's listen!" + +In the silence they listened intently. Certainly there was something, a +faint indeterminate sound, a sound not in the bush but in the lake, a +sound of disturbed water. + +"The dip of a paddle," whispered Callandar. "Some one is coming in a +canoe. The dog heard it before we did--recognised it, too, probably. It +must be the witch!" + +The dipping sound came nearer and presently there slipped from the +shadow of the trees a darker shadow, moving. A canoe with one paddle was +coming toward them. + +Esther with undignified haste scrambled up from the float, abandoning +her position in the line of battle in favour of the doctor. The dog +broke into a chorus of ear-splitting yelps of warning and welcome. The +moving shadow loomed larger and a calm though harsh voice demanded, "Be +quiet, General! Who is there?" + +"We are!" answered Callandar, stepping as far from the tree shadow as +possible. "Picnickers from Coombe, in an unfortunate predicament. Our +motor has broken down, and we want the loan of a boat to get over to +Pine Lake station." + +As he spoke he was vividly conscious of Esther close behind. So near was +she that he felt her warm breath on his neck. She was breathing quickly. +Was the child really frightened? Instinctively he put out his hand, +backward, and thrilled through every nerve when something cool and small +and tremulous slipped into it. + +The canoe shot up to the float. + +"You can't get any boat here." + +There was no surprise or resentment in the harsh level voice. Only +determination, final and unshakable. + +Esther felt the doctor's hand close around her own. Its clasp meant +everything, reassurance, protection, strength. In the darkness she +exulted and even ventured to frown belligerently in the direction of the +disagreeable canoeist. They could see her plainly now. A tall woman in a +man's coat with the sleeves rolled up displaying muscular arms. Her +face, even in the half-light, looked harsh and gaunt. With a skill, +which spoke of long practice, she sprang from the canoe, scarcely +rocking it, and proceeded to tie the painter securely to a heavy ring in +the float. Then she straightened herself and turned. + +"I'll loose the dog!" she announced calmly. + +Just that and no more! No arguments, no revilings, no display of any +human quality. There was something uncanny in her ruthlessness. + +"If you do, it will be bad for the dog," said Callandar coldly. "Who +are you who threaten decent people?" + +It was the tone of authority and for an instant she answered to it. Her +harsh voice held a faint Scotch accent. + +"There'll be no decent people here at this hour o' the nicht. Be off. +You'll get no boat. Nor the hussy either. The dog's well used to +guarding it." + +"How dare you!" Esther was so angry at being called a hussy that she +forgot how frightened she was and faced the woman boldly. But the old +hard eyes stared straight into her young indignant ones and showed no +softening. Next moment old Prue had pushed the girl aside and +disappeared in the darkness of the wooded path. + +"Quick!" The doctor's tone was crisp and steady. "The canoe is our +chance. Jump in, while I hold it--in the bow, anywhere!" + +"But the paddle! She has taken the paddle!" Even as she objected she +obeyed. The frail craft rocked as she slid into it, careful only not to +overbalance; next moment it rocked more dangerously and then settled +evenly into the water under the doctor's added weight. + +"Sit tight!" Carefully he leaned over her, steadying the canoe with one +hand on the float. In the other she saw the glint of a knife, felt the +confining rope sever, felt the strong push which separated them from the +float and then, just as a great dog, fiercely silent now, bounded from +the path above, a paddle rose and dipped and they shot out into +the lake. + +"If he follows and tries to overturn us I'll have to shoot him," said +the doctor cheerfully. "But he won't. Hark to him!" + +The long bay of the baffled dog rose to the stars. + +"There was an extra paddle in the boat-house," he explained. "I +took it out when we first came down--in case of accident. Old +She-who-must-be-obeyed must have forgotten it. It is a spliced paddle +but we shall manage excellently. Luckily I know how to use it. All I +need now is direction. Lady, 'where lies the land to which this ship +must go?'" + +"'Far, far away is all the seamen know,'" capped Esther, laughing. "But +if you will keep on around that next point and then straight across I +think we ought to get there--Oh, look! there is the moon! We had +forgotten about the moon!" + +They had indeed forgotten the moon. And the moon had been part of their +programme too. Both remembered at the same moment that, according to +schedule, they were now supposed to be almost home, running down Coombe +hill by moonlight. + +"This is much nicer," said Esther, comfortably. + +"But--" he did not finish his sentence. Why disturb her? Besides it +certainly was much nicer! The forgotten moon bore them no malice. A soft +radiance grew and spread around them, the whole sky and lake were +faintly shining though the goddess herself had not yet topped the trees. +The shadows were becoming blacker and more sharply defined. In front of +them the point loomed, inky black. Like a bird of the night the little +canoe shot towards it, skimmed its darkness and then slipped, +effortless, into shining silver space. The smile of the moon! Pleasing +old hypocrite! Always she smiles the same upon two in a canoe! + +They were paddling toward her so that her light fell full on the +doctor's face--a clean cut, virile face, manly, stern, yet with a +whimsical sweetness hidden somewhere. + +"How handsome he is!" thought Esther, exactly as the moon intended. + +"Strong, too," her thought added as the light picked out his well-set +shoulders and the sweep of the arm which sped the paddle so lightly yet +so strongly up and down. Clear, yet soft, the moon showed no touch of +grey in the hair (although the grey was there) nor did she point out the +markings which were the legacy of strenuous years. Seen so, he appeared +no older than she who watched shyly from girlish eyes. + +With a little shiver of utmost content Esther settled herself against +the thwart of the canoe. + +Manlike he did not know the meaning of that shiver. + +"Fool that I am!" he exclaimed. "You are cold, and behold we have left +behind the shawl of Mrs. Sykes' grandmother!" + +"Indeed we have not! The dog would have torn it to bits. I assure you +the shawl of the venerated ancestress was in the canoe before I was." + +"Then wrap yourself up. It is wonderful how cool the nights are." + +Esther was not cold. But it is sometimes pleasant to be commanded. This +is what enables man to persist in a certain pleasing delusion regarding +woman's natural attitude. When she occasionally pleases herself by a +simulation of subjection he immediately thrills with pride, crying, +"Aha! I have her mastered!" Of course he finds out his mistake later. + +It pleased Esther, though not cold, to wrap herself in the shawl and it +pleased Callandar to see her do it. I assure you it left the whole +question of the subjection of women quite untouched. + +The moon knew all about it but, feminine herself, she favoured the +deception. Around the girl's dark head she drew a circle of light. The +branching tendrils of her hair, all alive and fanlike now in the +coolness of the night, made a nimbus of black and silver from which her +shadowed face shone like a faint pure pearl. As he seemed younger, so +did she seem older; under the moon she was no longer a child, but a +woman with mysterious eyes. + +An impulse came to him--the rare impulse of confidence! Suddenly it +seemed that what he had mistaken for self-sufficiency had been in +reality loneliness. He had learned to live to himself not because he was +of himself sufficient but because no one else, save the Button Moulder, +had ever come within speaking distance. Lorna Sinnet, for all his +admiration of her, had established no claim upon his confidence, yet +now, with this young girl, whom he had known but a few weeks, a new need +developed--a need to talk of himself! A primitive need indeed, but, like +all primitive needs, compelling. + +We need not follow the history. Perhaps, reported, it would not seem +very lucid. There were blanks, unsaid things, twists of phrase, eloquent +nothings which, wonderfully understandable in themselves, do not report +well. Somehow he must have made it plain, for Esther understood it and +understood him, too, in a way which we, who have never sailed with him +under the moon, cannot hope to do. Faults of expression are no hindrance +to this kind of understanding. He did not talk well, was clumsy, not at +all eloquent, but magically she reconstructed the hopes and dreams of +his ambitious youth. From a few bald phrases she fashioned the +thunderbolt which shattered them, saw him stunned, then alive again, +struggling. With every ready imagination she leaped full upon the fires +of an ambition which accepted no check but fed upon difficulty and +overleapt obstacles. Between stories of his early college life, her +sympathy sensed the deadly strain which his narrative missed and, long +before he mentioned it, her foresight had descried the coming of hard +won success. + +But the really vital thing, the core of the short history, she followed +slowly word by word, anxiously. It told of wonders which she did not +know--love, passion, despair! Now indeed he seemed to be speaking in a +strange language--yet not strange entirely. She hid each broken phrase +in her heart, knowing them rare, and wondering at the treasure entrusted +to her. Some of her girlhood she left behind her as she listened. +Something new, yet surely old, stirred faintly. What was this love he +spoke of? The breath of bygone passion brushed across her untouched soul +and left it trembling! + +Into the long silence which followed the story her voice drifted like a +sigh. + +"If she could only have lived until you came!" + +It was of the girl wife she thought. Her heart was full of an aching +pity for that other girl whom life had cheated of her sweetest gift. +More than the man who had lived out a bitter expiation, did she pity her +who had missed the fight, slipped out of the struggle. Death seemed to +Esther such a terrible thing. The new life stirring in her shuddered at +the thought of mortality. That breath of the divine which we name Love +began already to proclaim itself immortal. + +Yet Molly, that other girl, had loved--and died. + +The doctor, too, was lost in self communings. Already, with the words +not cold upon his lips, he was surprised that he had told the story. How +could he? Why had he? That pitiful little story of Molly which had been +too sacred for the touch of a word. Above all, why had the telling been +a relief? It was a relief, he knew that. Somewhere, in the silver waters +of Pine Lake he had buried a burden. He felt lighter, younger. Had his +very love for Molly become a load whose proper name was remorse? Had his +heart harboured regret and fear under the name of sorrow? Or had he +never loved at all, never really sorrowed? Had the thing he called love +been but a boy's hot passion caught in the grip of a man's awakening +will, a mistake made irrevocable by a stubbornness of purpose which +could not face defeat? Whatever it had been, it had come to be a burden. +And the burden had lightened--it pressed no longer. In a word, he was +free! He was his own man again, unafraid, able to look into his heart, +to open all the windows--no dark corners, no haunting ghosts! He could +enter now without the dread of echoing footsteps or wistful, half-heard +whisperings. The shade of pretty, childish Molly would vex no more. + +The relief of it--the pain of it! It was like a new birth. + +Meanwhile the strong, sure strokes were bringing them swiftly nearer the +opposite shore where yellow dots of light proclaimed the position of the +summer cottages. One dot, larger, detached itself from the others and +indicated the flare on the end of the landing float. Outlines began to +be darkly discernible, the moon's silver mirror was shivered by lances +of gold. Very soon their journey would be ended. + +The paddle dipped more slowly. Esther sighed, and sat up straighter. +Considering all the trouble they had taken, neither of them seemed +overjoyed to be so near the desired haven. + +"We are nearly there," said Callandar obviously. + +Esther looked backward over their shining wake. Something precious +seemed to be slipping away on those fairy ripples. Yet all she could +find to say was-- + +"We have come very fast. You must be tired." + +Strange little commonplaces, how they take their due of all the +wonderful hours of life! Esther wriggled out of the shawl, smoothed her +hair, arranged her ruffled collar. Callandar shipped his paddle and +resumed his coat. + +"Where to, now?" he asked practically. + +"There is only one landing, we shall be right on it in a moment. +Then--there are several of the cottagers whom I know. But I think Mrs. +Burton will be the best. She has often asked me to visit her and is such +a dear that the present unexpected arrival will not make me +less welcome." + +"That's good! As for me, I'll make for the station and send the +telegrams. They won't be seriously anxious yet, do you think? +Then--there is a train I think you said?" + +"You have missed that. But there is a very early morning train, a milk +train--O gracious!" Esther broke off with a start of genuine +consternation. "To-morrow is Sunday!" + +"Naturally!" in surprise. + +"How horribly unfortunate! The milk train doesn't run on Sunday!" + +"Does the milk object to Sunday travelling?" + +"Don't joke!" forlornly. "It's dreadful that it should be Sunday. People +will talk!" + +"Oh, will they?" The doctor was immensely surprised. "Why?" + +"Because it's Sunday." + +"What has Sunday got to do with it? They can't talk. Here you are safe +and sound with your friend Mrs. Burton by 9 o'clock, an intensely +respectable hour even in Coombe. What can they say?" + +"But it's Sunday! You will return home, by rail, on Sunday. Every one +will know. Your breaking of the Sabbath will be put down to careless +pleasuring. It will hurt your practice terribly!" + +Callandar laughed heartily. But before he could reply the quick bursting +out of a blaze upon the shore startled them both. "What is it?" he asked +apprehensively. + +"Only a bonfire! Some one is giving a bonfire party. It is quite the +fashionable thing. There will be songs and speeches with lemonade and +cake. Oh, hurry! We shall be in time for the programme." + +The mysterious woman, born of the moon, was gone. In her place was a +rumple-haired, bright-eyed child. Callandar took up the paddle with a +whimsical smile. + +"Sit still or you'll overturn the canoe!" he said warningly. And across +the narrowing stretch of water floated the opening sentiments of the +patriotic cottagers. + +"O Cana_dah_, our heritage, our love--" + + + + +CHAPTER XIV + + +Henry Callandar, resting neck-deep in the cool green swimming pool, +tossed the wet hair out of his eyes and whistled ingratiatingly to a +watching robin. A delightful sense of guilt enveloped him, for it was +Sunday morning and, since his experience at Pine Lake a week ago, he had +learned a little of what Sunday means in Coombe. Esther had been quite +right in fearing that his return by train upon that sacred day might +deal a severe blow to his prestige--at least until Mrs. Sykes had had +time to explain to every one how unavoidable it had been--and he knew +that if he were to be caught in his present delightful occupation his +Presbyterian reputation might be considered lost forever. + +The robin twittered at him prettily but refused to be beguiled. Sunday +bathing was not among its weaknesses. Presently it flew away. + +"Gone to tell the minister, I'll be bound!" murmured Callandar. "'Twill +be a scandal in the kirk. I'll lose all my five patients. Horrid +little bird!" + +Smiling, he drew himself from the embrace of the faintly shining water +and retiring to the willow screen began to dress with that virtuous +leisureliness which characterises those who rise before their fellows. +He had the world to himself; a world of cool, sweet scents, pure light +and Sabbath quiet--that wonderful quiet which seems a living thing with +a personality of its own, so different is it from the ordinary quiet of +work-a-day mornings. + +The primrose sky gave promise of a beautiful day. The blue grey vault +overhead was already filling with shimmering golden light, the drooping +willows and the dew-wet grass were stirring in the breeze of dawn, the +voice of the water sang in the stillness. + +Callandar slipped his blue tie snugly under the collar of his white +flannel shirt and sighed with the ecstasy of health renewed. A +half-forgotten couplet hummed through his brain. + + "Sweet day, so cool, so calm, so bright! + The bridal of the earth and sky--" + +"And it's a hymn, too, or I'm a Dutchman," he declared, much edified. +"That proves that swimming on Sunday is quite compatible with proper +orthodoxy of mind. Shouldn't wonder if the Johnnie who wrote that wrote +it on Sunday morning after a dip. I'll tell Mrs. Sykes he did +anyway--where in thunder did I put my boots?" + +The missing articles had apparently fulfilled the purpose of their being +by walking away, or else the robin had collected them as evidence! +Callandar chuckled at a whimsical vision of them in a church court, +damningly marked "Exhibit 1." But as he searched for them the utter +peace of the morning fled and suddenly he became conscious that he and +the willows no longer divided the world between them. Some one was near. +He felt eyes watching. The curious half-lost instinct which warns man of +the approach of his kind, told him that he was no longer alone. The +doctor fixed a stern eye on the screening willows. + +"Zerubbabel!" he commanded, "come out of there at once, sir!" + +A stirring in the bushes was the only answer. + +The doctor glanced at his bootless feet. + +"Bubble," more mildly, "if you want a swim--" + +"It isn't Bubble," said a meek voice, "it's me. Are you dressed enough +for me to come out?" Without waiting for an answer the elfish face of +Ann appeared through the willow tangle. "If you're looking for your +boots," she remarked kindly, "they're hanging on that limb behind you." + +But boots no longer absorbed the doctor. + +"Come out of those willows, both of you!" + +"There's only me," still meekly. "And I didn't come to swim. I came for +you. Honour bright! The Button Man's here." + +"What?" + +"Yes, he is. He came in a big grey car and was sitting on the doorstep +when Aunt got up. He told her not to disturb you, but of course Aunt +thought that you ought to know at once and when she found that you were +gone"--a poignant pause! + +"Yes, when she found me gone--" + +"When she found you gone," slowly, "she said you must have been called +up in the night to a patient!" + +"Did she really?" The doctor's laugh rang out. + +"And I hope the Lord will forgive her for such a nawful lie!" finished +Ann piously. + +"He will, Ann, He will! You can depend on that. He has a proper respect +for loyalty between friends. Did I understand you to say that you had +seen my boots? Oh, yes, thanks! Now I wonder what can have brought our +Button Man back so soon? He didn't by any chance say, I suppose?" + +"Him?" with scorn. "Not much fear! I'll do up your boots if you like." + +"Thanks, no. That would be using unseemly haste. Button-men who go +visiting on Sunday must learn to wait. Don't you want to have a splash, +Ann? I'll walk on slowly, you can easily catch me up!" + +The child looked enviously at the now sparkling water, but shook her +head. + +"I'd love to. But I dasn't. Aunt always knows when I've been in. Even if +I go and muddy myself afterwards, she knows. She says a little bird +tells her." + +"A robin, I'll bet. I know that bird! Sanctimonious thing! He was +watching me this morning and went off as fast as he knew how, to spread +the news. Ann, you have lived in this remarkable town all your life. Can +you tell me just why it is wicked to go swimming on Sunday?" + +Ann looked blank. "No. But it is. You're likely to get drowned any +minute! Not but what I'd risk it if it wasn't for Aunt. I'm far more +scared of Aunt than I am of God," she added reflectively. + +"Why, Ann! What do you mean?" + +"Well, you never can tell about God, but Aunt's a dead sure thing! If +she says you'll get a smack for going in the river you'll get it--but +God only drowns a few here and there, for examples like." + +"Look here!" Callandar paused in his stride and fixed her dark eyes by +the sudden seriousness in his own. "You've got the thing all wrong. God +doesn't drown people for swimming on Sunday. He isn't that sort at all. +He--He--" the unaccustomed teacher of youth faltered hopelessly in his +effort to instruct the budding mind, but Ann's eyes were questioning and +at their bidding the essential truth of his own childhood came back to +him. "God is Love," he declared firmly. "Great Scott! a person would +think that we lived in the Dark Ages! Don't you let 'em frighten you, +Ann. What are you allowed to do on Sunday anyway?" + +"Church," succinctly. "And Sunday-school and church and the 'Pilgrim's +Progress.'" + +"Well, that's something. Jolly good book, the 'Pilgrim's Progress'!" + +"Yes," dubiously. "If it didn't use such a nawful lot of big words. And +if he'd only get on a little faster. He was terrible slow." + +"So he was. Well, let us be merry while we can. I'll race you to the +orchard gate." + +At the gate they paused to regain their lost breath and sense of decorum +for, across the orchard, the veranda could be plainly seen with the trim +figure of Professor Willits in close proximity to the taller and gaunter +outline of Mrs. Sykes. With one of her shy quick gestures, the child +slipped her fingers from the doctor's hold and sped away through the +trees. Her friendship with Callandar was the most wonderful thing that +had ever happened to Ann, but she was not of the kind which +parades intimacy. + +"Patient dead?" asked Willits dryly after they had shaken hands. + +"Patient?" Then, catching sight of the flaming red in the cheeks of his +landlady, "Dead? Certainly not. Even my patients know better than to die +on a morning like this. But whatever possessed you to disturb a +righteous household? Mrs. Sykes, he doesn't deserve breakfast, but I do. +When do you think--" + +"In just about five minutes, Doctor. Soon's I get the coffee boiling and +the cream skimmed. I didn't know," with an anxiously reproving glance, +"but what you might want to get washed up after you got in." + +"I--no, I think I'm quite clean enough, Mrs. Sykes. But it was very +thoughtful of you to wait--" + +"Aunt, the coffee's boiling over!" The warning was distinctly audible +and, with a gesture of one who abandons an untenable position, Mrs. +Sykes retreated upon the kitchen. + +The visitor watched her flight with mild amaze. + +"I suppose I should seem curious if I were to ask why the excellent Mrs. +Sykes imperils her immortal soul in your behalf? But why in the name of +common sense is the peril necessary? It isn't a crime, is it, for a +medical man to get up early and go for a swim?" + +"You forget what day it is," said Callandar solemnly. "Or rather, you +never knew. I myself was not properly acquainted with Sunday until I +came to this place. Your presence here is in itself a scandal. People do +not visit upon the Seventh day in Coombe." + +"No? You should have informed me of the town's eccentricities. As it is, +if my presence imperils your social standing you can seclude me until +the next train." + +"Better than that," cheerfully, "I can take you to church." + +The alarmed look upon the professor's face was so enticing that +Callandar continued with glee: + +"Why not? I have always thought your objection to church-going a blot +upon an otherwise estimable character. Hitherto I have been too busy to +attend to it, but now--" + +"Quit chaffing, Harry! I came up because I had to see you. You pay no +attention to my letters. I never dreamed that you would stay a month in +this backwater. What is wrong? What is the matter with you?" + +"Look at me--and ask those questions again." + +The keen eyes of the Button-Moulder looked deep into the doctor's steady +ones. There was a slight pause. Then-- + +"Yes, I see what you mean. I saw it as you came across the orchard." The +sharp voice softened. "My anxiety for your health could hardly survive +the way in which you leaped that fence! But all this makes it only the +more mysterious. Have you found the fountain of youth or--or what?" + +Callandar threw an affectionate arm over the other man's shoulders. + +"I _am_ young, amn't I! Trouble is, I didn't know it." He ruffled his +hair at the side so that the grey showed plainly. "Terrible thing when +one loses the realisation of youth! But I've had my lesson. I'll never +be old again, never!" + +In spite of himself the professor's straight mouth curved a little. A +spark of pride glowed in his cool eyes as he bent them upon the smiling +face of his friend. Yet his tone was mocking as he said, "Then it is the +fountain of youth? One is never too old to find that chimera." + +"It's not something that I've found, old cynic. It's something that I've +lost. Look at me hard! Don't you notice something missing? Did you ever +read the 'Pilgrim's Progress'?" + +"The Pilgrim's--" + +"Breakfast is ready!" called Ann, teetering on her toes in the doorway. + +"The Pil--" + +"And Aunt--says--will--you--please--come--at--once--so's--the +coff--ee--won't--be--cold!" chanted Ann. + +"Yes, Ann. We're coming." + +"But I want to know--" + +"Old man, I'll tell you after breakfast. I want you to see me eat. I +wish to demonstrate that there is no deception. A miracle has really +happened. No one could observe me breakfasting and doubt it!" + +When they were seated he looked guilelessly into the still disapproving +face of Mrs. Sykes. "Perhaps you are wondering, as I did, what has +brought Professor Willits back to Coombe," he said, "but time and space +mean little to professors, and the fact is that Willits has long wished +to hear a sermon by the Reverend Mr. Macnair. He is coming with me this +morning. Perhaps you hadn't better mention it, though. It might disturb +Mr. Macnair to know that so eminent a critic was listening to him." + +The eminent critic frowned grimly and took a fourth cream biscuit +without noticing it. + +"Not a mite!" declared Mrs. Sykes. "The man ain't born that can fluster +Mr. Macnair. Nor yet the woman, unless it's Esther Coombe--Land sakes, +Doctor! I forgot to tell you how that cup tips! Ann, get a clean table +napkin. I hope your nice white pants ain't ruined, Doctor? I really +ought to put that cup away but it's a good cup if it's held steady and I +hate to waste good things. Last time it tipped was when the Ladies' Aid +met here. Mrs. Coombe had it and the whole cup spilled right over her +dress. I was that mortified! But she didn't seem to care. I can't +imagine what's the matter with that woman. She's getting dreadful +careless about her clothes. Next time I met her she wore that same +dress, splash an' all! 'Tisn't as if she hadn't plenty of new +things,--more than they can afford, if what folks say is true. You +haven't met Mrs. Coombe yet, have you, Doctor?" + +"She is away from home." + +"Well, when you do meet her you'll see what I mean, or like as not you +won't, being a man. Men never seem to see anything wrong with Mary +Coombe. But Esther must feel dreadful mortified sometimes when her Ma +forgets to get hooked up behind. Esther's as neat as a pin. Always was. +Why, even when she got home last week after that awful time you and she +had up at Pine Lake, and her having to stay overnight without so much as +a clean collar, she walked in here as fresh as a daisy--won't you let me +give you some more coffee, Professor?" + +"Thank you, yes. You were saying--" + +"Willits, do you think so much coffee is good for you?" + +"Land sakes, Doctor, my coffee won't hurt him! It never seems to trouble +you any. As I was saying, one would almost have thought that what with +picnicking in the bush all day and trapesing around in a canoe half the +night and having to stay where she wasn't expected and wouldn't like to +ask the loan of the flat-irons--" + +"Please, Mrs. Sykes, don't let Ann eat another biscuit. I don't want her +to be ill just when I want a day off to take Willits to church. Willits, +as your medical adviser, I forbid more coffee. He will really injure +himself, Mrs. Sykes, if I do not take him away. He isn't used to +breakfasts like this and his constitution won't stand it." + +Mrs. Sykes beamed graciously under this delicate compliment and +confiscated Ann's latest biscuit with a ruthless hand. "If you gentlemen +would like to sit in the parlour--" she offered graciously. But +Callandar with equal graciousness declined. The office would do quite +well enough. Willits might want to smoke. "And as it-seems that my watch +has stopped," he added, "perhaps you would be so kind as to tell us +when it is time to change for church." + +The professor settled himself primly upon the hardest chair which the +office contained and refused a cigar. + +"You seem to have acquired a reprehensible habit of fooling, Henry," he +said. "Your language also is strange. When, for instance, you say +'change for church,' to what sort of transformation do you refer?" + +Callandar chuckled. + +"Only to your clothes, old chap. Don't worry. You wouldn't expect me to +go to church in flannels?" + +"I should not expect you to go to church at all." + +"Well, the fact is, old man, you are painfully ignorant. I do go to +church, and the proper church costume for a professional man is a frock +coat and silk hat. But as you are a traveller, and as you are not +exactly a professional man, I shall not lose caste by taking you as +you are." + +The imperturbable Willits waived the point. "I understood you to say, +also, that your watch had stopped. Was that a joke?" + +"No such luck!" The doctor took out his watch and shook it. "Mainspring +gone, I'm afraid!" + +"A month ago," said the professor, "if your watch had stopped you would +have had a fit." + +"Really! Was I ever such an ass? Well, I'm not the slave of my watch any +longer. Time goes softly in Coombe. Aren't you glad I'm not taking +a fit?" + +"I am glad. But I want to understand." + +"Then let's return to the 'Pilgrim's Progress.' Ann and I were talking +about it this morning. Do you remember the man with the pack on his back +and how when he reached a certain spot the pack, seemingly without +effort of his own, fell off and was seen no more?" + +Willits reflected. The doctor was thoroughly in earnest now. "I seem to +recollect the incident to which you refer," he said after a pause. "If I +remember rightly it is an allegory and is used in a definitely religious +sense. The man with the pack meets a certain spiritual crisis. Do I +understand that you--er--that you have experienced conversion? I am not +guilty of speaking lightly of so important a matter, but I hardly know +how to frame my question." + +The doctor tilted back his chair and looked dreamily out of the window. +"I did not mean you to take my illustration literally. My religious +beliefs are very much the same as they have always been. To a +materialist like you they seem, I know, absurdly orthodox; to a church +member in good standing they might seem fatally lax; but such as they +are I have not changed them. Still, I was, as you know, a man with a +burden. You may call the burden consequence or what you will, the name +doesn't matter. The weight of that youthful, selfish, unpardonable act +which bound a young girl to me without giving her the protection which +that bond demanded, was always upon me, crushing out the joy of life. +The news of her death made no difference, except to render me hopeless +of ever making up to her for the wrong I had done. Her death did not set +me free, it bound me closer. + +"I seemed like one caught in the tow of some swift tide, always fighting +to get back, yet eternally being drawn away. The tide still flows out, +for the tide of human life is the only tide which never returns, but I +have ceased to struggle. I no longer look back. It is not that God has +forgiven me (I have never been able to think of God as otherwise than +forgiving), it is that I have forgiven myself." + + + + +CHAPTER XV + + +"It amounts to this, then," said Willits presently. "You are cured. The +balance is swinging true again. It has taken a long time, but the cure +is all the more complete for that. Now, when are you coming back to us?" + +Callandar did not answer. + +"You are needed. Not a day passes that your absence is not felt. You +used to have a strong sense of responsibility toward your work. What has +become of it?" + +"I have it still. I am not slighting my work by taking time to build +myself into better shape for it." + +"But you will simply stagnate here!" querulously. "You are becoming +slack already. You let your watch run down." + +The doctor laughed. + +"If many of my patients could do the same without worry they would not +need a doctor. Half of the nervous trouble of the age can be ultimately +traced to watches which won't run down. Leisure--unhurried leisure--that +is what we want. We've got to have it!" + +"Piffle! I shall hear you talk about inviting your soul next." + +"Well, if I do he is in better shape to accept the invitation than he +used to be." + +The professor's gesture was sufficiently expressive. + +"Very well. I give up. Remember, I advise against it. I think you are +making a mistake!--I'll have that cigar now. I suppose one is allowed to +smoke in the garden?" + +"Yes, do, that's a good fellow! I must run up and make myself +presentable. I suppose you haven't seen Lorna lately?" + +"I have seen her very lately. She asked to be remembered." + +"Oh, you old prevaricator! Lorna never asked to be remembered in her +life. What she really said was, 'If you see Harry give him my love!'" + +"If she did, you don't deserve it! Oh, boy," with sudden earnestness, +"why will you make a fool of yourself? She's a woman in a thousand. +Others see it if you don't. Since you've been away, MacGregor is paying +her marked attention." + +"Good old Gregor!" The doctor's exclamation was one of pure pleasure. +"And yet you say my absence isn't doing any good? Go along with you! +Take your cigar and wait for me underneath the Bough. I'll not be long." + +He was long, however. The professor's cigar and his cogitations came to +an end together without the promised reappearance. Even when he returned +to the office it was empty except for Ann, who in the stiffest of +starched muslin and whitest of stockings was spread out carefully upon +the widest chair. Her black hair was parted as if by a razor blade and +plastered tightly in slablike masses while the tension of the braids was +such that they stuck out on either side of the small head like decorated +sign posts. Weariness, disgust and defiance were painted visibly upon +the elfish face. + +"This is the best chair!" said Ann politely, "but if you'll excuse me I +shan't get up. Every time I sit down it makes a crease in a fresh place. +By the time church is over I look like I was crumpled all over. It's the +starch!" she added in sullen explanation. + +Willits, who liked children but did not understand them, essayed a mild +joke. + +"Did you put some starch in your hair too?" + +Ann flushed scarlet with anger and mortification and made no answer. + +"It looked much nicer at breakfast," blundered on the professor +genially. "If I were you I should unstarch it--" he paused abashed by +the glare in Ann's black eyes and turned helplessly to Callandar, who +had just come in, resplendent in faultless church attire. + +"Don't listen to him, Ann!" said the doctor. "Button moulders are so +ignorant. They know absolutely nothing about hair or the necessity for +special tidiness on Sundays. All the same, I'm afraid we shall have a +headache if we don't let a reef out somewhere. Sit still a moment, Ann. +I was always intended for a barber." + +To the fresh astonishment of Willits his friend's skilful hands busied +themselves with the tightly drawn hair which, only too eager for +freedom, soon fell into some of its usual curves. With a quick, shy +gesture the child drew the adored hand to her lips and kissed it. +Callandar turned a deep red. The professor chuckled, and Ann, furious at +betraying herself before him, fled precipitately, the crackling starch +of her stiff skirts rattling as she ran. + +For a moment Willits enjoyed his friend's embarrassment and then, as the +probable meaning of the frock coat began to dawn upon him, his +expression changed to one of apprehension. + +"You weren't in earnest about that church nonsense, were you?" + +"Certainly. If you need a clean collar take one of mine, and hurry up. +The first bell has stopped ringing." + +"But I'm not going!" + +"Not if I ask you nicely?" + +"But why? What are you going for?" + +"Come and see." + +The shrewd eyes of the professor grew coldly thoughtful. + +"That is exactly what I shall do," he decided. + +From the home of Mrs. Sykes upon Duke Street to the First Presbyterian +Church upon Oliver's Hill is a brisk walk of fifteen minutes. As Coombe +lies in a valley, Oliver's Hill is not a hill, really, but a gentle +eminence. It is a charming, tree-lined street bordered by the homes and +gardens of the well-to-do. It is, in fact, _the_ street of Coombe, and +to live upon Oliver's Hill is a social passport seldom mentioned but +never ignored. + +As if social prominence were not enough, it had another claim upon the +affections and memories of many, for up this hill every Sunday in a long +and goodly stream poured the first Presbyterians who were not only the +elect but also the elite of Coombe. To see Knox Church "come out" was +one of the sights of the town and, decorously hidden behind a muslin +curtain, a stranger might feast his eyes upon greatness unrebuked. It +was said at one time that every silk hat in Coombe attended Knox Church, +but this was vainglory, for it was afterwards proved that several +repaired to St. Michael's and at least one to the Baptist tabernacle. +With this explanation you will at once understand why the sidewalk was a +few feet broader upon the church side of Oliver's Hill, and if this +circumstance savours to you of ecclesiastical privilege we can only +conclude that you are not Presbyterian, and request you not to be so +narrow-minded. + +As the doctor and his half-reluctant friend turned at the foot of the +hill they were immediately absorbed by the stream pressing upwards, for +the last bell had already begun to ring. + +"We're all right," whispered Callandar encouragingly. "It rings for five +minutes." + +The professor opened his lips to say something, but shut them with a +snap. There was probably method in the doctor's madness but it was +method which would never be disclosed through much questioning. With an +expression of intense solemnity he fixed his eyes, gimlet-like, upon the +middle button of the Sunday blouse of the lady in front of him and +followed up the hill. To the absurdly low-toned remarks of his companion +he vouchsafed no reply whatever. + +They entered the church to the subdued rustle of Sunday silks and the +whisper of Sunday voices. At the door some one shook hands with +Callandar and remarked in a ghostly whisper that it was a fine day. A +grave young man, in black, led them to a pew half way down the aisle. +Most of the pews were already full, the latest comers showing slight +signs of hurry; and as they seated themselves the bell stopped and the +organ began. + +There was a moment's expectant interval and then two doors, one at +either side of the pulpit, opened simultaneously and the minister +entered from one side, the choir from the other. Before the minister +walked a very solemn man with abnormally long upper lip. This was Elder +John MacTavish, a man of large substance, of great piety and poor +digestion. It was upon this latter account that the doctor always +observed him with peculiar interest, for had not Mrs. Sykes declared +that if he should only be called in once to prescribe for John +MacTavish's stomach his future in Coombe was secure? + +"Doctor Parker is doing him just no good at all," she reported. "So keep +an eye on him. If he looks especially dour it's a good sign." + +"Would you say that he looks especially 'dour'?" whispered Callandar to +Willits. + +"I should. Why?" + +"Oh, nothing--only it's a good sign! Hush!" + +When the minister has entered the pulpit at Knox Church there is a +moment during which you may bow your head, or, if you consider this +popish, you may cover your face with your gloved hand. It is a moment of +severe quiet. One does not dare even to cough. Hence the doctor's +warning "hush!" + +But this morning the quiet was rudely broken. Somewhere, just outside +the open windows, sounded a laugh; a young, clear, unrestrained laugh, +then the call of a sharp whistle, and next moment, through the doors not +yet closed, hurtled something yellow and long-legged! With a joyous bark +it rushed along the nearest aisle, across the front of the pulpit, down +the other aisle and out at the door again. + +The congregation was amazed and grieved. Its serenity was shaken, even +the minister seemed disturbed. Some younger members of the choir +giggled. It was most unseemly. + +"Naughty dog!" said the voice outside the window. "Go home! Don't dare +to lick my hand!" + +One of the choir members grew red in the face and choked. It was +outrageous! And then, as if nothing at all had happened, the girl who +had been the cause of the whole unfortunate incident entered and walked +down the aisle. She appeared to be quite undisturbed; was, in fact, +smiling. Every eye in the church followed her as, a little out of +breath, a little flushed, with dark hair slightly disarranged as if from +an exciting chase, she took her seat, unconscious, or careless, of them +all. The minister, who had paused with almost reproachful obviousness, +gave out the opening psalm and the congregation freed itself from +embarrassment with an accustomed flutter of hymn-books. + +Going to church was somewhat interesting after all, thought Professor +Willits. Then, in common with the rest of the congregation, he detached +his eyes from the girl's exquisite profile and focused them upon +the minister. + +Friends of the Rev. Angus Macnair asserted that he was a man in a +thousand. For that matter he was a man in any number of thousands; for +his was a personality, true to type, yet not likely to be duplicated. +Born of a Highland Scotch father and a Lowland Scotch mother, he +developed almost exclusively in his father's vein. Loyal in the extreme, +narrow to fanaticism, passionate, emotional, yet trained to the cold +control of a red Indian, he was a man of power, at once the victim and +the triumph of his creed. + +Early in life he had come under a conviction of sin, had received +assurance of forgiveness and of election and, before he had left the +Public School, his Call had come. From that time forward he had burnt +with a fierce fire of godliness which, together with a natural +incapacity for seeing two sides to anything, had carried him safely +through the manifold temptations to unbelief and heresy which beset a +modern college education. Many wondered that a man so gifted should +remain in Coombe, but the explanation is simple. He suited Coombe; the +larger churches of the larger cities he did not suit. Lax opinions, +heretical doctrines, outlooks appallingly wide were creeping in +everywhere. It is safe to say that in most of the churches of his own +faith he would have seemed bravely but hopelessly behind the times. But +in Coombe he had found his place. Coombe was conservative. Coombe +Presbyterians were still content to do without frills in the matter of +doctrine. Coombe could still listen to hell fire and, if not unduly +disturbed, did not at least smile behind its hand. + +Something of all this the Button-Moulder, student of men, felt as he +watched the sombre yet glowing face of the preacher. + +The sermon that morning was one of a series dealing with the +Commandments and the text was, "Thou shalt not bear false witness +against thy neighbour." The speaker had the scholar's power of +concentration, the orator's power of delivery. He was both poignant and +personal. He seemed to do everything save mention names. Some sinners in +that congregation, thought Willits, had undoubtedly been bearing false +witness, and were now listening to a few plain words! Cautiously he +glanced around, almost expecting to see the tale of guilt and sorrow +legibly imprinted upon some culprit's face. But no one seemed at all +disturbed, save one old lady who glared back at him an unmistakable +"Thou art the man!" The congregation sat, serenely, soberly attentive, +testifying their entire agreement with the speaker by an occasional sigh +or nod. The more fiery the preacher's denunciations, the more complacent +his hearers. In astonishment Willits realised that, if appearances go +for anything, no one in Knox Presbyterian Church had ever borne false +witness against anybody! + +The collecting of the offering was somewhat of an anti-climax, as was +also the anthem by the choir, the latter consisting of a complicated +arrangement of the question, "If a man die shall he live again?" +reiterated singly by all parts in succession, by duets and quartets and +finally by the whole choir, without so much as a shadow of an answer +appearing anywhere. + +Willits gave a long sigh as they stepped into the summer day again. It +had not been uninteresting, but he was quite ready for lunch. The +doctor, on the contrary, seemed unaccountably to linger. He even paused +to talk to a fat lady in mauve velvet who had mauve cheeks to match. + +"So glad to see you in church, Doctor! Young men, you know, are inclined +to be young men! And these nice days--very tempting, I'm sure! Is your +friend a stranger?" + +Callandar gravely introduced Willits, who became immediately convinced +that this mauve lady was the most unpleasant person he had ever seen and +doubtless the very person to whom the minister had spoken in his sermon. + +Why had Callandar let him in for this? Why was he waiting around for +anyway? There he was, shaking hands with some one else--this time it was +the girl who had laughed. + +"May I present my friend, Professor Willits, Miss Coombe?" + +The girl extended a graceful hand and for an instant the professor was +permitted a look into eyes which caused him to set his firm lips +somewhat grimly. + +"And I know, Willits, you will be delighted to meet our pastor, Mr. +Macnair." + +A spark began to glow in the professor's eye, but Callandar's face was +guileless. The minister shook hands with professional heartiness, but +his gaze, Willits thought, was wandering. He began to feel interested. + +"Very fine day," he remarked imperturbably. + +"Lovely, lovely," agreed the minister, still heartily. The mauve lady +was waiting for the pastoral handshake, but he did not notice her. He +was watching the dark girl talking to Callandar. + +"What is so rare as a day in June?" said Willits, with deliberate +malice. + +"Ah, yes, very much so. Delighted to have met you. You will excuse me, +I'm sure. Annabel," with an impatient glance toward a stout, awkward +woman in the background, "if you are not quite ready I think Miss Coombe +and I will walk on." He moved toward the dark girl as he spoke and +Willits followed. + +"Then I'll have to come some other day to get the roses," they heard +Callandar say. "But remember I haven't a single flower in the office. So +it will have to be soon." + +"At any time," answered the girl, flushing slightly. + +"No flowers?" repeated the minister, a little fussily, "dear me, I will +speak to my sister. Annabel will be delighted to send you any quantity, +Doctor. You must really drop in to see our garden, some day. Sunday, of +course, is a busy day with me. Come, Miss Esther. Good morning, Doctor. +Good morning, Professor. Glad to see you at our services any time--" + +Bowing courteously, the minister moved away, followed perforce by Miss +Coombe. (An invitation to lunch at the manse is an honour not to be +trifled with.) Perforce also the doctor stood aside and Willits caught +the look, half shy, half merry, which the girl threw him from the depths +of her remarkable eyes. It was really quite interesting, and rather +funny. Not often had he seen fair ladies carried off from under the nose +of Henry Callandar. Transferring his glance quickly to the face of his +friend, he hoped to surprise a look of chagrin upon his abashed +countenance, but the countenance was not abashed, and the look which he +did surprise there startled him considerably. Henry Callandar, of all +men, to be looking after any girl with a look like that! + +Well, he had been invited to come and see. And he had seen. + + + + +CHAPTER XVI + + +As Esther walked away, demurely acquiescent, by the side of the Rev. Mr. +Macnair she was conscious of a conflict of emotions. The sight of the +doctor's disappointed face as he stood hat in hand, awoke regret and +perhaps a trifle of girlish gratification. She had been sorry herself to +miss that half hour among the roses but she was still too young and too +happy to know how few are such hours, how irrevocable such losses. Also, +it had seemed good to her maidenly pride that Dr. Callandar should +know--well, that he should see--just exactly what he should know and see +she did not formulate. But underneath her temporary disappointment she +felt as light and glad as a bird in springtime. + +The minister was speaking, but he had been speaking for several moments +before Esther's delighted flutter would permit of her listening to him. +When at last her thoughts came back she noticed, with a happy-guilty +start, that his tone was one of dignified reproof. + +"Naturally we all understand," he was saying, "at least I hope we all +understand, that you are not primarily to blame. At the worst one can +only impute carelessness--" + +"Oh, but it wasn't carelessness! You don't know Buster. He's the +_cleverest_ dog! He hid. I had no idea that he was with me until he +bounded past me at the church door. And though I whistled and tried to +grab him he was in before I knew it. I'll make him sit up meekly and beg +your pardon." + +A flush of what in a layman might have been anger crimsoned the +minister's cheek. + +"You are well aware," stiffly, "that I am not referring to the incident +of the dog." + +"To what then? I am sorry I wasn't listening but you seemed to be +scolding and I couldn't think of anything else." Even the abstruse Mr. +Macnair saw that her surprise was genuine. His tone grew gentler. + +"You are very young, Miss Esther. But since I must speak more plainly, I +was referring to that mad escapade of a week ago. Don't misunderstand +me, the blame undoubtedly rests upon the man who was thoughtless enough, +selfish enough, to put you in such a position." + +"Whatever do you mean?" Esther was torn between anger and a desire to +laugh. But seeing the earnestness in his face, anger predominated. "Can +you possibly be referring to the breakdown of Dr. Callandar's motor?" +she asked coldly. + +"I refer to the whole unfortunate adventure. If your step-mother had +been at home I feel sure it would not have happened. She would never +have permitted the excursion to take place." + +The girl's dark brows drew together in their own peculiar manner. + +"Let us be honest," she suggested. "You know quite well that my +step-mother would not have bothered about it in the least." + +"I feel it my duty," went on the minister, "to tell you that there were +some peculiar features in connection with the disablement of the motor. +I understand from the mechanician who accompanied Dr. Callandar to the +spot for the recovery of the machine that there was really very little +the matter. A short ten minutes completed the necessary repairs." + +"Ten minutes? Oh, how silly he must have felt--the doctor I mean. After +all the hours he spent and the things he said." She laughed with +reminiscent amusement. "He threw the monkey wrench at it, too. And he +thought he knew so much about motors!" + +Her companion observed her with sombre eyes. Was it possible that she +had actually missed the point of his remark? + +"Can you understand," he said slowly, "how a man used to driving a motor +car can have been entirely baffled by so slight an accident? To me it +seems--odd!" + +"So Dr. Callandar thought, only he expressed it more forcibly." + +"And you?" + +"Well, I suppose I was heartless. But it was the funniest thing I ever +saw!" Esther's laughter bubbled again. + +They were now at the manse gate. He saw that he must hasten. + +"My dear Miss Esther, let us be serious. I do not like to +disturb your mind but I have a duty in this matter. Has it never +occurred to you that this so-called accident may not have been +so--so--er--entirely--er--irremediable, so to speak, as it was made +to appear?" + +"Do you mean that he did it on purpose?" The tone was one of blank +amazement. Esther's hand was upon the gate but forgot to press the +latch. She was a quick brained girl and the insinuation in the +minister's words had been patent. Yet that he should be capable of such +an idea seemed incredible! Had he been looking at her he would have seen +the clear red surge over her face from neck to brow and then recede, but +not before it had lighted a danger spark in her eyes. + +"You did mean that!" She went on before he could answer. The scorn in +her voice stung. But the Reverend Angus was not a coward. + +"That was my meaning. You are a young and inexperienced girl. You go +upon an excursion with a man whom none of us know. An accident, a very +peculiar accident, happens. You are led to believe that the damage is +serious, but later, when the matter is investigated, it is found to have +been trifling. What is the natural inference? What have you to say?" + +"It has been said before," calmly. + +"Well--" + +"Thou shalt not bear false witness against thy neighbor." + +They faced each other, the man and the girl. And the man's eyes fell. + +"God forbid that I should do so," he murmured. + +Esther's face softened. Her anger was not proof against humility. + +"If you are really disturbed about it," she said slowly, "I can reassure +you. You say that you do not know Dr. Callandar. But I do know him. The +whole situation rests upon that. He is a man incapable of the caddish +villainy you impute. Why he could not repair the car, I cannot say. I +think," with a smile, "that he does not know quite as much about cars as +he thinks he does. But he did his best, I know that! When we found his +efforts useless we took the only course possible and made at once for +the canoe. We had to steal it, you remember, but the doctor showed no +faltering in that. He was also prepared to shoot the dog. And you have +my word for it that he made no attempt to swamp the canoe or to +otherwise complicate matters. I arrived at Mrs. Burton's by ten minutes +past nine. She was delighted to see me. Dr. Callandar walked over to the +station and sent telegrams to Aunt Amy and Mrs. Sykes. He returned to +Coombe upon the morning train. I remained with Mrs. Burton and came back +in time for school on the milk train Monday morning. That is the whole +story of the adventure and, to be frank, I enjoyed it immensely." + +The minister shook his head, but he could say no more. His attitude had +not changed, yet he felt a sense of shame before the straightforward +honesty of Esther's outlook. She had no sense of the evil of the world. +That very fact seemed to make the world less evil. + +"When will Mrs. Coombe be back?" he asked abruptly. + +Immediately the girl's frank look clouded. "I do not know," she said. +"She hardly ever tells me when she is returning. She may be at home any +day now. You know how impulsively she acts." + +"Yes--just so." The minister's manner was absent. "The fact is I wish +very much to speak with your mother regarding a certain matter. Not the +matter we have been discussing, we will say no more of that, but a +matter of great importance to--er--to me. The importance is such indeed +that I doubt if I am justified in delaying longer if you have no idea of +when I may expect to see her." + +Had Esther been noticing she must have remarked the unusual agitation of +his manner, but Esther was not noticing. + +"Is it anything you could discuss with me?" she asked innocently. +"Mother cares less and less for business. Unless it is something quite +private she will probably turn it over to me in any case." + +"But this is not--er--a matter of business. Not exactly. Not a business +matter at all, in fact. It is a matter which--" + +"Oh, there you are!" Miss Annabel's voice was breathless but gratified +and free from the faintest suspicion of having arrived, as usual, at +exactly the wrong moment. "Are you showing Esther the new rose, Angus? +Such a disappointment, Esther, my dear! I had quite made up my mind that +it was to be red. It came out pink, and such a beautifully strong +plant--such a waste! I simply can't make myself care for pink roses. +They are so common. Was I very long? You must both be starved. I know I +am. Won't you come upstairs, Esther, and put off your hat?" + +Esther intimated that she would. Just now, she had no desire for the +further company of Mr. Macnair. She was conscious even of a faint +stirring of dislike. Therefore the eagerness with which she followed +Miss Annabel filled that good lady with hospitable reproach. + +"I didn't intend to be so long," she apologised, "but you know what +choir-leaders are? And Angus won't speak to him. I can't make Angus out +lately. Tell me," abruptly, as they stood in the cool front room with +its closed green shutters, "did _you_ notice anything peculiar +about Angus?" + +"No," in surprise, "is he peculiar?" + +"Quite. He's getting fussy. He never used to be fussy. The trouble was +to induce him to be fussy enough. Except over church matters. But this +morning he was just like an ordinary man. About his collar" (Miss +Annabel had a fascinating habit of disjointing her sentences anywhere) +"nothing suited him. And you know, Esther, what care I always take with +his collars. He said they were too shiny. Of course they're shiny. Why +not? He said he noticed that men weren't wearing shine on their collars +now. Fancy that!" + +"Not really?" Esther's fresh laugh rang out. + +"Well, words to that effect. He asked me if I wanted to make him a +laughing stock before the congregation. Did you ever? And he _banged +the door_!" + +"Does he not bang doors usually?" + +"Never. And he banged it hard. It shook the house." + +"But people have to bang doors, hard, sometimes, even ministers. I +wouldn't worry if I were you. It probably did him the world of good. As +for the collars--he may have been noticing Dr. Callandar's. Mrs. Sykes +says the doctor sends all his laundry to the city." + +"You don't say? And is it different from ours?" + +"I--yes, I think it does look different." + +"How did you happen to notice it? Oh, Esther, you aren't really carrying +on with that strange young man, are you?" + +The girl's cheek flamed. The question, she knew, was void of offence. +"Carrying on" meant nothing, but the homely phrase seemed suddenly very +displeasing--horribly vulgar! Her very ears burned. What if, some time, +he should hear a like phrase used to describe their wonderful +friendship? The thought was acute discomfort. Oh, how mean and small and +misunderstanding people were! + +She took off her hat and smoothed her hair without answering. But Miss +Annabel was so used to having her anxious queries unanswered that she +did not notice the lack. + +"I know you haven't, of course," she went on. "But Coombe is such a +place for gossip. Ever since you and he had that smash-up with the +automobile, people have kind of got it into their heads that you're +keeping company. But I said to Mrs. Miller, 'I know Esther Coombe better +than you do and it isn't at all likely that a girl who can pick and +choose will go off with a stranger--even if he is a doctor. And,' I +said, 'how do we know he is a doctor anyway?' Goodness knows he came +into the place like a tramp. You've heard, haven't you, Esther, how he +came into the Imperial with nothing but a knapsack and riding in +Mournful Mark's democrat?" + +This time she did pause for an answer and Esther said "Yes," shortly. + +"Then that settles it. I knew you had some sense. Just like I said to +Mrs. Miller. Next time I see her I'll tell her what you say. 'Tisn't as +if we knew anything about the man. No wonder you feel vexed about it." + +"I hope you will not mention the subject at all." + +"Of course not. Except to tell them how silly they are. You're sure you +didn't notice anything queer about Angus when you were walking home +from church?" + +"Nothing at all." Yet, as she said it, it occurred to her that she had +noticed something unusual in the minister's manner--an agitation, a lack +of poise! "Perhaps he is disturbed about church matters," she suggested, +thinking of the interrupted conversation about the important matter +which was not business. "Why don't you ask him?" + +Miss Annabel shook her head. "Oh, I never ask him anything! But," +cheerfully, "I almost always manage to find out. I'm rather good at +finding out things. But this isn't a church matter. I know all the +symptoms of that. This is different. It's--it's more human!" + +"Liver?" suggested Esther. + +"No. I know the symptoms of liver too, Esther! What if it should be +_Love_!" + +The idea was so daring that Miss Macnair justly spoke it in italics. But +the attitude of her listener was disappointing. Esther looked as if it +might be quite a natural thing for the minister of Knox Church to +fall in love. + +"Love!" she said the word caressingly. "Perhaps it is. They say love is +a disturbing thing. But--does it usually make a man bang doors?" + +"It often turns a sensible man into a fool." Miss Annabel's tone held +bitterness. "But what I can't discover is this! If Angus is in love, +whom is he in love with?" The question was delivered with such force +that Esther jumped. + +"I'm sure I don't know!" + +"Nor do I. And that is what I must find out. I have my suspicions. My +dear, don't let me startle you, but have you ever thought that it might +possibly be--your mother?" + +"Gracious! So it might! I never thought of it." + +"I have not been blind," went on Miss Annabel complacently. "I have +noticed how often he calls at the Elms and how long he stays. Also how +very considerate he is of Mrs. Coombe, how patient with Jane, how +indulgent with you--" + +"Indulgent with me!" indignantly. "Why should he be 'indulgent' with +me?" + +"Why, indeed," asked Miss Macnair pointedly, "unless on account of your +mother?" + +Esther subdued a desire to laugh. Many little things, half-observed, +seemed to fit in with Miss Annabel's theory. Yet, somehow, instinct told +her that the theory was wrong. + +"I don't believe it," she declared finally. "At first I thought it +possible but now I seem to know that we're on the wrong track. Mr. +Macnair is not in love with mother, and as for mother--Oh, the thing is +absurd! Aren't you awfully hungry, Miss Annabel?" + + + + +CHAPTER XVII + + +It was a curious luncheon party. The host was abstracted, nervous, far +from being his usual bland self. The guest was subdued, silent, uneasy +for no reason at all. The hostess, usually an ever-springing well of +comment and question, had decided upon quiet dignity as the most fitting +expression of sensibilities ignored by the banging of doors. + +"I think, Angus," she ventured once, "that you ought to remonstrate with +Mr. McCandless in regard to 'If a man die.' An Easter Anthem is an +Easter Anthem, but after five renderings it is hardly fair to expect the +congregation to behave as if they had never heard it before." + +"Quite so," said the minister absently. + +"Then may I tell him myself that it is your special request--" + +"Certainly not. I wish you would not interfere, Annabel. The choir does +very well. I think I have told you before that your continual desire for +something novel in music has not my sympathy. I am not sure that I +approve of this growing craze for anthems. They seem to me, sometimes, +wholly unconnected with worship. We do not ask for new hymns every +Sunday, nor do we ever become weary of the psalms. Indeed, familiarity +seems often the measure of our affection." + +"Net with anthems," firmly. "Anthems are different. Aren't anthems +different, Esther?" + +"I have known familiarity to breed something besides affection in the +case of anthems," agreed Esther. + +In the ordinary course of things this remark would have aroused her host +into delivering a neat and timely discourse upon the proper relation of +music to the service of the Protestant Church and the tendency of the +present age to unduly exalt the former at the expense of the latter. But +to-day he merely upset the salt and looked things at the innocent +salt-cellar which his conscience, or his cloth, did not allow him +to utter. + +Miss Annabel raised her eyebrows at Esther in a significant way, +telegraphing, "What did I tell you?" And Esther signaled back, "You were +right. He is certainly not himself." + +Several other topics were introduced with no better result and every one +felt relieved when lunch was over. + +"I think," said the Reverend Angus, as they arose, "that it is probably +pleasanter in the garden." + +Esther glanced at Miss Annabel. She wanted very much to go home. Yet in +Coombe it was distinctly bad mannered to leave hurriedly, after a meal. +She thought of pleading a headache, but the excuse seemed too +transparent and she could think of nothing better. Miss Annabel was +unresponsive. Her host was already moving toward the door. Now he held +it open for her. There was nothing to do but go. If she were clever she +could keep the conversation in Miss Annabel's hands. + +But Miss Annabel's brother had other ideas. "I think," he suggested with +the soft authority which in that house was law, "that as you are taking +Mrs. Miller's class, Annabel, it might be well for you to look over the +Sabbath School lesson. Our guest will excuse you, I know." + +"Why, I've hardly seen her at all, Angus." + +"There will be time later. I am sure Miss Esther understands." + +Esther understood very well and her heart sank. She was probably in for +another scolding. However, as politeness required, she murmured that on +no account would she wish to interfere with the proper religious +instruction of Mrs. Miller's class. Miss Annabel looked rebellious, but +as usual found discretion the better part and contented herself with +another facial telegram to Esther: "Find out what is the matter with +him." And Esther smiled and nodded: "I'll try." + +"Perhaps you would like to see the rose bush to which my sister +referred," began the minister nervously as they stepped out upon the +lawn. "It is a very fine rose, but pink, I regret to say, pink. It is +unfortunate that Annabel should dislike pink so much. I think myself +that a pink rose is very pretty. Something a little different from the +red and white varieties." + +Esther murmured, "Naturally," and opened her strange eyes widely so +that he could see the mischief which was like a blue flash in the depths +of them. He coloured faintly. + +"I fear I am talking nonsense! The fact is that I am thinking of +something else. Something so important that it occupies my mind +completely. That is why, Esther, I wished to speak with you alone." + +The girl was thoroughly interested now. She was flattered also. Miss +Annabel had been right. Something was troubling the minister. And she, +Esther, was to be his confidant. To her untroubled, girlish conceit +(girls are very wise!) it seemed natural enough. She had no doubt of +her ability to help him. Therefore her face and her answering "Yes?" +were warmly encouraging. + +It is a general belief that a woman always knows, instinctively, when a +man is going to propose to her. She cannot be taken unawares; her +flutter, her surprise, her hesitancy are assumed as being artistically +suitable, but her unpreparedness is never bona fide. If this be the true +psychology of the matter then Esther's case was the exception which +proves the rule. No warning came to her, no intuition. She was still +looking at the minister with that warm expression of impersonal +interest, when, without further preliminaries, he began his halting +avowal of love. + +Had the poor pink rose-bush suddenly flamed into crimson she could +scarcely have been more surprised. She caught her breath with the shock +of it! But shocks are quickly over. One adjusts one's self with +incredible swiftness. A moment--and it seemed to Esther that she ought +to have been expecting this. That she ought to have known it all along. +Thousands of trifles mocked at her for her blindness, thousands of +unheeded voices shrieked the truth into her opened ears. She felt +miserably guilty. Not yet had she arrived at the stage when she could +justify her blindness and deafness to herself. Later, she would +understand how custom, the life-long habit of regarding the minister as +a man apart, had helped to dull her perception. Later, common sense +would prove her innocent of any wilful blunder. But just now, in her +first bewilderment, it seemed that nothing could ever excuse that lack +of understanding which had made this declaration possible! + +"I love you, Esther! I have loved you for two years." (It was like the +Reverend Angus to refer to the exact period.) "You must have seen it. +This can be no surprise to you. You may blame me in your heart for not +speaking sooner. But you were young. There seemed time enough. Then, +lately, when I saw that you were no longer a child, I decided to speak +as soon as your mother should have returned. But to-day I felt that I +could not wait longer. I must know at once--now! I must hear you say +that you love me. That you will be my wife. You will--Esther?" + +His impassioned tones lingered on the name with ecstasy. + +The startled girl forced herself to look at him, a look swift as a +swallow's dart, but in it she saw everything--the light on his face--the +love in his eyes! And something else she saw, something of which she did +not know the name but from which, not loving him, she shrank with an +instinctive shiver of revolt. He seemed a different man. The minister, +the teacher, was gone, and in his place stood the lover, the claimer. +Yes--that was it. He claimed her, his glance, his voice--somewhere in +the girl's heart a red spark of anger began to glow. + +She tried to speak, but he silenced her by a gesture. "No, do not answer +yet. Although you must have known what I have felt for you, you are +startled by my suddenness, I can see that. I have told you that it was +not my intention to speak so soon. Circumstances have hurried me. I felt +that I must have this settled. That--that episode of last week alone +would have determined me. Things like that must not recur. I must have +the right to advise, to--to protect you. You are so young. You do not +know the world, its wickedness, its incredible vileness." His face was +white with intense inward passion. "With me you will be safe. My God! +to think of you at the mercy of that man--of any man! It stirs a madness +of hate in me. Hate is a sin, I know, but God will understand--it is +born of love, of my love for you." + +Again the girl tried to force some words from her trembling lips. And +again he stopped her. + +"Do not speak yet. I apologise for my violence. Forgive it. We need not +refer to this aspect of the matter again. Let us dwell only upon the +sweeter idea of our love--for you do love me? You will love me--Esther?" + +But the time for speech had gone. To her own intense surprise and to the +minister's consternation, Esther burst into tears. + +She was frightened, angry, stung with pity and a kind of horror. She +felt herself honoured and insulted at the same time; and with this +strange medley of emotions was a consciousness of youth and inexperience +very different from the calm, untried confidence of a few +minutes before. + +"Forgive me, forgive me!" pleaded the conscience stricken suitor. "I +have been too sudden! I should have prepared you. I should have allowed +you to see more plainly." With a lover's first, fond air of possession +he attempted to take her hand. + +"Don't!" The word was sharp as a pistol shot. Esther's tears were +suddenly stayed. Furtively she slipped the hand he had touched behind +her. With the other she felt for her handkerchief and frankly wiped +her eyes. + +"You startled me," she explained presently. "And I am so sorry, so very +sorry! I never dreamed that you thought of me at all--in that way, any +more than I have thought of you. You honour me very much. But it is +impossible. Quite, quite impossible." + +"You mean my position here, as minister? Believe me, I have thought of +all that. There may be difficulties but we will conquer them together. +Nothing is impossible if you love me, dear." + +"Oh!" She turned wide blue eyes upon him. "That is just it. I do not +love you." + +The blow fell swift, unerring, dealt by the mercilessly honest hand of +youth. Esther's eyes were quite dry now. Her nervousness was passing. +Regret and pity were merged in one overpowering, instinctive desire: the +desire to show him beyond all manner of doubt that she repudiated that +possessive touch upon her hand. "I could not ever possibly marry you," +she said, as calmly as if she had been accustomed to dismissing suitors +all her life. + +They were still standing by the rose-bush whose desperate fate it was to +produce pink roses. With incredulous dismay, the minister saw her turn +from him and take a step toward the house. + +She had refused him! She was leaving him! At any moment Annabel might +finish her Sunday School lesson and come out upon the lawn--all his +self-possession vanished like a puff of smoke. + +"Esther!" he cried, "Esther! wait. Give me a moment." + +She paused, but did not turn. + +"I think there is nothing more to say--I am very sorry." + +Sorry! She was sorry. This young girl upon whom he had set his desire, +of whom he had felt so sure, to whom his love should have come as a +crown, was sorry. King Cophetua, flouted by the beggar maid, could not +have been more astonished, more deeply humiliated! + +But the greater wound was not to his pride. At any cost to his dignity +and self-respect he could not let her go like this. His ministerial +manner fell away, his readiness deserted him. In a moment he became all +lover, pleading, entreating, with the one great abandon of his life, +with the stammering eloquence of unspeakable desire! + +Slowly the girl turned to him. He saw her pure profile, then the full +charm of her changing face. The blue eyes, widely open, were darker, +lovelier than ever--Surely there was softening in their depths.... + +"Es--ther, Es--ther!" Miss Annabel's voice broke upon the tense moment +with cheerful insistence, and Miss Annabel herself appeared at the turn +of the walk, waving a slip of paper. She saw them at once. + +"You're wanted at home, Esther. Your mother's come back. To-day! Think +of that! On the noon train. In face of the whole town. And all she said +when Elder MacTavish met her coming up from the station was that she had +forgotten it was Sunday. Fancy!" + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII + + +Perhaps never, in all her life of inopportune arrivals, had Miss Annabel +been so truly welcome--or so bitterly resented! Esther turned to her +with a heart-sob of relief, the minister walked away without a word. + +"Dear me! What's the matter?" said the good lady. "You seem all excited. +Perhaps I shouldn't have shouted out the news so abruptly. But it never +occurred to me that you might be startled. 'Tisn't as if your mother had +been away a year. Jane's waiting for you down by the gate. Such a +peculiar child! Nothing I could say will induce her to come in. Don't +you find Jane is a peculiar child, Esther?" + +"Only a little shy," said Esther, quickening her steps. + +"Shy! Mercy, I shouldn't call her shy. That child has the +self-possession of a Chinee! I hope you won't mind me saying it, but a +little shyness is exactly what Jane needs." + +Esther, whose shaken nerves threatened hysterical laughter, made no +reply to this, but hurried toward the small figure by the garden gate. + +"Oh, Jane!" she called, somewhat shakily. + +At her voice, the Shy One stopped kicking holes in the turf with the +toes of her new boots and executing a bearlike rush, threw herself into +her sister's arms. + +"I'm home, Esther! So's mother! And she says I don't have to go to +Sunday School. That's why I didn't want to come in. Let's hurry before +the minister comes." + +"Listen to that!" said Miss Annabel in indignation. "Any one would +think my brother was an ogre. Angus! Why, he's gone! I thought he was +following us." + +"I think Mr. Macnair went into the house." + +"Did he? What did I tell you? Perhaps my news surprised him as well as +you. I thought he looked as pale as a plate. What do you think?" + +"I think it is none of our business." + +Miss Annabel gave her a shrewd look. "Perhaps not your business. You +don't have to live with him. But I do. Well, good-bye, my dear. Tell +your mother," significantly, "that I'll be over to see her soon." + +Both girls were relieved that the minister did not leave his study to +say good-bye. They breathed more freely and their steps slackened as +soon as the corner which hid the manse had been safely passed. + +"I've got new boots," began Jane. "See them? And Fred's new dog has got +puppies! He calls her Pickles. She got the puppies this morning. Oh! +they're darlings! But Fred is horrid. He says he is going to give me one +for my own, to make up for Timothy. Just as if anything ever could! I +never knew any one so heartless as Fred--except Job." + +"Job who?" It was a relief to Esther to let the childish chatter run on. + +"Why, _Job_. Job was just like Fred. When all his wives died and his +little children and his cows, he felt bad, but when God gave him more +wives and more children and lots of cows he was pleased as Punch. I +always thought that so strange of God," in a reflective tone, "but I +expect he knew what kind of man Job was and that he didn't have any real +feelings. Do you think I ought to take the puppy, Esther? I shouldn't +like to be like Job." + +"I think there is no danger, dear. But how is mother? Better?" + +"Was she sick?" in surprise. + +"Her headaches, you know." + +"Oh, yes. I don't know whether they are better or not," carelessly. "I +didn't see much of mother while we were away. I played all day with Mrs. +Bremner's little girl. Except when we went shopping. I think she must be +better, for she did such lots of shopping." + +Esther smiled. "Not very much, I think, Janie. Shopping takes money." + +"But she did! I have lots and lots of new clothes. Only," +discontentedly, "most of them don't fit. Mother could never be bothered +trying them on. She's got some lovely things, too. Dresses and hats and +piles of new shoes and heaps of silk stockings--" + +"Jane, why do you say 'lots' and 'piles' and 'heaps' when you know you +are exaggerating?" + +But there was a note of anxiety in the reproof nevertheless. + +"I'm not exaggerating, Esther! She did. Even Miss Bremner asked her what +she was going to do with them all." + +The elder girl's fingers tightened upon the small hand she held. Her red +lips set themselves in a firm line. In face of a danger which she could +see and measure Esther had courage enough. And she had faced this +particular danger before. + +"Mother will tell me all about it, no doubt," she said calmly. "Did she +get me something pretty, too?" + +"Yes. It's a surprise." + +"And when she got all the pretty things I suppose she told the clerks to +charge them?" + +"Oh, no. She paid for them out of her purse." + +Esther was conscious of a swift reaction. The things were paid for. Of +course Jane had exaggerated. Children have no sense of value. Some +dainty things, Mrs. Coombe was sure to buy; but, as Esther well knew, +her slender stock of money would hardly have run to "piles" and "heaps." +And of course she had been unjust in fearing that Mary had gone into +debt. They had one experience of that kind, an experience which had +ended in a solemn promise that it would never happen again. Mary +understood the position as well as she did. + +As the girl's thought trailed naturally into the problem paths of every +day, her weeks of freedom, her new interests, the strange experience in +the manse garden seemed already remote. With the little frown of +accustomed perplexity slipping in between her straight, black brows, her +deeper agitation quieted. The unusual has no antidote so effective as +the commonplace. + +They found Mrs. Coombe waiting for them on the veranda. Lying back in +the shade, in her white dress she looked very much at her ease. Yet a +quick observer might have noticed a certain anxiety in the glance she +tried to render merely welcoming. She was thinner than she had been; +tired lines dragged at the corners of the pouting mouth and dark circles +showed plainly through their dusting of pearl powder. Changes which +creep in unnoticed when one sees a person every day are startlingly +apparent when absence has forced a clearer focus. Esther had known that +her step-mother had changed, was changing, but as she bent over her now, +the extent of the change shocked her. With a tightening at her heart +she wondered what her father would say if he could see the difference +wrought by one short year. Pearl powder, lavishly used, is not becoming, +especially when it sifts into multitudes of fine lines; nor can powder +or anything else brighten a dull, yellowing skin which in health would +still be delicately clear and firm. + +But the dulled eyes and the faded face were only the symptoms of the +real change in Mary Coombe. The thing itself lay deeper. Striving to +express a subtlety which would not lend itself to words, Esther had more +than once told herself that her mother was "not the same woman." Yet it +was only to-day, as she stooped to kiss her, that the startling, literal +truth of the phrase struck home. The outside changes were nothing--it +was the woman herself who had changed. + +"Well, Esther!" The sweet high voice with its impatient note was the +same as ever. "Here we are home again. Fancy me forgetting it was +Sunday! Wasn't it funny? We met old MacTavish coming up from the station +(not a single cab down to meet the train, of course!) and he looked so +shocked. Really, this place grows more insufferable every day. It seems +to agree with you, though, you're looking awfully well. Amy looks well, +too. The new doctor must be something of a wonder." + +"He is considered very clever. Aunt Amy is certainly better. Now that +you are home you must let him see what he can do for you." + +Mrs. Coombe's pouting lips lengthened into a hard line. + +"I won't see a doctor. And that's flat." + +"Are you feeling better, then?" + +As was always the case, her mother's perversity dissipated Esther's +sympathy and left her tone cold. It was all the colder probably because +just at that moment she had noticed that the simple white frock Mrs. +Coombe was wearing was not simple at all. The delicate embroidery on it +was all hand work. And French embroidery is no inexpensive trifle. It +was probably a new "best" gown; but if so, why had it been worn on the +train, why was it soiled in places and carelessly put on? The skirt was +not even, the collar, having lost a support, sagged at one side and just +below the girdle belt there was a small, jagged rent. Esther noticed +these details with vexation and discomfort, for it was part of the +change in Mary Coombe that from being one of the most carefully gowned +women in town she had become one of the most slovenly. All her natty, +pretty, American "style" which the plainer Canadians had sometimes +envied was gone. But this--this was worse than usual! The girl's quick +eyes travelled downward, noting the increased signs of deterioration +with something like distress. + +"Why, mother," she exclaimed involuntarily, "there is a hole in your +stocking!" + +"Is there?" Mary Coombe thrust out a small and elegant foot clad in +thinnest silk and shod with pretty slippers not very clean and turning +over at the heel. + +"Dear me!" she said. "So there is. I need new slippers too. I quite +forgot to get any." + +"Oh, mother!" Jane's cry was instant. "You got heaps. Tan ones and brown +ones and white ones and black ones with silver buckles--" + +"Jane!" interrupted Esther, laughing. "Give your imagination a rest." + +"But you did, didn't you, mother?" + +"Did I? Why, yes--I did buy a few shoes. I had forgotten. The Customs +man didn't find them either. Run and fetch me a clean white pair, Jane, +and bring down the surprise we got for Esther--see how disapproving she +looks. I declare, Esther, it would be just like you to make things +disagreeable the moment I get home. I didn't charge a cent, if that's +what you're afraid of." + +"I knew you wouldn't do that," gravely. "And of course I'm glad you got +the things. But I can't see how you managed." + +"Oh, sales," vaguely. "Things are so cheap in Detroit and Jessica +Bremner is a born shopper. She gets wonderful bargains. Anyway, I got +them, and I'm not a cent in debt." + +"What's debt?" asked Jane. + +"Buying what you can't pay for, Janie." + +"Oh, mother paid for everything. I saw her. It's Mrs. Bremner that's in +debt, isn't she, mother?" + +"Don't be silly, Jane, of course not. Jessica is far better off than we +are." + +"But she only gave you half the money for the ring. I heard her say--" + +"Jane, get those slippers at once." + +"I'm going. But Mrs. Bremner said--" + +Mrs. Coombe's hand came down with stinging force upon the child's ear. + +"Will you obey me--or will you not?" + +Jane retired wailing and her mother sank back into her veranda chair, +red spots burning through the powder on her cheeks. + +Esther sat very still for a moment, and then, without looking at the +other, she asked in a low voice: + +"What did she mean?" + +"How should I know?" fretfully. + +"What ring did Mrs. Bremner give you money for? Did--you have to sell +one of your rings?" + +"Yes, I did." + +"Which one?" + +"Oh, don't bother me, Esther." + +"But I want to know which one." + +"It was the big red one!" called Jane from the hallway, where she had +waited, safely out of reach. + +Mary Coombe sprang up, fury blazing in her eyes, but Jane had fled, and +Esther, cool and capable, was blocking the doorway. + +"Sit down, mother. I've got to know about this. What ring does she +mean?" + +For an instant the older woman hesitated, then with a little shrug she +turned back to the chair. The fury had died away as quickly as it +had arisen. + +"I knew you would be disagreeable," she said. "And you were bound to +hear about the ring some time. Jane is the most ungrateful child, and a +little tell-tale; the makings of a regular little cat! I'm sure I spent +her full share on her, and I've brought you something nice, too. Not +that I expect to be thanked for it. Of course I had to have some money. +I hadn't a rag to wear, not a rag. And I got everything ready made. It's +cheaper. Anyway, I can't stand dressmakers any more. They paw one so. I +can't bear to be touched, my wretched nerves! And I remembered the fuss +you made about the bills last time. You know you did make a fuss, +Esther, as if all your dear father left belonged to you and not to me--" + +"But what did you _do_?" + +"I'm telling you, amn't I? I sold the ring, of course." + +"Which ring?" + +"The ruby ring. It's the only one that is worth anything!" + +"You sold Aunt Amy's ring?" + +"If you wish to put it that way, yes. I consider it is as much my ring +as hers. She is my aunt and it is understood that all her things will +come to me. She has lived here ever since I was married and I think it's +a funny thing if she can't help me out occasionally. I simply had to +have money and the ruby was the only thing worth selling. Good Heavens! +Don't look so crazy. One would think I had stolen it!" + +"You have." + +Again Mrs. Coombe arose; this time without flurry. The little excitement +had done her good. The dull eyes were actually sparkling, the sallow +cheeks were flushed. She looked just as she used to look in one of her +little rages before the great change came. + +"That's enough, Esther. I'll take no more from you. I did what seemed to +me right. If Amy were in her right mind I should not have had to take +the ring, she would have offered it. Under the circumstances I did the +only sensible thing. Amy will never discover the loss. I am getting a +very good price for it from Jessica Bremner. It is a valuable jewel. She +snatched at the chance of getting it." + +Behind its whiteness Esther's face seemed to glow with pale flame. "Is +it possible that you have forgotten the history of that ring?" she +asked. "That it was poor Auntie's engagement ring and that, although she +can't remember anything about it, she knows it means something more than +life to her. And that she always says that she cannot die without the +ruby on her finger?" + +Mrs. Coombe looked uncomfortable, but kept her poise. + +"It's all rubbish. She'll forget all about it. Dying people don't think +of ruby rings. And anyway, she will probably outlive all of us. If +not--we can easily divert her attention." + +The girl looked at her step-mother in horror, half believing that this +must be some cruel joke. The callousness of the words seemed +unbelievable. But the reality of them could no longer be doubted and the +pale glow died out of her face, leaving it white and hard. + +"I do not understand you," she said slowly. "Somehow you do not seem +quite--human. But be sure of this, Aunt Amy shall have back her lover's +ring. Jane says it has not all been paid for. How much did you receive?" + +"I shall not tell you. And I warn you, Esther, not to waste your money. +If you buy it back, I shall sell it again." + +They were standing now facing each other. Esther took a step forward and +looked down steadily into her step-mother's face. Her own curious eyes +were wide open, they looked like blue stars, bright, cold and +powerful as flame. + +"No! You shall not." + +For a space Mary Coombe met that sword-like look, then her weaker will +gave way. Her eyes shifted and fell. Her hands began to pluck nervously +at the embroidery of her dress. She laughed, a little, affected laugh +with no mirth in it, turned and entered the house. + + + + +CHAPTER XIX + + +We have stated elsewhere that Coombe was conservative, but by this we do +not mean to imply that it was benighted. Far from it! True, it talked a +great deal before it ventured upon anything strange or new, referred +constantly to the tax rate and ran no risks, but at the time of which we +write it had decided to take a plebescite upon the matter of Local +Option and, a little later, the council wished to go so far as to +present Andrew MacCandless, who had served them five times as mayor, +with an address and a purse of fifty dollars. + +The Presbyterian church, too, although still clinging to solid doctrine, +was far removed from the tuning-fork stage. Through throes of terrible +convulsion it had come to possess an organ, a paid soloist, and a +Ladies' Aid, that insidious first thing in women's clubs. + +The first meeting of the Knox Church Ladies' Aid, after the return of +Mrs. Coombe and Jane, was held for the purpose of putting together a +quilt, not the old-fashioned kind, of course, but something quite +new--an autograph quilt, very chaste. + +It was a large meeting and, providentially, Mrs. Coombe was late. I say +providentially because, had she been early, it is difficult to imagine +how her fellow members would have eased their minds of the load of +comment justified by her indiscreet home-coming, and several other +things equally painful but interesting. The Ladies' Aid had its printed +constitution but it also had its unwritten laws and one of these laws +was that strictest courtesy must always be observed. No member, whatever +her failings, was ever discussed in meeting--when she was present. + +"What I cannot excuse," said Mrs. Bartley Simson, "is the tone of levity +in which she answered Mr. MacTavish when he met her on the way from the +station. It is possible that she had some good reason for coming on that +particular train. I am not one of those who hold that nothing can ever +justify Sunday travel. Exceptional cases must be allowed for. But the +frivolity of her excuse nothing can justify." + +"Besides," said Miss Atkins, the secretary, "it was a--it sounded +like--what I mean to say is that she could not possibly, _no one_ could +possibly, have forgotten what day of the week it was." + +A subdued chorus of "Certainly not" and "Absurd" showed the trend of +public opinion upon this point. + +"I once forgot that Wednesday was Thursday," said the youngest Miss +Sinclair, who always stood for peace at any price. + +"Don't be silly, Jessie!" The elder Miss Sinclair, who believed in war +with honour, jogged her sister's elbow none too gently. "That's a +different thing altogether. For my own part," raising her voice, "I +think that as a society we cannot be too careful how we minimise the +fact itself. To us, as a society, it is the fact itself that matters, +and not what Mrs. Coombe said about it. That, to a certain extent, may +be her own affair. But I hold, and I say it without fear of successful +contradiction, that no member of a community can disregard the Sabbath +in a public way without affecting the community at large. That is why I +feel justified in criticising Mrs. Coombe's behaviour. And I hope," here +she raised a piercing eye and let it range triumphantly over the circle, +"I sincerely hope that the minister has been told of this occurrence!" + +The meeting rustled with approbation. This, it felt, was something like +a proper spirit. There was no compromise here. A thrill of conscious +virtue, raised to the _n_th power, shot through the circle. + +"You think that Mr. Macnair ought to take cognizance of it officially?" +asked Miss Atkins. (Being the secretary she used many beautiful words.) + +"I do." + +"But he and Mrs. Coombe are such friends!" objected the younger Miss +Sinclair, who was a kindly creature. + +An electric silence fell upon the quilters. Every one looked toward the +president. + +"I cannot allow such insinuations to be made at this meeting," said the +President firmly. + +"But--but I did not insinuate anything!" stammered poor Miss Jessie who, +severely jogged by her sister and transfixed by the President's eye, had +turned the colour of the crimson square before her. + +"We all know," went on the President more mildly, "that Mr. Macnair +calls fairly often at the Elms. We may even have heard rumours to the +effect that he intends--I hardly know how to phrase it, but as our +minister is unmarried and Mrs. Coombe is a widow you will understand +what I mean. But, ladies, I may state on no less an authority than Miss +Annabel that Mr. Macnair has no such intentions. There is absolutely +nothing in it. His calls no doubt may be accounted for by the presence +of--er--affliction in the house." + +"Do you mean Aunt Amy?" A younger woman with a clever and rather pretty +face looked up. "Why, can't you see that there is a much simpler +explanation than that?" + +It was certainly unfortunate that Mrs. Coombe should have chosen this +moment to arrive. But the Ladies' Aid were used to interrupted +statements. It was felt to be very convenient that one of the windows +looked out directly upon the steps so that the meeting was never quite +taken by surprise. A sudden pause there might be, but late arrivals had +learned to expect that. It was the penalty for being late. + +"Dear Mrs. Coombe, so glad you have come!" said the hostess pleasantly. +"No, you are not very late. We are only just beginning." + +Every one nodded and smiled. Chairs were moved and sewing shifted to +provide space for the newcomer. A few left their work in order to shake +hands and there was a general readjustment of everything, including +topics of conversation. In the space of a few seconds it was noticed +that Mrs. Coombe wore a new hat, a new gown, new slippers and silk +stockings and that in spite of all these advantages they had never seen +her look worse. + +"Dear Mrs. Coombe, I think your belt-pin has become--allow me!" Miss +Milligan, dressmaker in private life, with a discreet swiftness, +twitched the blouse and skirt into place and deftly fastened it. At the +same time she closed a gap in the fastening of the blouse itself. + +Mary Coombe laughed. "Dear me! Am I undone? I must have forgotten to +ask Amy to fix me. These blouses that fasten in the back are such a +nuisance!" + +The President smiled politely, but with evident effort. Mrs. Coombe was +a prominent member. Still, on principle, she, a president, could not be +expected to approve of people who forgot to have themselves done up. +Supposing the minister had been present! + +"What are we doing this afternoon?" asked the unconscious delinquent +languidly. "Autograph quilts? I've got a lot of blocks for you--friends +of mine in the city." She began to fumble in the pretty workbag she +carried. "Gracious, I was sure I had them with me! Isn't that odd? I +can't find them." + +"Let me look," suggested Miss Jessie Sinclair kindly. + +But the other snatched back the open bag with a gesture which was almost +rude. + +"Oh, no--they are not there! I can't imagine what I have done with +them." She looked up in a bewildered way. Indeed the perturbation was so +out of proportion to the size of the calamity that the ladies questioned +each other with their eyes. + +The President tapped with her thimble upon the quilting frame and every +one became very busy. "I hope," she said, taking the conversation into +her own hands for safe keeping, "that you found all well upon your +return, Mrs. Coombe? I hardly ever seem to see Esther now. Did you know +that we have been talking of changing our meeting to Saturday afternoon +so that Esther and some more of our younger folk may join us? We thought +that it would be so nice for them--and for us too," she finished +graciously. + +Mrs. Coombe looked surprised. "I can hardly see Esther at a Ladies' Aid +Meeting," she said. "Did she tell you she would come?" + +"No. We have not yet told any one of the proposed change. But we all +felt--" + +"We all felt," interrupted Miss Sinclair, who was fairly sniffing the +air with the spirit of glorious war, "that the less time our young girls +have to go off philandering with young fools whom no one knows anything +about, the better it will be for everybody concerned!" + +Mary looked up with an air of pleased surprise. + +"Has Esther been philandering?" she asked eagerly. + +The President frowned. This was hardly according to Hoyle. + +"I really think," began Miss Jessie Sinclair indignantly, "that Esther +ought to be allowed to tell her mother--" + +"Gracious! Esther never tells me anything. And I'm dying to know. Who is +the 'young fool'?--do tell me, somebody." + +Strangely enough, now that the way was open, no one seemed to have +anything to say. + +"You've simply got to tell me now," urged Mary delightedly. "Unless it's +only a silly bit of gossip." + +This fillip had the desired effect. Everybody began to talk at once and +in five minutes Esther's step-mother knew all about the new doctor and +the broken motor. When they paused for breath, she laughed softly. + +"It's the most amusing thing I've heard in ages. Fancy--Esther! Oh, it's +delicious." She looked around the circle of surprised and disappointed +faces and laughed again. "Oh, don't pretend! You know very well that +you're not a bit shocked, really. And surely you don't think that I +ought to scold Esther? Why," with a little flare of her old-time +loyalty, "Esther is worth a dozen ordinary girls. I'd trust Esther with +Apollo on a desert island. But I'll admit I'm rather anxious to see the +young man. He must be rather nice if Esther agreed to show him around. +As for the accident," she shrugged her shoulders, "I know enough about +motors to know that that might happen any time." + +"You are right, of course," the President's tone was more cordial. "And +anyway we have no right to discuss Esther's affairs. The reference to it +grew out of the proposed change of meeting. And the change of meeting +was thought of chiefly because when Mr. Macnair heard about the escapade +he seemed much worried. Naturally, as he says, he carries all his young +people on his heart, and Dr. Callandar being such a newcomer--" + +"Oh, yes, naturally." Mary Coombe's little gurgle of amusement had a +note of cruelty in it, for she alone of all these women had guessed why +the Rev. Angus Macnair should have taken Esther's escapade so much to +heart. She knew, too, that the minister had no chance, but the idea of a +rival was novel--and entertaining. Could Esther really have taken a +fancy to this young doctor? Mary knew the Coombe gossips too well to +take their chatter seriously, but there might be something in it. At any +rate, there was enough to use as a conversational weapon against Esther. +She was becoming a little nervous of Esther lately. The girl was +positively growing up. Somehow, almost overnight it seemed, a new +strength had come to her, a strength which her step-mother's weakness +felt and resented. But now with this nice little story in reserve, +things might be more even. Mary's eyes sparkled as she thought of some +of the smart things she could say the next time Esther began to make a +fuss about--about the matter of the ruby ring, for instance. Esther had +been most disagreeable about that. Just as if any one could have +foreseen that Amy would miss it so soon, or indeed at all, since it had +been her fancy to keep it shut up in a stupid box. + +As a matter of fact, the affair of the ring had assumed the proportions +of a small catastrophe. Aunt Amy had been feeling so much better that it +had occurred to her to see if the ring were feeling better too. Only one +peep she would take, hopeful that at last its strange enchantment might +be past. If she could look into its depths without the blackness coming +close she would know, with utter certainty, that Dr. Callandar's +cleverness had circumvented the power of her old enemies. "They" would +trouble her no more. + +But when, flushed with hope, she looked--the ring was gone! + +Esther, reading in the sitting room, was startled beyond words by the +scream which rang through the house. She seemed to know at once what had +happened and her gaze flew to her step-mother, laden with bitter +reproach, before she sped up the stairs to Aunt Amy's room. The door was +open and the tragedy was plain to see. Aunt Amy stood by the bureau with +the empty box in her hand and on her face an expression so dreadful, so +hopeless that, with a sob, the girl tried to crush it out against +her breast. + +"What is it, dear? Don't look like that." + +"The ring, Esther! 'They' have taken the ring!" + +For an instant the girl hesitated, but common justice demanded that the +sordid truth be told. + +"No, dear. The ring is safe. It was taken from the box, but in quite an +ordinary, simple way. Don't tremble so! It is not lost. It is just as if +I had gone to the box and borrowed it--" + +As she faltered, the poor woman raised her head in an agony of hope. +"Have you got it, Esther? Oh, Esther, give it to me! I love you, Esther! +You shall have it when I am dead. But I can't die without it. I promised +somebody--I--I can't remember. Oh, Esther, don't keep it away from +me--give it to me now!" + +Bitter, angry tears filled the girl's eyes as she took the pleading, +fluttering hands in hers. + +"Don't, dear! Listen. It is quite safe. But I haven't got it. I promise +you solemnly I will get it back. You'll believe me, won't you? You know +I would not deceive you. And you won't be frightened? No one had +anything to do with taking it but ourselves. I am going to tell you just +how it happened--" + +"Don't bother. I'll tell her myself." + +In the doorway stood Mrs. Coombe, her eyes venomous with the anger of +tortured nerves. Her high voice trembled on the verge of hysteria, yet +she tried to speak with her usual mocking lightness. + +"There is no need to make a mystery of the thing, I'm sure. I took the +ring because I was hard up--needed money at once. You understand what +that means, I suppose, Amy? You never wore the ring, nor would you allow +me to wear it. It was simply wasted lying in that silly box. My own +jewelry is of much less value. Besides, I use it. One would have thought +that you would be glad to assist in some way with the--er--household +expenses. In any case, no such fuss is necessary, and I should advise +you," her voice grew suddenly cold and menacing, "not to scream like +that again. A few more such shrieks and--people will begin to wonder." +Without so much as a glance at Esther she passed on to her own room. + +"Don't mind her!" The indignant girl tried to draw the trembling woman +close. But Aunt Amy cowered away. Five minutes had undone the work of +weeks. All the doctor's carefully laid foundations were crumbling. +Esther, wrung with pity and remorse, stroked the grey hair in silence. +She expected an outbreak of childish tears, but it did not come. Rather, +the shivering grew less and presently Aunt Amy raised her head. + +"It was she--Mary--who took it?" she asked in a whisper. + +"Yes. But remember I have promised to get it back." + +Aunt Amy looked at her blankly. She did not seem to hear. + +"I never guessed it was Mary. Never! But now I know. I'll never be +fooled again." + +"Know what?" asked Esther uneasily. There was a look in Aunt Amy's eyes +which she disliked, a sly, cool look--more nearly mad than any look she +had ever surprised there. "Tell me what it is that you know," she +repeated coaxingly. + +But Aunt Amy would not tell. It was just as well, she thought, that +Esther should not know that at last, after many years, she had found out +the agent employed by "they" for her undoing. Ah, if she had only found +out sooner. The ruby ring might still be shining in its box. But of +course "they" knew that she would never suspect Mary, her own niece. +They were so clever! But now she could be as clever as they--oh, very, +very clever! + +"What did she mean about my screaming?" she asked, looking at Esther +cunningly. + +"Nothing, nothing at all! Don't think of it." + +"But she did. I know what she meant. She meant that if I +get--troublesome--she will shut me up!" + +"Nonsense!" declared Esther, thrilled to the heart with pity. "You must +never think such a thought, dear. You shall never live anywhere but here +with us. Why, you are our good angel, Auntie. We could never get on +without you--you know that." + +Aunt Amy nodded, stroking the girl's soft hand with her work-worn one. +"You are good and kind, Esther. I know you will take care of me, if you +can. And I'm not afraid just now. It will be all right if I am clever. I +must not be troublesome. If I am, she will put me away with the mad +people. The people that make faces and scream. I never scream. Until +to-day I haven't screamed for a long time. And I'll be more careful. Oh, +I can be very careful, now that I know!" + +Again the strange mad look. It flitted across her lifted eyes like a +dark shadow behind a window shade. And again Esther tried gently to +question her, but Aunt Amy was "clever." She didn't intend that Esther +should find out. + +The girl left her at last feeling both troubled and sad, but Mary Coombe +laughed at her fears. She was in one of her most difficult moods. + +"It was all a tempest in a tea cup, as usual," she declared pettishly. +"I do wish, Esther, that you would not be so disagreeable. She will have +forgotten all about the ring by to-morrow. All she needs is a little +plain speaking, and firmness." + +"Firmness! Cruelty, you mean. You terrified her." + +"Well, it had a good effect. She quieted down at once." + +"She is too quiet. It's that which troubles me. Surely you can see the +damage that has been done? All her new cheerfulness is gone. She is back +to where she was before the doctor helped her." + +"I never believed that any real improvement was possible. Insane people +never recover." + +"She is not insane! How can you say so? But how shall we explain the +change in her to Dr. Callandar? We can't tell him that--that you--" + +"Oh, don't mind me!" flippantly. + +"Anyway, the ring will soon be back, thank heaven! I have written to +Mrs. Bremner." + +"You wrote to Jessica?" + +"Certainly. I told you I should. It was the only thing to do." + +Mary Coombe's rage flickered and sank before the quiet force in the +girl's face and voice. With all the will in the world she was too weak +to oppose this new strength in Esther. And before her mortified pride +could frame a retort, the girl had left the room. + +It was of this quiet exit of Esther's that Mary was thinking as she +sewed on the autograph quilt. Better than anything else it typified the +change in the girl. It meant decision, and decision meant action. Mary +shrugged her shoulders and frowned over the quilt. Yes, undoubtedly, +Esther was getting troublesome. It might be well if she were married. + + + + +CHAPTER XX + + +Meanwhile, unconscious of her step-mother's troubled musings, Esther was +loitering delightfully on her way from school. Aunt Amy, who never +looked at a clock, but who always knew the time by what Jane called +"magic," was beginning to wonder what had kept her. Strain her eyes as +she would, there was no glint of a blue dress upon the long straight +road, and Dr. Callandar, who in passing had stopped by the gate, +declared that he had noticed a similar absence of that delectable colour +between the cross roads and the school house. + +"I thought that I might meet her," he confessed ingenuously, "but when +she was not in sight, I concluded that I was too late. Some of those +angel children have probably had to be kept in. Could you make use of me +instead? I run errands very nicely." + +"Oh, it isn't an errand." Aunt Amy smiled, for she liked Dr. Callandar +and was always as simple as a child with him. His easy, courteous +manner, which was the same to her as to every one else, helped her to be +at once more like other people and more like herself. "It's a letter. I +wanted Esther to read it to me. Of course I can read myself," as she saw +his look of surprise, "but sometimes I do not read exactly what is +written. My imagination bothers me. Do you ever have any trouble with +your imagination, Doctor?" + +"I have known it to play me tricks." + +"But you can read a letter just as it's written, can't you?" + +"Yes. I can do that." + +"Then your imagination cannot be as large as mine. Mine is very large. +It interferes with everything, even letters. When I read a letter myself +I sometimes read things which aren't there. At least," with a faint show +of doubt, "people say they aren't there." + +"In other words," said Callandar, "you read between the lines." + +Aunt Amy's plain face brightened. It was so seldom that any one +understood. + +"Yes, that's it! You won't laugh at me when I tell you that everything, +letters, handkerchiefs, dresses and everything belonging to people have +a feeling in them--something that tells secrets? I can't quite explain." + +"I have heard very sensitive people express some such idea. It sounds +very fascinating. I should like very much to hear about it." + +"Would you? You are sure you won't think me queer? My niece, Mary +Coombe, does not like me to tell people about it. She has no imagination +herself, none at all. She says it is all nonsense. But I think," +shrewdly, "that she would like to know some of the things that I know. +Won't you come in, Doctor? Come in and sit under the tree where it +is cooler." + +The doctor's hesitation was but momentary. He was keenly interested. And +at the back of his mind was the thought that Esther must certainly be +along presently. Fate had not favoured him of late. He had not seen her +for five days. It is foolish to leave meetings to fate anyway. Then, if +another reason were needed it was probable that if he stayed he would +meet Esther's mother. He was beginning to feel quite curious about +Mrs. Coombe. + +"Thanks. I think I will come in. All the trees in Coombe are cool, but +your elm is the coolest of them all. Let me arrange this cushion for +you. Is that right?" + +He settled Aunt Amy comfortably upon the least sloping portion of the +old circular bench and, not wishing to trust it with his own weight, sat +down upon the grass at her feet. + +"Now," he said cheerfully, "let us have a regular psychic research +meeting. Tell me all about it." + +"What's that?" suspiciously. + +"Psychic research? Oh, just finding out all about the queer things that +happen to people." + +"Do queer things happen to other people besides me?" + +"Why, of course! Queer things happen to everybody." + +Aunt Amy seemed glad to know this. + +"They never talk about them," she said wistfully. "But, then, neither do +I. Except to you. What was it you wanted me to tell you?" + +"Tell me what you mean when you say that you read in a letter what is +not written there. You see I haven't much imagination myself and I don't +understand it." + +"Neither do I," naively. "But it seems to be like this--take this +letter, for instance, when I found it in--well, it doesn't matter where +I found it--but as soon as I picked it up, I knew that it was a love +letter. I felt it. It is an old letter, I think. And some one has been +angry with it. See, it is all crumpled. But it is a real love letter. +All the love is there yet. When I took it in my hands it all came out +to me, sweet and strong. Like--like the scent of something keen, +fragrant, on a swift wind. I can't explain it!" + +"You explain it very beautifully," gravely. "I can quite understand that +love might be like that." + +"Can you?" with a pleased smile. "And can you understand how I feel it? +I can feel things in people, too. Love and hate and envy and all kinds +of things. I never say so. I used to, but people did not like it. They +always looked queer, or got angry. They seemed to think I had no right +to see inside of them. So I soon pretended not to see anything. But a +letter doesn't mind. This one," swinging the crumpled paper swiftly +close to his face, "is glad I found it. Can't you feel it yourself?" + +Callandar shook his head. "I am far too dull and commonplace for that!" +He smiled. "But I have no doubt it is all there, just as you say. Why +not? Our knowledge of such things is in its infancy." + +Aunt Amy stroked the paper with gentle fingers. "Yes, yes, it is all +there," she murmured. "But I may have read it wrongly for all that. The +written words I mean. I can't help reading what I feel. Once I felt a +letter that was full of hate, dreadful! And I read quite shocking things +in it. But when Esther read it, it was just a polite note, beginning +'Dear' and ending 'Your affectionate friend."' + +"It might have been very hateful for all that." + +"But no one knew it. That is why I am so anxious always to know if I +read things right. Will you read this letter to me?" + +"With pleasure--if I may." + +"Oh, it doesn't belong to any one. It isn't Esther's because it's too +old and it begins 'Dearest wife' and it isn't Mary's because it isn't +Doctor Coombe's writing; so you see I thought it might not hurt anybody +if I pretended it was mine." + +"No," gently, "I do not see why it would." + +"I never had a love letter of my own. Or if I did I cannot find it. The +only thing I ever had with love in it was the ruby ring, and that--" + +She checked herself suddenly; her small face freezing into such a mask +of tragedy that Callandar was alarmed. But to his quick "What is it?" +she returned no answer and the expression passed as quickly as it +had come. + +When he held out his hand for the letter, she seemed to have forgotten +it. Her gaze had again grown restless and vague. It would do no good to +question further, the rare hour of confession was past. + +"You both look very comfortable, I'm sure!" It was Esther's laughing +voice. She had come so quietly that neither of them had heard her. Aunt +Amy's vagueness vanished in a pleased smile and Callandar, as he sprang +to open the gate, forgot all about the unread letter and everything +else, save that she had come. + +Why was it, he wondered, that he could never recall her, save in dulled +tints. Lovely as she had lingered in his memory, her living beauty was +so much lovelier. There, in the shade of the elm, her blue dress flecked +with gold, the warm pallor of heat upon her face, her hair lying close +and heavy, a little pulse beating where the low collar softly disclosed +the slim roundness of her white throat, she was not only beautiful, she +was Beauty. She was not only Beauty, she was Herself, the one woman in +the world! He acknowledged it now, with all humility. + +The girl greeted him quietly. She did not, as was her custom, look up +at him with that sweet widening of the eyes which he had learned to +hunger for. The truth was that she, too, was moving slowly toward her +awakening. The days in which they had not met had been full of thoughts +of him. Dreams had come to her, vague, delicious bits of fancy which had +whispered in her ear and passed, leaving a new softness in her eyes, a +new flush upon her cheek. There was about her a dewy freshness which +seemed to brighten up the world. Vaguely her girl friends wondered what +had "come over" Esther Coombe, and at home Aunt Amy's pathetic eyes +followed her, dim with a half-memory of long past joy. But it was Mrs. +Sykes' Ann who best expressed the change in her beauty when, one day, +she said to Bubble: "Esther Coombe looks like she was all lighted up +inside and when she walks you'd think the wind was blowing her." + +So it happened that while yesterday she might still have smiled into the +doctor's eyes as she greeted him, to-day she shook hands without looking +at his face at all. + +Callandar found himself remarking that it was a fine day. Esther said +that it was beautiful--but dusty. A little rain would do good. She +fanned herself with her broad hat, and stopped fanning to examine +closely a tiny stain on the hem of her frock. + +"Dear me," she said, "I'm afraid it's axle grease! Mournful Mark gave me +a lift this morning." + +"Oh, I hope not!" anxiously from Aunt Amy, and referring, presumably, to +the grease. + +The doctor looked at the little stray curl on the nape of the graceful +neck and wished--all the foolish things that lovers have wished since +the world began. But he had a great longing to see her eyes. If he were +to say sharply, "Look at me!" would she look up? Absurd idea! And +anyway he couldn't say it, or anything else, for the first time in his +life Henry Callandar was tongue-tied. + +Did she, too, feel strange? Was that why she kept her eyes so +persistently lowered? No, it could hardly be that. She laughed and +talked quite naturally--seemed entire mistress of herself. + +"I know I am late, Auntie. It's Friday, you know, and I walked slowly. I +forgot that I had promised to help Jane wash the new pup. But there is +time yet. Supposing we have tea, English fashion, out here. I'll +tell mother--" + +"She is at the Ladies Aid, Esther." + +"Oh, yes. I forgot. Well, then you must entertain Dr. Callandar while I +see about tea." + +"No tea for me, thanks," said the doctor hastily. He didn't know why he +said it except that he wanted to say something, something which might +make her look at him. + +But she did not look. His refusal lost him a cup of tea and gained him +nothing whatever. + +"No tea?" Her tone was mildly wondering, but she was looking at Aunt Amy +while she spoke. "I'm sorry you are in a hurry. Bubble said you +were busy." + +"Not busy exactly. But it's office hours, you know. My partner grows +quite waxy if I'm late, and I'm late now." + +"Another day, then?" Esther's tone was charmingly gracious, but she +seemed to be addressing the gate post, as far as he could judge from the +direction of her gaze. + +Callandar picked up his hat, gloomily. There was nothing to do now but +take his leave. And if he had had any sense he might have been going to +stay for tea. Office hours be hanged! + +"Thank you, another day I shall be delighted." He took the hand she +offered and bowed over it. Delightful custom this of shaking hands! +Esther's hand was cool as a wind-blown leaf. Would she actually say +good-bye without looking at him? He held the hand firmly but she did not +seem to be conscious that he held it. She was smiling at some children +who were going by on the sidewalk. + +"Good-bye," said Callandar in a subdued voice. + +"Good-bye," said Esther sweetly. + +He dropped her hand, they bowed formally, and the foolish, poignant +little tragedy of parting was over. Not once had they looked into each +other's eyes. + +When he had gone Esther sank down upon the elm tree seat. + +"Oh, Auntie!" she said with a little sob in her voice. "I want--some +tea!" + +Aunt Amy glanced irresolutely from the open letter in her hand to the +girl's face, and decided to postpone the matter of the letter. "I'll get +it, Esther. You sit here and rest." + +When she returned the girl seemed herself again. She took the tea-tray +and kissed the bearer with a fervour born of remorse. "I am a Pig," she +declared, "and you are a darling! Never mind, we'll even up some day." + +"When you have had your tea, Esther, I've got a letter I want you to +read." + +"A letter? Who from? I mean, from whom? Gracious! I'll have to be more +careful of the King's English, now that I'm a school teacher." + +"I don't know. It is signed just 'H' and it's written to 'Dearest wife.' +You don't know who that could be, do you?" + +"Mother, perhaps?" + +"No. It's not in your father's writing and his name did not begin with +'H.'" + +"Where did you find it, dear?" + +"Up in an old trunk of your grandma's--I mean of Mary's mother's. One of +the trunks that were sent here after she died. Mary asked me to put moth +balls in it. This letter was all crushed up in a corner. I took it out +to smooth it, because I knew it was a love letter. You don't think any +one would mind?" + +"N--o." Esther, who knew Aunt Amy's feeling about love letters, could +not find it in her heart to disagree. "I think we may fairly call it +treasure-trove. It's only a note anyway." Her eyes ran swiftly over the +two short paragraphs upon the open sheet. + +"Dearest wife:-- + +"At last I can call you 'wife' without fear. Our waiting is over. Brave +girl! If it has been as long to you as to me, you have been brave +indeed. But it is our day now. Even your mother cannot object any +longer. I am coming for you to-morrow. Only one more day! + +"Dear, I think that in my wild impatience I did you wrong. But love does +not blame love. No wife shall ever be so loved as you. May God forget me +if I forget what you have done for me...." + +"What a strange letter!" Esther looked up wonderingly. + +"Is that all, Esther?" Aunt Amy's face was vaguely disappointed. "The +one I read was much longer than that." + +"That is all that is written here, Auntie. But it is a beautiful letter. +They had been separated, you see, and she had been brave and waited. One +can imagine--" + +The click of the garden gate interrupted her. + +"Here's your mother," said Aunt Amy, in a flurried tone. "Don't let +her--" + +"Is that the mail, Esther?" Mrs. Coombe's high voice held a fretful +intonation. Aunt Amy seized the letter and hid it in her dress. "She +shan't see it," she whispered childishly. + +"Is that the mail?" repeated Mrs. Coombe, coming up the walk. + +"No, there is no mail," said Esther, "No one has been to the post +office. Perhaps Jane had better run down now." + +"But you had a letter," suspiciously. "I'm sure I saw it. Where is it?" + +"Don't be absurd, mother. I have no letter. Nor would I think it +necessary to show it to you if I had. I am not a child." + +"You are a child. And let me tell you, a clandestine correspondence is +something which I shall not tolerate. Let me see the letter." + +Esther was feeling too happy to be cross. Besides it was rather funny to +be accused of clandestine correspondence. + +"I think I'll go and help Jane with the pup," she said cheerfully. "Too +bad you didn't come in sooner, mother. Dr. Callandar was here." + +"Then you do refuse to show me the letter?" + +"If I had one I should certainly refuse to show it. Why do you let +yourself get so excited, mother? You never used to act like this. It +must be nerves. Every one notices how changed you are." She paused, +arrested by the frightened look which replaced the futile anger on her +step-mother's face. + +"I'm not different. Who says I am different? It is you who are trying +to make a fuss. I'm sure I do not care about your letter. Why should I? +Your father always seemed to think you needed no advice from any one. +Only don't imagine that I am blind. I _saw_ you with a letter." + +Having triumphantly secured the last word, she turned to busy herself +with the tea-tray, and Esther, knowing the uselessness of argument, went +on toward the house. Aunt Amy attempted to follow but was stopped +by Mary. + +"Amy, what did that doctor want here?" + +"He came to see me." + +Mary laughed. "Likely!" she said. "This tea is quite cold. Was it he who +left the letter for Esther?" + +"Esther didn't have a letter. I had one." + +Again the incredulous laugh, and the dull red mounted into Aunt Amy's +faded cheeks. She clutched the treasured letter tightly under her dress. +This mocking woman should never see it! But as she turned again to leave +her, another consideration appealed to her unstable mind. Mary suspected +Esther--and nothing would annoy her more than to find herself mistaken. +On impulse Aunt Amy flung the letter upon the tea-tray. + +"There it is. Read it, if you like. It has nothing to do with Esther. Or +any one else. I found it in one of your mother's old trunks." + +Left alone, Mary Coombe drank her tea, which after all was not very +cold. She was not really interested in the letter, now that she had got +it. Had not a vagrant breeze tossed it, obtrusively, upon her lap, she +would probably not have looked at it. + +Listlessly she picked it up, opened it, glanced at the firm, clear +writing.... + +A sharp, tingling shock ran through her. It was as if some one had +knocked, loudly, at dead of night at a closed door! That writing--how +absurdly fanciful she was getting! + +"Dearest wife," she read, "at last I can call you 'wife' without +fear"--the vagrant breeze, which had tossed the letter into her lap, +tossed it off again. Her glance followed it, fascinated! + +Of course she had dreamed the writing? She had been terribly troubled by +dreams of late. But what had Amy said about finding the paper in her +mother's trunk? The whole thing was a fantastic nightmare. She had but +to lean forward, pick up the letter, read it properly and laugh at her +foolishness. + +But it was a long time before she found the strength to pick it up. When +she did, she read it quietly to the end with its scrawled "H." Then she +read it over again, word by word. Her expression was one of terror +and amaze. + +When she had finished she looked up, over the pleasant garden, with +blank eyes. Her face was ashen. + +"He came," she said aloud. "He came! But--_what did she tell him when he +came_?" + +The garden had no answer to the question. Somewhere could be heard a +girl's laugh and the sharp bark of a protesting puppy. Mary Coombe drew +her hand across her eyes as if to clear them of film and, trying to +rise, slipped down beside the elm-tree seat, a soft blot of whiteness on +the green. + +They found her there when they had finished washing the puppy, but +though she came quickly to herself under their eager ministrations, she +would not tell them what had caused her sudden illness. To all their +questionings she answered pettishly, "Nothing! Nothing but the heat." + + + + +CHAPTER XXI + + +When a man of thirty-five has at last shaken himself free from the +burden of an unhappy love affair, he is not particularly disposed to +welcome an emotional reawakening. He knows the pains and penalties too +well; the fire of Spring, he has learned, can burn as well as brighten. +Callandar thought that he had done with love, and a growing suspicion +that love had not done with him brought little less than panic. Upon the +occasion of Willits' second visit he had begun to realise his danger and +the professor never guessed how nearly he had persuaded him to leave +Coombe. Some deep instinct was urging flight, but the impulse had come +just a little bit too late. He could not go, because he wanted so very +much to stay. + +After Willits' departure he had deliberately tested himself. For five +days he did not try to see Esther and upon the sixth he realised finally +that seeing Esther was the only thing that mattered. Then had come the +short interview under the elm tree--an interview which had shown him a +new Esther, demure, adorable, with eyes which refused to look at him. He +had come away from that meeting with a new pulse beating in his heart. + +To doubt was no longer possible. He loved her. + +But she? Lovers are proverbially modest, but their modesty is fear +disguised. They hope so much that they fear to hope at all; it seemed +impossible to Callandar that Esther should not love him and yet it +seemed impossible that she should. Only one thing emerged clearly from +the chaos--the immediate necessity of finding out. + +"Why don't you ask her?" demanded Common Sense in that wearily patient +way with which Common Sense meets the vagaries of lovers. + +"But it is so soon," objected Caution, while Fear, aroused, whispered, +"Be careful. Give her time." Even Mrs. Grundy made herself heard with +her usual references to what people, represented by Mrs. Sykes, might +say, adding scornfully, "Why, you haven't met the girl's mother yet. +Don't make a fool of yourself, please." + +But over all these voices rose another voice, insistent, demanding to be +satisfied. It might be premature, it might be all that was rash and +foolish but he simply had to find out at once whether or not Esther +Coombe loved him. + +His final decision came one morning when driving slowly home from an all +night fight with death. He was tired but exultant, because he had won +the fight, and life, which slips so easily away, seemed doubly precious. +After all, he was no longer a boy. If life still held something +beautiful for him, why should he wait? He had waited so many +years already. + +Guiding the car with one hand, he slipped the other into his pocket and +opening a small locket which he found there, gazed long and earnestly at +the picture it contained. The face it showed him was a young face, fair, +rounded, childish. Dear Molly! his thought of her was infinitely tender. +He loved her all the more for the knowledge that he had not loved her +enough. Well, he could never atone now. She was gone--slipped away, he +thought, with but little more knowledge of living than the tiny baby he +had just helped to bring into the world. Brushing away the mist which +for a moment blurred his sight, Callandar kissed the picture gently and +shut the case. + +The dawn was golden now. The motor began to gather speed. An early +farmer getting into market with a load of hay, drew amiably to one side +to let it pass. From a, wayside house came the cheerful noise of opening +shutters; a milk cart rattled out of a nearby gate; the motor sped still +faster--the new day was fairly begun. + +Early as it was, Mrs. Sykes was busy washing the veranda. This was a +ritual, rigorously observed twice every day; in the morning with a pail +and broom, in the evening with the hose. Par be it from us to malign the +excellent Mrs. Sykes or to suggest that her opportune presence on the +front steps was due to anything save the virtue of cleanliness. Mrs. +Sykes, as she often said, couldn't abide curiosity. Still, it would be +very interesting to know whether Amelia Hill's latest was a boy or a +girl. Mrs. Hill had already been blessed with nine olive branches, all +girls, and had confided to Mrs. Sykes that if the tenth presented no +variation, she didn't know what on earth Hill would do--he having acted +so kind of wild-like last time. Mrs. Sykes, unable to resist the trend +of her nature, had advised that no variation could be looked for. "It +may be," she had said, "but after a run of nine, it isn't to be +expected. There's no denying that girls run in some families. I know +jest how you feel, Mrs. Hill, and, if I could, I'd encourage you, for +I'm a great believer in speaking the truth in kindness. But it's best to +be prepared, and a girl it will be, you may be sure." + +"You are up early, Mrs. Sykes," said the doctor cheerfully. "Wait till I +take the car around and I'll finish up those steps for you." + +"Land no! I won't let you, Doctor. You're clean tired out. I've got a +cup of hot coffee waiting. I don't suppose, with Amelia laid aside, any +of them Hills would think to give you so much as a bite. All girls too." + +"Not all girls now, Mrs. Sykes," said the doctor cheerfully. "A son and +heir arrived this morning. Fine little fellow. They appear to be +delighted." + +The discomfited prophet leaned against the door-post for support. + +"A boy? It can't be a boy! It doesn't stand to reason!" + +"It never does, Mrs. Sykes." + +"And I was so sure 'twould be another girl!" There was an infinitesimal +pause during which Mrs. Sykes' whole outlook readjusted itself, and then +with a heavy sigh she continued, "Poor Amelia Hill! She'll certainly +have her troubles now. I shouldn't wonder a mite if it didn't live. +Miracles like that seldom do. And if it does, it will be spoiled to +death. No boy can come along after nine sisters and not be made a sissy +of. Far better if it had been a girl in the first place. And yet I +suppose Amelia's just as chirpy as possible? She never was one to look +ahead to see what's coming." + +"Lucky for her!" murmured Callandar, as he picked his way over the +shining wetness of the veranda. "And now, Mrs. Sykes, I want you to do +me a favour. Don't go predicting to my patient that her boy baby will +die, or if he doesn't it would be better for him if he did. A woman who +has mothered nine children is entitled to a little peace of mind with +the tenth. Don't you think so?" + +"Land sakes, yes. If you put it that way. But the shock will be all the +worse when it comes. Still, if you want the poor thing left in a fool's +paradise I don't object. Perhaps it would be a good thing to have the +three littlest Hills over here to spend a week with Ann. I can stand +them if you can." + +"Good idea!" Callandar smiled at her, but attempted no thanks. He had +learned early that she was as shy about doing a kindness as a child who +hides its face, while offering you half of its lolly-pop. "I'll fetch +them. But some one will have to pick them out. Likely as not I'd bring +the middle three instead." + +"They are dreadful similar," assented Mrs. Sykes, pouring coffee. "I +don't know but what it was them Hill children that made me a +suffragette!" + +"What?" + +Mrs. Sykes did not notice the unflattering (or flattering) surprise in +the doctor's voice. + +"Yes. I think it was the Hill children as much as anything. There they +are, nine of them, like as peas in a pod, and all healthy. I shouldn't +wonder if the whole nine grows up--and what then? Amelia Hill just can't +hope to marry nine of them. Three out of the bunch would be about her +limit. And what are the others going to get? I say, give them the vote. +Land sakes! Why not? I ain't one to refuse to others what I don't +want myself." + + + + +CHAPTER XXII + + +Tired though he must have been, the doctor had never felt less like +sleep. There was a fever in his blood which the cool quietness of the +spare room could not soothe. The lavendered freshness of the bed invited +in vain. Crossing to the western window, he threw up the blind and +looked out to where, peeping out between roofs and trees, the gable +window of the Elms glittered in the early sun. The morning breeze blew +softly on his face, sweet with the scent of flowering pinks and +mignonette. In the orchard all the birds were up and singing. Every +blade of grass was gemmed with dew, sparkling through the yellow glory +of dawn like diamonds through a primrose veil. But Callandar, usually so +alive to every manifestation of beauty, saw nothing save the distant +glitter of the gable window. The morning, in which he could hardly hope +to see Esther, stretched before him intolerably long. + +Upon impulse he drew his desk to the window and, sitting down, began to +write: + +"Dear Old Button-Moulder-- + +"Behold the faulty button about to be recast! This is to be a big day. I +am writing you now because if she refuses me, I shan't be able to tell +you of it, and if she accepts me I shan't have time. I fancy you know +who she is, old man. I saw enlightenment grow in your eyes that day +after church. I hardly knew it myself, then, but now I am sure. Do you +remember that house we looked at one day? I have forgotten even the +street, but we can find it again. It had a long sloping lawn, you +remember, and stone steps and a beautiful panelled hall running straight +through to a walled garden which might well have fallen there by some +Arabian Nights enchantment. That is the house I mean to have for Esther. +I can see her there quite plainly, in her blue dress, filling the rose +bowl which stands upon the round table in a dusky corner of the hall. +Over her shoulder, through the open door, glows the riotous colour of +the garden. Her pure profile gleams like mother-o'-pearl against the +dark panelling--say, Willits, just go and look up that house, will you? +I am going to ask her to marry me. And I never knew before what a coward +I am. Was there ever a chap named Callandar who quoted uppish remarks +about being Captain of his Soul? If so, let me apologise for him. I +think the chap who wrote those verses could never have been in love--or +perhaps he wrote them after she said 'yes.' I'll telegraph the news. +Don't expect me to write. And don't dare to come down to see me. H.C. + +"P.S.--I came upon a good thing the other day. It is by Galsworthy, the +chap who writes English problem novels: + + "'If on a spring night I went by + And God were standing there, + What is the prayer that I would cry + To Him? This is the prayer: + O Lord of courage grave, + O Master of this night of spring, + Make firm in me a heart too brave + To ask Thee anything!'" + +"Rather fine, don't you think? Or is it just a madness of pride? On +second thought, I don't believe that I have arrived at the stage when I +can do without God. H." + +He folded the letter, stamped and addressed it and placed it upon the +table in the hall where Ann would find and post it. Then, lighting a +cigar, he sat down beside the open window and began to wonder how the +momentous meeting with Esther could be best arranged. Perhaps if he +walked out to the schoolhouse and waited until lunch time? No, it was +Saturday morning and there was no school. The obvious thing was to call +at the house, but this, the doctor felt, was sure to be unsatisfactory. +Not only was there Jane to think of and Aunt Amy--but there was also the +as-yet-unknown Mrs. Coombe. The visit would almost certainly end in a +formal call upon the family. He might perhaps send Bubble over with an +invitation to go fishing. No, that was too risky. Esther might refuse to +go fishing and that would be a bad omen. + +In a sudden spasm of nervousness Callandar threw the half-burned cigar +out of the window and, following it with his eyes, was not sorry to be +distracted by the sight of Ann in her night-dress, crying under the pear +tree. Ann crying was an unusual sight, but Ann in a night-dress was +almost unbelievable. The doctor knew at once that something serious must +have happened and went down to see. + +The child looked up at his approach, all the natural impishness of her +small face drowned in sorrow. In her open hand she held the body of a +tiny bird, all that was left of a fledgling which had tried its +wings too soon. + +"It toppled off and died," said Ann. "All its brothers and sisters +flewed away." + +"Heartless things!" said Callandar, and then seeing that comfort was +imperative he sat down beside the mourner and tried to do the proper +thing. He explained to her that the dead bird was only one of a +nest-full and that the dew was wet and that she was getting green stains +on her nightie. He reminded her that birds' lives, for all their seeming +brightness, are full of danger and trouble. Perhaps the baby bird was +just as well out of it. At least it would never know the lack of a worm +in season, nor the bitterness of early snow. This particular style of +comfort he had found very effective in cases other than baby birds, but +it didn't work with Ann. + +"I don't care," she sobbed, "it might have lived anyway. It never had a +chance to live." + +Living, just living, was with Ann clearly the great thing to be desired. + +Callandar stopped comforting and took the child on his knee. + +"I believe you've got the right idea, little Ann," he said. "It isn't so +much the sorrow that counts or the joy either, but just the living +through it. We're bound to get somewhere if we keep on. Don't cry any +more and we'll bury the little bird all done up in nice white fluffy +cotton. As Mrs. Burns says when any one dies: 'It's such a comfort to +have 'em put away proper.' And then after a while you and Bubble might +go fishing." + +"I can't." Ann showed signs of returning tears. "If Aunt lets me go +anywhere, I promised to go and help Esther Coombe pick daisies to fix +the church for to-morrow." + +Here was chance being kind indeed! But the doctor dissembled his +exultation. + +"Hum! too bad. Where did Miss Esther tell you to go?" he asked +guilelessly. + +"To the meadow over against the school." + +"What time?" + +"Half past two." + +"Well, cheer up, I'll tell you what--I'll go and help Miss Esther pick +the daisies. I can pick quite as fast as you. And I'll speak to Aunt +Sykes and make it right with her. So if you run now and get dressed you +and Bubble may go just as soon as you've had breakfast. And stay all +day. Be sure you stay all day, mind." + +A good sound hug was the natural answer to this and when the +conspirators met at breakfast everything had been satisfactorily +arranged. Ann had her holiday and the doctor's way lay clear before him. +For all his apparent ignorance Callandar knew that daisy field quite as +well as Ann. It was wild and lonely, yet full of cosy nooks and hollows. +Mild-eyed cows sometimes pastured there. It was a perfect paradise for +meadow-larks. Could any man ask better than to meet the girl he loved in +a field like that? + +"You're not eating a mite, Doctor." + +With a start, Callandar helped himself to marmalade. + + * * * * * + +So much for the morning of the eventful day. We have given it in detail +because it was so commonplace, so empty of any incident which might have +foreshadowed the happenings of the afternoon. Callandar was restless, +but any man is restless under such circumstances. He found the morning +long, but that was natural. Long afterwards he thought of its slow +moving hours, lost in wonder that he should have caught no glimpse, +heard no whisper, while all the time, through the beauty of the scented, +summer day, the footsteps of inescapable fate drew so swiftly near. +Fortunate indeed for us that the fragile house we dwell in is provided +with no windows on the future side, and that the veil of the next moment +is as impenetrable as the veil of years. + +What are they, anyway, these curious combinations of unforeseen +incidents which under the name of "coincidence" startle us out of our +dull acceptance of things? Can it be that, after all, space and +circumstance are but pieces in a puzzle to which the key is lost, so +that, playing blindly, we are startled by the _click_ which announces +the falling of some corner of the puzzle into place? Or is it merely +that we are all more closely linked than we know, and is "coincidence" +but the flashing of one of numberless invisible links into the light of +common day? Some day we shall know all about it; in the meantime a +little wonder will do us good. + +It was, of course, coincidence that this afternoon Mary Coombe should +offer to gather the marguerites for Esther and that, the Saturday help +having failed to materialise, Esther was glad of the offer which left +her free to help Aunt Amy in the kitchen. It was also coincidence that +Mary should choose to wear her one blue dress and her shady hat which +looked a little like Esther's. But, given these coincidences, it is easy +to understand why the doctor, passing slowly by the field of +marguerites, felt his heart bound at the supposed sight of Esther among +the flowers. + +Now that the moment had really come, his restlessness fell from him. He +felt cool, confident, happy! The world, the beautiful world, was gay in +gold and green. Over the rise, half hidden by its gentle undulation, he +caught the glint of a blue gown-- + +Running his car under the shade of some nearby trees, the doctor leapt +the pasture fence in one fine bound. The blue figure among the daisies +was stooping, her face hidden by a shady hat. No one else was in +sight--just he and she in all the lovely, sunny, breeze-swept earth! He +came towards her softly; called her name, but so low that she did not +hear. Then a meadow-lark, disturbed, flew up with his piercing "sweet!" +the stooping figure turned and he saw, in the clear sunlight, the face +under the shady hat-- + +Had something in his brain snapped? Or was he living through a nightmare +from which he would awake presently? The world, the daisy field, the +figure in blue, himself, all seemed but baseless fabrics of some +fantastic vision! + +For, by a strange enchantment, the face which should have been Esther's +face was the face of Molly Weston, his lost wife! + +It could not be! But it was. + +Incredible the swiftness with which nature rights herself after a +stunning shock. Only for a moment was Callandar left in his paradise of +uncertainty. The next moment, he knew that he beheld no vision, knew it +and accepted it as certainly and completely as if all his life had been +but a preparation for the revelation. + +"You!" he said. It was only a whisper but it seemed to fill the +universe. "You--Molly!" + +At the name, the hazel eyes which had met his so blankly sprang suddenly +alive--recognition, knowledge, fear, entreaty, flashed across them in +one moment's breathless space--then they grew blank again and Mary +Coombe fell senseless beside her sheaf of daisies. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIII + + +Bending over the form of his lost wife, Henry Callandar forgot Esther. +His mind, careful of its sanity, removed her instantly from the +possibility of thought. She was gone--whisked away by some swift genie +and, with her, vanished the world of blue and gold inhabited by lovers. + +There remained only that white, faded face among the daisies. With +careful hands he removed the crushed hat and loosened the collar at the +neck. It was Molly. Not a doubt of that. Not Molly as he remembered her +but Molly from whom the years had taken more than their toll, giving but +little in return. He could not think beyond this fact, as yet. And he +felt nothing, nothing at all. Both heart and mind lay mercifully numb +under the anaesthetic of the shock. + +Deftly he did the few things necessary to restore the swooning woman, +noting with a doctor's eye the first faint flush of pink under the dead +white nails, then the flutter of breath through the parted lips and the +slow unclosing of the hazel eyes which, at sight of him, sprang widely, +vividly into life. + +"Harry!" The name was the merest whisper and held a quiver of fear. He +remembered, stolidly, that just so had she whispered it upon the evening +of their hurried marriage. + +"Yes, Molly. It is all right. Don't be frightened!"--Just so had he +soothed her. + +She closed her eyes a moment while strength came back and then, raising +herself, slipped out of his arms with a little breathless movement of +avoidance. She seemed indeed to cower away and the fear in her eyes hurt +him with a physical pang. Instinctively he put out his hand to reassure +her, repeating his entreaty that she should not be frightened. + +"But I am frightened!" Her voice was hoarse. "You terrified me! You had +no right to come like that. You should have let me know--sent +word--or--or something." + +"Sent word?" He repeated the words, in a dazed way. "How could I? How +could I know?" + +"How could you come if you didn't know?" Already the miracle of +readjustment which in women is so marvellously quick, had given back to +Mary Coombe something of her natural manner. Besides, she had always +known that some day he might find her--if he cared to look. + +"Why should you come at all?" she flashed, raising defiant eyes. "The +time to come was long ago." + +"I did come." Callandar spoke slowly. "I came--" he paused, for how +could he tell her that his coming had been to a house of death. + +The bald answer, the strangeness of his gaze stirred her fear again. For +a moment they stared at each other, each busy with the shifting puzzle. +Then her quicker intuition abandoned the mystery of the present meeting +to straighten out the past. + +"Then you followed the letter?" + +"Yes, I followed the letter." + +"And you saw her--my mother?" + +"Yes, I saw your mother." + +Impulsively he moved toward her but she shrank back, plainly terrified. + +"Don't! I didn't know. I swear I did not know. I never saw the +letter--until last night. And I don't understand. What--what did my +mother tell you when you came?" + +"There was only one thing which would have kept me from you, Molly." + +"Only one thing? What?" she almost whispered. + +"She told me you were dead." + +The flash of understanding on her face showed that she, at least, had +shifted part of the puzzle into place. + +"I see now," she said slowly, "I have wondered ever since I saw the +letter. But I did not think she would go that far. Yet it was the +simplest way. There was no date on the letter--but I guessed that it +must have come too late." + +"Too late?" + +"Yes, or she would never have dared. Besides she might not have wanted +to. She didn't know. I never had the courage to tell her. But if the +letter had come in time--" + +She faltered, growing confused under his intense gaze. + +"In time for what?" he prompted patiently. + +She brushed the question aside. + +"Did you believe her when she said that?" + +"Yes. Why should I have doubted? It seemed to be the end. I fainted on +the doorstep. A long illness followed, when it was at its worst a friend +came--helped me to pull out. When I was well again, I searched for your +mother, employed detectives, but we never found her. Neither did we find +anything upon which to hang a doubt of what she had told me." + +"No. She was very clever." + +"But _why?_ For God's sake, why? Why should she lie to me? I had never +harmed her. We were married. I could give you a home. She knew it. I +told her. Why should she do this senseless, horrible thing?" + +She looked at him with wide eyes and stammered, + +"Don't--don't you know?" + +A sense of some hitherto undreamed horror came to him with that +stammering whisper. The spur of it brought some of his firmness back. + +"I do not know. There must have been a reason. You must tell me." + +He forced her, through sheer will, to lift her eyes to his. They were +startled and sullen. With a start he saw, what he had missed before, +that this woman, his wife, was a stranger. But he had himself well in +hand now and his gaze did not falter. There was no escaping its demands. +Her answer came in a little burst of defiance. + +"Yes, there was a reason. You may as well know it. Your letter and your +coming were both too late. I was married." + +The doctor was not quick enough for this-- + +"Yes, of course you were, but--" + +"Oh, not to you! Can't you understand? I was married to another man.... +You need not look like that! What did you expect? I warned you. I knew I +could never defy mother. I told you so. But you said it wouldn't be +long--that she need never know. And I waited and waited. I could have +married more than once but I wouldn't. I faced mother and said I +wouldn't. But every time it was harder. I couldn't keep it up. And you +didn't come. Then when he came and we thought he was so rich she made me +marry him. She _made_ me. I thought you were never coming back anyway. I +wrote you once telling you to come. You didn't answer." + +She paused breathless but he could find nothing to say. It seemed a +small thing that the letter must have missed him somewhere, his whole +mind was absorbed in trying to comprehend one stupendous fact. The +puzzle had shifted into place indeed. + +"I thought you didn't care any more," her words raced as if eager to be +done, "and mother gave me no peace. You will never understand how +terrified I was of mother. And he seemed so kind and was going to be +rich. He owned part of a gold mine--mother was sure it would mean +millions. But it didn't. Mother was fooled there!" with a gleam of +malice. "The mine turned out to be worthless--after we were married." + +Callandar drew a sharp breath and shook himself as if to throw off the +horror of some enthralling nightmare. + +"You married him--this man--knowing that you were a wife already?" + +"A fine sort of wife!" He quivered at the coarseness of meaning in her +tone. "We were never really married." + +"What do you mean?" + +"I mean that it was all a farce. What's a ceremony? For all I knew it +wasn't even legal. When you did not answer my letter I thought that was +what your silence meant. I asked a girl to ask her father who was a +lawyer if a marriage was legal when the girl was under age and the +parents didn't know about it. He said sometimes it wasn't." + +Callandar groaned. "And you married again--on that?" + +"Yes. I had to, anyway. I couldn't hold out against mother. I daren't +tell her. She left us after the wedding, when the mine failed, and went +back to Cleveland. It was there she must have got your letter, and the +note I found last night. And when you came, she told you I was dead--to +save the scandal. She was always different after that, though I never +guessed why. It was a lie, you see, and mother was terrified of telling +lies. It was the only thing she was afraid of. She believed that liars +go to hell." + +The tone in which she spoke of the probable torment of her mother was +quite without feeling. Callandar listened in fascinated wonder. Was this +Molly?--Pretty, kind-hearted Molly? + +"I cannot understand," he said in a stifled voice. "It is all too +horrible! This man you married--" + +"He is dead. He died a year ago. I thought at first that you must have +found out and that was why you came. I should have died of fright if you +had come while he was alive. He would never have understood--never! He +didn't like mother but he wasn't afraid of her. And I think that at last +he suspected that she had made me marry him for his money. But he was +always good. At first I was afraid all the time--oh, it was dreadful! I +think I have always been afraid--all my life--" Without warning she +threw her hands out wildly and broke into choking sobs, crying with the +abandon of a frightened child. Yet no one could have mistaken the +impulse of her grief. It was for herself she wept. + +Was it possible that she was a child still? A child in spite of her +woman's knowledge, and the dulled lustre of her hair? Callandar +remembered grimly that Molly's views of right and wrong had always been +peculiarly simple. She had never wished to do wrong, but when she had +done it, it had never seemed so very wrong to her. Her greatest dread +had always been the dread of other people's censure. + +"Don't cry," he said gently. + +She must have felt the change in his voice, for although her sobs +redoubled she did not again shrink from the hand he laid upon her hair. +It was all over. She had told him the truth. Surely he must see that he +was the one to blame, not she. + +After a while she dried her eyes and looked up at him timidly but with +restored confidence. + +"People need never know now!" she said more calmly. + +"People? Do people matter?" + +She picked a daisy and began nervously to strip it of its petals--a pang +of agony caught at the man's heart. So, only that morning, had he +imagined himself consulting the daisy oracle. "She loves me, she loves +me not." Absolutely he put the memory from him. Molly was speaking. + +"People do matter. They make things so unpleasant. Not that I care as +much about them as I used to; but still, one has to be careful. People +are so prying, always wanting to know things," she glanced around +nervously, "but let's not talk about them. I don't understand things +yet. How did you find me, if you thought I was--dead?" + +"Accident, if there be such a thing. I was driving down the road. I am +living in the town near here--in Coombe!" + +"But you can't! I live in Coombe. It is my home. There isn't a Chedridge +in the place." + +"My name is not Chedridge now. I took my uncle's name when I inherited +his money. I am called Henry Callandar." + +"Callandar!" Her voice rose shrilly on the word. "And you are living in +Coombe? Why you are--you must be--Esther's Dr. Callandar!" + +The man went deathly white, yet his enormous self-control, the fruit of +years, held him steady. + +Mary Coombe began to laugh weakly. "Why, of course, that explains it +all, don't you see? Haven't you placed me yet? Esther is my +step-daughter. The man I married was Doctor Coombe." + +"Good God!" The exclamation was revelation enough had Mary Coombe heard +it. But she did not hear it; this new aspect of the situation had seemed +to her so farcical that her laughter threatened to become hysterical. +"Oh, it's so funny!" she gasped. + +It was certainly funny--such a good joke! The Doctor thought he might as +well laugh too. But at the sound of his laughter, hers abruptly ceased. + +"Don't do that!" + +He tried to control himself. It was hard. He wanted to shriek with +laughter. Esther's step-mother, the mysterious Mrs. Coombe, was +Molly--his wife! Some mocking demon shouted into his ears the words he +had intended to say to her when he came to tell her that he and Esther +loved each other. He thought of his own high mood of the morning, of the +tender regret which he had laid away with the dead of the dead past. It +seemed as if all the world were rocking with diabolic laughter--Fate +plans such amusing things! + +He caught himself up--madness lay that way. + +"Please don't laugh!" said Mrs. Coombe a trifle fretfully. "At least not +so loudly. You startle me. My nerves are so wretched. And anyway it's +more serious than you seem to think. We shall have to discuss ways of +managing so that people will not know. Your being already acquainted +with Esther will help. It will make your coming to the house quite +natural. But it will be better to admit that we knew each other years +ago, were boy and girl friends or something like that. Your change of +name and my marriage will explain perfectly why we did not know each +other until we met. Nobody will go behind that. They will think it quite +romantic. The only one we need be afraid of is Esther. She is so quick +to notice--" + +She did not know about Esther then? She had never guessed that the girl +was more to him than a mere acquaintance. Thank God for that! And thank +God, above all, that the worst had not happened--Esther herself did not +know, would never know now-- + +"I believe it can come quite naturally after all," Mary went on more +cheerfully. "No one will wonder at anything if we say we are old +friends. And we can be specially careful with Esther. I wouldn't have +her know for anything. She is like her father. She would never +understand. She doesn't know what it is to be afraid, as I was afraid of +my mother. Do you think it is wicked that sometimes I'm glad she is +dead, mother, I mean?" + +He answered with an effort. "You used to be fond of your mother, Molly." + +"Oh, don't call me Molly. Call me Mary. It will sound much better. No +one has ever heard me called Molly here. If Esther heard it she would +wonder at once. You will be careful, won't you?" + +"Yes. I shall be careful." He had not heard what she said, save that she +had mentioned Esther's name. Rather he was thinking with a gratitude +which shook his very soul that fate had at least spared the innocent. +Esther was safe. She did not love him. He felt sure of that now. Strange +irony, that his deepest thankfulness should be that Esther did not +love him. + +A small hand fell like a feather upon his arm. + +"Harry!" + +"Yes, Molly!" + +He looked down into her quivering face and saw in it, dimly, the face of +the girl in his locket, not a mere outward semblance this time but the +soul of Molly Weston, reaching out to him across the years. Her light +touch on his arm was the very shackle of fate. Her glance claimed him. +Nothing that she had done could modify that claim--the terrible claim of +weakness upon the strength which has misled it. + +Vaguely he felt that this was the test, the ultimate test. If he failed +now he was lost indeed. Something within him reached out blindly for the +strength he had dreamed was his, found it, clutched it desperately--knew +that it held firm. + +He took the slight figure in his arms, felt that it still trembled and +said the most comforting thing he could think of. "Don't worry, Molly. +No one will ever know." + + + + +CHAPTER XXIV + + +Ester was sitting upon the back porch, hulling strawberries and watching +with absent amusement the tireless efforts of Jane to induce a very fat +and entirely brainless pup to shake hands. It had been a busy day, for +owing to the absence of the free and independent "Saturday Help" Esther +had insisted upon helping Aunt Amy in the kitchen. Now the Saturday pies +and cakes were accomplished and only the strawberries lay between Esther +and freedom. + +She had intended, a little later, to walk out along the river road in +search of marguerites, but when Mary, more than usually restless after +her fainting spell of yesterday, had offered to go instead, she had not +demurred. It would be quite as pleasant to take a book and sit out under +the big elm. Esther was at that stage when everything seems to be for +the best in this "best of all possible worlds." She was living through +those suspended moments when life stands tiptoe, breathless with +expectancy, yet calm with an assurance of joy to come. + +With the knowledge that Henry Callandar was not quite as other men, had +come an intense, delicious shyness; the aloofness of the maiden who +feels love near yet cannot, through her very nature, take one step +to meet it. + +There was no hurry. She was surrounded with a roseate haze, lapped in +deep content; for, while the doctor had learned nothing from their last +meeting under the elm, Esther had learned everything. She had not seemed +to look at him as they parted, yet she had known, oh, she had known very +well, how he had looked at her! All she wanted, now, was to be alone +with that look; to hold it there in her memory, not to analyse or +question, but to glance at it shyly now and again, feeding with quick +glimpses the new strange joy at the heart. + +"D'ye think He ever forgets to put brains into dogs?" asked Jane +suddenly. "Oh, you silly thing, don't roll over like that! Stop +wriggling and give me your paw!" + +"He, who?" vaguely. + +Jane made a disgusted gesture. "You're not listening, Esther! You know +there is only one Person who puts brains into dogs!" + +"But Pickles is such a puppy, Jane. Give him time." + +"It's not age," gloomily. "It's stupidness. All puppies are stupid, but +Pickles is the most abnormously stupid puppy I ever saw." + +Esther laughed. "Where did you get the word, ducky?" + +"From the doctor. It was something he said about Aunt Amy. Say, Esther, +isn't he going to take you driving any more? I saw him going past this +very afternoon. He turned down towards the river road. There was lots of +room. Next time he takes you, may Pickles and me go too?" + +"Pickles and I, Jane." + +"Well, may we?" + +"I don't know. Perhaps. When did the doctor go past?" + +"Nearly two hours ago. I wonder if there's some one kick down there? +Bubble says they're getting a tremenjous practice. I don't like Bubble +any more. He thinks he's smart. I don't like Ann, either. I shan't ask +her to my birthday party." + +"I thought you loved Ann." + +"Well, I don't. She thinks she's smart!" + +"Ann, too? Smartness must be epidemic." + +"It's all on account of the doctor," gloomily. "They can't get over +having him boarding at their place. I told Ann that my own father was a +doctor, but she said dead ones didn't count. Then I told her that my +mother didn't have to keep boarders anyway." + +"That was a naughty, snobbish thing to say. I'm ashamed of you!" + +"What's 'snobbish'?" + +"What you said was snobbish. Think it over and find out." + +Jane was silent, apparently thinking it over. The fat pup, tired with +unwonted mental exertions, curled up and went to sleep. Esther returned +to her dreams. Then, into the warm hush of the late afternoon came the +quick panting of a motor car. + +"There he is!" cried Jane excitedly. "Let's both run down to the gate to +see him." + +"Jane!" Esther's cheeks were the colour of her ripest berry. "Jane, come +here! I forbid you--Jane!" + +"He's stopping anyway. He'll be coming in. You had better take off that +apron.--Oh, look! Some one's with him. Why," with some disappointment, +"it's mother! He is letting her out. I don't believe he is coming in at +all--let go! Esther, you pig, let me go!" + +She wriggled out of her sister's firm hold but not before the motor had +started again; when she reached the gate it was out of sight. + +Mrs. Coombe surveyed her daughter coldly. "You are a very ill-mannered +child," she said, and putting her aside walked slowly up the path and +around the house to where Esther sat on the back porch. + +"Where are the daisies?" asked Esther, looking up from her berries. + +"The daisies?" vaguely. "Good gracious! I forgot all about the daisies." + +"Didn't you get any?" + +"Heaps, but the fact is I didn't bring them home. I felt so tired. I +don't know how I should have managed to get home myself if Dr. Callandar +hadn't picked me up." + +"Dr. Callandar?" Esther's voice was mildly questioning. + +"Yes, why not?" + +"I thought you had not met him." + +"Neither I had--at least I hadn't met him for a good many years." Mary +gave a little excited laugh. "But that's the funny part of it--he is an +old friend." + +Esther looked up with her characteristic widening of the eyes. The news +was genuinely surprising. And how agitated her mother seemed! + +"It is really quite a remarkable coincidence," went on Mary nervously. +"I was so surprised, startled indeed. Although it's pleasant, of course, +to meet an old schoolmate." + +"You and Doctor Callandar schoolmates?" The eyes were very wide now. + +Mary grew more and more confused. + +"Yes--that is, not exactly. I mean his name wasn't Callandar then. His +name was Chedridge. Did you never hear me speak of Harry Chedridge?" + +"Never." + +"Well, you never listen to half I say. And how was I to know that Doctor +Callandar was the Harry Chedridge I used to know? He took the name of +Callandar from an uncle--or something. Anyway it isn't his own." + +Esther hulled a particularly fine berry and carefully putting the hull +in the pan, threw the berry away. + +"Curiouser and curiouser!" she said, quoting the immortal Alice. "Did +you recognise him at once?" + +If it be possible for a lady of this enlightened age to simper, Mrs. +Coombe simpered. "He recognised me at once!" with faint emphasis on +the pronouns. + +The girl choked down a rising inclination to laugh. + +"Why shouldn't he? I suppose you haven't changed very much." + +"Hardly at all, he says; at least he says he would have known me +anywhere. But it's quite a long time, you know, terribly long. I was a +young girl then. Naturally, he was much older." + +"I should have thought so. That's why it seems queer--your having been +schoolmates." + +Mrs. Coombe looked cross. "I did not mean schoolmates in that sense." + +"Oh, merely in a Pickwickian sense!" Esther's laugh bubbled out. + +Mary arose. She was afraid to risk more at present, until she had been +to her room and--rested awhile. "You are rude, as usual," she said with +dignity. "When I said that Dr. Callandar and I were schoolmates I meant +simply that we were old friends, that we knew each other when we were +both younger. I do not see anything at all humorous in the statement." + +"No, of course not!" with quick compunction. "It's quite lovely. Just +like a book. Why didn't he come in?" + +The question was so cleverly casual that no one could have guessed the +girl's consuming interest in the answer. But its cleverness had overshot +the mark, for so colourless was the tone in which it was asked that Mary +did not notice it at all. Instead she retreated steadily along her +own line. + +"I hope I always treat your friends with proper courtesy, Esther. And I +shall expect you to do the same with mine. Dr. Callandar is a very old +friend indeed. Should he call to-night I wish you to receive him +as such." + +"I'll try," said the girl demurely. + +The way of escape was now open, but Mrs. Coombe hesitated. She seemed to +have something else to say. Something which did not come easily. "It's +horrid living in a town like Coombe," she burst out. "People always want +to know everything. We met the elder Miss Sinclair on the river +road--you know what that means! If people ask you any question--or +anything--you had better tell them at once that Dr. Callandar is not a +stranger." + +"I should not dream of suppressing the fact." + +"You see," again that odd hesitation, "he may call--rather often. +And--people talk so easily." + +Despite her care, Esther's sensitive face flamed in answer to the +quickened beat of her heart. What an odd thing for her mother to say! +What did she mean? Was it possible that he had already told her--asked +her? Or had she merely guessed? There was a moment's pause, and then, +"Let them talk!" said the girl softly. "It can't make any difference, to +them, how often Dr. Callandar calls." + +Mrs. Coombe looked doubtful, hesitated once more, but finally turned +away without speaking. As she went, she cast a careless glance at Aunt +Amy, who stood just within the kitchen doorway, a curiously watchful +look in her usually expressionless eyes. + +"Berries all ready, Auntie," said Esther cheerfully. "What's the matter +with me as a Saturday Help?" + +But Aunt Amy did not smile as she usually did. + +"She's gone to get dressed," she said abruptly, indicating with a +backward gesture Mrs. Coombe's retiring figure. + +"Well?" + +"For him. She's gone to get dressed for him." + +Esther was puzzled. "Why shouldn't she? Oh, I forget you didn't know! +It's quite a romance. Mother used to know Dr. Callandar when she was a +girl. 'We twa hae rin aboot the braes,' you know. Only it seems so +funny. Fancy, Dr. Callandar and mother! But we shan't have to worry any +more about her health. She can't possibly avoid him now." + +Aunt Amy was not listening. The curiously watchful look was still in her +eyes and suddenly, apropos of nothing, she began to wring her hands in +the strange, dumb way which always preceded one of her characteristic +mental agonies,--agonies which, far beyond her understanding as they +were, never failed to awake profound compassion in Esther. + +"What is it, dear?" she asked gently. "Are you not so well?" + +"Don't you ever feel things, Esther? Don't you ever sense +things--coming?" + +"No, dear. And neither do you, when you are well. You are tired." She +placed her hands firmly upon the locked hands of Aunt Amy and with +tender force attempted to separate them. But Jane, who had been a silent +but interested spectator, spoke eagerly. + +"Don't, Esther! Do let her tell us what is coming. You know she always +tells right when she wrings her hands. Go on, Auntie--" + +"Jane, be quiet! I'll tell you why afterwards. Auntie dear, sit down." + +'Aunt Amy's hands relaxed and the strange look faded. "It's nothing," +she said. "It's gone! I must be more careful. Do not mention it to your +mother, children. She might think me queer again, and I am not at all +queer any more. You have noticed that I'm not, haven't you, Esther? I'll +do anything you say, my dear." + +"Then lie out in the hammock while I get supper. The berries are all +ready. Then we'll all get dressed. Jane may wear one of her new frocks +and you shall wear your grey voile. It will be quite a party." + +"Will there be ice cream? Because if there isn't I don't want to get +dressed," sighed Jane. "My new things don't fit. They look like bags." + +"It will soon be holidays and then I'll fix them for you." + +Jane laid a childish cheek to her sister's hand. + +"Nice Esther," she cooed. "I'm sorry I called you a pig." Then, in a +change of tone as they left Aunt Amy resting in the hammock, "Esther, +why is Auntie so afraid of mother lately? She says such queer things I +don't know what she means." + +"Neither do I, dear. But I think it is just a passing fancy. She was +very much hurt about the ring being sold. When she gets it back she will +forget about it." + +"She looks at mother as if she hates her." + +"Oh, no!" in a startled tone. "How can you say such a thing, Jane?" + +"But she does. I've seen her. I don't blame her. I think it was +horrid--" + +"That's enough. You know nothing about it. Little girls who do not +understand have no right to criticise." + +"Fred says it was the most underhan--" + +"Jane, one word more and you shall have no berries to-night. Duck, don't +you realise that you are speaking in a very unkind way of your +own mother." + +The child's eyes filled with ready tears, but her little mouth was +stubborn. "Auntie's more my mother, Esther, and so are you. And it was +mean to take the ring and I don't care whether I have any berries +or not." + +Supper was a very quiet meal that night. Mrs. Coombe, interrupted in the +process of dressing, came down in an old kimono, but ate almost nothing, +Jane was sullen, Aunt Amy silent and Esther happily oblivious to +everything save her own happy thoughts. + +As soon as she could, she slipped away to her own room, and, choosing +everything with care, began to dress herself as a maiden dresses for the +eye of her lover. She was to be all in white, her dainty dress, her +petticoats, stockings and shoes. White made her look younger than ever, +absurdly young. He had never seen her all in white and she knew quite +well how soft it made the shadows of her hair, how startlingly blue her +eyes, how warm and living the ivory of her lovely neck. + +"Oh, I am glad I am pretty!" she whispered to her mirror. "Glad, glad!" +Then with a laugh at her own childishness she "touched wood" to +propitiate the jealous fates and ran down stairs to hide herself in the +duskiest corner of the veranda. + +It was delightful there. The cooling air was sweet with the mingled +perfumes of the garden border below, an early star had fallen, +sparkling, upon the blue-grey train of departing day, a whispering +breeze crept, soft-footed, through the shrubbery. Esther lay back in the +long chair and closed her eyes. For thirty perfect moments she waited +until the click of the garden gate announced his coming. Then she sprang +up, smiling, blushing,--peering through the screen of vines-- + +A man was coming up the path. At first sight he seemed a stranger, some +one who walked heavily, slowly--the doctor's step was quick and +springing. Yet it was he! She drew back, shyly, yet looked again. Some +one, in a pretty green silk gown, had slipped out from under the big elm +and was meeting him with outstretched hands. + +"Mother," thought Esther, "how strange!" + +They had paused and were talking together. Mary's high, sweet laugh +floated over the flowers, then her voice, a mere murmur. His voice, +lower still. Then silence. They had turned back, together, down the +lilac walk. + +Esther sat down again. She felt numb. She closed her eyes as she had +done before. But all the dreams, all the happy thoughts were gone. She +opened them abruptly to find Aunt Amy staring down upon her, dumbly, +wringing her hands. In the warm summer air the girl shivered. + +"What is it?" she asked a little sharply. But Aunt Amy seemed neither to +see nor hear her. She flitted by like some wandering grey moth into the +dim garden, still wringing her hands. + +Esther sat up. "How utterly absurd," she said aloud. Indeed she felt +heartily ashamed of herself. To behave like a foolish child, to startle +Aunt Amy into a fit and all because her mother and Dr. Callandar had +gone for a stroll down the lilac walk--the most natural thing in the +world. They would return presently. She had only to wait. But the +waiting was not quite the same. Those golden moments already sparkled in +the past. Nothing could ever be quite the same as if he had come +straight up the path to where she waited for him in the dusk. + + * * * * * + +In the living-room, Jane who had small patience with twilight, had +lighted the lamp. Its shaded beams fell in golden bars across the +veranda floor. The sky was full of stars, now, but the voice of the +breeze was growing shrill, as if whistling up the rain. + +They were coming back along the side of the house. Esther rose quickly +and slipped into the safety of the commonplace with Jane and the lighted +lamp. Mrs. Coombe entered first, there was an instant to observe and +wonder at her. She seemed a different woman, young, pretty, sparkling; +even her hair seemed brighter. Behind her came Callandar and when Esther +saw his face her heart seemed to stop. It was the face, almost, of a man +of middle age, a firm, quiet face with cold eyes. + +"Esther!" Mrs. Coombe's voice held incipient reproof. + +The girl came forward and offered her hand. The doctor, this new doctor, +took it, let it drop and said, "Good evening, Miss Esther," then turned +to Jane with a politely worded message from Ann and Bubble. + +"You can tell them I won't go," said Jane crossly. "They think they are +smart. Just because--" + +Esther slipped quietly from the room. In the hall outside she paused, +breathless. She felt as if she had run a long way. Shame enveloped her, +a shame whose cause she could not put into words. She only knew that she +had, in the few seconds of that cold greeting, been profoundly +humiliated. She quivered with the sting of unwarranted expectancy. But +if this had been all, it would have been well. There was something else, +some deeper pain surging through the smart of wounded pride, something +which led her with blind steps into a dark corner of the stairs where +she sat very quiet and still. + +Through the open front door, she could see the bars of lamplight on the +deserted veranda, and hear from the open windows of the living-room a +hum of conversation in which Jane seemed to be taking a leading part. +Then came the tinkle of the old piano and Mary's voice, singing, or +attempting to sing, for it was soon apparent that her voice sagged +pitifully on the high notes. + +Presently Jane came out, banging the door. Jane's manners, Esther +thought, were really very bad. She had probably banged the door because +she had been sent to bed and she had probably been sent to bed because +she had been saucy. Esther wondered what particular form her sauciness +had taken, but when Jane called softly, "Esther!" she did not answer. +She did not want to put Jane to bed to-night. The child flashed past her +up the stairs and soon could be heard from an upstair window calling +imperatively for Aunt Amy. But Aunt Amy, flitting through the dim garden +wringing her hands, did not hear. Jane, much injured, went to bed by +herself that night. + +In the lamp-lit room there was no more music. The murmur of voices grew +less distinct. There were intervals of silence. (Only very old friends +can support a silence gracefully--but of course these two were very old +friends.) Esther wondered, idly, how it would be best to explain her +absence to her mother. Toothache, perhaps? Not that the excuse mattered. +Mary never listened to excuses. She would be cross and fretful anyway +and complain that Esther never treated her friends with proper courtesy. +The best thing she could do would be to go to bed. But she made no +movement to go; the moments ticked by on the hall clock unnoticed. + +After a time, which might have been long or short, there was a stir in +the room and her mother's voice called "Esther! Esther!" + +The girl stood up, smoothed her white dress, slipped out on to the +veranda and into the garden. From there she answered the call. +"Yes, Mother?" + +"Where are you? You sound as if you had been asleep. Doctor Callandar is +going." + +Esther came lightly up the steps. + +"So soon?" + +"It is early," agreed Mrs. Coombe playfully, "but I can't keep him." + +Esther, herself in shadow, could see the doctor's face as he stood +quietly beside his hostess. It was full of an endless weariness. Her +pride melted. Impulsively she put out a warm hand-- + +"Good night, Miss Esther. How very sweet your garden is at night. But it +feels as if our fine weather were over. The wind begins to blow +like rain." + +Esther's hand dropped to her side. Perhaps he had not seen it in the +dusk. + + + + +CHAPTER XXV + + +We all know that strange remoteness into which one wakes from out deep +sleep. Though the eye be open, the Ego is not there to use it. For an +immeasurable second, the awakener knows not who he is, nor why, nor +where. Only there is, faintly perceptible, a reminiscent consciousness +whether of joy or sorrow, a certain flavour of the soul, sweet or +bitter, into which the Ego, slipping back, announces, "I am happy" or "I +am miserable." + +Esther had not hoped to sleep that night but she did sleep and heavily. +When she awoke it was to blankness, a cold throbbing blankness of +undefined ill being. Then her Ego, with a sigh, came back from far +places; the busy brain shot into focus; all the memories, fears, +humiliation of the night before stood forth clear and poignant. She +buried her face in the pillow. + +Yet, after the first rush of consciousness, there came a difference. +There always is a difference between night and day thoughts. Fresh from +its wonder-journey, the soul is braver in the morning, the brain is +calmer, the spirit more hopeful. After a half-hour's self-examination +with her face in the pillow Esther began to wonder if she had not been +foolishly apprehensive and whether it were not possible that half her +fears were bogies. The weight began to lighten, she breathed more +freely. Looking over the rim of the sheltering pillow the morning seemed +no longer hateful. + +Foremost of all comforting thoughts was the conviction that instinct +must still be trusted against evidence. Through all her speculations as +to the unexplained happenings of the previous day, she found that +instinct held firmly to its former belief regarding the doctor's +feelings toward herself. There are some things which one knows +absolutely and Esther knew that Henry Callandar had looked upon her as a +man looks upon the woman he loves. He had loved her that night when they +paddled through the moonlight; he had loved her when he watched for her +coming along the road, but most of all he had loved her when, under the +eye of Aunt Amy, they had said good-bye at the garden gate. This much +was sure, else all her instincts were foresworn. + +After this came chaos. She could not in any way read the riddle of his +manner of last night. Had the sudden resumption of his old friendship +with her mother absorbed his mind to the exclusion of everything else? +Impossible, if he loved her. Had purely physical weariness or mental +worry blotted her out completely for the time being? Impossible, if he +loved her. Then what had happened? + +Doubtless it would all be simple enough when she understood. She sighed +and raised her head from the pillow. At any rate it was morning. The day +must be faced and lived through. Any one of its hours might bring +happiness again. + +The rainstorm which had swept up during the night had passed, leaving +the morning clean. She needed no recollection to tell her that it was +Sunday. The Sabbath hush was on everything; no milkman's cans jingled +down the street; no playing children called or shouted; there was a bell +ringing somewhere for early service. Esther sighed again. She was sorry +it was Sunday. Work-a-day times are easiest. + +A rich odour of coffee, insinuating itself through the half open door, +testified mutely to the fact that Aunt Amy was getting breakfast. It was +later than usual. After breakfast it would be time to dress for church. +Every one in Coombe dressed for church. It was a sacred rite. One and +all, they had clothes which were strictly Sabbatarian, known indeed by +the name of Sunday Best. + +Esther's Sunday best was a blue, voile, a lovely blue, the colour of her +eyes when in soft shadow. It was made with a long straight skirt +slightly high at the waist, round neck and elbow sleeves and with it +went soft, wrinkly gloves and a wide hat trimmed with cornflowers. She +knew that she looked well in it--and the doctor would be in church. + +On this thought which flew into her mind like a swift swallow through an +open window, her lethargy fled and in its place came nervous haste; a +feverish impatience which brought her with a bound out of bed, flushed +and eager. Philosophy is all very well but it never yet stilled the +heart-beat of the young. + +Aunt Amy looked up in mild surprise as she hurried into the kitchen in +time to butter toast and poach the eggs. + +"Why, Esther!" she said in her bewildered way. "I thought--I didn't +think that you would get up this morning." + +"Why? I am perfectly well, Auntie. Where is mother?" + +"Oh, she's up! Picking flowers." + +Esther looked slightly surprised. It was not Mrs. Coombe's habit to rise +early or to pick flowers, but before she had time to comment, Mary +herself entered the kitchen with an armful of roses. + +"Hurry with your breakfast, Jane," she said, "I want you to take these +over to the doctor's office. I wonder you have not sent some to the poor +man before this, Esther. Mrs. Sykes' roses never amount to anything. +Shall I pour the coffee? I suppose you felt that you did not know him +well enough. But flowers sent in a neighbourly way would have been quite +all right. If you weren't always so stiff, people would like you better. +I felt quite ashamed of your behaviour last night. Of course it wasn't +necessary for you to stay in the room _all_ the evening, but it was +simply rude to run away as you did. You needn't make Jane an excuse. +Jane could put herself to bed, for once." + +"I did--" began Jane, but catching sight of her sister's face, went no +further. And Mrs. Coombe, who was always talkative when airing a +grievance, paid no attention. + +"If you are feeling huffy about the motor breaking down, you'll just +have to get over it," she went on. "It couldn't possibly have been Dr. +Callandar's fault anyway." + +"I am quite sure that it wasn't." + +"Then don't sulk. He is rather fine looking, don't you think? Though as +a boy he was almost ugly. It doesn't seem to matter in men--ugliness, I +mean. And of course in those days he could not afford to dress; dress +makes such a difference. I shouldn't be a bit surprised if his clothes +are English made. That baggy look that isn't really baggy, you know. +When I knew him his people were quite poor. Only a mother and sister. +The father shot himself. People said suicide ran in that family. But +Harry--Henry said that if it did, it was going to stop running. He said +such odd things. I was staying with friends when I met him, at a church +social. One meets all kinds at an affair like that. My friends didn't +ask him to the party they gave for me. For although they were a very +good family, the Chedridges, Henry was almost a hired man at that time, +working for old Dr. Inglis, to put himself through college. His mother +and sister never went out." + +"Were they both invalids?" + +"Don't be clever, Esther! I mean socially, of course. Jane, run up to my +dresser and look in the second drawer on the right hand side and bring +down my small photo case. I think I have a photo somewhere, not a very +good one, but enough to show how homely he was.... Amy, aren't you going +to eat any breakfast this morning?" + +Aunt Amy, who had been following her niece's unusual flow of talk with +fascinated attention, returned with a start to her untasted egg. Esther +tried to eat some toast and choked. In spite of all her resolutions she +felt coldly and bitterly angry. That her mother should dare to gossip +about him like that! That she should call him "ugly," that she should +speak with that air of almost insolent proprietorship of those wonderful +early years long, long before she, Esther, had come into his life at +all, it was unendurable! + +Do not smile, sophisticated young person. When you are in love you will +know, only too well, this jealousy of youless years; this tenderness for +photos and trifling remembrances of the youth of the one you love. You +will envy his very mother, who, presumably, knew him fairly well in the +nursery, and that first dreadful picture of him in plaid dress and +plastered hair will seem a sacred relic. + +In the meantime you may take my word for it, and try to understand how +Esther felt as she bent, perforce, over the photo of a dark-browed lad +whose very expression was in itself a valid protest against photography. + +"Ugly, wasn't he?" asked Mrs. Coombe. + +"Very," said Esther. + +"Perfectly fierce," said Jane, peering over her shoulder. "Really +fierce, I mean, not slang. He looks as if he would love to bite +somebody." + +"The photographer, probably." + +Esther shrugged her shoulders and laid the photo carelessly upon the +table. So careless was she, in fact, that a sharp "Look out!" from Jane +did not prevent a sudden jerk of her elbow upsetting her steaming cup of +coffee right over the pictured face. + +With an angry exclamation, Mary sprang forward to rescue her property +but Esther had already picked it up and was endeavouring to repair the +damage with her table napkin. + +"Oh, do take care!" said Mary irritably. "Don't rub so _hard_--you'll +rub all the film off--there! What did I tell you?" + +"Dear me! who would ever have dreamed it would rub off that easily?" +Esther surveyed the crumpled bits of photo with convincing dismay. + +"Any one, with sense. It's ruined--how utterly stupid of you, Esther." +Mary's voice quivered with anger. "You provoking thing! I believe you +did it on purpose." + +The cold stare from the girl's eyes stopped her, but she added +fretfully, "You are always doing things to annoy me. I can't think why, +I'm sure." + +"She was trying to dry it," declared Jane, belligerently. "She didn't +mean to hurt the old photo. Did you, darling?" + +"I can hardly see what my motive could have been," said Esther politely, +rising from the table. She had deliberately tried to destroy the +photograph and was exultantly glad that she had succeeded, yet, so +quickly does the actress instinct develop under the spur of necessity, +that her face and manner showed only amused tolerance of such a foolish +suspicion. + +Later, the culprit smiled understandingly at her image in the mirror as +she dressed for church. "I did not know I could be so catty," she told +her reflection, "but I don't care. She hadn't any right to have that +darling picture. Ugly, indeed!" The blue eyes snapped and then became +reflective. "Only she didn't think it ugly any more than I did. It was +just talk. She was certainly furious when the film rubbed off. I +wonder--" She fastened the last dark tress of hair, still wondering. + +All the way to church she wondered, walking demurely with Jane up +Oliver's Hill, while Mary, nervously gay, fluttered on a step or two +ahead. Jane found her unresponsive that morning. The acquaintances they +passed found her distant. They wondered if Esther Coombe were becoming +"stuck up" since she had a school of her own? For although, as Miss +Agnes Smith said, it is not quite the thing to do more than nod and +smile on the way to church, one doesn't need to pass one's friends +looking like an absent-minded funeral. + +Poor Esther! She saw nobody because she looked for only one. + +"Oh, Esther, Mrs. Sykes has a new bonnet. There she is, Esther, look!" + +"Very pretty," murmured Esther absently. + +Jane dropped her hand. "You're blind as well as deaf, Esther. It's +perfectly, dreadfully awful, and you know it!" + +Thus abjured, Esther managed to look at Mrs. Sykes' bonnet. And, having +looked, she laughed. Mrs. Sykes had certainly surpassed herself in +bonnets. And poor Ann, her skirts were stiffer, her pig-tails tighter +and her small face more mutinous than ever. The doctor was not of the +party. Esther had known that, long before Jane had noticed the bonnet. + +Still, there was nothing in that. He did not always walk with Ann to +church. He might not come up Oliver's Hill at all. He might come from +the opposite direction. He might be in church already. Esther's step +quickened. But she had no excuse for hurry. Unless one sang in the choir +or were threatened with lateness it was not etiquette to push ahead of +any one on Oliver's Hill. Decently and in order was the motto, so Esther +was sharply reminded when she had almost trodden on the unhastening +heels of Mrs. Elder MacTavish. + +Mrs. MacTavish turned in surprise but, seeing Esther, relaxed into the +usual Sunday smile and bow. + +"Good morning, Esther. Good morning, Mrs. Coombe. Good morning, Jane. +What perfect weather we are having. You are all well, I hope?" + +"Very well, thank you." + +"And dear Miss Amy?" + +"Very well indeed." + +"So sad that she never cares to come to church. But of course one +understands. And it must be a satisfaction to you all that she keeps so +well. I said to Mr. MacTavish only last night that I felt sure Dr. +Callandar was not being called in professionally. That is the worst of +being a doctor. One can hardly attend to one's social duties without +arousing fear for the health of one's friends. Not that Dr. Callandar is +overly sociable, usually." + +The last word, delivered as if by an afterthought, said everything which +she wished it to say. Esther's lips shut tightly. Mary Coombe flushed. +But she was quick to seize the opening nevertheless. + +"Such an odd thing, dear Mrs. MacTavish! Dr. Callandar turns out to be +quite an old friend of--of my family. We knew each other as boy and +girl. In his college days, you know." + +"How very pleasant. But I always understood your family lived in +Cleveland. Did Dr. Callandar take his degree in the States?" + +"Oh, no, of course not, but I was visiting in Canada when we knew each +other. Mutual friends and--and all that, you know." + +"Very romantic," said Mrs. MacTavish. Her tone was pleasantly cordial, +yet there was a something, a tinge--her quick glance took in Mrs. +Coombe's pretty dress and flowered hat, and the beginning of a smile +moved her thin lips. She said nothing. But then she did not need to say +anything. Mind reading is common with women. + +Mrs. Coombe was furious. Esther laughed suddenly, a bubbling, girlish +laugh, and then pretended that she had laughed because Jane had stubbed +her toe. Jane looked hurt, Mrs. Coombe suspicious and Mrs. MacTavish +amused. So in anything but a properly Sabbatical frame of mind the +little party arrived at the church door. + +Who does not know, if only in memory, that exquisite thrill of fear and +expectation with which Esther entered the place which might contain the +man she loved? Another moment, a breath, and she might see him!... And +who has not known that stab of pain, that awful darkness of the spirit, +which came upon her as, instantly, she knew that he was not there? + +He was not in the church. Mental telepathy is recognised as well by its +absence as by its presence. Esther knew that the church was empty of her +lover and that it would remain empty. He was not coming to church +to-day. Fortunate indeed that Mrs. MacTavish was not looking, for the +girl's lip quivered, an unnatural darkness deepened the blue of her +eyes. Then, smiling, she followed her mother up the aisle. Girls are +wonderfully brave and if language is given us to conceal our thoughts +smiles are very convenient also. + +Mary Coombe settled herself with a flutter and a rustle, and then, +behind the decorous shield of a hymn book, she whispered, + +"Did you see Dr. Callandar as we came in?" + +"No." + +"Look and see if he is here." + +The girl glanced perfunctorily around. + +"No," she said. + +Mrs. Coombe frowned. She was patiently annoyed and Esther felt cold +anger stir again. What difference could the doctor's absence possibly +make to Mary Coombe? + +The singing of the psalm and the reading were long drawn out +wearinesses. Esther had not come to church to worship that morning. We +do not comment upon her attitude. We merely state it. To-day, church, +the service and all that it stood for had been absolutely outside of +her emotions. Yet with the prayer came the thought of God and with the +thought a thrill of angry fear--a fear which was an inevitable after +effect of her very orthodox training. God, she felt dimly, did not like +people to be very happy. He was a jealous God. He was probably angry now +because she had come to church thinking more of Dr. Callandar than of +Him. "Thou shalt have no other Gods before me!" Awful, mystical words! +Did they mean that one couldn't have any human god at all? Not even a +near, kind protecting god--like the doctor? It frightened her. + +She found herself explaining to God that her lover was not really a +rival. That although she loved him so terribly it was in quite a +different way and would never interfere with her religious duties. Then, +feeling the futility of this, she pretended carelessness, trying to +deceive God into the belief that she didn't think so very much of the +doctor anyway. + +This was in the prayer, while she sat with her eyes decorously shaded by +her hand. Above her in the pulpit, the minister in an ecstasy of +petition set forth the needs of the church, the state and the +individual. Esther did not hear a word until a sudden dropping of his +voice forced a certain phrase upon her attention. He was praying, with +an especial poignancy for "that blessing which maketh rich and addeth +no sorrow." + +Was there such a blessing? A blessing which would make rich and add no +sorrow? No wonder the minister prayed for it. To Esther, whose mind was +saturated with the idea of God as the author of chastenings, the +possibility came with a shock of joy. She, too, began to pray, and she +prayed for one thing only, over and over--the blessing that maketh rich +and addeth no sorrow. There was no need, she felt, to specify further. +God was sure to guess what blessing she meant. + +A subdued rustle, a swaying as of barley in a gentle breeze and the +prayer was over. Esther removed her hand from her eyes and looked up at +the minister. For a tiny second his glance met hers. A thrill shot +through her, a thrill of dismay. With all the force of a new idea, it +came to her that she and he were in the same parlous case. He loved her, +as she loved--somebody else. + +And that meant that he must suffer, suffer as she had suffered last +night. Last week when he had told her of his love she had been +surprised, sorry and a little angry. But last week he had spoken of +unknown things. Love and suffering had been words to her then, now they +were realities. + +Then, for she was learning quickly now, came another flash of +enlightenment. They had been praying for the same thing. He, too, had +prayed for the blessing which maketh rich--and he had meant _her_. She +knew it. He had been asking God to give her to him. Horrible! + +Common sense shrank back before the invading flood of fear. What if God +had listened? What if He had answered? Ministers, she knew, have great +influence with God. What if He had said, "Yes"? What if all the trouble +of last night, the blankness of to-day, were part of the answer? + +"Never! Never!" she said. She almost said it aloud, so real had her fear +been. Her eyes, fixed upon the minister's face, were terrified, but her +soul was strong. Fearful of blasphemy, yet brave, she faced the bogie of +a God her thought had evoked, saying, "I make my own choice. Take my +lover from me if you will--I shall never give myself to another." + +All this was very wrong, shocking even, especially in church. But it +really happened and is apt to happen any Sunday in any church so long as +human love rebels at the idea of a Divine love less tender than itself. + +Gradually the panic fear died down. Esther's sane and well-balanced +nature began to assert itself. Some voice, small but insistent, began to +say, "God is not like that," and she listened and was comforted. She had +not yet come to the love which casts out fear, but she was done with the +fear which casts out love. + +So that when on the church steps in the sunshine she felt Angus +Macnair's hand tremble in hers, she was able to meet his eyes, +straightly, understandingly, but unafraid. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVI + + +The manner in which Dr. Callandar spent that tragic Sunday is not +clearly on record. We have watched Esther so closely that he has been +permitted to escape our observation, and it would be manifestly unfair +to expect any coherent account of the day from him. He knows that he +went for a walk, early, and that he walked all day. He remembers once +resting by the willow-fringed pool which had seen his introduction into +Coombe, but he could not stay there. Between him and that hot June day +lay the wreck of a world. Once he stumbled upon the Pine Lake road and +followed it a little way. But here, too, memory came too close and drove +him aside into the fields. There he tried to face his future fairly, +under the calm sky. But it was hard work. With such a riot of feeling, +it was difficult to think. His mind continually fell away into the +contemplation of his own misery. It was a bad day, a day which left an +ineffaceable mark. + +With night came the first sign of peace, or rather of capitulation. He +fought no more because he realised that there was nothing for which to +fight. There had never been, from the very first moment, a possibility +of escape, the smallest ray of hope. Fate had met him squarely and the +issue had never been in doubt. + +It was a "wonderful clear night of stars" when, having circled the town +in his aimless wandering, he found himself opposite the schoolhouse gate +and calm enough to allow his thoughts to dwell definitely upon Esther. +She, at least, was safe, and the knowledge brought pure thankfulness. +Not for anything in the world would he have had her entangled in this +tragic coil. Leaning over the gate he saw the school steps, faintly +white in the starlight. It needed small effort of imagination to see her +there as he had seen her that first day--a happy girl, looking at him +with the long, straight glance of unawakened youth. A great wave of +protecting love went out to meet that vision. Self was lost in its +immensity. As he had found her, so, please God, she was still and so he +would leave her. + +Then, somewhere in the back of his brain, a question sprang to vivid +life. Was she the same? He knew that all day he had been fighting back +that question. Last night something had frightened him--something +glimpsed for a moment in Esther's face when she had come in from the +garden to say good-night. Fancy, perhaps, or a trick of the lamplight. +She could not really have changed. He would not allow himself even to +dream that she had changed. + +By this time she would know about himself and Mary--know all that any +one was to know. He had insisted upon that. Mary had promised to tell +her to-day that they were to be married soon. Next time he saw her she +would look upon him with different eyes; eyes which would see not her +sometime friend and companion but her step-mother's future husband. He +must steel himself for this. Probably she would laugh a little. He hoped +she would laugh. Last night she had looked so--she had not looked like +laughter. If she should laugh it would answer the last doubt in his +heart. He would know that she was free. + +Presently he felt himself to be unbearably weary. Physical needs, +ignored all day, began to clamour. He must get home at once. No _outré_ +proceedings must raise the easy breath of gossip. He must not flinch, he +dared not run away, all must be done decently and in order. Let him only +keep his head now--the bravest man need not look too far into +the morrow. + +It must be late, he knew. The road into Coombe was deserted. All the +buggies of the country folk returning from evening service had passed +long ago and even the happy young couples indulging in a Sunday night +"after church" flirtation had decorously sought their homes. He looked +at his watch by the clear starlight. It was later even than he had +thought. No need to avoid passing the Elms, now; they would all be +asleep--he might perhaps be able to sleep himself if he knew that no +light burned in Esther's window. + +There was no light in the house anywhere. It stood black in the shadow +of its trees. The doctor found himself walking softly. His steps grew +slower, paused. Irresistibly the "spirit in his feet" drew him to the +closed gate from where he could see the black oblong of her window. + +"She is asleep," he thought. "Of course she is asleep. Thank God!" + +Then, on the instant of dropping his eyes from the window, he saw her. +She was standing quite near, in the shadow of the elm. + +"Esther!" The one word leaped from his lips like a cry. + +"Yes, it is I," she said. + +She offered no word of explanation nor did any need of one occur to +him. Moving from the shadow into the soft starlight she came toward him +like the spirit of the night. But when she paused, so close that only +the gate divided them, he saw that her eyes were wide and dark +with trouble. + +"I am so glad you came. I wanted to see you. I--I could not sleep." She +spoke with the direct simplicity of a child, yet nothing could have +shown more plainly that she was a child no longer. All her pretty +girlish hesitation, all her happy shyness had passed away on the breath +of the great awakening. It was a woman who stood there, pale, remote, +with a woman's question in her eyes. + +The keen shock of the change in her filled Callandar with rebellious +joy; it would be pain presently, but, just for the moment, love exulted +shamelessly, claiming her own. He tried to answer her but no words came. + +"You look very tired." She seemed not to notice his silence. "I must not +keep you. But there is a question I want to ask. Mother told me to-night +that you and she are to be married. Is it true?" + +How incredible she was, he thought. How perfect in her direct and simple +dignity. Yet there had crept into her tone a wistfulness which broke +his heart. + +"Yes. It is true." He could do no less than meet her on her own high +ground. + +"She said," the girl's sweet, remote voice went on, "that you had loved +each other all your lives. Is that true, too?" + +He had hoped that he might be spared the bitterness of this, but since +only one answer was possible, "It is true," he said hoarsely, "it is +true that we loved each other--long ago." + +"Long ago--and now?" He was to be spared nothing, it seemed. Her wide +eyes searched his face. Lest she should read it too plainly, he +bowed his head. + +Then suddenly, even as she drew back from him, hurt to the heart, some +trick of moonlight on his half-hidden face, linked to swift memory, +showed her another moonlight night, a canoe, a story told--and in a +flash the miracle had happened. Intuition had leaped the gulf of his +enforced silence--Esther knew. + +A great wonder grew in her eyes, an immense relief. + +"Why," she spoke whisperingly, "I see, I know! She, my mother, is the +girl you told me of. The girl you married--" + +She did not need the confirmation of his miserable eyes. It was all +quite plain. With a little broken sigh of understanding, she leaned her +head against the gate post and, all child again, began to cry softly +behind the shelter of her hands. + +"Esther!" + +He could say nothing, do nothing. He dared not even touch the dark, bent +head. But we may well pity him as he watched her. + +The girl's sobbing wore itself out and presently she lifted +tear-drenched eyes, like the blue of the sky after rain. Her tragic, +unnatural composure had all been wept away. + +"I understand--now," she faltered. "Before, I didn't. I thought dreadful +things. I thought that I--that you--oh, I couldn't bear the things I +thought! But it's better now. You did love me--didn't you?" + +"Before God--yes!" + +She went on dreamily. "It would have been too terrible if you hadn't--if +you had just pretended--had been amusing yourself--been false and base. +But I felt all along that you were never that. I knew there must be +some explanation and it didn't seem wrong to ask. Instead of pretending +that I didn't know all the things you had not time to say. Forgive me +for ever doubting that you were brave and good." + +"Spare me--" + +She was not yet old enough to understand the tragic appeal. For she +leaned nearer, laying her soft hand over his clenched ones. + +"It is all so very, very sad," she said with quaint simplicity which was +part of her, "but not so bad--oh, not nearly so bad as if you had been +pretending--or I mistaken. Think!--How terrible to give one's love +unworthily or unasked!" + +"But you do not love me," he burst out, "you cannot! You must not!" + +Never had he seen her eyes so sweet, so dark. + +"I do love you. And I honour you above all men." + +Before he could prevent her, she had stooped--her lips brushed his hand. + +"Oh, my Dear!"--He had reached the limit of his strength--instant flight +alone remained if he would keep the precious flower of her trust. And +she, too, was trembling. But in the soft starlight they looked into each +other's eyes, and what they saw there helped. Their hands clasped, but +in that moment of parting neither thought of self, so both were strong. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVII + + +Mrs. Sykes thought much about her boarder in those days and, for a +wonder, said very little. Gossip as she was, she could, in the service +of one she liked, be both wise and reticent. Perhaps she knew that +oracles are valued partly for their silences. At any rate her prestige +suffered nothing, for the less she said, the more certain Coombe became +that she could, if she would, say a great deal. Of course her pretence +of seeing nothing unusual in the doctor's engagement was simply absurd. +Coombe felt sure that like the pig-baby in "Alice," she only did it "to +annoy because she knows it teases." + +One by one the most expert gossips of the town charged down upon the +doctor's landlady and one by one they returned defeated. + +"True about the doctor and Mary Coombe? Why, yes of course it's true. +Land sakes, it's no secret." Mrs. Sykes would look at her visitor in +innocent astonishment. "Queer? No. I don't see anything queer about it. +Mary Coombe's a nice looking woman, if she is sloppy, and I guess she +ain't any older than the doctor, if it comes to that. No, the doctor +doesn't say much about it. He ain't a talking man. Sudden? Oh, I don't +know. 'Tisn't as if they'd met like strangers. As you say, they _might_ +have kept company before. But I never heard of it. I always forget, +Mrs. MacTavish, if you take sugar? One spoon or two? As you say, old +friends sometimes take up with old friends. But sometimes they don't. My +Aunt Susan found her second in a man who used to weed their garden. But +it's not safe to judge by that. Ann, hand Mrs. MacTavish this cup, and +go tell Bubble Burk that if he doesn't stop aggravating that dog, it'll +bite him some day, and nobody sorry." + +In this manner did Mrs. Sykes hold the fort. Not from her would Coombe +hear of those "blue things of the soul" which her quick eye divined +behind the quiet front of her favourite. But with the doctor himself she +had no reserves, it being one of her many maxims that "what you up and +say to a person's face doesn't hurt them any." The doctor was made well +aware that her unvarnished opinion of his prospective marriage was at +his disposal at any time. + +"I'm not one as gives advice that ain't asked," declared Mrs. Sykes with +sincere self-deception. "But what sensible folks see in Mary Coombe I +can't imagine. I may be biased, not having ever liked her from the very +first, but being always willing to give her a chance--which I may say +she never took. There's a verse in the Bible she reminds me of, +'Unstable as water'--Ann, what tribe was it that the Lord addressed them +words to?" + +"I don't know, Aunt." + +"There, you see! She doesn't know! That's what happens along of all +these Sunday Schools. In my day I'd be spanked and sent to bed if I +didn't know every last thing about the tribes." + +"Ann and I will go and look it up," said the doctor hastily, hoping to +escape; "it will be good discipline for both of us." + +"Land sakes! I'm not blaming you, Doctor. Naturally you haven't got your +mind on texts, and I don't blame you about the other thing either. Men +are awful easy taken in. My Aunt Susan used to say that the cleverer a +man was the more he didn't understand a woman. Dr. Coombe was what you'd +call clever, too, but it didn't help him any. Mind you, I'm not +criticising, far from it, but I suppose a person may wonder what a man's +eyes are for, without offence. No one knows better than you, Doctor, +that I'm not an interfering woman and I'd never dream of saying a word +against Mary Coombe to the face of her intended husband, but if I did +say anything it would have to be the truth and the truth is that a more +thorough-paced bit of uselessness I never saw." + +"Mrs. Sykes," the doctor's voice was dangerously quiet, "am I to +understand that you are tired of your boarder?" + +Mrs. Sykes jumped. + +"Land, Doctor, don't get ruffled! I'm real sorry if I've hurt your +feelings. I didn't mean to say a word when I set out. My tongue just +runs away. And naturally you have to stand up for Mrs. Coombe. I see +that. That'll be the last you'll hear from me and 'tisn't as if I'd ever +turn around and say 'I told you so' afterwards." + +This was _amende honorable_ and the doctor received it as such; but when +he had gone into his office leaving his breakfast almost untouched, Mrs. +Sykes shook her head gloomily. + +"You needn't tell me!" she murmured, oblivious of the fact that no one +was telling her anything. "You needn't tell me!" Then, with rare +self-reproach, "Perhaps I hadn't ought to have said so much, but such +blindness is enough to provoke a saint. If he'd any eyes--couldn't he +see Esther?" Mrs. Sykes sighed as she emptied the doctor's untasted cup. + +More frankly disconsolate, though not so outspoken, were Ann and Bubble. +Not only did they dislike the bride elect but they objected to marriage +in general. "A honeymoon will put the kibosh on this here practice, +sure," moaned Bubble. + +"Look at me. I'm not thinking of getting married, am I? No, and I'm +never going to get married either." + +"I am," said Ann, "and I'm going to have ten sons and the first one is +going to be called 'Henry' after the doctor." + +"Huh!" said Bubble, "bet you it isn't. Bet you go and call it after its +father. They all do." + +"No chance! Bet you I won't. I wouldn't call it 'Zerubbabel' for +anything." + +For an instant they glared at each other, and then as the awful +implication dawned upon Bubble his round face grew crimson and his voice +thrilled with just resentment. + +"Well, if you think you're going to marry me, Miss Ann, you're jolly +well mistaken." + +"Will if I like," said Ann, retiring into her sun-bonnet. + +Upon the whole, however, their affection for the doctor kept them +friendly. Both children felt that something was wrong somewhere. Their +idol was not happy. Bubble whispered to Ann of long hours when the +doctor sat in his office with an open book before him, a book the pages +of which were never turned. Ann told of weary walks when she trotted +along by his side, wholly forgotten. Only between themselves did they +ever speak of the change in him, and Henry Callandar was well repaid +for the careless kindness of his brighter hours by a faithful +guardianship, a quick-eyed consideration and a stout line of defence +which protected his privacy and ignored his moods without his ever being +aware of such a service. + +Esther he seldom saw. She was remarkably clever, he thought, with a +tinge of bitterness, in arranging duties and pleasures which would take +her out of his way. It was better so, of course. It was the worst of +injustice to feel hurt with her for doing what of all things he would +have had her do. But one doesn't reason about these things, one feels. + +Sometimes he wondered if that midnight interview with her at the gate +had ever really taken place--or had it been midsummer madness, too sweet +to exist even in memory? Certainly, in the Esther he saw now there was +nothing of the Esther of the stars. She wore her mask well. School had +closed for the holidays and the summer gaieties of Coombe were in full +swing. Esther boated, picnicked, played croquet and tennis. If there was +any change in her at all it showed only in a kind of feverish gaiety +which seemed to wear her strength. She was certainly thinner. Callandar +ventured to suggest to Mary that she was looking far from well. But Mary +laughed at the idea. She was very much annoyed with Esther. The girl +appeared to care nothing at all for the great event, refused to discuss +it, declined absolutely to put herself out in the slightest for the +entertainment of her mother's prospective husband, seemed to avoid him +in fact. Moreover, she openly expressed her intention of leaving home +immediately after the wedding. Mrs. Coombe was afraid people would talk. + +Of them all, Aunt Amy was the only one who understood. How her poor, +unsound brain arrived at the knowledge we cannot say. Perhaps Esther was +more careless in her presence, dropping her mask almost as if alone, or +perhaps Aunt Amy's strange psychic insight took no note of masks, or +perhaps--account for it as you will, Aunt Amy knew! Esther and Dr. +Callandar loved each other, and Mary stood between. This latter fact was +not at all surprising to Aunt Amy. Was it not the special delight of the +mysterious "They" to bring misery to all Aunt Amy loved, and was not +Mary their accredited agent? The affair of the ruby ring had proved her +that, though no one else must guess it. What would come of it all, Aunt +Amy could not tell. Wring her hands as she might she could not see into +the future. Often she would mutter a little as she went about her work, +or stand still staring, straining into the dark. No one noted any +difference in her save Jane, for Jane was as yet happily free to +observe. The others, caught up in the whirl of their own destinies, saw +nothing save the problems in their own anxious hearts. + +"Esther," said Jane one evening, "Aunt Amy is odder and odder and you +don't seem to care a bit." + +Esther, who was preparing to go to a garden party, turned back, a little +startled. + +"What do you mean, Jane?" + +"I don't know. Can't you see that she isn't happy?" + +"But she is better. She never complains. She almost never fancies things +now." + +"She goes into corners and stares--and she wrings her hands." + +"But she always did that, duck." + +Jane was not equal to a more lucid explanation. + +"It's not the same," she insisted. "I know it isn't. Esther, when you +go away, will you take Aunt Amy and me?" + +"How could I, dear? Your home is here. And you like Dr. Callandar, don't +you?" + +"I used to. But he never plays with the pup any more. He's different. +And you're different and mother's different. I don't want to live with +mother. That was a fib I told you the other day about the cut on my +head. I didn't fall and hurt it. It was mother She threw her clothes +brush at me." + +"Jane!" There was pure horror in her sister's voice. + +"Yes, she did. I went into her room when she was taking some medicine in +a glass and I asked her what it was. Honest, Esther, that is all I did. +And she screamed at me--and threw the brush." + +Esther came back into the room and sat down. + +"When was this?" in businesslike tones. + +Jane considered. "It was that day she wasn't down stairs at all, and +sent word to Dr. Callandar not to come--three days ago I think." + +"Yes, I remember. O Janie dear, it looks as if things were going to be +bad again! It must have been one of her very bad headaches. She was +probably in great pain. Of course she did not mean to throw the brush +Are you sure it was medicine she was taking?" + +"It was something in a glass," vaguely, "she was mixing it--look out, +Esther! You are spoiling your new gloves." + +The girl threw the crumpled gloves aside and drawing the child to her +knee kissed her gently. + +"It seems to me," she said slowly, "that big sister has been losing her +eyes lately. She must find them again; it isn't going to help to be a +selfish pig." + +"Help what, Esther?" + +Esther's only answer was another kiss, but when she had hurried out of +the room, Jane found something round and wet upon her hand. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVIII + + +Jane was still looking at the wet place on her hand when the doctor +entered. + +"Esther's been crying," she told him. In her voice was the awe which +children feel at the phenomenon of tears in grown-ups. + +Callandar felt his heart contract--Esther crying! But he could not +question the child. + +"I don't know why," went on Jane obligingly. "Esther's so strange +lately. Every one is strange. You are strange too. Am I strange?" + +"A little," said Callandar gravely. + +"Perhaps it's catching? Do you want mother? She is upstairs and her door +is locked. Perhaps she'll be down in a little while. She said Esther was +to stay in and entertain you, but Esther wouldn't. She has gone to a +garden party. I'll entertain you if you like." + +"That will be very nice." + +"Shall I play for you on the piano?" + +"Thanks. And you won't mind if I sit in the corner here and close my +eyes, until your mother comes?" + +"No. You may go quite to sleep if you wish. I'm not sensitive about my +playing. Bubble says you are nearly always tired now. He says you have +such a 'normous practice that you hardly ever get a wink of sleep. +That's what makes you look so kind of hollow-eyed, Bubble says." + +"So Bubble has been diagnosing my case, has he?" + +"Oh, he doesn't talk about professional cases usually. He said that +about you because Mrs. Atkins said that being engaged didn't seem to +agree with you. She said she was just as glad you didn't take a fancy to +her Gracie if prospective matteromony made you look like the dead +march in Saul." + +"Observing woman!" + +"What," resumed Jane, "is a dead march in Saul?" + +"It is a musical composition." + +Jane considered this and then dismissed it with a shrug. "It sounded as +if it was something horrid. Mrs. Atkins thinks she's smart. Anyway, I +didn't tell mother." + +"Well, suppose you run now and tell her that I am here." + +"Can't. The door is locked." + +"Then let us have some of the music you promised. I'll sit here and +wait." + +Strange to say, Jane's music was not unsoothing. She had a smooth, light +touch and the little airs she played tinkled sweetly enough from the old +piano. The weary, nerve-wrung man was more than half asleep when she +grew tired of playing and slipped off to bed without disturbing him. The +moments ticked themselves away on the big hall clock. Mrs. Coombe did +not come, nor did the doctor waken. + +He was aroused an hour later by a voice upon the veranda. It was +Esther's voice and in response to it he heard a deeper murmur, a man's +voice without doubt. There was a moment or two of low-toned talk, then +"Good-night," and the girl came in alone. + +She did not see him as she came slowly across to the table. He thought +she looked grave and sad, older too--but, so dear! With a weary gesture +she began to pull off her long gloves. + +"Who was it with you, Esther?" He tried hard to make the inquiry, so +devouringly eager, sound carelessly casual. + +She looked up with a start. + +"Oh--I didn't see you, Doctor! Mr. Macnair was with me. Did you wish to +see him?" She could play at the game of carelessness better than he. +"Where is mother?" she added quickly. + +"In her room, I think. Esther, are you going to marry Macnair?" + +The girl slipped off her second glove, blew gently into its fingers, +smoothed them and laid it with nice care upon the table beside +its fellow. + +"I do not know." + +He realised with a shock that he had expected an indignant denial. + +"You do not love him!" + +"No. Not now. He knows that. And I do not expect ever to love him. But +perhaps, after a long while, if I could make him happy--it is so +terrible not to be happy," she finished pathetically. + +Callandar could have groaned aloud; the danger was so clear. And how +could he, of all men, warn her. Yet he must try. He came quickly across +to where she stood and compelled her gaze to his. + +"Do not make that mistake, Esther! It is fatal. Try to believe that in +spite of--of everything, I am speaking disinterestedly. You are young +and the young hate suffering. You would marry him, out of pity. But I +tell you that no man's happiness comes to him that way. You will have +sacrificed yourself to no purpose. The risk is too awful. Wait. Time is +kind. You will know it, some day. But even though you do not believe it +now--wait. Wait forever, rather than marry a man to whom you cannot give +your heart." + +"That is your advice?" She spoke heavily. "You would like some day to +see me marry a man I could--love?" + +"Yes, a thousand times yes!" + +"I shall think over what you say." She was still gravely controlled but +it was a control which would not last much longer. She glanced around +the empty room with a quick caught breath. "Why are you left all alone?" + +"Is a keeper necessary?" Then, ashamed of his irritation and willing to +end a scene which threatened to make things harder for both of them, he +added in his ordinary tone, "I really do not know who is responsible for +such unparalleled neglect. Jane played me to sleep, I fancy. She said +her mother was upstairs but would be down presently. It must be late. I +had better go." + +"Wait a moment, I will see if there is any message from mother." + +As she left the room her light scarf slipped from her shoulders and fell +softly across his arm. Callandar crushed it passionately to his lips and +then, folding it carefully, laid it beside the gloves upon the table. +Even the scarf was not for him. Aunt Amy, passing through the hall on +her way upstairs, saw the dumb caress and shivered anew at the +mysterious power of "They" which could tear such a man as Callandar from +the woman he loved. + +Esther was gone only a moment and when she returned she brought with her +a change of atmosphere. Something had banished every trace of +self-consciousness from her manner. She looked anxious but it was an +anxiety with which no embarrassment mingled. + +"Doctor," she said at once, "mother seems to be ill. The door is locked +and she did not answer my knocking. Yet she is not asleep. I could hear +her talking. I think you ought to come up." + +An indescribable look flitted across the doctor's face. He looked at the +girl a moment in measuring silence and then pointed to a chair. + +"Sit down," he said briefly, "I thought that this would come. I have +been afraid of it for some time. Is it possible that you have no +suspicion at all in regard to these peculiar--illnesses--of your +mother's?" + +The startled wonder in her eyes was answer enough even without the +quick, "What do you mean?" + +Callandar's face grew gravely compassionate. "I think you ought to +know," he said. "I have put off saying anything because I was not +absolutely sure myself. And I have never had quite the right opportunity +of finding out. But I have had fears for some time now that your mother +is in the habit of taking some drug which--well, which is certainly not +good for her. Do not look so frightened. It may not be serious. Do you +remember when you first consulted me about your mother and how we both +agreed that the medicine she was taking for her nervous attacks might be +harmful? I was suspicious then, but there was little to go on, only her +fear of any one seeing the prescription, and a few general symptoms +which might be due to various causes. Since then I--I have noticed +things which have made me anxious. I think for her own sake as well as +yours and mine, the sooner the truth is known the better. Are you sure +the door is locked?" + +"Yes," the girl's voice was tense, "but the window is open. It opens on +the top of the veranda. You could enter there." + +"If that is the only way, I must take it. I thought, I hoped that if +things were as I feared she would tell me herself, but she never has. It +is useless, now, to hope for her confidence. The instinct is so strongly +for concealment. We must help her in spite of herself." + +"Hurry then! I shall wait here. You will call me if necessary?" + +She did not ask him exactly what it was that he feared nor did he tell +her, but for the first time in many weeks they were able to look at each +other as comrades look. The eruption of the old trouble into the new +obscured the latter so that, for the time at least, the sick woman +behind the locked door held first place in both their thoughts. + +It seemed to Esther that she waited a long time before the summons came. +Then she heard him call, "Esther!" It was a doctor's call, cool, +passionless, commanding. She flew up the stairs, closing Jane's door as +she hurried by. The door to her mother's room was open. It was brightly +lighted. The shade of the lamp had been removed and its garish yellow +fell full upon the bed and the strange figure which lay there. + +Mary Coombe had apparently thrown herself down fully dressed--but in +what a costume! Surely no nightmare held anything more bizarre. Esther +had no time to notice details but she remembered afterwards how the feet +were clothed in different coloured stockings and that while one +displayed a gaily buckled slipper, the other was carefully laced into a +tan walking boot. Just now she could see nothing but the face, for the +greatest shock was there. It did not look like Mary's face at all--it +was strange, old, yellow and repulsive. Her unbrushed, lustreless hair +hung about it in a dull mat, one of her hands was clutched in it--the +hand was dirty. + +A terrible thought struck every vestige of colour from Esther's cheek. +Her terrified gaze swept over the disordered room, up to the face of the +man who stood there so silently, then down again to the inert woman upon +the bed. Once, not long ago, she had seen a drunken man asleep upon the +roadside grass--like this. + +"Is it--is it drink?" The words were a whisper of horror. + +The doctor shook his head. + +"I wish it were. I wish it were only that. Have you never heard of the +drug habit--morphia, opium? That is what we have to fight--and it is +what I feared." + +"Oh!" It was a breath of relief. To Esther, who knew nothing of drugs, +or drug habits, the truth seemed less awful than the thing she +had imagined. + +"Is--is it serious?" she asked timidly. + +The doctor smiled grimly. "You will see. No need to frighten you now. +But it will be a fight from this on." He threw a light coverlet over the +helpless figure and replacing the shade on the lamp, turned down the +flaring wick. "I will tell you what I can, but at present it is very +little. Probably this began long ago, before your father's death. In the +first place there may have been a prescription--I think you said she had +had an illness in which she suffered greatly. The drug, opium in some +form probably, may have been given to reduce the pain--and continued +after need for it was gone without knowledge of its dangerous qualities. +Nervous people form the habit very quickly. Then--I am only +guessing--as the amount contained in the original prescription ceased to +produce the desired effect, she may have found out what drug it was that +her appetite craved. If she saw the danger then, it was already too +late. She could not give up voluntarily and was compelled to go on, +shutting her eyes to the inevitable consequences, if indeed she ever +clearly knew them." + +"But now that you know? It ought not to be hard to help her now that you +know. There are other drugs--" + +"Yes. There is a frying-pan and a fire. In fact I fear that she has +already tried that expedient herself. Some of the symptoms point to +cocaine. No, our best hope is in the decreasing dose with proper +auxiliary treatment. I cannot tell yet how serious the case may be. At +any rate there must be an end of the mystery. Every one in the house +must know, even Jane; for in this fight ignorance means danger. But," he +hesitated and his face grew dark, "you cannot realise what this is going +to mean. It is my burden, not yours. At least I have the right to save +you that. We must have a nurse--" + +A little eager cry burst from her. "Oh, no! Not that! You wouldn't do +that. You can't mean not to let me help." + +"You do not know--" + +"I do not care what it means. But if you won't let me help, if you shut +me out--" Her voice quivered dangerously, but with a spark of her old +fire she recovered herself. "You cannot," she added more firmly, +"because it is my burden as well as yours. Whatever she is to you, she +was my father's wife and I am responsible to him. Unless extra help is +really needed, no nurse shall take my place." + +"Very well," quietly. "Call Aunt Amy, then, and search the room. She +will sleep for a long time yet. When she wakes there must be no more of +the drug within her reach. I must find out the amount to which she has +been accustomed and arrange a decreasing dose. But if you are to be a +nurse, you know, you must expect a bad time. It will not be easy." + +Esther's reply was to call Aunt Amy and while the doctor explained to +the bewildered old lady the danger in which her niece stood and the +absolute importance of keeping all "medicine" away from her, Esther +quietly and swiftly searched the room. Boxes and drawers she unlocked +and opened, the dresser, the writing-table, the bureau, the long unused +sewing basket, all were examined without success. But in the locked box +which contained her father's portrait, she made another discovery which +woke a little throb of angry pity in her heart. There, still wrapped in +its carelessly torn off postal wrappings, lay the box containing the +ruby ring which Jessica Bremner had returned. Mary must have got it from +the post herself and had immediately hidden it, careless of the fact +that all Esther's careful savings had been necessary to make the return +possible. Without comment she slipped the ring into the bosom of +her dress. + +"Have you found anything?" + +"Nothing yet." + +Aunt Amy took a fascinated step nearer the figure on the bed. If +Callandar could have intercepted the look she cast upon it he might have +been warned of the subtle change which had taken place in her of late, +but the doctor had turned to help Esther. Aunt Amy could gaze +undisturbed. + +"She looks like Richard," said Aunt Amy suddenly. "Do you remember +Richard?" She brushed her hand over her eyes in a painful effort of +memory. "He was a bad man, a very bad man." + +"She means her brother Richard," explained Esther. "He has been dead for +ages. I believe he was not a family ornament." + +"Just like Richard," murmured Aunt Amy again with a quickly checked +chuckle. "But you ought to be glad of that. You won't have to marry her +now. You can marry Esther." + +If a shell had burst in the quiet room, it could scarcely have caused +more consternation. The doctor's stern face quivered, Esther's searching +hand dropped paralysed. Here was a danger indeed! Was their secret +really so patent? Or had it been but a vagrant guess of a clouded mind? + +Callandar recovered himself first. Without glancing at the girl he +walked quietly over to the bed and placing his hand upon Aunt Amy's +shoulder compelled wavering eyes to his. + +"Aunt Amy, you must never say that again." He spoke with the crisp +incisiveness of a master, but for once his subject did not immediately +respond. With a sulky look she tried to wrench herself free. + +"Why?" she questioned. But Callandar knew his business too +well to argue. "You must never say it again," he repeated. +"You--must--never--say--it--again!" + +The poor, weak lips began to quiver. Her own boldness had frightened her +quite as much as his vehemence. Her eyes fluttered and fell. + +"Very well, Doctor," she answered meekly. + +They searched now in silence and presently Esther emerged from the +closet with a pair of dainty slippers in her hand. + +"I think I have found something," she said. "There are three pairs of +party slippers and the toes of them are all stuffed with these." She +handed the doctor a package of innocent looking tablets done up in +purplish blue paper. + +Callandar glanced at them, shook them out and counted their number. + +"You are sure you have them all?" + +"I can find no trace of more." + +"Then I think we have a strong fight coming--but a good hope, too." + + + + +CHAPTER XXIX + + +Miss A. Milligan stood before the door of her select dressmaking +parlours, meditatively picking her teeth with a needle. We hasten to +observe that her teeth were quite clean and that this was merely a +harmless habit denoting intense mental concentration. Miss Milligan was +tall and full of figure with an elegant waist and a bust so like a +pin-cushion that it fulfilled the duties of that article admirably. Her +small bright eyes set in a wide expanse of face suggested nothing so +much as currants in an underdone bun, and just now, as she watched the +graceful figure of Mrs. Coombe, bride to be, disappear around the +corner, they gave the impression of having been poked too far in while +the bun was soft. + +The door of Miss Milligan's select parlours did not open upon the main +street, it being far from her desire to attract promiscuous trade. The +parlours, indeed, were situated upon one of the "nicest" streets in +Coombe and occupied a corner lot, so that a splendid view down two of +the most genteel residential streets was obtainable from their windows. +The only sign of business anywhere was a board of chaste design over the +doorway, bearing the simple legend, "A. MILLIGAN." Even the word +"Dressmaker" was considered superfluous. Also there was one window, near +the door, which from time to time displayed wonderfully coloured plates +of terribly twisting and elegantly elongated females purporting to be +the very latest from Paris (_France_). + +Mrs. Coombe was getting some "things" made at Miss Milligan's. It had +been rumoured at first that she had contemplated running down to Toronto +and Detroit, buying most of her trousseau there, but for some +unexplained reason the plan had been given up. Doctor Callandar, it +appeared, believed in patronising local tradesmen and had been +sufficiently ungallant to veto the Detroit visit altogether. Everybody +wondered why Mary Coombe stood it. Surely it was bad enough when a man +sets up to be a domestic tyrant after marriage. They were surprised at +Dr. Callandar--they hadn't thought it of him. + +"It is women like Mary Coombe who submit tamely to such indignities," +declared the eldest Miss Sinclair, "who have held back the emancipation +of women from the beginning of time." + +"She looks so poorly, too," agreed Miss Jessie. "I am sure she needs a +change. I should think that Esther would insist upon it." + +But Esther appeared in all things to back up Dr. Callandar. People +admitted that they were disappointed in Esther and only hoped that the +day would never come when she would be sorry. For if all the world loves +a lover, all the world is indulgent to a prospective bride and any one +could see that this particular bride was being denied her proper +privileges. Any one would think she was a child and not to be trusted +alone. Esther went with her everywhere, simply everywhere. Of course it +was sweet of Esther to be so attentive, but people didn't wonder that +her mother didn't like it. + +Such were the current comments of the town, sent out somewhat in the +nature of feelers, for behind them all, Coombe, having a very sensitive +nose for gossip, was uneasily aware that their cleverest investigators +were not yet in possession of the root of the matter. Every one seemed +to know everything, and yet--no wonder that Miss Milligan picked her +teeth in agonies of mental tumult at finding herself sole possessor of a +satisfactory explanation which she was bound in honour not to disclose. + +Mrs. Coombe had just been in. She had been having a "first fitting" and +in the privacy of the fitting room she had been perfectly frank with +Miss Milligan. She had told Miss Milligan "things." She had told her +things which would move a heart of stone, regardless of the fact that +Miss Milligan's heart was made of the softest of soft materials and beat +warmly under her spiky pin cushion. The fact that her eyes were hard and +black had nothing to do with it; mistakes in eyes occur constantly in +the best regulated families. At this very moment when her eyes were more +like currants than ever she was making up her mind that, come what +might, doctors or no doctors, she was not going to see a fellow +creature put upon. + +For, you see, Mrs. Coombe, poor little thing, had confided in Miss +Milligan. She had told her all about it, and like most mysteries, it had +turned out to be very simple. It seemed that Dr. Callandar, such a +perfectly charming man in most respects, had a most absurd prejudice +against patent medicines. This prejudice, common to the medical +profession on account of patents interfering with profits, was, in Dr. +Callandar's case, almost an obsession. Miss Milligan, being a sensible +person, knew very well that there are patents _and_ patents. Some of +them are frauds, of course, but there are others which are better than +any prescription that any doctor ever wrote. Miss Milligan did not speak +from hearsay, she had had an extensive experience the results of which +lent themselves to conversational effort. Therefore it is easy to see +how she understood and sympathised at once when Mrs. Coombe told her of +a remedy which she had found to be quite excellent but which the doctor +absolutely forbade her to use. + +"Not that he means to be inconsiderate, dear Miss Milligan, only he is +so very sure of his own point of view. Doctors have to be firm of +course. But you can see it is rather hard on me. The trouble is that I +cannot obtain the remedy I need in Coombe. It is a remedy very little +known and useful only in obscure nerve troubles. I have been in the +habit of getting it from a certain firm in Detroit, not a very +well-known firm, and now, of course, that is impossible--without +upsetting the doctor, which I hesitate to do." + +Miss Milligan was of the opinion that a little upsetting was just what +the doctor required. + +"No--o." The visitor shook her head. She could not bring her mind to it. +She would prefer to suffer herself. But did not Miss Milligan think +that, in face of such an unreasonable and violent prejudice, a little +innocent strategy might be justified? + +Miss Milligan thought so, very emphatically. + +Mrs. Coombe sighed. "I do so want to look well for the wedding, you +know. And really, nothing seems to help me like my own particular +medicine. It is hard, very hard, to be without it." + +Miss Milligan did not doubt it. It seemed, to her, a perfect shame. But +had Mrs. Coombe ever tried "Peebles' Perfect Pick-me-ups" for the +nerves? They were certainly very excellent. + +Yes. Mrs. Coombe had heard of them and no doubt they were very good for +some people. But constitutions differ so. On the whole she felt sure +that even "Peebles' Perfect Pick-me-ups" would not suit her nearly as +well as her own particular remedy. + +It was at this point that Miss Milligan stopped fitting and began to +pick her teeth, a sign, as we have before stated, of great mental +activity. If nothing would suit Mrs. Coombe but this one medicine and if +the medicine could be obtained in Detroit and if Mrs. Coombe had the +correct address--why not write for it? It was a brilliant idea, but Mrs. +Coombe shook her head. + +She had the address, naturally, and she had also thought of writing, but +it would be of no use. Esther and the doctor actually watched her mail. + +"Incredible!" + +"Oh, not in any offensive way. They did not mean to be tyrannous. They +were quite convinced that patent medicines were very injurious. But +women suffering from nerves (like yourself, dear Miss Milligan) know +that relief is often found in the least likely places and from remedies +not mentioned in the Materia Medica." + +Miss Milligan knew that very well. And people are so hard to convince. +When Mrs. Barker, over the hill, had first recommended that new +blood-purifier to Miss Milligan, Miss Milligan had laughed. But after +taking only six bottles she had thanked Mrs. Barker with tears in her +eyes. "And I must say," added she in a burst of virtuous indignation, +"that if I were going to Detroit to-morrow I would bring you back all +the patent medicine you wanted, Mrs. Coombe, and be very glad to +do it." + +This was most satisfactory save for one small fact, namely that Miss +Milligan was not going to Detroit to-morrow. Mrs. Coombe thanked her +very much and raised her arm (which shook sadly) while Miss Milligan +pinned in the underarm seam. + +"Even as it is," went on Miss Milligan, "I don't see why--a little +higher please, and turn a trifle to the light, thank you!--I don't see +why it can't be done. Nobody inspects my mail, thank heaven! and one +address is as good to a druggist as another." + +What a bright idea! Strange that it had never occurred to Mrs. Coombe to +arrange things so easily. It was very, very clever and kind of Miss +Milligan to think of it. But--people might talk! Think how upset the +doctor would be if their innocent little plot were spoken of abroad. +People are so unkind, quite horrid in fact. And as Esther and the doctor +were doing it all for her good they would naturally hate to have their +actions misunderstood. Of course, Mrs. Coombe knew that Miss Milligan +herself would never mention it to a soul. She felt quite sure of that, +still--as it did not appear how the little plot could be spread abroad +under those circumstances unless the lay-figure in the corner should +become communicative, Mrs. Coombe's sentence remained plaintively +unfinished. Miss Milligan, in spite of its being so very unnecessary, +found herself promising solemnly never to mention it. + +As the whole thing was entirely unpremeditated it seemed like a special +piece of good luck that Mrs. Coombe should have at that moment in her +pocket a note to the druggists (who were not called druggists, exactly) +and that all she needed to do was to add Miss Milligan's address, and +hand to that lady sufficient money to secure a postal note as an +enclosure. She did this very quickly and the whole little affair was +satisfactorily disposed of when Esther was seen coming hurriedly down +the street. + +"I thought," said Esther, who entered a little out of breath and with a +worried pucker between her eyes, "I thought that I would just run in and +see how the linings look." + +"You can never tell anything from linings," said Miss Milligan in an +injured tone. "Gracious! I don't suppose any one would ever want a dress +if they went by the way the linings look. I always advise my customers +never to look in the glass until I get to the material, what with seams +on the wrong side and all!" + +"There is really nothing at all to see as yet," assented Mrs. Coombe +crossly. + +Esther seated herself by the open window. + +"Very well," she said quietly. "I won't look. I'll just wait." + +Mrs. Coombe shrugged her shoulders and displaced a pin or two. There was +an injured look upon her face and Miss Milligan, replacing the pins, +wondered how it is that nice girls like Esther Coombe never see when +they're not wanted. + +The fitting went quickly forward. Mrs. Coombe seemed to have lost all +her genial expansiveness. Miss Milligan's pins had overflowed from her +pin-cushion into her mouth and Esther, who appeared tired, gazed +steadily out of the window. Only the humming of the machines in the +adjoining workroom and the subdued talk and laughter of Miss Milligan's +young ladies saved the silence from becoming oppressive. Occasionally, +when her supply of pins became exhausted, Miss Milligan would +contribute a cooing murmur to the effect that it did "set beautiful +across the shoulders" or that "the long line over the hip was +quite elegant." + +Without doubt the atmosphere had changed with the coming of Esther. Mrs. +Coombe became each moment more fidgety, she became, in fact, jerky! Her +hands twitched, her head twitched, she could not stand still and +suddenly she twitched herself out of Miss Milligan's hands altogether +and flinging herself into a chair declared that she couldn't stand any +more fitting that day. Even Miss Milligan's black currant eyes could see +that her nerves were terribly wrong--she looked ghastly, poor thing! And +all on account of a silly prejudice regarding patent medicines. + +Esther, who exhibited no surprise at her mother's sudden collapse, +helped Miss Milligan to unpin the linings. + +"My mother has been a little longer than usual without her tonic," she +calmly explained. "The other fittings can wait," and quickly, yet +without flurry, she found Mary's hat, bag, gloves and parasol and picked +up her handkerchief which she had flung upon the floor. + +Mrs. Coombe accepted these services without thanks, indulging indeed in +a little spiteful laugh which Miss Milligan obligingly attributed to her +poor nerves. Things had come to a pretty pass indeed, thought the +sympathetic dressmaker, when a grown woman is obliged to have her +medicine chosen for her like a baby. + +As she stood in the doorway watching the two ladies out of sight, a just +indignation grew within the breast so strongly fortified outside, so +vulnerable within; and without even waiting to call her giggling young +ladies to order, she pinned on her hat and departed to send Mrs. +Coombe's postal note to the Detroit druggist, who, oddly enough, was not +a druggist at all. + + + + +CHAPTER XXX + + +Esther and her step-mother set out upon their homeward walk in silence. +The older woman's face was drawn and bitter, Esther's thoughtful and +sad. Though there seemed no reason for haste, Mrs. Coombe's steps grew +constantly quicker until she was hurrying breathlessly. + +More than once the girl glanced at her anxiously as if about to speak, +yet hesitating. Then when the walk threatened to become a run she laid a +detaining hand upon her arm. + +"If you walk so very rapidly, mother, people will notice." It was the +only argument which never failed of effect. Mrs. Coombe's steps +slackened. + +"Besides," went on Esther eagerly, "every moment is a gain. Ten minutes +more will make this the longest interval yet. Don't you think you +could try...." + +"No!" + +The word was only a gasp and the face Mary turned for a moment on the +girl was livid. The eyes shone with hate. "You--you beast!" she muttered +chokingly. + +Esther turned a shade paler, but otherwise gave no sign that she had +heard. "Mother, just try, you are doing so well, so splendidly. The +doctor says ..." + +"Be quiet--be quiet! I hate him. I won't try. I won't be tortured--oh, +why can't you all leave me alone!" She began to sob and moan under her +breath, careless even of a possible passerby. Fortunately there was no +one, and they were already within sight of home. Esther, very white, +supported the shaking woman with her arm and they hurried on together. +At the door she would still have accompanied her but Mary flung herself +angrily from her hold and ran up the stairs with sudden feverish +strength. Esther turned into the living room and dropped into the +nearest chair. + +She was still sitting there without having removed either hat or gloves +when, a little later, Callandar entered. + +"Well, nurse," with a faint smile, "how are things to-day?" His quick +eye had noticed in a moment the girl's closed eyes and listless +attitude, but nothing in his tone betrayed it. + +"Very well, I think, until a little while ago. We were late in getting +home from the dressmaker's--" + +"I see. You look rather done up. The fact is you are overdoing things. +Rather foolish, don't you think?" + +"No," stubbornly. "I am all right." + +"You are exhausted and there is no need. Things are going well. The dose +is steadily diminishing, more quickly than she suspects. It looks as if +we might begin to breathe again. It is a great gain to feel reasonably +sure that she has no more of the stuff hidden anywhere. If she had, she +would have used it during that last crisis." + +The girl in the chair winced. She hated even to think of the night to +which his words referred. "Yes," she said, "but--but there won't be any +more times like that, will there?" + +"Yes," grimly. "We are not through yet. But every crisis will be a +little easier--if things go as they are going." + +Esther sighed. "It is very terrible, isn't it?" she said. "And really it +doesn't seem fair, for it wasn't her fault; in the beginning she didn't +know. And she does suffer so." + +"We must not think of it in that way. It helps more to think of the +suffering she is escaping. What she is going through now is saving her, +body and soul. It is taking her out of torment and leading her back to +life, and sanity. You don't know, but I do, and any struggle, any +suffering is mild compared to the horrors before her if she kept on. She +was taking some cocaine too. The word means nothing to you, but to a +physician it spells hell. So you see--it gives one strength." + +Esther sat up and straightened her collar. "I'm ashamed of myself," she +said. "No wonder you want another nurse. But I won't resign yet. And I +wanted to ask you--do you think it is necessary now to be with her +whenever she goes out? She hates it so. I think she is getting to hate +me, too. Where could she possibly get the stuff? None of our local +stores would sell it without a prescription." + +"I know. But in a case like this you can never be sure of anything. No, +we must not relax in the slightest. Even as it is, I am continually +afraid." He began to pace the room restlessly. "There may be a weak spot +somewhere, some loop-hole we have forgotten. I think the druggists are +safe and the mail is watched. That last supply, you are sure it was all +destroyed?" + +"Yes, I burned it. At least I gave it to Aunt Amy to burn. I couldn't +leave mother." + +"Well, let us call Aunt Amy, and make sure. I believe I am foolishly +nervous, but--" without finishing his sentence the doctor walked to the +door and waited there until Aunt Amy answered his call. + +"Auntie," said Esther, "you remember the little package I gave you that +night when mother was so ill? It was done up in purplish blue paper." + +"Yes, Esther." + +"Do you remember what you did with it, dear?" + +Aunt Amy looked frightened. + +"I--I don't know. I've a very good memory, Esther. But somehow I'm not +quite sure." + +"You will remember presently," said Callandar kindly. "We want to be +quite sure that it was destroyed. You know, I explained to you, that +Mary must take no more of that medicine. It is very dangerous...." + +"What does it do?" unexpectedly. + +"It is a kind of poison. It makes people very ill, so ill that in time +they die." + +"Mary likes it. She says it makes her nerves better and puts her to +sleep." + +"When did she say that?" + +"When she asked me if I had any." + +The doctor and the girl exchanged a quick look. + +"And you gave her some?" + +"Oh, no, I couldn't. I had burned it in the stove--I remember now." + +They both drew a breath of intense relief. But when she had left them, +Callandar looked very sober. "There, you see," he said, "was a +possibility we had overlooked." + +"Yes, and it would have been my fault. I should have made sure long ago. +It is hard to get out of the habit of taking things for granted." + +"Yet it is the one thing we must never do. In this we must trust no one, +and nothing. Then we shall win. If there is no relapse now, the worst, +the slowest part, is over. Soon you will be free, dear girl--and God +bless you forever for what you have been to her and to me." + +She answered him only with a wistful smile and when he had gone, she +sighed. She would be free soon, he said. Strange that he could not see +that it was her freedom that she dreaded. Hard as it had been, hard as +it was, there was a still harder time coming--the time when she would be +free--free, to leave forever the man she loved. + +The present with its load of duty and anxiety, the constant strain of +watching, its bearing of poor Mary's thousand ingratitudes seemed dear +and desirable when she thought of the black gulf of separation at the +end of the tortuous way. But of course he could not guess. How could he? +Men are so different from women. + +She knew, though, that she was coming to the end of her strength. Not +even the doctor guessed how great the strain of those past weeks +had been. + +When Mary had awakened to find that her secret was discovered she had +been like a mad thing. There had been rage, tears, protestations, +hysterical denials--finally confession and anguished promises. That she +had never realised the reality of her danger, nor the extent of her +servitude was plain. It seemed easy enough to promise. Esther and the +doctor were making a terrible fuss about nothing, as usual. She grew +sulky under Callandar's warnings and her fury knew no bounds when she +found that certain of her hidden stores had been confiscated. She +demanded that the supply be left in her hands; was not her +promise enough? + +But all this was before she knew what denial meant, before she realised +that the way back along the path she had trodden so easily was +thick-set with suffering; that every backward inch must be fought for +with agony and tears. Then she had broken down altogether, had raved and +pleaded. The very knowledge of the depth to which she had fallen, +threatened to send her deeper still. Callandar soon realised that if she +were to be saved it must be in spite of herself. There were but two +points of strength in her weak nature; one the newly awakened, yet +capricious passion for himself, and the other that ruling terror of her +life, which of all her inherent safeguards was the last to give way +under the assaults of the drug, namely, "What will people say?" but +neither of these, nor both of them together, could stand for a moment +before the terrible appetite when once its craving was denied. + +Twice she failed her helpers just when they were beginning to hope. In +her first search Esther had not exhausted the hiding places of the +poison and, to retain the temptation by her, Mary had lied and lied +again. Twice when the crises of her desire had come upon her she had +given way, helplessly, completely; and twice they had begun all over +again. The third time she had not been able to procure the drug, had +been compelled to fight through on the decreasing dose which the doctor +had allowed. + +No wonder Esther shuddered when she thought of that night! Yet at the +time she had stood beside the moaning woman, white and firm, when even +Callandar had staggered for a moment from the room. + +Next morning they had taken heart of hope again. Undoubtedly Mary had +exhausted the supply, and the possibility of its being replenished +seemed remote. It was only a matter of time now; of care, of +unremitting, yet gentle vigilance and Mary would be cured. The bride +could go to her husband, clean and in her right mind. And Esther +would be free. + +Strangely enough, it was Mary herself who objected to a hastening of +their remarriage. Perhaps in spite of her inevitable deterioration there +was that in her still which forbade her going to him as she was. Perhaps +it was only another and more obscure effect of the drug; some downward +instinct which made her dread the putting of herself within the circle +of her husband's strength. She would fight her fight outside. Why? Was +it because she would conquer of herself, or because she did not really +wish to conquer at all? + +To Esther, Mary's refusal came as a reprieve. But to Callandar it was +but a lengthening out of torture. Man's love must always, in its +essence, be different from woman's; though many women seem incapable of +recognising this fact. To Esther, now that she had put aside her first +half-understood glimpse of passion, it was sweet to be near him, to hear +his voice, to touch his hand and, above all, to spend her strength in +his service. But to him the strain was almost intolerable. The sight of +her, the touch of her, the whole soul-shattering nearness of her beauty +meant constant conflict; all the fiercer since it must be unsuspected. + +Willits, the only man who had been told the truth, watched the fight +with admiration, sharply touched with anxiety. Expert in the moulding of +buttons, he knew very well that Callandar was drawing rather recklessly +upon his newly acquired strength. If the tension did not slacken soon +there might be another physical breakdown, and then--Willits shrugged +his shoulders. It would be entirely too bad if this very fine button +were to be spoiled after all. His heart was sore for his friend. + +"You see," Callandar had written in one of his rare letters, "it was a +right instinct which warned me that no man escapes the consequences of +his own acts. There did come a short, golden time when I put the voice +of instinct behind me and dared to think that I, at least, had shaken +myself free. Closing the door of yesterday, I boldly knocked open the +door of to-morrow--and lo, to-morrow and yesterday were one! + +"I know, now, that even had poor Mary been dead, as I believed, the +payment would have been exacted in some other way. When my brain is +clear enough to think, I have flashes of thankfulness that payment is +permitted to take the form of expiation. I can save Mary, and I will. In +some strange and rather dreadful way her need is my salvation. + +"I have said nothing of Esther. How can I? The other day I heard Miss +Sinclair say that Esther Coombe was losing all her good looks. 'Thin as +a rail, and peeked as a pin' were the words she used. To me she has +never been so lovely. She is thinner; there are hollows in her cheeks; +her lips are no longer a thread of scarlet. The transparent lids of her +deep, wonderful eyes droop often and her hair seems to have lost its +life and hangs soft and very close to her face. I love her. I love her +as a man loves a woman, as a knight loves his lady, as a Catholic loves +the Madonna! This terrible strain must soon be over for her. I am doing +all in my power to hurry on the marriage. She is young. She is bound to +forget. When she leaves here she goes out of my life--and may God +speed her! + +"She is to go to Toronto. Lorna Sinnet has good friends there and they +will take her into their circle. She will begin to taste a fuller life, +and as her interests expand the old wound will heal. She will find +happiness yet. When Mary recovers, she and I will return to Montreal. I +am quite fit now. I feel that I can never work hard enough. Mary will +like the excitement of city life, and I rely upon you and Lorna to make +our coming as easy as possible. How is Lorna? A talk with her will be +a tonic. + +"Does not all this sound admirably lucid and sensible? I want you to see +that I am not losing my hold--that I have finally faced down the problem +of the future. And there is one thing that has come to me out of all +this, a wonderful thing; I have forgotten Fear. It seems to me that all +my life I have lived in fear. Now I am not afraid...." + +It was when Bubble was entering the post office for the purpose of +posting this letter that he met Miss Milligan, coming out. Miss Milligan +was evidently in a hurry, so great a hurry that she had not time to +question Bubble upon affairs in general as was her usual custom. Instead +she asked him to do something for her. It was a trifling service, only +to deliver to Mrs. Coombe a small postal packet which she held in +her hand. + +"It will only take you a few moments, Zerubbabel," she said. "I was +going to deliver it myself but Mrs. Stanton wants a fitting right away. +I ought not to have come down to the post at all. But I promised Mrs. +Coombe--does Dr. Callandar permit you to run messages in your +spare time?" + +"Sure," declared the youth, "only I don't get much spare time. The +doctor's terrible busy. Since we got the phone in, it's ringing all the +time! But I guess I can slip over to Mrs. Coombe's or if I see Jane I +can give the parcel to her." + +"No!" Miss Milligan seemed struck with a sudden hesitancy. "You must +not give it to Jane, you must give it to Mrs. Coombe. Dear me, I believe +I had better take it myself." + +Without listening to the boy's polite protests she hurried off again. +Bubble gazed after her with relieved astonishment. + +"Guess it must be something for the wedding," declared he, sapiently. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXI + + +The next day was the day of the Presbyterian Sunday school picnic. It +was bound to be beautiful weather, because it always was. The +Presbyterians seemed to have an understanding with Providence to that +effect. But Jane, who must have been born a sceptic, was up very early +just to see that there was no mistake. + +There was a hint, just a hint, of autumn in the air. On the window-sill +lay a golden leaf. It was the forerunner. The garden lay quiet, +brooding; the rising sun shone softly through a yellow haze. + +Jane shivered deliciously in her thin night gown. It was going to be a +perfectly glorious, scrumptious day. She leaned farther out to make sure +that the leaves of the small silver maple beneath her window were not +turned wrong side up--a sure sign of rain. And as she looked, she +noticed a curious thing--the side door was open. + +Somebody else must be up. If it were Esther, Jane decided that she would +call "Boo" very loudly and surprise her; but it was her mother and not +Esther who came out of the open door. Jane drew back, watching through +the curtains. She thought her mother looked very pretty in her dressing +gown with her hair down and her bare feet thrust into pink satin mules. +It was a pity, Jane thought, that she wasn't as nice as she looked. And +how curiously she was acting. She was actually climbing up the little +ladder which led to the bird house by the side of the lawn. Jane knew +there was nothing at all in the bird house, for she herself had placed +the ladder there the day before. Whatever was she doing? Jane giggled, +for one of Mary's slippers had fallen off leaving her foot bare. But she +didn't seem to care. She was putting her hand far into the bird house. +Jane watched the hand carefully to see what it might bring out. But it +came out empty. Mary hurriedly climbed down the ladder, picked up her +slipper, glanced quickly around the empty garden and ran back into the +house closing the door without a sound. + +Jane was puzzled. What had her mother hoped to find in the bird house? +She crept back into bed, wondering, and just as she was slipping off to +sleep, the solution came. "She was hiding something," thought Jane, +sleepily, "and when I get up I'll find out what it is." + +Little things are the levers which move the big things of life. Had it +been any other day save the day of the picnic, Jane would certainly have +found out what Mary hid in the bird house and many things might have +been different. But there was so much to do that morning and Ann and +Bubble came over before Jane finished breakfast so that in the +delightful hurry of getting ready and packing baskets, she forgot +all about it. + +There was a disappointment, too, at the last moment, for just when they +were all ready and the doctor had come with the motor, Mrs. Coombe +decided that she really did not feel equal to going and that meant that +Esther had to stay behind. Jane showed signs of tears. Ann and Bubble +protested volubly. Even the doctor did his best to change +Mary's decision. + +"You really ought to come, Mary," he said, "the drive alone will do you +good, and if you get tired of it, I can bring you home early." He looked +at her rather anxiously as he spoke but she did not seem ill. She looked +better than usual for her eyes were brighter and her face was +faintly flushed. + +"No, I won't come to-day. I'm tired. There is not the slightest need for +Esther to stay. I am going to stay in my room with a good book." + +"Oh, Esther, do come! Oh, Esther, you promised!" Thus Ann and Bubble, +while Jane pulled at her frock. + +Mary looked on with a slightly acid smile. The doctor drew her aside. + +"Won't you come?" he asked patiently. "You see how disappointed the +children are." + +"Yes, about Esther. And Esther does not need to stay. It's absurd. Are +you never going to trust me?" + +"You know it isn't you that we distrust. It is something stronger than +you, or any of us. Mary, be patient, just a little longer. You want to +be free, don't you?" + +She hid the glitter in her eyes, against his coat. "Yes, of course. Only +don't ask me to go to-day. It excites me. I want to be quiet." + +"Very well, and you promise--" + +"Yes, I'll promise anything. And if Esther stays I'll be decent to her. +Though why you bother about her so much, I don't see. She is nothing +to you." + +"She is very much to you," sternly. + +"Yes--a spy! Oh, well, don't let's quarrel. Be sure to be back early for +the supper party to-night. Mr. Macnair and Annabel are invited. You can +bring them with you in the motor. It is just as well Esther isn't +going. There'll be lots of little things to attend to." + +"That's settled then." Knowing that further persuasion was useless, he +kissed her and turned to quiet the eager children. + + * * * * * + +Almost she held her breath as she watched him go. Her small hands +twisted, a pulse beat visibly in her temple, her lips worked, she shook +from head to foot. Nevertheless she stood there, controlling herself, +until the motor horn had honked its farewell to a chorus of children's +laughter. Then, as one released from some desperate strain, she turned +and fled to her room.... + +"Mother!" Esther came in slowly, unpinning her hat. There was no answer +to her call. But she had not expected any. In her sulky moods Mrs. +Coombe often went for days without speaking to her step-daughter. When +the girl saw that she had gone to her room she was rather relieved than +otherwise; it meant at least a peaceful afternoon. Mary, in her room, +was considered safe and all that Esther need do was to be ready in order +to accompany her if she decided to go out. + +She was not disappointed at missing the picnic. It was getting rather +hard to be gay. And it would be nice to have everything ready when the +party returned. + +It was a quietly beautiful afternoon and as the girl went about her +simple tasks she was not unhappy. Already she was learning the great +lesson which many more fortunate lovers miss, that the rarest fragrance +of love lies in its bestowal. That is why love is of all things most +securely ours. + +Once she called up to the blowing curtains of Mrs. Coombe's window. + +"Mother, won't you come and help me with the flowers?" But no hand +pushed the curtain aside, nor did she receive any answer. Perhaps Mary +was really asleep. In that case she was sure to be amiable at +supper time. + +Everything was daintily ready and Esther had had time to slip on her +prettiest frock when the "honk" of the returning motor brought a faint +colour into her pale cheeks. + +"Dear me, you've got quite a colour, Esther," said Miss Annabel Macnair +in a slightly injured voice. She had come intending to tell Esther how +badly she was looking and to recommend a tonic. + +"I don't see why you didn't come to the picnic." + +"Oh, Esther," Jane's plain little face was radiant, "you missed it! It +was the nicest picnic yet. I won one race and Bubble won another, and +Ann won't speak to either of us. She says she hates her aunt because +she'd have won a race too if she hadn't had so much starch in her +petticoats. But Mrs. Sykes says she wouldn't be a mite surprised if Ann +has a bad heart--not a wicked heart, just a bad one, the kind that makes +you drop down dead. Some of Ann's folks died of bad hearts, Mrs. Sykes +says. But the doctor says it's all nonsense. He agreed with Ann that it +wasn't anything but petticoats--Oh, say! how pretty the table looks. Did +mother say you could use the best china?" + +"Seeing that it's Esther's china on her own mother's side, I guess she +can use it if she likes," said Aunt Amy, mildly belligerent. "I thought +you might want to set the table before we got home, Esther, and I was so +afraid you might forget and use the sprigged tea set. But the doctor +said you'd be sure not to." + +"That's one of her queer notions, I suppose?" said Miss Annabel in a +stage whisper plainly heard by every one. "How odd! Can you come +upstairs with me, Esther? I want to speak to you most particularly and I +haven't seen you for ages. + +"Not that I haven't tried," she continued in her jerky way as they went +up the stairs together; "but you seem to be always with your mother. +Going to lose her soon. Natural enough. I said to Mrs. Miller, 'There's +real devotion.' Possible to overdo it though. Marriage is terribly +trying. For relatives. But long engagements are worse. How was it you +didn't get to the picnic?" + +Esther murmured that she hadn't quite felt like going to the picnic. + +"Well, you didn't miss much. Even Angus wasn't as cheerful as usual. +Inclined to be moody. And that brings me to what I wanted to tell you. +Remember that last time you had lunch with us?" + +"Yes." + +"Remember me saying that I never ask questions, but that I always find +out? Well--I have." + +"Have what?" asked Esther, who had not been following. + +"Found out. Found out what is the matter with my brother. Exactly what I +thought. He is the victim of an unhappy attachment. Unreciprocated!" + +"But--" + +"You remember you laughed at me, Esther. Suggested liver. And when I +mentioned your mother you almost convinced me that I was wrong. Although +I am never wrong. It _is_ your mother, Esther. My poor brother, +brokenhearted, quite--utterly!" + +This was so amazing that Esther waited for more. + +"I suppose he felt certain of her until Dr. Callandar stepped in. Could +hardly believe it. When I told him of your mother's reputed engagement +he was not in the least disturbed. Said 'Pshaw!' Couldn't imagine such a +possibility. I said, 'I assure you it is the truth, Angus,' and he +merely remarked, 'Well, what if it is?' in a most matter of fact way. +Quite calm!" + +"And you think--" + +"My dear, I am sure. All put on. To deceive me. Although I never am +deceived. So I waited. And then one night last week I happened to get +home from a business session of the Ladies' Aid, early. I went in +quietly. Angus was in his study, without a light, but the door was a +little bit open, and I could hear his voice quite plainly. He was +praying--" + +"Oh, please--" + +"My dear, I couldn't help hearing. I didn't listen. I was rooted to the +spot. Positively! He--" + +"You must not tell me, Miss Annabel, I won't listen." + +"Very well, my dear. Perhaps you are right. Couldn't tell you his very +words anyway. I cannot remember them. He was very eloquent, terribly +worked up! And he was praying for Her. That's what he called your +mother, just Her. It sounded almost--almost popish, you know! Then +suddenly he stopped as if something had cut him off--sharp. There was a +silence. So long I began to be frightened and then he cried out loud, +'Not for me! Not for me!' It was dreadful! But it proves my point, I +think. Why, my dear, whatever is the matter?" + +Esther, leaning against the window frame, was sobbing weakly. + +"Dear me! I had no idea you would feel it so badly. Take a sip of +water--do!" + +Esther struggled to regain her self-control. + +"It seems so--sad," she faltered. + +"Yes, of course. It is sad. And I have great sympathy with my poor +brother," went on Miss Annabel pinning down her hair net. "But do you +know, I sometimes think," she hesitated and a slow blush arose in her +middle-aged cheek, "I sometimes think that people in love aren't to be +pitied after all. Though it is hardly a thought to express to a young +girl like you. + +"You know," she went on awkwardly as Esther still made no remark, "they +feel a great deal, of course, but it must be so very _interesting_. A +little cold cream for my nose, Esther. If I leave it until I get home I +shall certainly peel." + +Esther provided the cream and a powder puff. She felt sick at heart. Her +calmer world of the afternoon burst like a bubble leaving only a tear +behind. The vision of Angus Macnair in the dark study reaching out +frantic hands for the thing he knew could never be his, seemed a last +touch of unendurable irony. Surely some one, somewhere, must be moved to +dreadful mirth at these blunders of the fates. From the echo of such +laughter commonplace was the only refuge. Esther bathed her eyes and +called to Jane to let her mother know that supper was ready. + +The sounds of the child's cheerful tattoos upon Mrs. Coombe's door +accompanied them down the stairs, but when they had waited a few +minutes, Jane came quietly into the room alone. + +"Mother doesn't answer me, Esther." + +Miss Annabel looked surprised, then curious. Esther felt her face flame. +It was really too bad of Mary to make things so much harder than she +need. Her refusal to answer could only mean that she had determined to +be thoroughly disagreeable; and with company in the house. But her +annoyance was abruptly checked by the effect of the news upon the +doctor. It was not annoyance she read in his eyes. It was dismay. With a +murmured sentence, which may or may not have been excuse, he turned +from the room. + +"I am so sorry," explained Esther smoothly. "Mother is not at all well, +one of her old headaches. The doctor has gone up to see if he can be +of any use." + +Miss Annabel shook her head gloomily. "Mark my words," she said, "your +mother ought to take those headaches of hers more seriously. A headache +seems a little thing, but I know of a case--" + +With Esther's sympathetic encouragement the good lady launched upon a +recital of melancholy happenings more or less connected with headaches +which occupied her attention very pleasantly and prevented any one else +from saying anything until the return of the awaited guest. He came in +looking as usual and bearing an apology from the hostess for her sudden +indisposition. "Nothing at all serious," he added lightly. "It is +possible that she may join us later." But it was noticeable that as he +spoke he did not look at Esther nor could her anxious glance read the +impassive sternness of his face. + +It was not a successful meal. In spite of the pretty table, the dainty +food, the well kept up fire of conversation, the beautiful evening out +of doors, the softly shaded light inside, from first to last the supper +was a nightmare. Of what avail the careful pretence that nothing was +wrong? A very miasma of dread enveloped that table, a thing so palpable +that Miss Annabel found herself starting at a sound, the minister's +ready tongue faltered on a favourite phrase, Esther's clear voice grew +blurred, Aunt Amy wrung her hands, Jane's eyes were wide with +unchildlike care. Only Callandar seemed undisturbed, courteous, +interested. + +It was a relief to them all when after an uncomfortable half-hour with +coffee on the veranda the minister suddenly remembered a forgotten +committee meeting and hurried Miss Annabel away with half her parting +words unspoken. The doctor, still courteous and interested, walked down +with them to the gate. He would wait, he said, a little longer to see +how Mrs. Coombe found herself. Esther carried off a subdued and silent +Jane to bed. + +"Esther," whispered Jane as her sister bent to kiss her, "why do lovely, +lovely days always end so badly?" + +"They don't, Janie." + +The child sighed. "Mine do. I never had a perfect day in all my life." + +"You will have. Every one has perfect days--sometime." + +"Have you, Esther?" + +"Yes, dear." + +Jane looked up sleepily. "Perhaps mine will come to-morrow!" + +Esther went slowly down stairs and out into the garden. Callandar was +coming up the path from the gate. He walked slowly. When they met, he no +longer avoided her glance. + +"Well?" She had no need to ask. Yet she did ask, falteringly. + +"We have failed," he said briefly. + +The quiet hopelessness of his voice left no room for argument. Esther +opened her lips to protest, but found nothing to say. + +"She has outwitted us," he went on. "How? who can say? They have the +cunning of the devil! There is only one thing to do now. Only one way--" + +"You mean?--" + +"The wedding must take place at once. I suppose the farce is really +necessary. But there must be no more delay. Only the unsparing use of a +husband's authority can save her now. I shall take her away. I must be +with her day and night. In France there is a place I know, beautiful, +isolated. I shall take her there. If all else fails there is the +treatment of hypnotic suggestion. But--I shall not fail, I dare not!" + +Blindly she put out her hand--he clasped it gently--yet not as if he +knew whose hand it was. Then, laying it aside, he passed by, and, +leaving her sobbing in the dusk, went on into the house and up the +stairs to the closed room. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXII + + +It became quickly known in Coombe that, owing to Mrs. Coombe's delicate +health, the wedding would take place much sooner than had been expected. +A sea voyage, it was conceded, was the necessary thing and as Dr. +Callandar would not allow his fiancée to go away alone it seemed only +fair that he should make haste to go with her. Comment on all these +points was much more restrained than usual because, just at this time, +Coombe withstood the shock of finding out that Dr. Callandar was no less +than Dr. Henry Chedridge Callandar of Montreal. No, not his brother, nor +his cousin, but the man himself! + +Of course Coombe had suspected this all along. Never for a moment had it +been really deceived. Over and over again it had said: "My dear, that +young man is not a mere local practitioner, mark my words!" From the +first, Coombe had observed the marks of true distinction in him. He was +so odd! He seemed to care nothing at all for appearances, and, as +everybody knows, this comfortable attitude of mind is the privilege of +the famous few. Besides, there was the matter of the marriage. Coombe +had been right in thinking that Mary Coombe had not gone into the matter +blindfold. She had known very well upon which side her bread was +buttered, and as to her giving way to his whims in the absurd way she +did--that, too, was understandable under the circumstances. + +What puzzled Coombe, now, was how she had managed it. She was not +pretty, at least not very pretty. She was not young, at least only +comparatively young. And goodness knows, she was not clever! Hardly a +mother in Coombe but had at least one daughter prettier, younger and +cleverer; a daughter, in fact, who could give Mary Coombe aces and kings +and still win out. Why had the doctor not been attached to one of these? +It was incomprehensible. Even if, through a misplaced devotion to his +profession, he had determined to marry into a doctor's family--there was +Esther! Esther Coombe was a fine girl and quite nice looking before she +had begun to "go off." Even as it was she had more to recommend her than +her step-mother. There seemed to be a general impression that all men +are fools. + +"If they would only let some woman with sense choose their wives for +them," declared the eldest Miss Sinclair in a burst of confidence, "they +might get along fairly well. But if ever a man gets married to the right +woman, it happens by accident." + +Nevertheless, at a special meeting of the Ladies' Aid, called for the +purpose, it was decided to give the bride a present. They had not +intended to do it for fear of establishing a precedent. But when it came +out who Dr. Callandar was, it hardly seemed right to let one of their +best known members go from them to a more exalted sphere in a city +(which many of them might, from time to time, feel inclined to visit) +without showing her by some small token how very highly she was held in +their regard. Every one could see the sense of this and the vote was +unanimous. In regard to the nature of the gift there was more diversity +of opinion, but it was finally decided that, as the value of this kind +of thing lies not in the gift but in the spirit of the giving, a brown +jar with the word "Biscuits" in silver lettering would do very well. +Carving knives were thought of but as Mrs. Atkins very fitly said, +"Everybody is sure to give carving knives"--a phenomenon which all the +ladies accepted as a commonplace. + +Of the prospective bride herself, Coombe saw little. She remained very +much at home. She had lost much of her spasmodic energy, was inclined to +be moody and even rude. Her state of health accounted naturally for this +and also for the arrival of a new inmate at the Elms, a cool and capable +looking person who was discovered, after much amazed enquiry, to be a +trained nurse. Not a hospital nurse exactly but a kind of special nurse +whose duties included massage, and the giving of certain baths and +things which the doctor thought strengthening. Her name was Miss Philps. +Coombe never got behind that. No one could ever boast that she knew more +of Miss Philps than her name. She was, and remains to this day, +a mystery. + +There are people like that, although this was Coombe's first experience +of one. Miss Philps was not a recluse. Everywhere Mrs. Coombe went, Miss +Philps went too. Even Esther was not more assiduous in her attentions. +She was not a silent person either, far from it. She bubbled over with +precise and cheerful comment, she appeared to talk even more than was +absolutely necessary and it was only upon her departure that her +entertainers noticed that she had said nothing at all. A very baffling +person to deal with. Coombe could not manage to "take to" her at all and +great sympathy was felt for Mrs. Coombe when she was reported to have +said to Miss Milligan that going out with Miss Philps felt exactly like +a jail delivery--whatever that might be! + +But if Miss Philps was not appreciated at large it was different in her +own immediate circle. She had not been at the Elms a day before Esther +recognised the doctor's wisdom in getting her. She was discreet, +capable, kindly. The burden upon the girl's shoulders grew momentarily +lighter. Miss Philps, with her matter of fact cheeriness, her strength +and her experience, was exactly what that house of overstrained +nerves needed. + +"Dear me," she said, "you're all as fidgety as corn in a popper. And no +need for it. I've nursed dozens worse than your mother, Miss Esther, and +had them right as a trivet before I got through. As long as we can keep +her hands off the stuff--and that's what I'm here for. So don't worry!" + +Esther drew a deep breath. It was certainly good to feel the strain +lifting, to have time for dreams again. The time was so pitifully short +now. Two more weeks and she would leave Coombe behind her. The old life +would be definitely over and done with. Looking back, she could see that +it had been a happy life, and the future looked so dark. In youth, all +life's happenings seem so terribly final. Every parting feels like a +parting forever. Esther felt quite sure that she would never return +to Coombe. + +In the week before the wedding, freed from her continual attendance upon +her mother, she unobtrusively paid farewell to all her old haunts and +favourite places. It was a sweet sadness. She did not taste the sweet, +but it was there. As one grows older, one does not linger over sad +moments. It is because the sweet has vanished, only the bitter remains. +But in untried youth sadness has a touch of beauty, a glamour of +romance which shrouds its deepest pain. It is as if something within us, +infinitely wise, were smiling, knowing well that for the young there is +always to-morrow. + +The maple by the schoolhouse turned early that year. When Esther, in her +pilgrimage, came to say good-bye it welcomed her with all the glory of +autumn. Against its greener brothers it stood out, naming, defiant. +Beside it, the red pump seemed no longer red. Red and yellow, its +falling leaves tossed themselves into the girl's lap as she sat upon the +porch steps. It is almost certain that, as Esther gathered them, she +compared her sad heart to a leaf which had fluttered from the tree of +happy life. There seemed no outlook for her. She could not see through +winter into spring. + +The school children with their new teacher (whom Esther could not help +but feel was sadly incompetent) had all gone home and it was very quiet +on the porch steps. She closed her eyes and dreamed and clearly through +her dream she heard, as she had heard that first morning in early +summer, a determinedly cheerful, yet husky, voice singing. Some one was +coming down the hill. + + "From Wimbleton to Wombleton is fifteen miles; + From Wombleton to Wimbleton is fifteen miles; + From Wimbleton to Wombleton, from Wombleton to Wimbleton, + From Wimbleton to Wombleton,--" + +The song trailed off into silence as it had done before. The girl's +closed eyes smarted with tears--"Oh, it is a very long way!" she +murmured, and burying her face in fallen leaves she felt that at last +she knew the meaning of despair. + +But though his voice had echoed through Esther's dream, Callandar was +not on the long hill nor anywhere near it. Unlike Esther, he paid no +farewells during these last days. He avoided the hill particularly and +drove past the schoolhouse seldom and always at top speed. If the sight +of the turning maples moved him at all it was not because he compared +his lost happiness to a fallen leaf. Callandar was long past such gentle +sadnesses as these. Every day he filled as full of work as possible. He +walked far and hard in hope of tiring himself into dreamless sleep at +night. And every day his face grew older, greyer, more sternly set. + +At the very last, and as if inspired by some special imp of the +perverse, Mary declared that she must have a church wedding. Opposition +was useless. With all the distorted force of her drug-ridden brain, she +desired this one thing. She wept, she coaxed, she raved. Every woman, +she stormed, had a right to a proper wedding. She had always been +cheated, she had been a pawn shoved about at the bidding of others, her +own wishes never consulted. Was there any reason, any reason at all, why +she should not be properly married in the church? + +He ventured quietly to remind her that there were peculiar circumstances +in the case. But she burst out at that. He was ashamed of her. Ashamed +of his own wife. If there were peculiar circumstances whose fault were +they? Not hers, surely? Would she be where she was now if he had not +neglected her all those years? Anyway, peculiar circumstances or not, +she would be married decently or she would not be married at all. + +With set lips, the doctor gave in. Opposition maddened her, and, after +all, one farce more or less could not matter much. + +"Very well," he said, "make your own arrangements." + +Immediately, Mary became amiable. She was quite polite to Miss Philps, +almost pleasant to Esther. Into the preparations for the wedding she +entered with some of her old spasmodic energy. The occasion, she +determined, should be a talked of one in Coombe. She made plans, a fresh +one every day, and talked of them continually. + +Only--there was one plan of which she did not speak. There was one +unsaid thing which matured quietly, covered by the noise of much +talking. Yet this plan more than any other would have to do with the +success of her last appearance in Coombe. It would be foolish indeed, +she decided, to let any promise, however well-meant, stand in the way of +this success. She could not, and would not, face a crowded church +feeling as she felt now. That was absurd! She would need some little +stimulant to help her carry it off. A very slightly increased dose would +do it. Only sufficient to banish that horrible craving, to give her a +long, satisfying sleep and then just a touch more, very little, to brace +her in the morning. Enough to send warm tingling thrills of well being +through her tired body, to brighten her eyes, to clear her brain and +steady her shaking nerves--to make her young again, young and a bride. + +Only this once! Never again. + +Of what use to continue the sophistries which justified her treachery to +herself! Perhaps of the three it was she who suffered most during that +last week. She lived in an agony of anticipation, a hell of desire for +which a sane pen has no description. Yet no one must suspect that she +anticipated or desired anything--not the cool-eyed Miss Philps, not +Esther, not the doctor, not even Jane. The mask must not slip for one +single moment. So far, they suspected nothing; but they were always on +their guard, always. A careless look, an unconsidered movement might +betray her, and then--! She raved in her room sometimes when she thought +of a possible balking of her purpose. + +She was very clever. She still had self-control when it was necessary to +have it in the furtherance of the one devouring passion. Only when she +was quite alone did she ever give way. The doctor thought her +wonderfully docile and took heart of hope. A month or two alone with her +in Prance and all would be well. In the meantime, patience! Naturally +she was full of childish whims. He smiled at her indulgently when she +asked him to request Miss Philps to stay outside of the fitting room at +Miss Milligan's. "For you know," she said, "it is bad luck, very bad +luck, for any person to see one, in one's wedding gown before the proper +time. And anyway," the grey eyes filled with easy tears, "I'm sure it +isn't good for me never to be trusted, not even with silly Miss +Milligan." + +The plea seemed genuine. It was like Mary to be concerned about the +wedding-dress superstition. And what possible danger could there be? +Miss Milligan in all probability had never heard the fatal names of +opium and cocaine save as unpleasant things associated with Chinese and +tooth-drawing. It was absurd to imagine Mary coming to harm there. + +From this you will see that, upon the occasion of the last discovery, +Mary had lied desperately and well. The "cache" in the bird-house had +been found, but Miss Milligan's name had never been connected in the +most remote way with that relapse. Mary had sworn that the new supply +had not been new at all but had formed part of an old cache which she +had hidden, in a place which even she had forgotten, all quite +accidentally. And although many supplementary enquiries were made, the +real truth had remained undiscovered. + +So in the simplest way in the world, Mary secured several uninterrupted +"fittings" with Miss Milligan while the excellent Miss Philps sat +without and waited. + +"This is positively the last time I shall have to trouble you, dear Miss +Milligan," said her customer sweetly. "Of course, as soon as we are +married, I am going to tell Dr. Callandar all about it and when he sees +how very much better my medicine has made me, he will be quite ready to +withdraw his objections. In the meantime I am sure you feel, as I do, +that our little ruse has been quite justifiable!" + +Miss Milligan did. She felt quite proud of her part in it. It is +something to help a fellow woman and still more to get the better of a +fellow man. Especially such a celebrated man as Dr. Callandar! She would +order the fresh supply at once, that very afternoon, by the first mail. +And as soon as the packet came she would see that Mrs. Coombe had it in +person. "There is certain to be a few last touches necessary to the +dress after it has been sent home," she remarked with a smile of truly +Machiavellian subtlety. + +"Yes!" said Mary. "That night--after the dress comes home!" She spoke +sharply, unnaturally. Her face turned a dull, pasty white. She shook so +that Miss Milligan was thoroughly frightened. But presently she +controlled herself and forced a pathetic smile. + +"You see, dear Miss Milligan, how much I need it." + +"Indeed a blind bat could see that!" said the dressmaker pityingly. +"Shall I call the nurse?" + +But Mrs. Coombe would not hear of Miss Milligan calling the nurse! + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIII + + +It is the onlooker who sees most of the game and Aunt Amy was an ideal +onlooker. Always self-effacing and silent, she was now more silent and +self-effacing still. Consequently the principal actors tended to forget +their parts when in her presence. No one explained anything to Aunt Amy +but no one concealed anything from her. She simply "didn't matter." So +far as the playing out of the little drama was concerned, Aunt Amy was +supposed to be safely off the stage. She looked and listened, had her +strange flashes of psychic insight and came to her own conclusions about +it all, quite undisturbed by facts as they appeared to others. Her +conclusions were very simple. Esther loved the doctor. The doctor loved +Esther. That, in spite of this, Callandar was deliberately planning to +marry Mary she considered a purely arbitrary matter arranged by those +mysteriously malignant powers known as "They." Callandar, himself, had +clearly no choice, Esther was helpless, and Mary triumphed easily and +inevitably because Mary was one of "Them" herself. Aunt Amy had become +firmly convinced of this latter fact. Everything went to prove it--the +theft of the ring, the threat to shut her (Amy) up, the easy triumph +over Esther, and a thousand and one trifles all "confirmation strong as +proofs of holy writ." Of course it would be impossible to make this +clear to Esther or the doctor. Amy realised that and did not try. But in +her own mind she thought of it continually. And her little pile of proof +mounted higher day by day. + +Esther, absorbed in the care of her step-mother, was not even aware that +Aunt Amy noticed her growing listlessness, her heavy eyes, her fits of +brooding. She did not know that a silent foot paused before her closed +door, listening. All she knew was that it was relief unspeakable to be +with Aunt Amy, to let drop the mask of cheerful energy without fear of +questioning or of wonder. Aunt Amy didn't matter. + +Mary, too, felt that it was needless to hoodwink Amy. No need to pretend +with her. She might show herself as irritable, as conscienceless, as +nerve-racked and disagreeable as she chose without fear of displaying +"symptoms." Aunt Amy was not looking for symptoms, indeed Mary thought +she grew more stupid daily. After her marriage something would really +have to be done about Amy. She hoped the doctor wouldn't be silly +about it. + +Even Dr. Callandar was not careful to hide his burden from those faded +eyes. He was more self-conscious even with Ann or Bubble than he was +with her. What matter if she did see his mouth harden or his eyes +burn?--Poor Aunt Amy, such things could have no meaning for her. She was +a soul apart. + +A soul apart indeed, how far apart none of them quite realised; yet near +enough to love--and hate. As the days went by and Esther drooped like a +graceful plant athirst for water there grew in Aunt Amy's twisted brain +a slow corroding anger. The timid, bitter anger of a weak nature which +is often more deadly than the lordly passion of the strong. + +If she could only do something. If she could only outwit "Them"! She +would do anything at all, if she could only find the thing to do. It was +terrible to be so helpless. It was maddening to have to be so careful. +Yet careful she must be, she never forgot that. Often as she went about +the house or stood in the sunny kitchen rolling out her flaky pie-crust, +she pondered over ways and means. But none seemed suitable. Some of her +plans were fantastic to a degree, but she always had sense enough to +reject them in the end. In her planning she was conscious of no sense of +right or wrong but only of suitability. There could be no question of +right or wrong in dealing with "Them." They were outside the pale. No. +What she wanted was something simple and effective. A little poison, +now--in a pie? But Amy knew nothing of poison, nor how to obtain any, +nor how to use it effectively in a pie when once obtained. She might +consult the doctor perhaps? But something warned Aunt Amy that the +doctor would not take kindly to the idea of a little poison in a pie. So +this beautiful scheme had to be given up. She sighed. + +"What a big sigh, Auntie!" Esther, who was sitting at the table peeling +apples, looked up questioningly. "A penny for your thoughts." + +A look of cunning came over Aunt Amy's face. And instead of speaking her +real thoughts she said, "I was thinking of weddings, Esther." + +"But why the sigh?" + +"I don't like weddings. Once there was a young girl going to be married. +She was very happy. She was so happy that she was afraid to look at her +own face in the glass. And it was eleven o'clock on Tuesday. I mean she +was waiting for eleven o'clock on Tuesday. She was to be married then. +But just one minute before the time, something happened--the clock +stopped, I think. Anyway eleven o'clock on Tuesday never came. So she +could not get married. And she grew old and her flowers fell to pieces. +It was very sad." + +"Poor Auntie!" + +Aunt Amy moved uneasily. "Do you know who the girl was, Esther?" + +"Don't you know, Auntie?" + +"No, that is, I am never sure. Sometimes I think I used to know her. But +she's gone. I never see her now. I'd like to find her if I could." + +"You will find her some day, Auntie. Try not to fret about it." + +It was seldom indeed that Aunt Amy spoke even thus vaguely of that other +self of hers which she had lost in the tragedy of her youth. Esther's +heart was full of pity as she listened. What was her own trouble +compared to this? She at least would have her memories. + +"There is just one chance," went on Aunt Amy, now gently excited. She +had never spoken of this chance before but she felt that Esther might +like to hear of it. "Just one chance! You see, the world being +round--the world is round, isn't it, Esther?" + +"Yes." + +"Well, the world being round there is a chance that, if she waits long +enough, eleven o'clock on Tuesday may come around again. Then if she is +ready and if she has the ring he gave her, the red ring, and if they are +both very quick they may be married after all." + +"Oh, Aunt Amy, _dear_! That is why you love the ruby ring?" + +But the old lady's memory was clouding again. She looked bewildered and +would say no more. Esther kissed her with new tenderness. "I am so glad +you have it safely back," she whispered. "You need never be afraid of +losing it again." + +Aunt Amy found it hard to make the pies that morning. She was enveloped +in a deep sadness, a sadness which in some misunderstood way seemed +inseparable from the idea of that lost friend of hers, the girl-bride +whose marriage hour had never struck. It seemed to Aunt Amy that the +girl had been waiting a very long time and was tired. Even if the world +were round, it was a very big world and eleven o'clock on Tuesday took a +wearisome time to travel around it. She could not understand why she +should feel so terribly sorry for the waiting girl, but she did. A hot +tear fell into the pie-crust. That would never do! The pie-maker +furtively dried her eyes and came back to the consideration of more +immediate problems. + +It may seem strange that no one noticed the morbid state of Aunt Amy at +this time. But it would have been more strange if any one had noticed +it. Of outward signs there were practically none. Even the silent +hand-wringing had ceased. She ceased to rebuke Jane for stepping upon +the third stair; she ceased to talk of the peculiarities inherent in +sprigged china. She was more and more careful not to mention "Them," +and, as always, her housekeeping was a wonder and a delight. + +She even offered to make Mary's wedding-cake. An offer which Mary +received graciously. No one could make fruit cake like Aunt Amy and if +it proved too big for the house oven the baker could bake it in his. +Jane was delighted. She told Bubble that it was to be a "hugeous" cake, +the like of which was never seen in Coombe and she defied Ann to produce +any relative or ancestor whatever whose wedding-cake had even faintly +approached such dimensions. Ann retorted that big wedding-cakes were +vulgar and that her Aunt Sykes did not think it proper for a widow woman +to have a wedding-cake at all. + +The making of the cake was a great mental help to Aunt Amy. It seemed to +ease her mind and aid her to think clearly. She thought of many things +as she prepared the materials, made most clever plans. That all the +plans had to do with the preventing of the marriage and the final +circumventing of "Them" goes without saying. There was one especially +good plan which came to her while she stoned the raisins. Still another, +while the currants were being looked over, and a third, more brilliant +than either, while she chopped the candied peel. The trouble was that +when she came to mix all her ingredients into the batter, her plans +began to mix up too, until all was hopeless confusion. It was most +disheartening! And the wedding, now, only a few days off. She wanted to +go away into a corner and wring her hands, but if she did, some one +might notice--and then "They" would have the chance they were looking +for. Aunt Amy was too clever for that! + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIV + + +The day before the wedding, the wedding dress came home. No one had seen +it. Mary's superstition in regard to this point was indulgently smiled +at by everybody. + +"But hadn't I better see it on you just once," suggested Esther. "Some +trifle may have been forgotten and a missing hook and eye might spoil +the effect of the whole thing." + +"Oh, I have thought of that. Miss Milligan is going to run in after +supper to see that everything is right. Then if anything is needed she +can attend to it at once. Of course, it doesn't matter about Miss +Milligan seeing it--for bad luck I mean." + +"How about me?" asked Callandar, smiling. + +"You!" with a playful shriek, "you would be worse than anybody. You +would hoodoo it entirely!" + +"How about little girls?" asked Jane coaxingly. + +Mary turned suddenly peevish. "Don't bother me, Jane. I shall not let +any one see it and that's enough." But their combined suggestions had +disturbed her, and it was only upon their serious assurance that of +course her wishes would be respected that her amiability returned. + +Yet it was apparent that she felt rather worried about the dress herself +for she had worked herself into a small fever of nervous anxiety before +the promised appearance of Miss Milligan for the last fitting. When at +last that lady arrived, a trifle late, and very much out of breath, Mary +would hardly let her say good evening to the others, before hurrying +her upstairs. + +"And I think," said she hesitatingly, "that I shan't come down again +to-night. I am tired. If the doctor calls in, tell him that I am trying +to get a good rest for to-morrow. Good night, Miss Philps. Good +night, Esther!" + +To the girl's astonishment she kissed her. A light, hot kiss which fell +on her cheek like a fleck of glowing ash. Yet it was a real kiss and may +have meant that the giver was not ungrateful. Jane, too, had a good +night kiss that night; but Aunt Amy had already gone upstairs. + + * * * * * + +"Well?" They were safely in the upstairs room now and the door was +closed. + +"I've got it. It came on the afternoon mail. I went down to the post +office specially. I knew you kind of counted on it for to-morrow." + +With the glee of a child playing conspirator Miss Milligan dived into +the recesses of the reticule she carried. "Here it is. No, that's +peppermints. But it's here somewhere--" + +"Oh, hurry!" Mary almost snatched the packet from the friendly hand. At +sight of it she turned deathly white and began to shake as she had +shaken that day in the fitting-room. But this time she recovered +quickly, almost before Miss Milligan had noticed it. + +"Thank you so much," she said. With the last effort of her self-control +she forced herself to place the packet upon the dresser. She wanted to +snatch at it to tear it open, to scream with the relief of the tablets +in her hand, but she did none of these things. Instead she thanked Miss +Milligan again and proceeded to talk of other things, anything that +would do to fill up the short time necessary to conceal the real purpose +of the visit so that Esther and Miss Philps would not suspect--never for +a moment suspect! + +"Do you think we really need try on the dress?" asked the conscientious +Miss Milligan. + +Mrs. Coombe thought not. It was quite all right, she felt sure of that. +And really she was a little tired. It had been a trying day. She +moistened her lips and tried to smile, keeping her eyes well away from +the tempting heaven in the little pasteboard box. Would the woman +never go! + +Fortunately Miss Milligan was a lady who prided herself upon her good +sense and also upon her proper pride. She always knew, she declared, +when she was not wanted, and, strange as it may seem, it began to dawn +upon her that this was one of those rare occasions. Mrs. Coombe was very +pleasant, of course, but Miss Milligan missed something, a certain +cordiality which might have tempted her to prolong her stay. She was not +offended, for if she considered that her self-denying journeys to the +post office were meeting with less than their just deserts, she was not +a woman to insist upon gratitude where gratitude was not freely given. +She stayed therefore no longer than the fiction of dress-fitting +required and then with a somewhat strained "good night" passed down the +stairs and out of the house. + +Mary waited, rigid as a statue, until she heard the front gate close, +then, the last defence down, she sprang to the dressing table--tearing +off the paper from the package as a puppy dog might tear the covering +from a bone. A glass of water stood ready. Her shaking hands reached for +it, counted the number of tablets and slipped them in. Then, with a long +breath of relief, the tension relaxed. She raised her eyes, triumphing +eyes, to the mirror and saw--Aunt Amy watching her from the doorway. + +She had forgotten to lock the door! + +But it was only Aunt Amy. + +Fear and relief came in almost the same breath. She steadied herself +against the dresser. + +"Shut the door!" + +Aunt Amy obeyed. But she shut herself inside the door. "What do you +want?" Mary never wasted words on Amy--"Ah!" + +With a motion so swift that it seemed like a conjuror's miracle, Aunt +Amy had slipped from her stand by the door, snatched up the open box, +and was back again before the choking cry on the other's lips had +formed itself. + +"Esther says you musn't take these," said Aunt Amy in her colourless +voice. + +For a second Mary hesitated. If she made the murderous spring which +every baffled nerve in her tortured body urged her to make, Amy would +scream. A scream would mean, Miss Philps--Esther--the doctor: agony and +defeat. With a mighty effort she held herself. She tried to +speak quietly. + +"Don't be a fool, Amy. This is some medicine the doctor gave me himself. +Hand it to me at once." + +Aunt Amy smiled. It was a sly little smile. It made Mary want to rave, +for it said more plainly than words that Aunt Amy knew. Swiftly she +changed her tactics. Her face softened, became gentle, entreating-- + +"Amy--dear. I am only going to use a little. If you love me, give me the +box." + +Useless! Aunt Amy still smiled. She put the box behind her. With her +other hand she felt for the door knob. + +"Amy, give it to me! What have I ever done to you?" + +"You stole my ring." In exactly the same tone she might have said, "You +are a murderess." + +The ring! Mary had forgotten the ring. Wait, perhaps it was not hopeless +even yet. Amy placed an absurd value on that ring--and she, Mary, had +the gem in her possession. She did not know that Esther had found and +restored it. To her it was still in the box at the bottom of her drawer. +A dazzling plan flashed through her excited brain. She would bribe Amy +with the ring. The thought nerved her. + +"Do you really want your ring back?" she asked sweetly. + +Aunt Amy paused with her hands on the door knob. + +"I have it back." + +"Oh, no. You haven't. It is in a box in my drawer." + +"It is not. Esther gave it to me!" But there was a spark of fear in +Amy's eyes. Contradiction so easily confused her. _Had_ Esther given her +the ring? She felt oddly uncertain. + +Mary laughed, and the laugh increased Aunt Amy's confusion. After all it +was quite possible that Mary had taken the ring again. It had been +locked away and hidden, but locks and hiding-places were never an +obstacle to "Them." + +"I've got it safe enough!" taunted Mary, tormentingly. + +The spark of fear flamed. Amy took a swift step forward. "Give it to +me!" + +"Give me the box--and I will." + +Aunt Amy had ceased to care about the box. Almost she placed it in the +outstretched hand, then, with quick cunning, caught it back. + +"The ring first." + +Mary shrugged her shoulders. She felt cool enough now. It was going to +be easy. She turned to the bureau and began to pull things out of the +drawer, scattering them anywhere. She could not remember exactly where +she had put the ring. As she searched, she talked. + +"There is nothing to be tragic about," she said. "I intended to give you +your ring anyway--some day. And the medicine is nothing that will hurt. +It is only something to make me sleep so that I shan't look a sight +to-morrow. I am taking only a little. No one will know. I shall not even +oversleep. But if Esther or any of them knew, they would make a fuss. +You must promise not to tell them--before I give you the ring. Just tell +Esther that I do not want to be disturbed early. I'll wake myself, in +plenty of time for the wedding." + +"In plenty of time for the wedding!" For a moment Amy wondered what it +was about the phrase which sounded familiar? Then she seemed to see, as +in a dream, the vision of a young girl all in white, with flowers in her +hands, sitting alone in a room waiting, watching a clock--a clock which +never quite came round to the hour of eleven on Tuesday. Time has a +great deal to do with weddings, evidently. People who wish to be married +must be ready at the fateful moment, otherwise they have to +wait--forever, perhaps. "Plenty of time"--suddenly a flash of direct +inspiration seemed to coordinate her scattered faculties. She saw +clearly a plan, a beautiful, simple plan to prevent the marriage. What +if Mary should _not_ wake in plenty of time for the wedding? What if the +hour, the wedding hour, should not find her ready? The thing was so +simple! If one tablet would make Mary sleep, two would make her sleep +longer. For the moment she forgot even the ruby ring in her childish +pleasure at such a clever idea. Her worn face was lit by a satisfied +smile as she swiftly, quietly dropped more tablets from the box into the +glass--one--two--she was not quite sure how many! + +"Here is the ring," said Mary turning at last from the disturbed drawer +with a cardboard box in her hand. It was the box from which Esther had +taken the ring long before, but Mary was in too great a hurry to open +it. She did not doubt that it contained the ring. For once in her life +Mary thought she was playing fair. + +They completed the exchange in silence, Mary wondering a little at the +pleasant change which she saw in Amy's face. But she was too hurried to +enquire into the cause of it. She hardly waited to hear her promise not +to tell Esther but fairly pushed her from the room. Then, secure behind +her locked door, she wiped the perspiration from her forehead and sank +exhausted into the nearest chair. + +When her strength came back her first care was to hide the remaining +tablets in a safe place in her travelling bag, she never intended to use +them again, never! But it would do no harm to feel that she could trust +herself to leave them alone, as of course she could. Then she loosened +her hair, not pausing to brush it, and, slipping off her dress, wrapped +herself in a certain flowered dressing gown. Not one of the dainty new +ones, but a gown whose lace was yellowed and torn, a gown which felt +like an old friend but which, after to-night, she would wear no more-- + +Listen! Was that some one at the door? + +Only Miss Philps calling good-night. Mary answered "Good-night" in a +sleepy voice, and the step passed on. It left her shaking like a leaf in +the wind. What else indeed was she? A fluttering, fading leaf shaken in +the teeth of a wind of dread and mad desire. + +All was quiet now. She would be disturbed no more that night. Her +shaking hands rattled the spoon which stirred the mixture in the glass. +The familiar motion quieted her. Here, right in her hands, was peace, +rest, a swift and magical release from the torment of appetite denied. +To-morrow--but why think of to-morrow? She might be stronger then. +Everything might be easier. All she really needed was a long +night's sleep. + +She turned out the light and throwing up the blind stood for a moment +looking out into the soft moonlight. The moon was clear. It would be a +beautiful day for the wedding! Smiling, she picked up the glass and +with a whispered, "Here's to the bride!" raised it to her eager lips +and drank. + + * * * * * + +Silence settled down upon the Elms. There was a harvest moon that night, +a glorious rounded moon more golden than silver. The garden slumbered, +wrapped in mellow light, even the shadows gleamed faintly luminous. The +breeze, roaming at will, shook drowsy perfume from the lingering +flowers, but for all it aped the summer it was unmistakably an autumn +breeze, melancholy, earth-scented. It stirred the curtains at Mary's +window; rustled through the great bowlful of crimson leaves upon +Esther's writing table and softly stirred the dark hair of the girl as +she sat with her face hidden in her curved arms. For a very long time +she sat there while the moon looked in and looked away again and who +can tell what her thoughts were, or if she thought at all. + +By and by she rose and went to the window, looking out to where a month +ago she had stood by the garden gate under the stars. It was drenched +with moonlight now and the shadow under the elm tree was dark. + +What was that? A darker shadow in the shadow? Esther's hand caught at +the curtain, her heart gave a great leap and then grew still. She knew +who stood there. This was the good-bye he could not speak. Tears fell +unheeded down the girl's pale cheeks. If during those last days she had +had any doubt of the love which loyalty to Mary had helped him hide so +well, they were all swept away now. A warm spot grew and glowed in her +heart and a line from that old immortal love lyric which she had learned +in her school days came back vivid with eternal truth. + + "I had not loved thee, dear, so much + Loved I not honour more." + + + + +CHAPTER XXXV + + +It was a perfect day for the wedding. Autumn at her brightest and gayest +before her new bright robes began to brown. Soft air, mellow sun, +cool-lipped breeze, horizon veiled in tinted mist--a gem of a day, the +jewel of a season. + +"Them as has, gets," murmured Mrs. Sykes, gloomily, as she tied on her +Sunday bonnet. She rather resented the kindness of nature upon this +present occasion. A nice rain would have suited her mood better. + +Nevertheless, much as her mind misgave her in regard to the wedding, she +was early on her way to the Elms to see if she could help. + +"They're sure to be flustrated," she told herself. "Aunt Amy's just as +likely as not to lose what little bit of head she has and hired help are +broken reeds. Esther will have the brunt of it. She'll be glad enough to +see me, I'll be bound." + +Do not imagine that Mrs. Sykes was curious. Curiosity was a failing +which she systematically repudiated. But she was a very helpful person +and it was wonderful how many opportunities of helpfulness she found +upon solemn or joyous occasions. If, while helping, her ears were open, +and her eyes shrewd, can she be blamed for that? There may be people +with ears who hear not but they do not live in Coombe. The only +difficulty is to manage to be, like Mr. Micawber, on the spot. + +Mrs. Sykes was early, but not too early. When she slipped in at the side +door there was already a stir of unusual movement in the house but the +final flutter was still measurably distant. Jane dashed past with +crimped hair and white ribbons flying. Miss Philps, very stately in a +new gown, was arranging flowers in geometrical patterns. Dr. Callandar, +self-possessed as ever, talked upon the veranda with Professor Willits +who had arrived the night before. Aunt Amy was busy in the kitchen. +Esther, flushed and excited, with eyes that flashed blue fire, seemed +everywhere at once. + +"Oh, Mrs. Sykes," she exclaimed, "how nice of you to come! Won't you +please get Jane and tie her up--her ribbons, I mean? It is almost time +to dress." + +"Would you like me to assist?" asked Miss Philps, looking up from a +geometrical pattern. + +"Oh, thanks, Miss Philps. There are some hooks I cannot manage. But +mother will probably need a lot of help. I thought you were with +her now." + +"No. She has not yet sent for me." Miss Philps drew out her watch and +consulted it. "Dear me!" with slight surprise, "it is much later than I +thought. Perhaps I had better go up." + +Esther looked worried. "I believe you had--if she hurries at the last +she will be terribly excited. Aunt Amy told me she wished particularly +not to be disturbed this morning, but surely she has forgotten how late +it is getting." + +"I'll go up," said Miss Philps. "It's time for her tonic anyway, and we +must persuade her to eat something. When you are ready for me to hook +your dress, call. I can easily manage you both." + +This is all that Mrs. Sykes heard, for just then Jane flew by again like +a returning comet and had to be captured and properly tied up. Mrs. +Sykes, as she admitted herself, was no hand at fancy fixings but she was +painstaking and conscientious and the bow-tying absorbed all her +energies. She was getting on very well and had almost succeeded in +adjusting the last bow when a cry from the room above startled her into +the tying of a double knot. + +"What was that?" + +It was not a loud cry--but there was something in it which brought Mrs. +Sykes' heart leaping into her throat, which sent Esther reeling against +the stair baluster, which brought the doctor, white-faced from the +veranda--it was the kind of cry which carries in its note the psychic +essence of terror and disaster. + +Mrs. Sykes for all her iron nerve felt suddenly faint. Jane began to +cry. The doctor and Esther had raced up the stairs. But there was no +repetition of the cry. Instead there was silence. Then a murmur of +voices and sounds of ordered activity overhead. + +Clearly something had happened. But what? Mrs. Sykes wanted very much to +go and see. But the glimpse she had caught of Callandar's eyes as he +sprang to the stair, the look of white horror in Esther's face as she +followed him, and above all, that strange terrifying Something in the +cry she had heard seemed to discourage enquiry. The good lady turned her +attention to the comforting of Jane. After all, if she waited long +enough she could hardly help hearing all about it. At first hand, too. + +It seemed a long time that she waited. Miss Philps came up and down the +stairs several times but she did not appear to see Mrs. Sykes. Jane +stopped crying and wandered out into the garden. Still Mrs. Sykes +waited and presently Aunt Amy came in, looking quite excited and asked +eagerly what time it was. Mrs. Sykes told her, adding with asperity that +these were fine goings-on, and that they'd all be late for the wedding +if they didn't hurry up. + +"Yes, I think they will. I'm almost sure they will," said Aunt Amy, and +she laughed as a child laughs when it is greatly pleased. + +"Dear me, she is much madder than I thought," murmured Mrs. Sykes. +"Whatever is the matter? What are they doing?" she asked in a +louder tone. + +Aunt Amy raised a finger, "Hush! she's asleep. Let us tidy up the room. +I don't think she is going to wake up for a long time yet. And then +she'll have to wait till the world goes round again." + +"Well of all the--" began Mrs. Sykes, but she was interrupted by the +entrance of Professor Willits. With the virtuous air of one who strictly +minds her own business she began to tie her bonnet strings. + +"Don't go, Mrs. Sykes," said the professor gravely. "I think--I'm afraid +you may be needed." + +"I hope nothing serious has happened?" faltered Mrs. Sykes, now +thoroughly disturbed, but he did not seem to hear her. He was listening +intently to the sounds overhead. They were very slight sounds now and +presently they ceased altogether. Willits looked more anxious. Then, in +the midst of a new, heavier silence, Dr. Callandar himself came down +the stairs. + +At first sight he appeared almost as usual. He did not notice Mrs. Sykes +but went straight across the room to Willits. + +"Nothing--any use--" he began haltingly. Then suddenly the words ceased +to come. His lips moved but there was no sound. With an expression of +intense surprise he lifted his hand to his head, and swayed awkwardly +into the nearest chair. + +"Land sakes, look out! he's going to fall," cried Mrs. Sykes in terror. + +"Breakdown," said the professor briefly. "I expected something of the +kind. Help me to get him to the car." + +"Oh, Land, Land," moaned; Mrs. Sykes, "whatever"--but realising that the +time for questioning was not yet, she did what she was told without +more words. + +"Better send for Dr. Parker," said Willits crisply to Miss Philps who +had come in quietly. "Better tell the minister, too. Keep the little +girl down stairs. I'll be back as soon as I can. Mrs. Sykes, I shall +want you to come with me." + +"Oh, Land--" but she got no further, the car was off like the wind. + +Later when the doctor had been put to bed like a child and telegrams +dispatched which would bring a specialist and a nurse on the afternoon +train, the good lady drew a long breath and decided that she couldn't +"last out" a moment longer. + +Drawing Willits from the room her questions burst forth in their +unstemmed torrent. + +The tall man listened at first in bewilderment. Then, as the true +inwardness of the case dawned on him, a look which was almost admiration +came over his angular countenance. + +"Why, Mrs. Sykes," he said, "is it possible that you do not know? I +would have told you before but I took your knowledge for granted. The +poor lady whom my friend was to marry was found dead in her bed. She +died during the night. An overdose of sleeping powder." + + + + +CHAPTER XXXVI + + +Autumn that year was short and golden. Winter came early. In November it +stormed, thawed, stormed again and began to freeze in earnest. The frost +bit deeply but one night when its grip was sure, the temperature rose a +little and snow began to fall. For days and nights it snowed, softly, +steadily, without wind, and then the clouds parted and the sun shone +out--a far off sun in a sky as blue as summer and cold as polar seas. +The air tingled and snapped with frost. In the azure cup of the sunlit +sky it sparkled like golden wine, and, like wine, it thrilled and +strengthened. People stamped their feet and beat their hands to keep +warm but smiled the while and murmured: "Glorious!" + +So much for the weather--since it was the weather which became the main +factor in helping Coombe forget the tragedy at the Elms. Wonder is no +nine-day affair in Coombe. One sensation is carefully conserved until +the next one comes along, but in this case the early winter with its +complete change of interests, its sleighing, skating and snow-shoeing, +its reawakening of business and social bustle proved a distraction +almost as effective as battle, murder or sudden death. The talk died +down, the interest slackened, and the principal actors were once more +permitted to become normal persons living in a normal world. + +For a time it had seemed that this desired condition would never be +obtained. Coombe had felt the breath of a mystery. It was supposed to +know everything and suspected that it knew nothing--a state of things +aggravating to any well regulated community. + +There had been an inquest, of course, and at the inquest the whole sad +affair was supposed to have been made plain. It was simplicity itself. +Simplicity, in fact, was its most annoying characteristic. Mrs. Coombe, +it appeared, had been for a long time somewhat of a sufferer from an +obscure trouble, referred to generally as "nerves." For the relief of +this trouble, one of whose symptoms was insomnia, she had, from time to +time, had recourse to narcotics which, as everyone knows, are dangerous, +if not, as many thought, positively immoral. Undoubtedly the poor lady +had died from an overdose. It was easy, the coroner said, for a +sympathetic mind to reconstruct the details of the terrible occurrence. +It was the night before the wedding and the deceased had retired early. +Miss Milligan, who had run in for a last look at the wedding gown, and +who had been the very last person to see and speak with her, deposed +that she had appeared more than ordinarily tired and seemed anxious to +be alone. Asked if she detected any other signs of disordered nerves the +witness had said, no. The deceased had not appeared worried about +anything? No. The wedding gown had been quite satisfactory? Quite. + +No more questions were asked and Miss Milligan had not thought it +necessary to go into the matter of the getting of the nerve tonic. The +dead woman's harmless little deception was safe in her hands. It hadn't +anything to do with the case anyway. Although in her own heart Miss +Milligan blamed Dr. Callandar severely for not allowing the poor woman +to use her tonic constantly. Had he done so the final tragedy might +never have happened. Needless to say this good lady never knew what she +had done. The fact that Mary Coombe had been a drug victim under +treatment did not come out at the inquest. The coroner knew, but he was +a sensible man and a very kind one. It hardly needed the logical +arguments of Miss Philps or the heart-broken entreaties of Esther to +convince him that knowledge of this fact was not for the general public. +The only legally necessary information was the cause of death and that +was simple enough. Easily understood, too, for given a tendency to +sleeplessness and the excitement incident to a wedding, what more +natural than that the excited bride should have sought relief in her +customary sleeping draught. + +The mistake, the taking of a lethal dose, was, as all such mistakes are, +inexplicable. Did her hand shake? Had she miscounted the number of +tablets? Had she, in her nervous state, deliberately risked a larger +dose whose danger she did not realise? These questions would never be +answered. She had been alone in her room, nor was there a thread of +evidence upon which to hang a theory. Esther, the nurse, Jane, Dr. +Callandar (poor man!) had noticed nothing out of the ordinary when they +had parted from her that last time. Aunt Amy's evidence was not taken. +No one thought to question her and she volunteered no information. Of +all the household at the Elms she was least disturbed by the tragedy, +but, naturally, one does not expect the mentally weak to realise sorrow +like ordinary people. This exemption was, as many did not fail to +remark, one of their compensations. So in this, as in other things, Aunt +Amy did not matter. She went her quiet way undisturbed, the one +contented and peaceful person in that house of shock and horror. + +Why, then, since all was so plain, did Coombe scent a mystery? It would +be hard to say. Perhaps the curious behaviour of Dr. Callandar was +partly responsible. When the news of his sudden breakdown became known +the first natural comment was, "So, you see, he did love her after all." +But, upon longer consideration this did not seem to meet the case. A man +may be genuinely in love with a woman and yet not be stricken, as had +the doctor, by her sudden death. Dimly, Coombe felt that there must be a +cause behind the cause. Miss Sinclair, the eldest, even went so far as +to quote Shakespeare to the effect that "men have died and the worms +have eaten them, but not for love." True, the doctor was not dead but +his illness was proving a very long and stubborn one. In its early +stages he had been taken away to Toronto for special treatment and had +been quite unable to see any one, even the minister, before he left. +Mrs. Sykes alone, with the exception of the trained nurses, had laid +eyes on him since his sudden collapse on the day of the wedding. And +Mrs. Sykes, miraculously, had nothing to say. + +It was rumoured, however, that his brain was affected, that he was +paralysed, that he was deaf and blind, that he was dying of slow +decline. Somehow the town felt that Mary Coombe, living or dead, did not +loom large enough as a cause of such disintegration. + +Esther's actions, too, were part of the puzzle. It had been confidently +supposed that she would go away at once for a rest and change. Every one +knew that the Hollises had offered to take her with them on a long trip +to the Pacific Coast. But Esther had declined to go. She declined to go +anywhere. Worn out as she was with strain and grief, she persisted in +disregarding the advice of everybody. ("So headstrong in a young girl! +But Doctor Coombe, her father, was always like that.") Apparently she +intended to go on exactly as if nothing had happened and to all +arguments said nothing save, "I think it will be best," or, "I am not +fit for strange scenes just now," or something equally futile. Coombe +was quite annoyed with Esther--so stubborn! + +Only to Miss Annabel did the girl attempt to justify her attitude when +that kind soul had exhausted persuasion and was inclined to feel both +worried and hurt. + +"Don't you see," she explained haltingly, "I can't go away. I don't want +to. I can't make the effort. Here every one understands and will make +allowances. I want to be quiet, to rest, to think. I want to get back to +where I was before--if I can." + +"Before what, my dear?" + +"Before--everything! I can't explain. But I know it is the only way I +shall ever be content. I want to take my school again and to go on +working and looking after Jane and Aunt Amy. Although," with a little +smile, "it is really Auntie who looks after Jane and me. Won't you help +me, dear Miss Annabel? I am quite sure that this is the only thing +to do." + +"You are a strange girl, Esther. One would think you would be crazy to +get away. Look at Angus! He's going. He has suddenly found out that a +trip to the Holy Land is necessary if one is to speak intelligently upon +many portions of the Bible. Absurd! But I never let him dream that I +know that isn't his reason. And I hope you won't. It is all over now and +the sooner he forgets the better. But I think even you are convinced, +now, that I was right about--you know to what I refer!" + +Esther murmured something indistinguishable and Miss Annabel departed +much pleased with her own perspicacity. And she did help. She let it be +known at the Ladies' Aid that she quite understood Esther and approved +of her. After all, it was senseless to run away from trouble since +trouble can run so much faster. And it was natural and right of Esther +to feel that nowhere could she find so much sympathy and consideration +as in her own town. Travelling was fatiguing anyway. + +As for the school, that was easily arranged. A little discreet wire +pulling and Esther was once more established as school mistress of +District Number Fifteen. People shook their heads, but by the time of +the first snowstorm they had ceased to prophesy nervous prostration, and +by the time sleighing was fairly established they were ready to admit +that the girl had acted sensibly after all. + +No one guessed that there was another reason for Esther's refusal to go +away. It was a simple reason and had to do with the fact that in Coombe +the mails were sure and regular. Travellers miss letters and strange +addresses are uncertain at best, but in Coombe there was small chance of +any untoward accident befalling a certain weekly letter in the +handwriting of Professor Willits. Esther lived upon these letters. Brief +and dry though they were, they formed the motive power of her life and +indeed it was from one of them that she had received the impetus which +roused her from her first trance of grief and horror. + +"My dear young lady (Willits had written). + +"I believe that there are times when the truth is a good thing. It might +be tactful to pretend that I do not know the real reason of Calendar's +collapse but it would also be foolish. I think he is going to pull +through. Now the question is--how about you? Are you going to be able to +do your part? + +"Let me be more explicit. It may be a long time before our friend is +thoroughly re-established in health but it is quite probable that he +will be well enough, and determined enough, to face some of his problems +in the spring. He will turn to you. Are you going to be able to help +him? When he comes to you will he find a silly, nervous girl, all +horrors and regrets and useless might-have-beens or will he find you +strong and sane, healthily poised, ready to face the future and let the +dead past go? For the past is dead--believe me! + +"You have seemed to me to be an excellently normal young person, but no +doubt the shock and trouble of late events have done much to disturb +your normality. Can you get it back? On the answer to that, depends +Callandar's future. I shall keep you informed, weekly, of his progress." + +Esther had thought deeply over this letter. Its brief, stern truth was +exactly the tonic she needed. Like a strong hand it reached down into +her direful pit of morbid musings, and, clinging to it, she struggled +back into the sunlight. Above all and in spite of everything, she must +not fail the man she loved! + +At first she had to fight with terrors. She feared she knew not what. +The vision of Mary upon the bed, still and ghastly in the golden light +of morning, came back to shake her heart. The memory of Callandar's +face, of the frantic struggle to drag the dead woman back to life, made +many a night hideous. The endless questioning, Could it have been +prevented? Could I have done more? tortured her, but by and by, as she +faced them bravely, these terrors lost their baleful power. Her youth +and common-sense triumphed. + +The school helped. One cannot continue very morbid with a roomful of +happy, noisy children to teach and keep in order. Jane's need of her +helped, for she, dared not give way to brooding when the child was +near. Aunt Amy helped--perhaps most of all. She was a constant wonder +to the girl, so cheerful was she, so thoughtful of others, so forgetful +of herself. Her little fancies seemed to have ceased to fret her, there +was a new peace in her faded eyes. Sometimes as she went about the house +she would sing a little, in a high thready voice, bits from songs that +were popular in her youth. "The Blue Alsatian Mountains" or "When You +and I Were Young, Maggie" or "Darling Nellie Grey." She told Esther that +it was because she felt "safe." "The blackness hardly ever comes now," +she said. "I don't think 'They' will bother me any more." + +"Why?" asked Esther, curious. + +But Aunt Amy did not seem to know why--or if she knew she never told. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXVII + + +A robin hopped upon the window sill of School-house Number Fifteen and +peered cautiously into the room. He had no business there during lesson +hours and the arrival of Mary's little lamb could not have been more +disturbing. The children whispered, fidgeted, shuffled their feet and +banged their slates. + +"Perhaps they do not know it is spring," thought the robin and ruffling +his red breast and swelling his throat he began to tell them. + +"It is spring! It is spring! It is spring!" + +The effect was electrical. Even the tall young teacher turned from her +rows of figures on the blackboard. + +"Come out! come out! come out!" sang the robin. + +The teacher tapped sharply for order and the robin flew away. But the +mischief was done. It was useless to tell them, "Only ten minutes more." +Ten minutes--as well say ten years. The little fat boy in the front seat +began to cry. A long sigh passed over the room. Ten minutes? The teacher +consulted her watch, hesitated, and was lost. + +"Close books," she ordered. "Attention. Ready--March." The jostling +lines scrambled in some kind of order to the door and then broke into +joyous riot. It was spring--and school was out! + +Their teacher followed more slowly, pausing on the steps to breathe +long and deeply the sweet spring air. In a corner by the steps there was +still a tiny heap of shrinking snow, but in the open, the grass was +green as emerald, violets and wind flowers pushed through the tangle of +last year's leaves. The trees seemed shrouded in a fairy mist of green. +Robins were everywhere. + +The girl upon the steps was herself a vision of spring--the embodiment +of youth and beautiful life. Coombe folks admitted that Esther Coombe +had "got back her looks." Had they been less cautious they might have +said much more, for the subtle change which had come to Esther, the +change which marks the birth of womanhood, had left her infinitely +more lovely. + +From the pocket of the light coat she wore she brought forth a handful +of crumbs and scattered them for the saucy robins and then, unwilling to +hasten, sat down upon the steps to watch their cheerful wrangling. +Peeling for more crumbs she drew out a letter--a single sheet covered +with the crabbed handwriting of Professor Willits. At sight of it a soft +flush stole over her face. She forgot the crumbs and the robins for, +although her letter was two days old and she knew exactly what it +contained, the very sight of the written words was joy to her. Like all +Willits' notes it was short and to the point. + +"Our friend has gone," she read. "We wanted to keep him for a month yet, +but the robins called too loudly. He left no word of his destination, +only a strange note saying that at last he was up the hill and over. May +he find happiness, dear lady, on the other side." + +One thing I notice--this recovery of his is different from his former +recovery. If I were not afraid of lapsing into sentiment, I should say +that he has achieved a soul cure. The morbid spot which troubled him so +long is healed. A psychologist might explain it, but you and I must +accept the result and be thankful. It is as if his subconscious self +had removed a barrier and signalled 'Line clear--go ahead.' It is more +than I had ever dared to hope. + + Your friend, + E.P. Willits. + +"P.S.: Are you ready?" + +Esther looked at the postscript and smiled--that slow smile which lifted +the corner of her lips so deliciously. + +"May we wait for you, Teacher?" + +"Not to-day, dears." + +The children moved regretfully away. Presently the school yard was +deserted. The busy robins had finished quarrelling over their crumbs and +were holding a caucus around the red pump. In the quietness could be +heard the gurgle of the spring rivulets on the hill. + +Was there another sound on the hill, too? A far off whistling mingled +with the gurgling water and twittering birds? Esther's hand tightened +upon the letter--she leaned forward, listening intently. How loud the +birds were! How confusing the sound of water! But now she caught the +whistling again-- + + "_From Wimbleton to Wombleton is fifteen miles_"-- + +The familiar words formed themselves upon the girl's lips before the +message of the tune reached her brain and brought her, breathless, to +her feet. He was coming--so soon! + +Panic seized her. Her hand flew to her heart--she would hide in the +school-room, anywhere! Then she remembered Willits' postscript, the +postscript which she had thought so needless. Her hand fell to her side. +The panic died. Next moment, head high and eyes smiling, she walked down +to the gate. + +He was coming along the road under the budding elms--hatless, carrying a +knapsack. His tweeds were splashed with mud from the spring roads, his +face was thin, his hair was almost grey. Yet he came on like a conqueror +and there was nothing old or tired in the bound wherewith he leaped the +gate he would not pause to open. + +"Esther!" + +She looked up into his eyes and found them shadowless. Her own eyes +veiled themselves, + +Neither found anything to say. + +But overhead a robin burst into heavenly song. + + + +***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK UP THE HILL AND OVER*** + + +******* This file should be named 10438-8.txt or 10438-8.zip ******* + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +https://www.gutenberg.org/1/0/4/3/10438 + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. 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For +example an eBook of filename 10234 would be found at: + +https://www.gutenberg.org/1/0/2/3/10234 + +or filename 24689 would be found at: +https://www.gutenberg.org/2/4/6/8/24689 + +An alternative method of locating eBooks: +https://www.gutenberg.org/GUTINDEX.ALL + +*** END: FULL LICENSE *** diff --git a/old/10438-8.zip b/old/10438-8.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..608f12f --- /dev/null +++ b/old/10438-8.zip diff --git a/old/10438.txt b/old/10438.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..ae3ba9f --- /dev/null +++ b/old/10438.txt @@ -0,0 +1,12045 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook, Up the Hill and Over, by Isabel Ecclestone +Mackay + + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + + + + + + + +Title: Up the Hill and Over + +Author: Isabel Ecclestone Mackay + +Release Date: December 12, 2003 [eBook #10438] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: US-ASCII + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK UP THE HILL AND OVER*** + + +E-text prepared by Brendan Lane, Charlie Kirschner, and the Prooject +Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team + + + +UP THE HILL + +AND OVER + +BY + +ISABEL ECCLESTONE MACKAY +Author of "The House of Windows," etc. + + + + + + + _The road runs back and the road runs on, + But the air has a scent of clover_. + _And another day brings another dawn, + When we're up the hill and over_. + + + +TO MY MOTHER + +WHO MIGHT HAVE LIKED THIS BOOK HAD SHE LIVED TO READ IT + + + + + +CHAPTER I + + + "From Wimbleton to Wombleton is fifteen miles, + From Wombleton to Wimbleton is fifteen miles, + From Wombleton to Wimbleton, + From Wimbleton to Wombleton, + From Wombleton--to Wimbleton--is fif--teen miles!" + +The cheery singing ended abruptly with the collapse of the singer upon a +particularly inviting slope of grass. He was very dusty. He was very +hot. The way from Wimbleton to Wombleton seemed suddenly extraordinarily +long and tiresome. The slope was green and cool. Just below it slept a +cool, green pool, deep, delicious--a swimming pool such as dreams +are made of. + +If there were no one about--but there was some one about. Further down +the slope, and stretched at full length upon it, lay a small boy. Near +the small boy lay a packet of school books. + +The wayfarer's lips relaxed in an appreciative smile. + +"Little boy," he called, somewhat hoarsely on account of the dust in his +throat, "little boy, can you tell me how far it is from here to +Wimbleton?" + +Apparently the little boy was deaf. + +The questioner raised his voice, "or if you can oblige me with the exact +distance to Wombleton," he went on earnestly, "that will do quite +as well." + +No answer, civil or otherwise, from the youth by the pool. Only a +convulsive wiggle intended to cover the undefended position of the +school books. + +The traveller's smile broadened but he made no further effort toward +sociability. Neither did he go away. To the dismayed eyes, watching +through the cover of some long grass, he was clearly a person devoid of +all fine feeling. Or perhaps he had never been taught not to stay where +he wasn't wanted. Mebby he didn't even know that he _wasn't_ wanted. + +In order to remove all doubt as to the latter point, the small boy's +head shot up suddenly out of the covering grass. + +"What d'ye want?" he asked forbiddingly. + +"Little boy," said the stranger, "I thank you. I want for nothing." + +The head collapsed, but quickly came up again. + +"Ain't yeh goin' anywhere?" asked a despairing voice. + +"I was going, little boy, but I have stopped." + +This was so true that the small boy sat up and scowled. + +"I judge," went on the other, "that I am now midway between Arden, +otherwise, Wimbleton, and Arcady, sometime known as Wombleton. The +question is, which way and how? A simple sum in arithmetic will--little +boy, do not frown like that! The wind may change. Smile nicely, and I'll +tell you something." + +Urged by necessity, the badgered one attempted to look pleasant. + +"That's better! Now, my cheerful child, what I really want to know is +'how many miles to Babylon?'" + +A reluctant grin showed that the small boy's early education had not +been utterly neglected. "Aw, what yeh givin' us?" he protested +sheepishly, "if it's Coombe you're lookin' for, it's 'bout a mile and a +half down the next holler." + +"Holler?" the stranger's tone was faintly questioning. "Oh, I see. You +mean 'hollow,' which being interpreted means 'valley,' which means, I +fear, another hill. Little boy, do you want to carry a knapsack?" + +"Nope." + +"No? Strange that nobody seems to want to carry a knapsack. I least of +all. Well," lifting the object with disfavour, "good-day to you. I +perceive that you grow impatient for those aquatic pleasures for which +you have temporarily abjured the more severe delights of scholarship. +Little boy, I wish you a very good swim." + +"Gee," muttered the small boy, "gee, ain't he the word-slinger!" + +He returned to the pool but something of its charm was dissipated. Vague +thoughts of school inspectors and retribution troubled its waters. Not +that he was at all afraid of school inspectors, or that he really +suspected the stranger of being one. Still, discretion is a wise thing +and word-slinging is undoubtedly a form of art much used in high +scholastic circles. Also there had been a remark about a simple sum in +arithmetic which was, to say the least, disquieting. With a bursting +sigh, the small sinner scrambled to his feet, reached for the hated +books, and disappeared rapidly in the direction of the halls of +learning. + +Meanwhile the stranger, unconscious of the moral awakening behind him, +plodded wearily up the steep and sunny hill. As he is our hero we shall +not describe him. There is no hurry, and there will be other occasions +upon which he will appear to better advantage. At present let us be +content with knowing that there was no reason for the hat and suit he +wore save a mistaken idea of artistic suitability. "If I am going to be +a tramp," he had said, "I want to look like a tramp." He didn't, but his +hat and coat did. + +He felt like a tramp, though, if to feel like a tramp is to feel hot and +sticky and hungry. Perhaps real tramps do not feel like this. Perhaps +they enjoy walking. At any rate they do not carry knapsacks, but betray +a touching faith in Providence in the matter of clean linen and +tooth brushes. + +Before the top of the hill was reached, Dr. Callandar wished devoutly +that in this last respect he had behaved like the real thing. In setting +out to lead the simple life the ultimate is to be recommended--and +knapsacks are not the ultimate. They are heavy things with the property +of growing heavier, and prove of little use save to sit upon in damp +places. The doctor's feelings in regard to his were intensified by an +utter lack of dampness anywhere. The top of the hill was a sun-crowned +eminence, blazingly, blisteringly, suffocatingly hot. The valley, spread +out beneath him, was soaked in sunshine, a haze of heat quivered visibly +above the roofs of the pretty town it cradled. There was a river and +there were woods, but the trees hung motionless, and the river wound +like a snake of brass among them. + +The doctor regarded both the knapsack and the prospect resentfully. He +had hoped for a breeze upon the hill-top, and there was no breeze. +Raising his hand to remove his hat, he noticed that the hand was +trembling, and swore softly. The hand continued to tremble, and holding +it out before him he watched it, interestedly, until a powerful will +brought the quivering nerves into subjection. + +"Jove!" he muttered. "Not a moment too soon--this holiday!" + +Then, hat in hand, he started down the hill. + +It was a long hill, very long, much longer than it had any need or right +to be. It had a twist in its nature which would not allow it to run +straight. It meandered; it hesitated; it never knew its own mind, but +twisted and turned and thought better of it a dozen times in half a +mile. It was a hill with short cuts favourably known to small boys and +to tramps with a distaste for highways; but this tramp, not being a real +one, knew none of them, and was compelled to do exactly as the hill did. +The result was, that when at last it slipped into the cool shade of a +row of beeches at its base, its victim was as exhausted as itself. + +He was thirsty, too, and, worse still, he knew from a certain dizzy +blindness that one of his bad headaches was coming on--and there still +lay another mile between him and the town. Pressing his hand against his +eyes to restore for the moment their normal clearness of vision, he saw, +a short way down the road, a gate; and through the gate and behind some +trees, the white gleam of a building. But better than all, he saw, +between the gate and the building, a red pump! Then the blindness and +pain descended again, and he stumbled on more by faith than by sight; +blundering through the half-open gate, his precarious course directed +wholly by the pump's exceeding redness, which shone like a beacon +fire ahead. + +Fortunately, it was a real pump with real water and a sucker in good +standing, warranted to need no priming. At the stroke of the red handle +the good, cool water gurgled and arose with a delightful "plop!" It +splashed from the spout freely upon the face and hands of the victim of +the long hill--delicious, life-giving! The delight it brought seemed +compensation almost for heat and pain and weariness. Callandar felt that +if he could only let its sweetness stream indefinitely over his closed +eyes it would wash away the blindness and the ache. Perhaps-- + +"I am afraid I cannot allow you to use this pump!" said a crisp voice +primly. "This is not," with capital letters, "a Public Pump!" + +Callandar wiped the surplus water from his face and looked up. There, +beside him in the yellow haze of his semi-blindness, stood the owner of +the voice. She appeared to be clothed in white, tall and commanding. +Surrounded by the luminous mist, her appearance was not unlike that of a +cool and capable avenging angel. + +"This pump," went on the angel with nice precision, "is not for the use +of pedestrians." + +"Ah!" said the pedestrian. + +"If you will continue down the road," the voice went on, "you will find, +when you reach the town, a public pump. You may use that." + +The pedestrian, feeling dizzier than ever, sat down upon the pump +platform. It was wet and cool. + +"The objection to that," he said wisely, "is simple. I cannot continue +down the road." + +"I should like you to go at once," patiently. "There is a pump--" + +The pedestrian raised a deprecating hand. + +"Let us admit the pump! Doubtless the pump is there, but there is a pump +here also, and a pump in the hand is worth two pumps, an ice-box and a +John Collins in town. You doubtless know the situation created by +Mahomet and the mountain? This is the same, with a difference. In this +case the pump will not come to me and I cannot go to the pump. Therefore +we both remain _in statu quo_. Do I make myself plain?" + +Apparently he did, for there was no answer. Logic, he concluded, had +achieved its usual triumph. The avenging angel had withdrawn. Blissfully +he stooped again, closing his eyes to the cool drip of the water, but +scarcely had they felt its chill relief when a sharp bark caused them to +fly open with disconcerting suddenness--the avenging angel had returned, +and with her was an avenging dog! Seen through the mist, the dog +appeared to be a bull pup of ferocious aspect. + +"I am sorry," the cool voice had no ruth in it, "but it is my duty not +to allow tramps upon these grounds. If you will not go, I must ask +the dog--" + +"ASK the dog!" In spite of his aching head the tramp (now no longer +pedestrian) laughed weakly. + +"Oh, please don't ask him!" he entreated. "He looks too awfully willing! +Besides, I begin to perceive that my presence is not desired. Naturally +I scorn to remain." + +Very slowly he raised himself from the damp pump platform by means of +the red pump-handle. In this manner he achieved an upright position +without much difficulty and all might have gone well had he behaved like +a proper tramp. But forgetting himself, under the tyranny of training +and instinct, he attempted, in deference to the sex of the angel, to +raise his hat (which was not on his head anyway). In so doing he +released the red pump-handle, lost his balance, struggled wildly to +regain it, and then collapsed with a terrible sense of failure and +ignominy, right into the open jaws, as it were, of the avenging dog! + + + + +CHAPTER II + + +He had a fancy that something cool and kind was licking his hand.... + +It felt like the tongue of a friendly dog. He seemed to have been +dreaming about dogs. Something soft and cold lay on his head. It felt +like a wet handkerchief ... the pain had dulled to a slow throbbing ... +if he opened his eyes he would know who licked his hand and what it was +that lay upon his head ... on the other hand, opening his eyes might +bring back the pain. It seemed hardly worth the risk ... still, he would +very much like to know-- + +Without being able to decide the question, he fell asleep. + +When he awoke, his head was clear and the pain was gone. He felt no +longer unbearably tired, but only comfortably weary, deliciously drowsy. +Had he been at home in his own bed he would have turned over and gone +cheerfully to sleep again. As it was, he opened his eyes with a zestful +sense of curiosity. + +He was lying, very easily, upon soft grass. Above him spread the thick +greenery of a giant maple; his head rested upon a cushion and close +beside him, with comforting nose thrust into his open palm, lay a +ferocious-looking bull pup. The pup grinned with delight at his +tentative pat; barked fiercely, and then grinned again as if to say, +"Don't mind me, it's only my fun!" + +There was a noise somewhere, a loud, cheerful noise--the noise of +children playing. Not one child, nor two, but children--lots of them! +This was perplexing; and another perplexing thing was the nearness of a +white stoop which led up to the door of a white building; neither stoop +nor building had he ever seen before. Again the dog barked, loudly, and +as if in answer to the bark, the door above the stoop opened and a young +girl came out. She cast a casual glance at him as he lay under the tree, +and, settling herself daintily upon the white steps, opened a small +basket and took from it a serviceable square of white damask and a +lettuce sandwich. He could see the lettuce, crisp and green, peeping out +at the edges. + +At the sight, he was conscious of a strange sensation; an almost +forgotten feeling to which, for the moment, he could put no name. + +And then, as the girl bit into the sandwich, illumination came. He was +_hungry_! But what an unkind, inconsiderate girl!--Another bite and the +sandwich would be gone-- + +"I am awake," he suggested meekly. + +"So Buster said." The girl smiled approvingly at the dog. "Good Buster! +You may come off guard, sir. Run away and get your lunch." + +With a delighted bark for thanks the bull pup trotted away. Callandar's +sense of injury deepened. The girl had begun upon a second sandwich. +Perhaps there were only two! + +"Are you hungry, Mr. Tramp?" asked the girl innocently. + +"I think," he said, pausing in order to give his words full weight, "I +am starving!" Then, as the blissful meaning of this first feeling of +healthy hunger dawned upon him, he added solemnly: "Thank the Lord!" + +"Yes?" There was a cool edge of surprise in the girl's voice. She +proceeded thoughtfully with the second sandwich. + +"Yes. Hunger is a beautiful thing, a priceless possession. Money cannot +buy it, skill cannot command it. The price of hunger is far +above rubies." + +The girl looked down upon him and smiled. It was such a dear little +smile that for a moment its recipient forgot about the disappearing +sandwich. + +"I am so glad," she said warmly, "that you feel like that!" + +There was a slight pause. "Because," she went on, finishing the last +bite of the second sandwich, "until now I had always thought that hunger +wasn't a bit nice. Unless, of course, one has the power to gratify it." + +"Fortunately," said Callandar a little stiffly, "I have that power." + +The girl raised her eyebrows. They were long and straight and black, and +she raised them charmingly. But she was a most unkind and heartless +girl, for all that. Never while he lived would he ask her for a +sandwich. With a comfortable feeling of security his hand felt for his +well-filled pocketbook. It was gone! + +"By Jove!" + +Stronger ejaculation seemed forbidden by the Presence on the steps. He +tapped all his pockets carefully. The pocketbook was in none of +them--and he had used the last cent of loose change for a glass of milk +for breakfast. + +"I suppose," the girl had apparently not noticed his sudden +discomfiture, "that you mean you have money? But the nearest place where +money would be of use is Coombe, and Coombe is a full mile away. It is +a pity that my principles, and the principles of the school-board, +should be all against the feeding of tramps. Otherwise I might offer you +a sandwich." + +"You might," bitterly, "but I doubt it!" + +"Even now, putting the school-board aside, I might offer you one if you +were to ask prettily and to apologise to me for making rather a fool of +me this morning over there by the pump!" + +The pump! Why, of course, the pump! It all came back to him now--the +pump, the avenging angel! (Had this been the avenging angel?) The +avenging dog!--Oh, heaven, was _that_ the avenging dog? + +He burst into a boyish shout of laughter. + +"There are only two sandwiches left," she warned him. The doctor stopped +laughing. + +"Oh, please!" he said. + +There was something very pleasant about him when he used that tone; a +persuasive charm, a trace of command. The girl liked it--and passed +a sandwich. + +"Anyway it was you who took for granted that I was a tramp," he smiled +at her. "If I remember rightly I was hardly in a condition to contradict +you. Not but that it was a natural conclusion. I am curious to know why +you changed your mind." + +"Oh! as soon as you fainted I knew. Tramps don't faint!" + +"Not ever?" + +"Well--hardly ever! And besides--look at your hands!" + +The doctor looked, and blushed. + +"Dirty?" he ventured. + +"Not half dirty enough! And it wasn't only your hands. I noticed--oh! +lots of things!" For no perceptible reason a tiny blush fluttered +across the whiteness of her face like a roseleaf chased by the wind. The +pleasure of watching it made the doctor forget to answer, and the +girl went on: + +"I know lots more about you than that you aren't a tramp. I know what +you are. You are a doctor!" triumphantly. + +"A Daniel come to judgment!" + +"Yes, a Daniel! Only I wouldn't have been quite so sure if you hadn't +dropped this out of your pocket." With a gleeful laugh she held up a +clinical thermometer. + +The doctor laughed also. "Men have been hanged on less evidence than +that," he admitted. "All the same I don't know where it came from. Some +one must have judged me capable of wanting to take my own temperature. +Anything else?" + +"Only general deductions. You are a doctor, you are going to +Coombe--deduction, you are the doctor who is going to buy out Dr. +Simmonds's practice." + +Callandar scrambled up from his pillow with a look of delighted surprise +on his face. + +"Why--so I am!" he exclaimed. + +"You say that as if you had just found it out." + +"Well, er--you see I had forgotten it--temporarily. My head, you know." + +The suspicion in the girl's eyes melted into sympathy. "I suppose you +know," she said with quite a motherly air, "that old Doc. Simmonds +hasn't really any practice to sell?" + +"No? That's bad. Hasn't he even a little one? You see" (the sympathy had +been so pleasant that he felt he could do with a little more of it), "I +could hardly manage a big one just now. As you may have noticed, my +health is rather rocky. Got to lay up and all that--so it's just as +well that old Simpkins' practice is on the ragged edge." + +"The name is Simmonds, not Simpkins," coldly. + +"Well, I didn't buy the name with the practice. My own name is +Callandar. Much nicer, don't you think?" + +"I don't know. A well-known name is rather a handicap." + +This time the doctor was genuinely surprised. + +"A handicap? What do you mean?" + +"People will be sure to compare you with your famous namesake, Dr. +Callandar, of Montreal. Everyone you meet," with a mischievous smile, +"will say, 'Callandar--ah! no relation to Dr. Henry Callandar of +Montreal, I suppose?' And then they will look sympathetic and you will +want to slap them." + +"Dear me! I never thought of that! I had no idea that the Montreal man +would be known up here. In the cities, perhaps, but not here." + +The girl raised her straight black brows in a way which expressed +displeasure at his slighting tone. + +"You are mistaken," she said briefly. "I must go now. It is time to ring +the bell. The children are running wild." + +For the first time the doctor began to take an intelligent interest in +his surroundings, and saw that the tree, the white stoop and the small +white building were situated in a little, quiet oasis separated by a low +fence from the desert of a large yard containing the red pump. On the +other side of the fence was pandemonium! + +"Why, it's a school!" he exclaimed. + +The school-mistress arose, daintily flicking the crumbs from her white +pique skirt. + +"District No. 15. The largest attendance of any in the county. I really +must ring the bell." She flicked another invisible crumb. "I hope," she +added slowly, "that I haven't discouraged you." + +"Oh, no! not at all. Quite the contrary. It seems unfortunate about the +name, but perhaps I can live it down. It isn't as if I were just out of +college, you know.--In fact," as if the thought had just come to him, +"do I not seem to you to be a little old for--to be making a +fresh start?" + +The girl's eyes looked at him very kindly. It was quite evident that she +thought she understood the situation perfectly. "I shouldn't worry about +that, if I were you," she said. "Young doctors are often no use at all. +A great many people _prefer_ doctors to be older! I know, you see, for +my father was a doctor. He was Dr. Coombe; for many years he was the +only doctor here, the only doctor that counted," with a pretty air of +pride. "The town was named after his father-I am Esther Coombe." + +The doctor acknowledged the introduction with a bow and a quick smile of +gratitude. + +"You are really very kind, Miss Coombe," he said. "If--if I should take +Dr. Spifkin's practice, I hope I may see you sometimes. It is not far +from here, is it, to the town--pump?" + +Esther laughed. "No, but I do not live out here. I only teach here. We +live in town, or almost in. You will pass the house on the way to the +hotel. But before you go--" with a gleeful smile she handed him his lost +pocketbook--"this fell out of your coat when I pull--helped you under +the tree. I should have given it to you before, but I wanted you to +understand just how far the blessing of hunger depends upon one's power +to gratify it." + +They laughed together with a splendid sense of comradeship; then with a +startled "I really must ring the bell!" she turned and ran up the steps. + +Smilingly he watched her disappear, waiting musingly until a sudden +furious ringing told him that school was called. + + + + +CHAPTER III + + +Two sandwiches, an apple, and a glass of water may save a man from +starvation, but they do not go far towards satisfying the reviving +appetite of a convalescent. Walking with brisk step down the road, +Callandar began to imagine the kind of meal he would order--a clear +soup, broiled steak, crisp potatoes--a few little simple things like +that! He fingered his pocketbook lovingly, glad that, for the first time +in some months, he actually wanted something that money could buy. + +Now that noon was past, the intense heat of the morning was tempered by +a breeze. It was still hot and his footsteps raised little cyclones of +dust which flew along the road before him, but the oppression in the air +was gone, and walking had ceased to be a weariness. The mile which +separated him from Coombe appeared no longer endless, yet so insistent +were the demands of his inner man that when a town-going farmer hailed +him with the usual offer of a "lift," he accepted the invitation +with alacrity. + +"Better," he murmured to himself, "the delights of rustic conversation +with a good meal at the end thereof than lordly solitude and +emptiness withal." + +But contrary to expectation the rustic declined to converse. He was a +melancholy-looking man with a long jaw and eyes so deep-set that the +observer took them on faith, and a nose which alone would have been +sufficient to identify him. Beyond the first request to "step up," he +vouchsafed no word and, save for an inarticulate gurgle to his horse, +seemed lost in an ageless calm. His gaze was fixed upon some indefinite +portion of the horse's back and he drove leaning forward in an attitude +of complete bodily and mental relaxation. If his guest wished +conversation it was apparent that he must set it going himself. + +"Very warm day!" said Callandar tentatively. + +"So-so." The farmer slapped the reins over the horse's flank, jerked +them abruptly and murmured a hoarse "Giddap!" It was his method of +encouraging the onward motion of the animal. + +"Is it always as warm as this hereabouts?" + +"No. Sometimes we get it a little cooler 'bout Christmas." + +The doctor flushed with annoyance and then laughed. + +"You see," he explained, "I'm new to this part of the country. But I +always thought you had it cooler up here." + +The manner of the rustic grew more genial. + +"Mostly we do," he admitted; "but this here is a hot spell." Another +long pause and then he volunteered suddenly: "You can mostly tell by +Alviry. When she gets a sunstroke it's purty hot. I'm going for the +doctor now." + +"Going for the doctor?" Callandar's gaze swept the peaceful figure with +incredulous amusement. "Great Scott, man! Why don't you hurry? Can't the +horse go any faster?" + +"Maybe," resignedly, "but he won't." + +"Make him, then! A sunstroke may be a very serious business. Your wife +may be dead before you get back." + +The deep-set eyes turned to him slowly. There seemed something like a +distant sparkle in their depths. + +"Don't get to worrying, stranger. It'll take more 'an a sunstroke to +polish off Alviry." + +"Was she unconscious?" + +"Not so as you could notice." + +"But if it were a sunstroke--look here, I'll go with you myself. I am a +doctor." + +"Kind of thought you might be," he responded genially. "Thinking of +taking on old Doc. Simmonds's practice?" + +"I don't know. But if your wife--" + +The rustic shook his head. "No. You wouldn't do for Alviry. She said to +get Doc. Parker, and a sunstroke ain't going to change her none. But if +she likes your looks she'll probably try you next time. Tumble fond of +experiments is Alviry--hi! giddap!" He slapped his horse more forcibly +with the loose reins and settled into, mournful silence. + +"Going to put up at the Imperial?" he asked after a long and peaceful +pause. + +"I want to put up somewhere where I can get a good meal and get it +quickly." + +The mournful Jehu shook his head gloomily. + +"You won't get that at the Imperial." + +"Where had I better go?" + +"There ain't any other place to go--not to speak of." + +The doctor let fall a fiery exclamation. + +"What say?" + +"I said that it must be a queer town." + +"I'm a little hard of hearing, now and agin. But I gather you're not a +church-going man. It's a great church-going place, is Coombe. Old Doc. +Simmonds was a Methody. We were kind of hoping the next one might be a +change. There's two churches of Presbyterians and they're tumble folk +for hanging together." + +The doctor laughed. "Thanks for the tip. I'll remember. Coombe is +considered a healthy place, isn't it?" + +"Danged healthy." + +The commiseration in the other's tone lent to the simple question such +an obvious meaning that the doctor hardly knew whether to be amused +or annoyed. + +"Heavens, man! I'm not an undertaker. I asked because I'm rather rocky +myself. That is, partly, why I'm here." + +The mournful one nodded. "Good a reason as any," he assented sadly. + +"By the way--er--there used to be a Dr. Coombe here, didn't there? +Didn't he live somewhere hereabouts?" + +The sad one turned his meditative eyes from their focus upon the horse's +back and rested them upon the open and guileleas face by his side. Then +from deep down in his brawny throat came a sudden sound. It was +unmistakably a chuckle. Without the slightest trace of an accompanying +smile, the sound was startling. + +"What's the matter?" asked the doctor irritably. + +"Nothing. Only when anybody's seen Esther, they always start asking +about old Doc. Coombe. It gives them a kind of opening. Yes, that's the +old Coombe place--over there. The one with the fir trees and the big elm +by the gate." + +"A pleasant house," said Callandar in a detached voice. + +"So-so. The old Doc. uster putter around considerable. But they say his +widow isn't doing much to keep it up. Tumble flighty woman, so they say. +Young, you know, just about young enough to be the old Doc.'s +daughter--" + +"But--" + +"Oh! Esther ain't her child. Esther's ma died when she was a baby. There +is a child, though, Jane they call her, a pindling little thing. But +p'r'aps you've met Jane too?" + +"I did not say--" + +"No, but I thought likely if you'd met one, you'd have met the other. +Jane's nearly always hanging around Esther 'cept in school hours. Awful +fond of Esther she is. Folks say that Esther's more of a mother to Jane +than her own ma. But I dunno. Alviry says it's a shame the way Esther's +put upon; all the cares of the house when she had ought to be playing +with her dolls. Stepmother with 'bout as much sense as a fly. Old Aunt +Amy, nice sort of soul but--" he touched his head significantly and +heaved the heaviest sigh yet. + +"Do you mean to say that there is an aunt who isn't quite sane?" asked +Callandar, surprised. + +"_I_ don't say so. Some folks does. Alviry says she's a whole lot wiser +than some of the rest of us." + +From the tone of this remark it was evident that Alviry's observation +had been intended personally. Callandar choked back a laugh. + +"What say?" asked the other suspiciously. + +"I said, rather hard luck for a young girl." + +The mournful one nodded and relapsed into melancholy. The doctor +turned his attention to the house which a flicker of the whip had +pointed out. It was long and low, with wide verandas and a somewhat +neglected-looking lawn. At one side an avenue of lilacs curved, and on +the other stood a stiff line of fir trees. The front of the house was +well shaded by maples and near the gate stood a giant elm-tree, around +the trunk of which ran a circular seat. It all looked cool, green and +inviting. As the old horse walked sedately past, a woman's figure came +out of one of the long windows and flung itself lightly, yet, even at +that distance, with a certain suggestion of impatience, into one of the +veranda chairs. + +"That'll be Mrs. Coombe now," volunteered his informant. "Tumble saucy +way she has of flinging herself around--jes' like a young girl! Mebby +you can see what sort of dress she's got on. Alviry'll be int'rested +to know." + +"It's too far off," said Callandar, amused. "All I can see is that the +lady is wearing something white." + +"Went out of weeds right on the dot, she did! It's not much over a year +since the old Doc. died. Esther's still wearing some of her black, but +jes' to wear them out, not as symbols. Mrs. Coombe's got a whole new +outfit, Alviry says. Turrible extravagant! Folks says it takes Esther +all her time paying for them with her school money. But I dunno. +What say?" + +"I didn't say anything. But, since you ask, do you think all this is any +of my business?" + +"Well, since you ask, it ain't. 'Tisn't my business either; but it kind +of passes the time. Giddap!" + +Perhaps the old horse knew he was getting near the end of his journey +for, contrary to expectation, he did "giddap" with a jerk which nearly +unseated the doctor and caused a flicker of mild surprise to flit across +the sad one's face. + +"Turrible fast horse, this," he confided, "all you got to do is to get +him going." + +"Don't let me take you out of your way. If you'll tell me the +direction--" + +"Sit still, stranger. I'm going right past the Imperial. Hardly any +place in Coombe you can go without going past the Imperial. It's what +you call a kind of newclus." + +As he spoke, the horse, now going at a fairly respectable rate, turned +into the main street of the town; a main street, thriftily prosperous +but now somewhat a-doze in the sun. Half-way down, the intelligent +animal stopped with another jerk for which the doctor was equally +ill-prepared. Before them stood a modest red brick building, three +stories in height, with a narrow veranda running across the lowest story +just one step up from the pavement. On the veranda were green chairs and +in the chairs reclined such portion of the male Coombers as could do so +without fear and without reproach. Along the top of the veranda was a +large sign displaying the words, "HOTEL IMPERIAL." + +Callandar alighted nimbly from the democrat, that being the name of the +light spring wagon in which he had travelled, and shook his good +Samaritan by the hand. "Thank you very much," he said, "and I sincerely +hope that the sunstroke will not have terminated fatally by the time you +reach home." + +The deep-set eyes turned to him slowly and again he fancied a twinkle in +their mournfulness. "If it does," said the sad one tranquilly, "it will +be the first time it ever has--giddap!" + +As no one came forth to take his knapsack, Callandar slung it over his +shoulder and entered the hotel. The parting remark of his conductor had +left a smile upon his lips, which smile still lingered as he asked the +sleepy-looking clerk for a room, and intimated that he would like lunch +immediately. + +"Dining room closed," said that individual shortly. + +"What do you mean?" + +"Dining room closes at two; supper at six." + +"Do you mean to say that you serve nothing between the hours of two and +six?" + +"Serve you a drink, if you like," with an understanding grin at his +questioner's dusty knapsack. + +Forgetting that he had become a Presbyterian, the doctor made a few +remarks, and from his manner of making them the clerk awoke to the fact +that knapsacks do not a hobo make nor dusty coats a tramp. Now in Canada +no one is the superior of any one else, but that did not make a bit of +difference in the startling change of demeanour which overtook the +clerk. He straightened up. He removed his toothpick. He arranged the +register in his best manner and chose another nib for his pen. When +Callandar had registered, the clerk was very sorry indeed that the hotel +arrangements were rather arbitrary in the matter of meal hours. He was +afraid that the kitchen fires were down and everything cold. Still if +the gentleman would go to his room, he would see what could be done-- + +The gentleman went to his room; but in no enviable frame of mind. So +wretched was his plight that he was not above valuing the covert +sympathy of the small bell-boy who preceded him up the oilclothed +stairs. He was a very round boy: round legs, round cheeks, round head +and eyes so round that they must have been special eyes made on purpose. +There was also a haunting resemblance to some other boy! Callandar +taxed his memory, and there stole into it a vision of a pool with +willows. He chuckled. + +"Boy," he said, "have you a little brother who is very fond of going to +school?" + +"Nope," said the boy. (It seemed to be a family word.) "I've got a +brother, but he don't sound like that." + +"You ought to be in school yourself, boy. What's your name?" + +"Zerubbabel Burk." + +"Is that all?" + +"Yep. Bubble for short." + +"Have you ever known what it is to be hungry?" + +"Three times a day, before meals!" + +"Well, I'm starving. Do you belong to the Boy Scouts?" + +"Betyerlife." + +"Well, look here. I am an army in distress. Commissariat cut off, +extinction imminent! Now you go and bring in the provisions. And, as we +believe in honourable warfare, pay for everything you get, but take no +refusals--see?" He pressed a bill into the boy's ready hand and watched +the light of understanding leap into the round eyes with pleasurable +anticipation. + +"I get you, Mister! Here's your room, number fourteen." + +The boy disappeared while still the key with its long tin label was +jingling in the lock. The doctor opened the door of room number fourteen +and went in. + +Rooms, we contend, like people, should be considered in relation to that +state in which it has pleased Providence to place them. To consider +number fourteen in any environment save its own would be manifestly +unfair since, in relation to all the other rooms at the Imperial, +number fourteen was a good room, perhaps the very best. A description +tempts us, but perhaps its best description is to be found in its effect +upon Dr. Callandar. That effect was an immediate determination to depart +by the next train, provided the next train did not leave before he had +had something to eat. + +He was aroused from gloomy musings by a discreet tap announcing the +return of the scouting party. The scouting party was piled with parcels +up to its round eyes and from the parcels issued an odour so delicious +that the doctor's depression vanished. + +"Good hunting, eh?" + +"Prime, sir. 'Tisn't store stuff, either! As soon as I see that look in +your eye I remembered 'bout the tea-fight over at Knox's Church last +night and how they'd be sure to be selling off what's left, for the +benefit of the heathen." The boy gave the roundest wink Callandar had +ever seen and deposited his parcels upon the bed. "They always have +'bout forty times as much's they can use. Course I didn't get you any +_broken_ vittles," he added, noticing the alarm upon the doctor's face. +"It's all as good as the best. Wait till you see!" + +He began to clear the wash-stand in a businesslike manner, talking all +the time. "This here towel will do for a cloth. It's bran' clean--cross +my heart! I borrowed a dish or two offen the church. They know me.... +We'll put the chicken in the middle and the ham along at this end and +the pie over there where it can't slip off--" + +"I don't like pie, boy." + +"I do. Pie's good for you. We'll put the beet salad by the chicken and +the cabbage salad by the ham and the chow-chow betwixt 'em. Then the +choc'late cake can go by the pie--" + +"Boy, I don't like chocolate cake." + +"Honest? Ah, you're kiddin' me! Really? Choc'late cake's awful good for +you. I love chocolate cake. This here cake was made by Esther Coombe's +Aunt Amy--it's a sure winner! Say, Mister, what do you like anyway?" + +"Ever so many more things than I did yesterday. By Jove, that chicken +looks good!" + +"Yep. That's Mrs. Hallard's chicken. I thought you'd want the best. She +ris' it herself. And made the stuffin' too." + +"Did she 'ris' the ham also?" + +"Nope. It's Miss Taylor's ham. Home cured. The minister thinks a whole +lot of Miss Taylor's curin'. Ma thinks that if Miss Taylor wasn't quite +so hombly, minister might ask her jest on account of the ham. You try +it--wait a jiffy till I sneak some knives!" + +Callandar looked at the decorated wash-stand and felt better. He had +forgotten all about the room, and when the knives came, in even less +than the promised jiffy, he forgot everything but the varied excellences +of the food before him. The chicken was a chicken such as one dreams of. +The salads were delicious, the homemade bread and butter fresh and +sweet; the ham might well cause feelings of a tender nature towards its +curer! The chocolate cake? He thought he might try a small piece and, +having tried, was willing to make the attempt on a larger scale. The boy +was a most efficient waiter, discerning one's desires before they were +expressed. But when they got to the pie, the doctor drew up another +chair at the pie side of the table and waved the waiter into it. + +There was no false modesty about the boy; neither did he hold malice. If +he had felt slightly aggrieved at not having been invited earlier, he +forgot it after the first mouthful and for a time there was no further +conversation in number fourteen. The doctor had temporarily discarded +his theory that it is better to rise from the table feeling slightly +hungry. The boy had never had so foolish a theory to discard. The +chicken, the ham, the pie, disappeared as if conjured away. The boy +grew rounder. + +"Boy," said the doctor at last, "hadn't you better stop? You are +'swelling wisibly afore my werry eyes!'" + +The boy shook his head, but presently he began to have intervals when he +was able to speak. + +"Better plant all you can," he advised. "Ma says the grub here would +kill a cat. I eat at home. Ma wouldn't risk my stomach here. +It's fierce." + +"But I'll have to eat, boy. Isn't there another hotel?" + +"Yep; two. But you couldn't go to them. This here's the only decent one. +Gave you a nice room anyway." He looked around admiringly. "Going to +stay long?" + +"No--that is, yes--I don't know! How can I stay if I can't eat?" + +The boy picked his round white teeth thoughtfully with a pin. + +"You might get board somewheres." + +This was a new idea. + +"Why--so I might! Does Mrs. Hallard who raises chickens or Miss +What's-her-name who cures ham, keep boarders?" + +"Nope. But they're not the only oysters in the soup--There's the bell! +They never give a man a minute's peace. Say, if you don't really like +that pie, don't waste it--see? Tell you about boarding-houses later." + +Callandar had to clear the table himself. This he did by the simple +expedient of putting everything on top of everything else. But he did +not waste anything, a precaution whose value he realised that night upon +returning from the dining room where he had spent some time in looking +at that repast known to the Imperial as supper. Bubble, the bell boy, +found him with his mind made up. + +"Boy," he said, "you have saved my life. But I fear I can sojourn no +longer in your delightful town. Find me the first train out in the +morning.". + +The boy's face fell. + +"Ain't you going to stay? Why, it's all over town that you're the new +doctor come to take old Doc. Simmonds's practice. Mournful Mark, that +you drove up with, told it. He said he shouldn't wonder if you're real +clever. Says he suspects you're an old friend of Doc. Coombe's +folks--went to college with the doctor, mebby. Says that likely Alviry +will have you next time she gets a stroke." + +"Tempting as the prospect is, boy, I fear ..." + +"Oh, dang it! There's the bell again." + +He darted out, bumped down the sounding stairs and, while the doctor was +still considering the words of his ultimatum, appeared again at the +door, this time decorously on duty. + +"A call for you, sir," said Bubble primly. + +"A--what?" + +"A call, sir. Mrs. Sykes wants to know if the new doctor will call +'round first thing in the morning to see Mrs. Sykes's Ann. She dunno, +but she thinks it's smallpox." + +"Quit your fooling, boy." + +"Cross my heart, doctor!" + +"Smallpox?" + +"Oh!" cheerfully, "I don't cross my heart to that. Mrs. Sykes always +thinks things is smallpox. Ann's had smallpox several times now. But the +rest is on the level. What message, sir?" + +Callandar hesitated. (And while he hesitated the Fateful Sisters +manipulated a great many threads very swiftly.) "What train ..." he +began. (The Fateful Sisters slipped a bobbin through and tied a cunning +knot.) Without knowing why, Callandar decided to stay. He laughed. +Bubble stood eagerly expectant. + +"Tell Mrs. Sykes I'll come, and ..." but Bubble did not wait for the +end of the message. + + + + +CHAPTER IV + + +Coombe is a pretty place. It has broad streets, quiet and tree-lined. It +has sunny, empty lots where children play. No one is crowded or shut in. +The houses stand in their own green lawns, and are comfortable and even +picturesque. The Swiss chalet style has not yet come to Coombe, so the +architecture, though plain, is not productive of nightmare. The roads +are like country roads, soft and yellowish; green grass grows along the +sides of many of them, and board sidewalks are still to be found, +springy and easy to the tread. There is a main street with macadamised +roadway and stone pavements, real flat stone, for they were laid before +the appearance of the all-conquering cement. There is a postoffice with +a tower and a clock, a courthouse with a fountain and a cannon, a park +with a bandstand and a baseball diamond, a townhall with a belfry and no +bell, an exhaustive array of churches, the Imperial Hotel, and the +market. We mention the market last (as we were taught at school) because +on account of its importance it ought to come first. + +When Dr. Callandar, having been efficiently valeted by Bubble, set out +to pay his first professional call, he drew in deep breaths of the +pleasant air with a feeling of well-being to which he had long been a +stranger. He had slept. In spite of the room, in spite of the chocolate +cake, in spite of the pie, he had slept. And that alone was enough to +make the whole world over. It was still hot but with a heat different +from the heat of yesterday. A little shower had fallen during the night. +There was a sense of the north in the air, a light freshness, very +invigorating. He liked the quiet shaded streets; the cannon by the +courthouse amused him; the number of church steeples left him amazed. He +felt as if he had stumbled into a dream-town and must walk carefully +lest he stumble out. + +Bubble had given him very complete directions, indeed so minute were +they that we will omit them lest some day you find the way yourself and +drop in on Mrs. Sykes when she is not expecting company. But Dr. +Callandar in his amused absorption had forgotten that he was going to +Mrs. Sykes at all, when he was recalled to a sense of duty by a sharp +hail from the corner house of a street he had just passed. Looking back, +he saw, half-way down the road, a tall, red woman leaning over a gate, +who, upon attracting his attention, began waving her arms frantically, +after the manner of an old-fashioned signalman inviting a train to "Come +on." Callandar's step quickened in spite of himself and he forgot his +idle musings. + +"Land sakes! I thought you'd never get here!" exclaimed the red woman +fervently. "I suppose that imp of a boy didn't direct you right. Lucky I +knew you as soon as you passed the corner. Mark Morrison may be as +useless as they make 'em, but he's got a fine gift for description. Come +right in. I'm dreadful anxious about Ann. It don't seem like measles, +and she's had chicken-pox twice, and if she's sickening for anything +worse I want to know it. I ain't one of them optimists that won't +believe they're sick till they're dead. Callandar's your name, Mark +says--any chance of your being a cousin to Dr. Callandar of Montreal +that cured Mrs. Sowerby?" + +"No, I am not that Dr. Callandar's cousin." + +"I told Mark 'twasn't likely--or you wouldn't be here. Not if he'd any +family feeling. I'm a great believer in a man making his own +stepping-stones anyway," she went on with a friendly smile; "we ought to +rise up on ourselves, like the poet says, and not on our cousins." + +"A noble sentiment," said Callandar gravely, as he followed her up the +walk, across a veranda so clean that one hesitated to step on it, and +into a small hall, bare and spotless, where he was invited to hang +up his hat. + +"You're younger than I expected," went on Mrs. Sykes kindly. "I hope you +ain't entirely dependent on your practice in Coombe?" + +The amazed doctor was understood to murmur something about "private +means." + +"That's good. You'd starve if you hadn't. Coombe's a terrible healthy +place and poor Doc. Simmonds didn't pay a call a week. I just felt like +some one ought to warn you. I despise folks who hold back from telling +things because they ain't quite pleasant. Know the worst, I always say; +it's better in the end. Of course, as Mark says, your being a +Presbyterian will make considerable diff'rence. Some folks thought Doc. +Simmonds was pretty nigh an infiddle!" + +Too overcome by his feelings to answer, Callandar followed her up the +narrow stair and into a clean bright room with green-tinted walls and +yellow matting on the floor. + +Mrs. Sykes waved a deprecatory hand, at once exhibiting and apologising +for so much splendour. + +"This is the spare-room," she explained. "And there," pointing to the +high, old-fashioned bed, "is Ann." + +Callandar crossed the immaculate matting gingerly, taking Ann on faith, +as it were, for, from the door, no; Ann was visible, only a very small +dent in the big whiteness of the bed. + +"Ann! Here's the doctor!" + +A small black head and a pair of frightened black eyes appeared for a +moment as if by conjuration, and instantly vanished. + +"Ann!" said Mrs. Sykes more sternly. + +There was a squirming somewhere under the bedclothes, but nothing +happened. + +"Great Scott!" exclaimed the doctor, "you've got the child in a +feather-bed!" + +Mrs. Sykes beamed complacently. + +"Yes, I have. It may seem like taking a lot of trouble for nothing, but +you never can tell. I ain't one of them that never prepares for +anything. Jest as soon as Ann gets sick I move her right into the +spare-room and put her into the best feathers. Then if she should be +took sudden I wouldn't have anything to regret. The minister and the +doctor can come in here any hour and find things as I could wish.... +Ann! what do you mean by wiggling down like that? Ann--come up at once! +The doctor wants to see your tongue." + +This time the note of command was effective. The black head came to the +surface, again followed by the frightened eyes and plump little cheeks +stained with feverish red. + +"Some cool water, if you please," ordered the doctor in his best +professional manner. Mrs. Sykes opened her lips to ask why, but +something caused her to shut them without asking. + +When she had left the room, Callandar leaned suddenly over and lifted +Ann bodily out of the dent and placed her firmly upon a pillow. It was a +very plump pillow, evidently filled with the "best feathers," but +compared with the bed it was as a rock in an ocean. + +"Now," he said gravely, "you are safe, for the present. You are on an +island; but be very careful not to slide off for if you do I may never +be able to look at your tongue." + +The child's hands grasped the island convulsively. + +"Don't hold on like that," he warned. "You might tip." He leaned close +so that she might see the smile in his eyes, "And if you tipped ..." + +The child gave a sudden delighted giggle. "I'd go right in over my head, +wouldn't I?" + +"Yes. And next time you were rescued you might feel more inclined to +tell your aunt what you had been eating before you became ill." + +Ann stopped giggling. + +"You don't need to tell _me_," went on the doctor, "because I know!" + +"How d'ye know?" + +"Magic. Be careful--you were nearly off that time! Does your aunt know +anything about those things you ate?" + +"No." + +"Very well. But you must promise not to eat those particular things +again. Not even when you get the chance." Then as he saw the woe upon +her face, "At least, not in quantities!" + +"Cross my heart!" said Ann, relieved. + +"Here's the water," said Mrs. Sykes, returning. "Ann, get right back +into bed. Do you want to get your death? Haven't I told you till I'm +tired to keep your hands in? Is it measles, Doctor? She's subject to +measles. Perhaps it's the beginning of scarlet fever. But if it's +smallpox I want to know. No good ever comes of smoothing things over." + +The doctor smiled at Ann. + +"It isn't smallpox this time, Mrs. Sykes." + +"Did you look at them spots on the back of her neck?" + +"Yes. A little rash caused by indigestion. I wouldn't worry." + +"Don't mind me. I'm used to worrying. I don't dodge my troubles like +some I know. Indigestion? It looks more like eczema. Eczema is a +terrible trying thing. But if the child's got it I don't want it called +indigestion to spare my feelings." + +"But it's not eczema! It's indigestion--and prickly heat. I'm afraid +Ann's stomach has been giving trouble. It has been hotter than is usual +here, I understand. Heat often upsets children. While I write out a +prescription, you might bathe her face and hands." + +Mrs. Sykes gazed doubtfully at the water. "She was done once last night +and once this morning just before you came in," she remarked in an +injured tone. "But if you think she needs it again, this sort of water's +no good. Nothing's ever any good for Ann except hot water and soap." + +The doctor looked up from his writing in surprise. Then as the meaning +of the thing dawned upon him, he laughed heartily. + +"Oh, Ann's as clean as the veranda floor!" he explained. "This is just +to cool her off. Let me show you--doesn't that feel nice, Ann?" + +"Lovely!" blissfully. + +Mrs. Sykes sniffed. + +"I suppose that's some new-fangled notion? I never heard before of +cooling people off when they've got a fever. In my time, the hotter you +were, the hotter you were made to be, till you got cool naturally. I +suppose," with half-interested sarcasm, "that you'd give her cold water +to drink if she asked for it?" + +"Certainly." + +"Well, I expect she knows better than to ask for it!" + +Feeling Ann's imploring gaze, Callandar resorted to diplomacy. + +"The fact is, Mrs. Sykes," he said pleasantly, "there really isn't very +much wrong with Ann. You have been letting your forethought and your +natural anxiety run away with you. There is not the slightest occasion +for alarm. If there were, I should not dream of hiding it from one so +well-prepared as yourself. As it is, you have taken a lot of needless +trouble--this beautiful feather-bed, for example! I feel sure that Ann +would do very well in her own bed." + +The victim of the feathers gave a relieved gasp which her aunt mistook +for a sigh of regret. + +"Her own bed's well enough for anything ordinary," she admitted in a +mollified tone. "Even if it is a store mattress." + +"Quite good enough. Many a little girl would be glad of it." The +doctor's tone was virtuous. "If you will allow me, I shall carry her in +now. You see, she is cooler already. By to-morrow, if she takes her +medicine, she ought to be as well as ever." + +Ann's own room turned out to be on the shady side, and though not so +grand as the spare-room, it was pleasantly cool. The little bed with the +hard mattress and the snowy counterpane was infinitely to be preferred +to the ocean of feathers, and the rescued maiden lay back on her smaller +pillows with a sigh of gratitude. + +"Sure you won't tell?" she whispered as he laid her down. + +"Honour bright. Cross my heart! But you must take the medicine. It's +nasty, but not too nasty, and you mustn't squeal--or it will be the +spare-room again. Red cheeks and prickly heat are consequences, but +feather-beds and medicine are retribution." + +"That's right, Doctor," said Mrs. Sykes, who had heard the last words. +"There's nothing like a word about retribution when a person's sick. It +helps 'em to realise their state. I don't hold with the light-minded +that want to get away from retribution. Depend upon it, they're the very +folks that's got it coming to them. Yes. No one needs to go around +denying that there's a hell, if their feet are planted upon a rock and +they know they're never going there. It's years now since I've looked +hell in the face and turned my feet the other way. But I do say that if +I'd decided to go straight ahead in the broad and easy path, I wouldn't +try to shut my eyes to the end of it, like some folks! Are you putting +up at the Imperial, Doctor?" + +"'Putting up' exactly expresses my condition." + +"Well, you may as well know at once that a doctor in a hotel will never +get any forwarder in Coombe. You'll have to get boarding somewhere. Have +you looked around yet?" + +"No. I--" + +"Then I don't mind telling you that the spare-room is to let and the +little room down below that has a door of its own and seems made exactly +for a doctor's office. I shouldn't mind letting you have them if you +feel sure that the smells wouldn't get loose all through the house and +in the cooking. There's a barn where you could keep your horse." + +"I haven't got a horse," protested Callandar feebly. + +"But of course you'll be getting one. A doctor has to have a horse. If +you can't pay for it down, Mark knows some one who'd let you have a good +one on time. You can trust Mark, if he _is_ mournful. Of course I don't +say that these rooms are the only rooms to let in Coombe, but I do think +they're about as good as you can get--being so near to Dr. Coombe's old +house. People get used to coming for a doctor down this street." + +"But that was, over a year ago." + +"It takes more 'an a year for Coombe folks to change their ways. Only +this day week I saw Bill Brooks tearing down this way on account of Mrs. +Brooks' being took kind of unexpected, and Bill losing his head and +forgetting all about Dr. Coombe being dead and Dr. Parker living on the +other side of the town." + +"And you think that if I'd been here he would have 'tore' in here?" + +"If he hadn't I'd just have called out to him as he went by. He was that +wild he'd have taken anybody." + +"I see," with humility. "I lost a good chance there!" + +"Well, if you live here you'll get others. Why, from the spare-room +windows you can see the corner window down at the Coombe place. I could +make out to let you have your meals, too. Only I'd expect you to be as +reg'lar as Providence permitted. I know a doctor is bound to be more +aggravating in that way than other folks, but if you'd be as regular as +lay in you, I'd put up with it. 'Tisn't as if I wasn't always prepared. +When will you want to move in?" + +"Really, I--I don't know--" The bewildered Callandar glanced for help to +Ann, but met only clasped hands and an imploring stare. "I'll--I'll let +you know," he faltered. + +Thinking it over afterwards, he could never understand why he did not +promptly refuse to be coerced, but at the time surrender seemed the only +natural thing. Besides, he couldn't stay another day at the Imperial. He +had to go somewhere. Perhaps it was his destiny to secure Ann against +further feather-beds. Anyway, he accepted it. + +"Oh, goody!" cried Ann, clapping her hands. + +"Ann! put your hands under those clothes. How often must I tell you that +you'll get your death? If you like, Doctor, there's nothing to prevent +your moving in to-morrow. I'll need a day to air the feather-tick and +make some pie." + +The doctor was at last roused to action. + +"There are conditions," he said hastily. "If I come here, there is to be +no feather-tick and no pie!" + +"No feather-bed?" in amazement. + +"No pie?" Ann's voice was a sorrowful whisper. + +"You see," Callandar explained, "I am here partly for my health. My +health cannot lie on feather-beds nor eat pie--well, perhaps," with a +glance at Ann, "an occasional pie may do no harm. But I shall send down +some springs and a mattress. I have to use a special kind," hastily. + +"Oh! it's spinal trouble, is it?" Mrs. Sykes surveyed him +commiseratingly. "You look straight enough. But land! You never can +tell. Them spinal troubles are most deceiving. Terrible things they are, +but they don't shorten life as quickly as some others. Not that that's a +blessing! Mostly, folks as has them would be glad to go long before they +are took. Still, it gives them some time to be prepared. I remember--" + +"I must go now, Mrs. Sykes. Give Ann some of the medicine as soon as it +comes. It isn't exactly spinal trouble that is the matter with me, you +know, but--er--I'll send down the kind of mattress I like. In fact, I +shall probably wish to furnish my rooms myself. You won't mind, +I'm sure." + +"Land sakes, no, I don't mind! Most doctors are finicky. Don't worry +about the medicine. I'll see that Ann takes it." + +She watched him go with a glance in which satisfaction and foreboding +mingled. "Poor young feller!" she mused. "He didn't like what I said +about his spine a mite. Back troubles makes folks terrible touchy." + + + + +CHAPTER V + + +Two days after the installation of what Mrs. Sykes persisted in calling +the "spinal mattress," Esther Coombe was late in getting home from +school. As was usually the case when this happened, Jane, designated by +mournful Mark as "the Pindling One," was sitting on the gatepost gazing +disconsolately down the road. There were traces of tears upon her thin +little face and the warmth of the hug which returned her sister's +greeting was evidence of an unusually disturbed mind. + +"Why aren't you playing with the other children, Jane?" + +"I don't want to play, Esther. Timothy's dead." + +"Yes, I know, dear. But Fred has promised you a new puppy--" + +"I don't want a new puppy. I want Timothy." + +"But Timothy is so much happier, Jane. He was old, you know. In the +Happy Hunting Grounds, he will be able to frisk about just like other +dogs. Wouldn't you like an apple?" + +Jane considered this a moment and decided favourably. But her tale of +woe was not yet complete. "Mother's ill again," she announced gloomily. +"I mustn't play band or nail the slats on the rabbits' hutch. Aunt Amy +gave me my dinner on the back porch. I liked that. I wouldn't go in the +house, not till you came, Esther." + +The straight brows of the elder sister came together in a worried frown. + +"You know that is being silly, Jane." + +"I don't care." + +"You must learn to care. Run now and get the apple and ask Aunt Amy to +wash your face." + +Jane tripped away obediently, her griefs assuaged by the mere telling of +them, and Esther passed into the house by way of the veranda. It was a +charming veranda, long and low, opening through French windows directly +into the living room which, like itself, was long and low, and charming. +There is a charm in rooms which can be felt but not described. It exists +apart from the furnishings and even the occupants; it is an essence, +haunting, intangible--the soul of the room! only there are many rooms +which have no soul. + +Through the living room at the Elms vagrant breezes entered, loitered, +and drifted out again, leaving behind them scents of sun-warmed flowers. +The light there was soft and green. The comfortable chairs invited rest; +the polished rosewood table, the bright piano shining in the brightest +corner, the smooth old floor in whose rug the colours had long ceased to +trouble, the general air of much used comfort, satisfied and refreshed. + +Esther loved the room. Her first childish memory was of the rosewood +table shining like a pool in the lamplight and of her own wondering face +reflected in it, with her father's laughing eyes behind. In every way it +was associated with the beginnings of things. The magic of all music +began for her in the sweet, thin notes of the old square piano; the key +to fairy land lay hidden somewhere in that shelf of well-worn books. + +Yet to-night she entered with a hesitating step. It was obvious that she +felt no pleasure in the cool greenness. The room was the same room but +it was as if the expression on a well-known face had unaccountably +changed and become forbidding. The girl sighed as she flung her hat +upon a chair. + +"Esther," Jane's voice, somewhat obscured by the eating of the promised +apple, came through the open window, "are you sure about Timothy being +in the Happy Hunting Grounds?" + +"Of course, dear." + +"But he wasn't what you would call a Christian, Esther?" + +"He was a good dog." + +"Can Timothy chase chickens there?" + +"Probably." + +"And cats?" + +"Certainly cats." + +"Is that what happens to bad cats when they die?" + +Esther viewed this logical picture of everlastingly pursued cats with +some dismay. + +"N-o. I don't suppose it would be real cats." + +"But Tim wouldn't chase anything but real cats." + +"Jane, I wish you wouldn't talk with your mouth full." + +Being thus reduced to giving up the argument or the apple, Jane +abandoned the former. It was clear that Esther was not in the mood for +argument. The child's quick observation had not failed to note the +lagging step, nor the quick sigh. She nodded her head as if in answer to +some spoken word. + +"Yes, I know. I feel like that, too. That's why I didn't come in before; +that's why I'm not really in yet. It catches you by the throat and makes +you breathe funny. What is it, Esther?" + +"Why--I don't know, Jane. It's loneliness I think--missing Dad." + +The child shook her head. But whatever her objection might have been it +was beyond her power of expression. She slid off the veranda step and +wandered back into the garden. There was another apple in the pocket of +her apron, and apples are great comforters. + +Left alone, Esther with a resolutely cheerful air took down a blue bowl +and proceeded to arrange therein the day's floral offerings. A sweet and +crushed mixture they were, pansies, clove-pinks, mignonette, bleeding +hearts, bachelors' buttons, all short stemmed and minus any saving touch +of green, but true love offerings for all that. Wordless gifts most of +them, prim little bunches, hot from tight clasping in chubby hands, +shyly and swiftly deposited on "Teacher's desk" when the back of that +divinity was turned. The blue bowl took kindly to them all, and as the +girl's clever fingers settled and arranged the glowing chaos it seemed +that with their crushed fragrance something of the lost spirit of the +room came back. Just so had she arranged hundreds of times the sweet +smelling miscellanies which had been her father's constant tribute from +grateful patients. + +She had almost finished when the door opened to admit a little, grey +wisp of a woman with a mild white face and large faded eyes which might +once have been beautiful. She was dressed entirely in lavender, a +fondness for this colour being one of the many harmless fancies born of +a brain not quite normal. The rather expressionless face brightened at +sight of the girl by the table. + +"Why, Esther--I didn't hear you come in. Have you put a mat under the +bowl? See now! You have marked the table." + +Esther good humouredly reached for a table-mat, for the polish of this +particular article of furniture was the pride of Aunt Amy's life. "It's +all right, Auntie. It's not really a mark. Look, aren't they sweet? It +is like one of father's posies. Is mother any better?" + +"The children must think a lot of you, Esther!" + +"Yes, although I think they would bring flowers to any one, bless 'em! +Is mother--" + +"Your mother hasn't been down all day. I went up with her dinner but she +didn't take any. She wouldn't answer." + +"Auntie, don't you think she ought to do something about these +headaches?" + +"I don't know, Esther. She'll be all right to-morrow. She always is." + +"Yes. But they are getting more frequent, and you know--she is so +different. She can't be well. Haven't you noticed it?" + +"No," vaguely. + +"Well, Jane has. So it can't just be imagination. She ought to consult a +doctor." + +"She won't." + +"But it's absurd! What shall we do if she goes on like this? If there +were only some one who would talk to her! She won't listen to me because +she is older and married and--all that. All the same she doesn't seem +older when she acts like this--like a child!" + +"Well, you know, Esther, there isn't any doctor here that your mother +just fancies." + +The girl stooped lower over the blue bowl, perhaps to hide the little +smile which crinkled up the corner of her mouth. The faint colour on her +cheek may have been a reflection from the flowers. + +"Yes, but haven't you heard? There is a new doctor. He seems quite +different--I mean they say he is awfully nice. Mrs. Sykes' Ann was +telling me all about him. He is going to board with Mrs. Sykes. The +child just worships him already. Perhaps mother might see him." + +"I shouldn't worry," said Aunt Amy placidly. "This pepper-grass will be +very nice for tea. Did you tell Jane she might have two apples, Esther?" + +"No. I told her she might have one. But I don't suppose two will hurt +her." Esther was used to Aunt Amy's inconsequences which made impossible +the discussion of any subjects save the most trivial. But she sighed a +little as she realised anew that there was no help here. + +"Jane is feeling badly about Timothy," she explained. "Don't you think +we might have tea in here, Auntie? It is so cool." + +Aunt Amy, who had been anxiously rubbing an imaginary spot on the table, +looked up with a startled air. "Oh, Esther!" she said, in the voice of a +frightened child. Then with a child's obvious effort to control rising +tears, "Of course, if you say so, Esther. But--but do you feel like +risking the round table? Couldn't we have it on the little table in +the corner?" + +The girl settled the last of her flowers and pushed back her hair with a +worried gesture. A pang of mingled irritation and anxiety lent an edge +of sharpness to her soft voice. + +"Auntie dear! I thought you had quite forgotten that fancy. You know it +is only a fancy. Round tables are just like other tables. And you +promised me--" + +"Yes, I know, but--" + +"Well, then, be sensible, dear. We shall have tea in here." Then seeing +the real distress on the timid old face, the girl's mood softened. "No, +we shan't," she declared gaily. "We'll have it as usual in the dining +room. You will fix the pepper-grass and I shall set the table." + +But the end of Aunt Amy's vagaries was not yet. She hesitated, flushed +and more timidly, yet as one who is compelled, begged for the task of +setting the table herself. "For you know, Esther, the sprigged tea-set +is so hurt if any one but me arranges it. Yes, of course, it is only a +fancy, I know that. But the sprigged tea-set does feel so badly if I +neglect it. All the pink in it fades quite out. You must have noticed +it, Esther?" + +The girl sighed and gave in. Usually Aunt Amy's vagaries troubled her +little. Disconcerting at first, they had quickly become a commonplace, +for the coming of Aunt Amy to the doctor's household had been too great +a blessing to invite criticism. Esther had soon learned to express no +surprise when told that the sprigged china had a heart of extreme +sensitiveness, and that the third step on the front stair disliked to be +trodden upon, and that it was dangerous to sit with one's back to a +window facing the east. All these and numberless other strange facts +were part of Aunt Amy's twilight world. To her they were immensely +important, but to the family the really important thing seemed that, +with trifling exceptions, the new inmate of the household was gentle and +kind; her housekeeping a miracle and her cooking a dream. In the years +she had lived with them there had been but one serious thrill of +anxiety, and that came when Dr. Coombe had discovered her endeavouring +to infect Jane with her delusions. This had been strictly forbidden and +the child's mind, duly warned, was soon safeguarded by her own growing +comprehension. Jane quickly understood that it was foolish to shut the +garden gate three times every time she came through it, and that no one +save Aunt Amy thought it necessary to count all the boards in the +sidewalk or to touch all the little posts under the balustrade as one +came down stairs. Some of the prettier, more elusive fancies she may +have retained, but, if so, they did her no harm. + +As for Aunt Amy herself, she lived her shadow-haunted life not +unhappily. Dr. Coombe she had worshipped, yet his death had not affected +her as much as might have been feared. Perhaps it was one of her +compensations that death to her was not quite what it is to the more +normal consciousness. It was noticeable that she always spoke of the +doctor as if he were in the next room. Her devotion to him had been +caused by his success in partially relieving her of the most distressing +burden of her disordered brain--the delusion of persecution. Aunt Amy +knew that somewhere there existed a mysterious power known vaguely as +"They" who sought unceasingly to injure her. Of course it was only once +in a while that "They" got a chance, for Aunt Amy was very clever in +providing no opportunities. More than once had she outwitted "Them." +Still, one must be always upon one's guard! From this harrowing delusion +the doctor had done much to deliver her, indeed she had become more +normal in every way under his care. It was only now, a year after his +death, that Esther imagined sometimes that there was a slipping back-- + +The ill effects of sitting at a round table, for instance? It was a long +time since this particular fancy had been spoken of and Esther had +considered it gone altogether. Yet here it was, cropping out again and +just at a time when other problems threatened. Things seemed determined +to be difficult to-day. + +The fact was that Esther was suffering from the need of a confidant. +Really worried as she felt about her step-mother's health, the burden of +taking any determined action against the wishes of the patient herself +was a serious one for a young girl. Yet in whom could she confide? Girl +friends she had in plenty but not one whose judgment she could trust +before her own. Had the minister been an older man or a man of different +calibre she might have gone to him, but the idea of appealing to Mr. +Macnair was distasteful. Neither among her father's friends was there +one to whom she cared to go for advice concerning her father's widow. +They had one and all disapproved, she knew, of the sudden second +marriage and Dr. Coombe had never quite forgiven their disapproval. + +Often she felt like refusing the responsibility altogether. After all, +her step-mother was a woman quite old enough to manage her own affairs. +If she wished to foolishly imperil her health why need Esther care? Why +indeed? But this train of reasoning never lasted long. Always there came +a counter-question, "If you do not care, who will?" And the dearth of +any answer settled the burden more firmly upon her rebellious shoulders. +For one thing there was always the inner knowledge that Mary Coombe was +weak and that she, Esther, was strong. She had always known this. Even +when her father had brought home his pretty bride and Esther, a shy, +silent child of eleven, had welcomed her, she had known that the +newcomer was the weaker spirit. The bride had known it too. She had +never attempted to control Esther, leaving the child entirely to her +father--a bit of unwitting wisdom which did much to smooth daily life +at the Elms. If the doctor saw his wife's weakness of character it is +probable that it did not interfere with his love for her. Why need she +be strong while he was strong enough for two? But he had forgotten one +thing--the day when she would have to be strong alone! + +The realisation came to him upon his death-bed. Esther was sure of this. +He could not speak, but she had read the message of his eyes, the appeal +to the strength in her to help the other's weakness. No getting away +from the solemn charge of that entreating look! + + * * * * * + +Esther was thinking of that look now, as she sat alone in the dusk of +the veranda. Tea was over and Aunt Amy was putting Jane to bed. From her +mother she had had no word. Blank silence had met her when she had taken +the tea tray upstairs and called softly through the closed door. Mrs. +Coombe was probably asleep. She would be better to-morrow; but before +long she would be ill again, and the interval between the attacks was +becoming shorter. + +There was anger as well as anxiety in the girl's mind. Her healthy and +straightforward youth had little patience with her step-mother's +unreasonable caprices. For her illness she had every sympathy, but for +the morbid nervousness which seemed to accompany it, none at all. These +constant headaches, the increasing nervous irritability from which Mrs. +Coombe suffered lay like a shadow over the house. Yet the sufferer +refused to take the obvious way of relief and persisted in her refusal +with a stubbornness of which no one would have dreamed her light nature +capable. Still, willing or unwilling, something must be done. Aunt Amy, +too, was becoming more of an anxiety. Once or twice lately she had +spoken of "Them," a sign of mental distress which Dr. Coombe had always +treated with the utmost seriousness. Perhaps if a doctor were called in +for Aunt Amy, Mrs. Coombe would lose her foolish dread of doctors and +allow him to prescribe for her also. And if the new doctor were half as +clever as Mrs. Sykes said he was--Esther's heart began to warm a little +as her fancy pictured such a pleasant solution of all her problems. The +little smile curved her lips again as she thought of the maple by the +schoolhouse steps, and the lettuce sandwiches and--and everything. She +closed her eyes and tried to recall his face as he had looked up at her. +Instinctively she knew it for a good face, strong, humorous, kindly, but +strong above all. And it was strength that Esther needed. When she went +to bed that night her burden seemed a little lighter. + +I believe he can help me, she thought, and it isn't as if he were quite +a stranger. After all, we had lunch together once! + + + + +CHAPTER VI + + +Undoubtedly Esther slept better that night for the thought of the new +doctor. It cannot be said that the doctor slept better because of her. +In fact he lay awake thinking of her. He did not want to think of her; +he wanted to go to sleep. Twice only had he seen her. Once upon the +occasion of the red pump and once when casually passing her on the main +street. There was no reason why her white-rose face with its strange +blue eyes and its smile-curved lips should float about in the darkness +of Mrs. Sykes' best room. Yet there it was. It was the eyes, perhaps. +The doctor admitted that they were peculiar eyes, startlingly blue. Dark +blue in the shade of the lashes, flashing out light blue fire when the +lashes lifted. But Mrs. Sykes' boarder did not want to think about eyes. +He wanted to go to sleep. He did not want to think about hair either. +Although Miss Coombe had very nice hair--cloudy hair, with little ways +of growing about the temple and at the curve of the neck which a blind +man could not help noticing. In the peaceful shadows of the room it +seemed a still softer shadow framing the vivid girlish face. + +Still, on the whole, sleep would have been better company and when at +last he did drop off he did not relish being wakened by the voice of Ann +at his door. + +"Doc-ter, doc-ter! Are you awake? Can I come in?" + +"I am not awake. Go away." + +Ann's giggle came clearly through the keyhole. + +"You've got a visitor," she whispered piercingly through the same +medium. "A man. A well man, not a sick one. He came on the train. He +came on the milk train--" + +"You may come in, Ann." The doctor slipped on his dressing gown with a +resigned sigh. "What man and why milk?" + +"I don't know. Aunt Sykes kept him on the veranda till she was sure he +wasn't an agent. Now he's in the parlour. Aunt hopes you'll hurry, for +you never can tell. He may be different from what he looks." + +"What does he look?" + +Ann's small hands made an expressive gesture which seemed to envisage +something long and lean. + +"Queer--like that. He's not old, but he's bald. His eyes screw into you. +His nose," another formative gesture, "is like that. A nawful big nose. +He didn't tell his name." + +"If he looks like that, perhaps he hasn't any name. Perhaps he is a +button-moulder. In fact I'm almost certain he is--other name Willits. +Occupation, professor." + +"But if he is a button-maker, he can't be a professor," said Ann +shrewdly. + +"Oh, yes he can. Button-moulding is what he professes. His line is a +specialty in spoiled buttons. He makes them over." + +"Second-hand?" + +"Better than new." + +Ann fidgeted idly with the doctor's cuff-links and then with a flash of +her odd childish comprehension, "You love him a lot, don't you?" she +said jealously. + +The doctor adjusted a collar button. + +"England expects that every man shall deny the charge of loving +another," he said, "but between you and me, I do rather like old +Willits. You see I was rather a worn-out button once and he made me +over. Where did you say he was?" + +"In the parlour--there's Aunt! She said I wasn't to stay. I'll get it." + +Indeed the voice of Mrs. Sykes could be heard on the stairs. + +"Ann! Where's that child? Doctor, you'd think that child had never been +taught no manners. You'll have to take a firm stand with Ann, Doctor. +Land Sakes, I don't want to make her out worse'n she is, but you might +as well know that your life won't be worth living if you don't set +on Ann." + +"All right, Mrs. Sykes. Painful as it may be, I shall do it. Are you +sure it's safe to leave a stranger in the parlour?" + +Mrs. Sykes looked worried. "I hope to goodness it's all right, Doctor. +He's been in the parlour half an hour. I don't think he's an agent, +hasn't got a case or a book anywhere. But agents are getting cuter every +day. Naturally I didn't like to go so far as to ask his name. And I'm +not asking it now. Curiosity was never a fault of mine though I do say +it. Still a woman does like to know who's setting in her front parlour." + +"And you shall," declared Callandar kindly. "Just hang on a few moments +longer, dear Mrs. Sykes, and your non-existent but very justifiable +curiosity shall be satisfied." + +The parlour at Mrs. Sykes opened to the right of the narrow hall. Its +two windows, distinguished by eternally half-drawn blinds of yellow, +looked out upon the veranda, permitting a decorous gloom to envelop the +sacred precincts. Mrs. Sykes was too careful a housekeeper to take risks +with her carpet and too proud of her possessions to care to hide their +glories altogether; hence the blinds were never wholly drawn and never +raised more than half way. In the yellow gloom, one might feast one's +eyes at leisure upon the centre table, draped in red damask, mystic, +wonderful, and on its wealth of mathematically arranged books, the +Bible, the "Indian Mutiny" and "Water Babies" in blue and gold. This +last had been a gift to Ann and was considered by Mrs. Sykes to be the +height of foolishness. Still, a book is a book, especially when bound in +blue and gold. + +Upon the gaily papered walls hung a framed silver name-plate and two +pictures. One a gorgeously coloured print of the lamented Queen Victoria +in a deep gold frame, and the other a representation of an entrancing +allegorical theme entitled "The Two Paths," illustrating the ascent of +the saint into heaven and the descent of the sinner into hell. At the +top of this picture was the legend, "Which will you choose?"--implying a +possible but regrettable lack of taste on the part of the chooser. + +Into this abode of the arts and muses came Callandar, alert and smiling. +It was hardly his fault that he stumbled over the visitor who, whether +in awe or fear of these unveiled splendours, had retreated as far as +possible toward the door. + +"Don't mind me!" said the visitor meekly. + +"Willits! by Jove, I thought it would be you! Say, would you mind not +sitting on that chair? It's just glued!" + +The visitor arose with conspicuous alacrity. He was a tall man with a +domelike head, piercing eyes and formidable nose. Ann's description had +been terribly accurate. He observed the tail of his coat carefully and +finding no damage, seemed relieved. + +"Sit here," said Callandar affably. "And don't expect me to make you +welcome, because you aren't. What misfortunate chance has brought you +to Coombe?" + +"Neither fortune nor chance had anything at all to do with it," declared +the visitor. "I followed your luggage. I wanted to see you." + +"Well, take a good look." + +"I think you can guess why." + +"Yes," with a sigh. "I was always a good guesser. And, frankly, Willits, +I wish you hadn't." + +"I do not doubt it. But, first, is there any other place where we can +talk?" + +"Don't you like this?" innocently. + +The Button-Moulder's look of surprised anguish was sufficient answer. +Callandar laughed. + +"You always were a bit narrow in your views, Willits. How often have I +impressed upon you that beauty depends upon understanding? I don't +suppose you have even tried to understand this room? No? Will it help +any if I tell you that Mrs. Sykes went without a spring bonnet that she +might purchase the deep gold frame which enshrines Victoria the Good, or +if I explain that Joseph Sykes, deceased, whose name you see yonder upon +that engraved plate, was the most worthless rogue unhung. Yet the silver +which displays--" + +"Not in the least," interrupted the other hastily. "The place is a +nightmare. Nothing can excuse it! And you--how you stand it I +cannot see." + +"My dear man, I don't stand it. I am not allowed to. It's only upon +special occasions that any one is allowed to stand this room. You are a +special occasion. But as you seem so unappreciative we can adjourn to my +office if you wish." + +"You have an office?" + +"Certainly. A doctor has to have an office. This way." + +Callandar strode across the room and opened a door in the opposite wall. +It led into another room, smaller, with no veranda in front of it, yet +with a window looking toward the road and two side windows through which +the after flush of sunrise streamed. Its door opened upon a small stone +stoop set in the grass of the front lawn. The furniture of the room was +plain, not to say severe. Cool matting covered the painted floor, +hemstitched curtains of linen scrim hung at the windows. There was a +businesslike desk, a couch, a reclining chair, a stool by the door; +another chair, straight and uncompromising, behind the desk. That +was all. + +Willits looked around him in a kind of dazed surprise. "Office!" he kept +murmuring. "_Office_!" + +"All rather plain, you see," said Callandar regretfully. "But for a +beginner with his way to make, not so bad. My patients, three up to +date, quite understand and conceal their commiseration with perfect good +breeding. Also, the room has natural advantages, it is in the nature of +an annex, you see, with a door of its own. Quite cut off from the rest +of the house save-for the door by which we entered, the parlour door, +which Mrs. Sykes informs me I may lock if I choose although she feels +sure that I know her too well to imagine any undue liberties +being taken!" + +The Button-Moulder with a gesture of despair made as if to sit down upon +the nearest chair, but was prevented with kindly firmness by his host. + +"Not that chair, please. It may not be quite dry. I glued--" + +The voice of the visitor suddenly returned. It was a very dry voice; +threadlike, but determined. + +"Then if you will kindly find me a chair which you have not glued I +shall sit down and dispose of a few burning thoughts. Callandar, as soon +as you have finished playing the fool--" + +"Consider it finished, old man." + +"Then what does this, all this"--with a sweeping hand wave--"mean? You +cannot seriously intend to stay here?" + +"Why not?" + +"Your question is absurd." + +"No, it isn't. Let it sink in. Why should I not stay here? Examine the +facts. I am ordered change, rest, interest, good air--a year at least +must elapse before I take up my life again. I must spend that year +somewhere. Why not here? It is healthy, high, piney, quiet. I had become +utterly tired of my tramping tour. All the good I can get from it I have +got. Chance, or whatever you like to call it, leads me to this place. A +place which needs a doctor and which this particular doctor needs. There +is nothing absurd about it." + +The tall man observed his friend in interested silence. Apparently he +required time to adjust his mind to the fact that Callandar was in +earnest. The badinage he brushed aside. + +"Then you really intend--but how about this office? If it is not a +torn-fool office, where does the necessary rest come in?" + +"Rest doesn't mean idleness. I should die of loafing. As a matter of +fact since coming here I have rested as I have not rested for a year. +Look at me! Can't you see it? Or is the renovation not yet visible to +the naked eye? Great Scott! I don't need to vegetate in order to +rest, do I?" + +"No." Another pause ensued during which the gimlet eyes of the professor +were busy. Then he seemed suddenly to leap to the heart of the matter. + +"And--Lorna?" He asked crisply. + +It was the other's turn to be silent. He flushed, looked embarrassed, +and drummed with his fingers upon the table. + +"Of course I have no right to ask," added Willits primly. + +"Yes, you have, old man. Every right. But I knew you had come to ask +that question and I didn't like it. The answer is not a flattering +one--to me. Nor is it what you expected. To be brief, Lorna won't have +me. Refused me--flat!" + +Blank surprise portrayed itself upon the professor's face. + +"The devil she did!" + +"Confess now!" said Callandar, smiling. "You thought I was the one to +blame? There was retributive justice in your eye, don't deny it!" + +"But, I don't understand! I thought--I was sure--" + +"I know. But she doesn't! Not in that way. As a sister--" + +"That's enough! I--Accept my apology. I feel very sorry, Henry." + +Again that look of embarrassment and guilt upon the doctor's face. + +"No. Don't feel sorry! See here, let's be frank about the whole thing. +It was a mistake, from the very beginning, a mistake. Miss Sinnet, +Lorna, is a girl in a thousand. But--I did not care for her as a man +should care for the woman he makes his wife. Nor did she care for +me--wait, I'm not denying that there was a chance. We were very +congenial. She might have cared if--if I had cared more greatly." + +"Henry Callandar! Are you a cad?" + +"No. Merely a man speaking the exact truth. I thought I might risk it, +with you. Lorna Sinnet is not a woman to give her love and take a +half-love in return. She was more clear-sighted than you or I. We should +both have been very miserable." + +Elliott Willits sighed. He was a very sensible man. He prided himself +upon being devoid of sentiment, but even the most sensible of men, +entirely devoid of sentiment, do not like to see their well laid +plans go wrong. + +"Well," he said, "I was mistaken. Let us say no more about it." + +Callandar's eyes softened, melted into misty grey. He laid his arm +affectionately over the other's thin shoulders. "Only this," he said. +"That no man ever had a better friend! I know you, old Button-Moulder. I +know your ambition to make of me a 'shining button on the vest of the +world!' You thought that Lorna might help. But I failed you there. I'm +sorry. That was really the bitterness of the whole thing---to fail you!" + +"You owe me nothing," gruffly. + +"Only my life--my sanity." + +"I shall doubt the latter if you stay here." + +"No, you will see it triumphantly vindicated. I tell you I am better +already. Look at my hand! Do you remember how it shook the last time I +held it out for you. A few more months of this and it will be steady as +a rock. Ah! it's good to be feeling fit again! And it isn't only a +physical improvement." His smile faded and rising he began to pace the +room. "I doubt if even you fully understand the mental depression that +was dragging me down. No wonder Lorna would have none of me! Strange, +that I cannot understand my own case as I understand the cases of +others. Do what I would, I could not heal myself, the soul of the matter +persistently escaped me. I was beginning to be as much the victim of an +obsession as any of the poor creatures whom I tried to cure." + +"You never told me of that." + +"No, I was afraid to speak of it. It would have made it seem more real. +But I can tell you now, if you are sure you will not be bored." + +"I shall not be bored," said Willits quietly. + + + + +CHAPTER VII + + +"In order to make you understand, I'll have to go back," said the doctor +musingly, "a long way back. Some of the story you already know, but now +I want you to know it all. But first--when you found me in that +hospital, a useless bit of human wreckage, and forced me back into life +with your scorn of a coward and your cutting words, what did you think? +What did I tell you? It is all hazy to me." + +"You told me very little. It was plain enough. You had come a bad +cropper. Some girl, I gathered. You had lost her, you blamed yourself. +You talked a great deal of nonsense. I inferred--the usual thing!" + +"You were mistaken. It was at once better and worse than that. But let's +begin at the beginning. My father was a fairly wealthy man--but a +dreamer. He made his money by a clever invention and lost it by an +investment little short of idiotic. Like many unpractical men he had +rather fancied himself as a man of business and the disillusion killed +him. He--shot himself. My mother, my sister and myself were left, with +nothing save a small sum in the bank and the deed of the modest house we +lived in. Adela was twenty-one and I was nineteen. We sold the house, +moved into rooms; Adela learned shorthand and went into an office. I +wanted to do the same. But mother was adamant. I must finish my college +course and take my degree; she and Adela could manage until I could make +it up to them later. It was hard, but it seemed the only sensible +thing to do-- + +"I faced the task of working my way through college with a thankful +heart, for though I pretended that I did not care, it would have been a +terrible thing to have given up my life's ambition. The thought of Adela +trudging to the office hurt--it was the touch of the spur. I needn't +tell you, you can guess how I worked! People were kind. One summer, old +Doctor Inglis, whose amiable hobby it was to help young medical +students, engaged me for the holidays as his chauffeur and general +helper at a wage which would see me through my next term. It seemed an +unusual piece of luck, for he lived only twenty miles from my mother's +home and an electric tram connected the towns. One night I went with +Adela to a Church Social--of all places--and that is where the story +really begins, for it was at the Social that I met Molly Weston. It +seemed the most casual of all accidents, for you can imagine that I did +not frequent churches in those days, and Molly, too, had come there by +chance. She was dressed in pink, her cheeks were pink, she wore a pink +rose in her hair. She was the prettiest little fairy that ever smiled +and pouted her way into a boy's heart. Before I left her I was madly in +love--a boy's first headlong passion. Adela was amazed, teased me in her +elderly sister way but never for a moment took it seriously. Molly was a +mere bird of passage, an American girl staying with friends for a brief +time, therefore my infatuation was a humorous thing. But it was not so +simple as that. Molly stayed on, Dr. Inglis was indulgent, we met +continually. If her friends knew of it they did not care. It was just a +flirtation of their pretty guest's. As a serious factor I was quite +beneath the horizon, a young fellow working his way through college, and +with, later on, a mother and sister to support. + +"Molly understood the situation. At least she knew all the facts. I +doubt if she ever understood them. She was one of those helpless, +clinging girls who never seem to understand anything clearly. I remember +well how I used to agonise in explanation, trying to make her see our +difficulties and to face them with me. But when I had talked myself into +helpless silence she would ruffle my hair and say, 'But you really do +love me, don't you, Harry?' or 'I don't care what we have to do, so long +as mother doesn't know.' + +"I soon found out that her one strong emotion was fear of her mother. +She was fond of her but she feared her as weak natures fear the strong, +especially when bound to them by ties of blood. I was allowed to see her +photograph--the picture of a grim hard face instinct with an almost +terrible strength. No wonder my pretty Molly was her slave. One would +have deemed it impossible that they were mother and daughter. Molly, it +appears, was like her father, and he, poor man, had been long dead. +Molly would do anything, promise anything, if only her mother might not +know. She had not the faintest scruple in deceiving her, but this I +laid, and still lay, to the strength of her love for me. + +"She did love me. She must have loved me--else how could her timid +nature have taken the risk it did? + +"Summer fled by like a flash. Molly stayed with her friends as long as +she could find an excuse and then went on for a brief week in Toronto. +It was the week, of course, that I returned to college. We hoped that +she could extend her stay, but her mother wrote 'Come home,' and there +was no appeal from that. Then I did a desperate thing. Without Molly's +knowledge I wrote to her mother telling her that I loved her daughter +and begging, as a man begs for his life, to be allowed to ask her to +wait for me. The letter was a lie in that it concealed the fact that my +love was already confessed but I felt it necessary to shield Molly. I +received no answer to the letter, but Molly received a telegram, 'Come +home at once.' + +"I can leave you to imagine the scene--my despair, Molly's tears! Never +for an instant did she dream of disobeying and I--I felt that if she +went I should lose her forever. + +"Willits, there is something in me, devil or angel, which will not give +up. Nothing has ever conquered it yet and Molly was like wax in my +hands--so long as 'Mother' need not know. I do not attempt to excuse +myself; what I did was dastardly, but it did not seem so then. The night +before she left, she stole away from home. I had a license and we were +married by a Methodist minister. He knew neither of us and probably +forgot the whole incident immediately. It was a marriage only in name +for we said good-bye at Molly's door. She left next morning. I never saw +her again." + +Into the silence which followed, the professor's words dropped dryly. + +"What was your idea in forcing a meaningless marriage?" + +"I loved her. I knew that it was the only way. Madly as I loved her, I +knew that Molly was weak as water. I could not, would not, run the risk +of letting her leave me without the legal tie. But I justified it to +myself--I could have justified anything, I fear! I vowed a vow that she +would be repaid for the waiting as never woman yet was paid. She wept on +my shoulder and said, 'And you really do love me, Harry--and you'll +swear mother need never know?' + +"I swore it. There were to be no letters. Molly was too terrified to +write and still more terrified of receiving a letter. She would live in +constant dread, she said, if there were a possibility of such a thing. +Weak in everything else she was adamant in this. + +"I went back to work. I worked with the strength of ten. Health, +comfort, pleasure, all were subordinated to the fever of work. I hoped +that I might steal a glimpse of her sometimes. She promised to try to +return to Toronto. But my letter must have alarmed the mother. I found +out, indirectly, that shortly after her return, Mrs. Weston whisked her +off to Europe. They were gone a year. When they returned I was in the +far west with a government surveying party, earning something to help me +with my last year's college expenses. When I was again in Toronto she +had vanished. Gone, as I afterward learned, to stay with an aunt in +California. Her mother, alive to danger, was not going to risk a +meeting, and my vow to Molly left me helpless. But how I worked! + +"That last year things began to come my way. Adela married a fine young +fellow, wealthy and generous. My mother went to live with them in their +western home, Calgary, where they still are. Then Thomas Callandar, my +mother's brother, who had never bothered about any of us living, died, +and left me a handsome property, adding, as you already know, the +condition that I take the family name. You remember that my father's +name, the name under which I married Molly, was Chedridge. + +"Nothing now held me from Molly--in another month I would have my +degree, and free and rich I could go to claim her. It seemed like a +fairy tale! In my great happiness I broke my promise and wrote to her, +to the California address, hoping to catch her there. In three weeks' +time the letter came back from the dead letter office. I wrote again, +this time to the Cleveland address, a short note only, telling her I was +free at last. Then, next day, I followed the letter to Cleveland, wealth +in one hand, the assurance of an honourable degree in the other. + +"I had no trouble in finding the house. It was one of a row of houses, +nondescript but comfortable, in a pleasant street. It seemed familiar--I +had seen Molly's snapshots of it often. I cannot tell you what it felt +like to be really there--to walk down the street, up the path, up the +steps to the veranda. I was trembling as with ague, I was chalk-white I +knew--was I not in another moment to see my wife! + +"I could hear the electric bell tingle somewhere inside. Then an awful +pause. What if they were not at home? What if they lived there no +longer? I knew with a pang of fear that I could not bear another +disappointment. + +"There was a sound in the hall, the door knob moved--the door opened. I +gasped in the greatness of my relief for the face in the opening was +undoubtedly the face of Molly's mother. They were at home. They must +have had my letter--they must be expecting me-- + +"Something in the woman's face daunted me. It was deathly and strained. +Surely she did not intend to continue her opposition? Yet it confused +me. I forgot all that I had intended to say, I stammered: + +"'I am Henry Chedridge. I want to see Molly. I am rich, I have my +degree--' + +"'You cannot see her!' she said. Just that! The door began to close. But +I had myself in hand now. I laid hold of the door and spoke in a +different tone. The tone of a master. + +"'This is foolish, Mrs. Weston. I thought you understood. I can and I +will see your daughter. Molly is my wife!' + +"She gave way at that. The door opened wide, showing a long empty hall. +The woman stood aside, made no effort to stop me, but looking me in the +eyes she said: 'You come too late. Your wife is not here. Molly +is dead!' + +"Then, in one second, it seemed that all the years of overwork, of +mental strain and bodily deprivation rose up and took their due. I tried +to speak, stuttered foolishly, and fell like dead over the door-sill of +the house I was never to enter. + +"You know the rest, for you saved me. When I struggled back to life, +without the will to live, you shamed and stung me into effort. You +brought the new master-influence into my life, taught me that the old +ambition, the old work-ardour was not dead. Those months with you in +Paris, in Germany, in London at the feet of great men saw a veritable +new birth. I ceased to be Henry Chedridge, lover, and became Henry +Callandar, scientist. All this I owe to you." + +The other raised his hand. + +"No, not that. Some impulse I may have given you, but you have made +yourself what you are. But--you have not told me all yet?" + +"No." Again the doctor began his uneasy pacing of the room. "The rest is +harder to tell. It is not so clear. It has nothing to do with facts at +all. It is just that when I first began to show signs of overwork this +last time I became troubled with an idea, an obsession. It had no +foundation. It persisted without reason. It was fast becoming +unbearable!" + +He paused in his restless pacing and Willits' keen eyes noticed the look +of strain which had aroused his alarm some months ago. Nevertheless he +asked in his most matter-of-fact tone, "And the idea was--?" + +Callandar hesitated. "I can hardly speak of it yet in the past tense. +The idea is--that Molly is not dead!" + +"Good Heavens!" ejaculated the professor, startled out of his calm. "But +have you any reason to doubt? To--to base--" + +"None whatever. No enquiries which I have made cast doubt upon the +mother's words. But on the other hand I have been unable to confirm +them. I cannot find where my wife died--except that there is no record +of her death in the Cleveland registries. She did not die in Cleveland." + +"But you have told me that they were seldom at home. That the mother was +a great traveller." + +"Yes. The want of evidence in Cleveland proves nothing." + +"Did you feel any doubt at first?" + +"Absolutely none. The gloomy house, the empty hall, the white face and +black dress of the woman in the door, the look of horror and anger in +her eyes--yes, and a kind of grim triumph too--all served to drive the +fatal message home. Dead!--There was death in the air of that house, +death in the ghastly face--in the cruel, toneless words!--After my +tedious recovery I made an effort to see Mrs. Weston, although I had +conceived a horror of the woman, but she was gone. The house had been +sold. I tried to trace her without result. She seemed to have vanished +off the face of the earth." + +"And how long ago did the whole thing happen?" + +"Twelve years. I was twenty-three when I went to claim my bride. I am +thirty-five now." + +"Dear me!" said the little man sincerely, "I have always thought you +older than that! But twelve years is--twelve years! And you say this +doubt is a very recent thing?" + +"Yes. I have told you the thing is absurd. But I can't help it." + +"Have you made any further enquiries?" + +"Yes, uselessly. There is a rumour that Mrs. Weston, too, is dead. A +lady who used to know them tells me that she is certain she heard of her +death--in England, she thinks, but upon being questioned was quite at +sea as to where or when or even as to the original source of her +information. She remembers 'hearing it' and that's all. Then I sought +for the aunts, the maiden ladies whom Molly visited in California. They +too are gone, the older died during the time I lay ill in the hospital. +The younger one was not quite bright, I believe, and was taken away to +live with some relatives in the East. It was not Molly's mother who +fetched her. It was a man, a very kind man whom the old lady, my +informant, had never seen before. She said he had a queer name. She +could not remember it, but thought he was a physician. I imagine that +the kind friend was an asylum doctor." + +"Very likely. And could your informant tell you nothing of the niece--if +Molly had visited there?" + +"She remembered her last visit very well but her memories were of no +value. She was a sweet, pretty child, she said, and she often wondered +how she came to have such a homely mother. She evidently disliked Mrs. +Weston very much, and when I asked her if she had ever heard of Molly's +death she said no, but that she was not a bit surprised as she had +always predicted that the pretty, little, white thing would be worried +into an early grave. I noticed the word 'white' and asked her about it, +for the Molly I knew had a lovely colour. Her memory became confused +when I pressed her, but she seemed quite sure that the girl who came +that winter with her mother was a very pale girl--looked as if she might +have come south for her health." + +"All of which goes to prove--" + +"Yes--I know. Poor Molly! Poor little girl! I believe in my heart that +our mad marriage killed her. Without me constantly with her, the fear of +her mother, perhaps the doubt of me, the burden of the whole disastrous +secret was too much. And it was my fault, Willits--all my fault!" He +turned to the window to hide his working face. "Do you wonder," he added +softly, "that her poor little wraith comes back to trouble me?" + +"Come, come, no need to be morbid! You made a mistake, but you have +paid. As for the doubt which troubles you--it is but the figment of a +tired brain. The mother could have had no possible reason for deceiving +you. You were no longer an ineligible student--and the girl loved you. +Besides, there was the legal tie. Would any woman condemn her daughter +to a false position for life? And without reason? The idea is +preposterous. Come now, admit it!" + +"Oh, I admit it! My reasoning powers are still unimpaired. But reason +has nothing to do with that kind of mental torture. It is my soul that +has been sick; it is my soul that must be cured. And to come back to the +very point from which we started, I believe I shall find that cure +here--in Coombe." + +"With Mrs. Sykes?" dryly. + +"Certainly. Mrs. Sykes is part of the cure." + +"And the other part?" + +"Oh--just everything. I hardly know why I like the place. But I do. Why +analyse? I can sleep here. I wake in the morning like a man with the +right to live, and for the first time in a year, Willits, a long +torturing year, I am beginning to feel free of that oppression, that +haunting sense that somewhere Molly is alive, that she needs me and that +I cannot get to her. I had begun to fear that it would drive me mad. +But, here, it is going. Yesterday I was walking down a country road and +suddenly I felt free--exquisitely, gloriously free--the past wiped out! +That--that was why I almost feared to see you, Elliott, you bring the +past so close." + +The hands of the friends met in a firm handclasp. + +"Have it your own way," said the professor, smiling his grim smile. +"Consider me silenced." + +The doctor's answer was cut off by the jingling entrance of Mrs. Sykes +bearing before her a large tray upon which stood tall glasses, a beaded +pitcher of ice cold lemonade and some cake with white frosting. + +"Seeing as it's so hot," said she amiably, "I thought a cold drink might +cool you off some. Especially as breakfast will be five minutes late +owing to the chicken. I thought maybe as you had a friend, doctor, a +chicken--" + +"A chicken will be delicious," said the doctor, answering the question +in her voice. "Mrs. Sykes, let me present Professor Willits; Willits, +Mrs. Sykes! Let me take the tray." + +Mrs. Sykes shook hands cordially. "Land sakes!" she said. "I thought you +were a priest! Not that I really suspicioned that the doctor, good +Presbyterian as he is, would know any such. But priests is terrible +wily. They deceive the very elect--and it's best to be prepared. As it +is, any friend of the doctor's is a friend of mine. You're kindly +welcome, I'm sure." + +"Thank you," said the professor limply. + +The doctor handed them each a glass and raised his own. + +"Let us drink," he said, "to Coombe. 'Coombe and the Soul cure!'" + +"Amen!" said Willits. + +"Land sakes!" said Mrs. Sykes. "I thought it was his spine!" + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + + +Zerubbabel Burk sat upon his stool of office in the doctor's consulting +room, swinging his legs. Would-be discoverers of perpetual motion might +have received many hints from Bubble, though he himself would have +scorned to consider the swinging of legs as motion. He was under the +delusion that he was sitting perfectly still. For the doctor was asleep. + +Asleep, at four o'clock on a glorious summer day! No wonder his friend +and partner wore a tragic face. + +"Doesn't seem to care a hang if he never gets any patients!" mused +Bubble, resentfully, stealing a half fond, half angry glance at the +placid face of the sleeper. "Only two folks in all day and one a kid +with a pin in its throat. And all he says is, 'Don't worry, son, we're +getting on fine!' We'll go smash one of these days, that's what we'll +do--just smash!" + +"Tap-tap" sounded the blinds which were drawn over the western windows. +A pleasant little breeze was trying to come in. "Buzz" sounded a fly on +the wall. Bubble arose noisily and killed it with a resounding "thwack." + +"Wake the doctor, would you?" he said. "Take that!" + +But even the pistol-like report which accompanied the fly's demise +failed to ruffle the sleeper. Bubble returned disconsolate to +his stool. + +"Smash," he repeated, "smash is the word. I see our finish." + +The pronoun which Bubble used nowadays was always "we." He belonged to +the doctor body and soul, but it was no servile giving. The doctor also +belonged to him, and it was with this privilege of ownership that he now +found fault with his idol. Had any one else objected to the doctor's +afternoon rest he would have found reason and excuse enough; but in his +own heart he was puzzled. Such indifference to the appearances, such +wilful disregard of "business" could hardly, he thought, be real; yet, +for an imitation, it was remarkably well done. Bubble admired even while +he deprecated. + +Why, he did not even go to church so that the minister might introduce +him around as "Dr. Callandar, the new brother who has come amongst us." +Neither did he walk down Main Street, nor show himself in public places. +When he went walking he went early in the morning and directed his steps +toward the country. About all the usual means of harmless and necessary +advertising he did not seem to know Beans! Bubble looked disconsolately +out of the window. There was Ann, now, coming across the yard. School +must be out, and still the doctor slept. + +"Anybody in?" asked Ann in a stage whisper. + +"Not just now. Been very busy though. Doctor's resting. Stop that +noise." + +"I'm not making any noise! He's part my doctor anyway. I'll make a noise +if I like--" + +"No you won't, miss!" + +"But I don't _like_," added Ann with her impish smile. "If he's asleep +what are you staying here for? Come on out." + +Bubble regarded the tempter with scornful amazement. + +"That's it!" he exclaimed, "jest like I always said, women haven't any +sense of honour. What d'ye suppose I'm here for?" + +"Not just to swing your legs," placidly. "He doesn't need you when he's +asleep, does he? Come on and let's get some water-cress. He'd like some +for his tea--dinner I mean. Say, Bubble, why does he call it dinner?" + +"Because he comes from the city, Silly! They don't have any tea in the +city. They have breakfast when they get up and lunch at noon and dinner +about seven or eight or nine at night. Then if they get hungry before +bed-time they have supper. The doctor says he never gets hungry after +dinner so he don't have that." + +Ann considered this a moment. + +"They do so have tea!" she declared. "I heard Mrs. Andrew West telling +about it. She said her sister in Toronto had a tea specially for her." + +"Oh," with superb disdain, "that's just for women. If they can't wait +for dinner they get bread and butter and tea in the afternoon. But they +have to eat it walking around and they only get it when they go out +to call." + +Ann sighed. "I'd like to live in the city," she murmured. "Say, don't +you feel as if you'd like a cookie right now?" + +Bubble squirmed. But his Spartan fortitude held. + +"In business hours? No, thank you. 'Tisn't professional. Look silly, +wouldn't I, if one of our patients caught me eating?" + +"How many to-day?" + +"That'd be telling. 'Tisn't professional to tell. Doctor says if a man +wants to succeed, he's got to be as dumb as a noyster in business!" + +"Pshaw!" said Ann, "Aunty'll tell. She always counts. Then you don't +want a cookie?" + +"Well--later on--Cricky! here's some one coming! You scoot--pike it!" + +"I won't!" Ann stood her ground, peering eagerly around the rose bush. +"It's only Esther Coombe. She'll be coming to see Aunt--no--she's coming +here! Hi, Bubble, wake him up--quick!" + +"Hum, Hum!" said Bubble in a loud voice, rattling a chair. The sleeper +made no movement. + +Ann, brave through anxiety, flew across the room and shook him with all +the strength of her small hands. The heavy lids lifted and still +Ann shook. + +"Is it an earthquake?" asked the victim politely. + +"No--it's a patient! Oh, do get up. Oh, goodness gracious, look at your +hair!" + +The doctor passed his hand absently over a disordered head. "Yes," he +said, "I have always thought that shaking is not good for hair. Dear me! +I believe I have been asleep!" + +Ann threw him a glance of mingled admiration and reproach and vanished +through the parlour door just as the step of the patient sounded upon +the stone steps. + +"Why, Bubble Burk!" said a voice. "What are you doing here?" + +At the sound of the voice, sleep fled from the doctor's eyes. He arose +precipitately. + +"I'm workin'," Bubble's voice was not as confident as usual. "This here +is Dr. Callandar's office. Mrs. Sykes' visitors go round to the +front door." + +"Oh! But it's the doctor I wish to see. Is he in?" + +Bubble was now plainly agitated. + +"If you'll just wait a moment, I'll--I'll see." + +Leaving Esther smiling upon the steps he disappeared into the shaded +office and pulled up the blinds. The couch had been decorously +straightened. The office was empty! Bubble gave a sigh of relief and his +professional manner returned. + +"He isn't just what you might call in," he explained affably to Esther. +"But he'll be down directly. Walk in." + +Esther walked in and took the seat which Bubble indicated. + +"Somebody sick over at your house?" with ill-concealed hope. + +Esther dimpled. "Not dangerously, thank you." + +"Then it's just tickets for the choir concert. I might have known. But +you're too late. Doctor's got half a dozen already. He--" + +Further revelations were cut short by the entrance of the doctor +himself. A doctor with sleep-cleared eyes, fresh collar, and newly +brushed hair. A doctor who shook hands with his caller in a manner which +even the professional Bubble felt to be irreproachable. + +"Bubble, you may go." + +With a grin of satisfied pride the junior partner departed, but once +outside the gloomy expression returned. + +"It's only choir-tickets!" he told Ann, who was waiting around the +corner of the house. "Come on--let's go fishin'." + +Inside the office Esther and the doctor looked at each other and smiled. +He, because he felt like smiling; she, because she felt nervous. Yet it +was not going to be as awkward as she had feared. With a decided sense +of relief she realised that Dr. Callandar looked exactly like a doctor +after all! Convention, even in clothes, has a calming effect. There was +little of the weary tramp who had quenched his throat at the school +pump in the well groomed and quietly capable looking doctor. With a +notable decrease of tension Esther saw that the man before her was a +stranger, a pleasant, professional stranger, with whom no embarrassment +was possible. + +As for him he realised nothing except that Coombe was really a +delightful place. He felt glad that he had stayed. + +"No one ill, I hope, Miss Coombe?" His tone, even, seemed to have lost +the whimsical inflection of the tramp. + +"No, Doctor. Not ill exactly. It is Aunt Amy. We cannot understand just +what is the matter. You see, Aunty imagines things. She is not quite +like other people. Perhaps," with a quick smile as she thought of Mrs. +Sykes, "perhaps you may have heard of her--of her fantastic ideas? They +are really quite harmless and apart from them she is the most sensible +person I know. But lately, just the other day, something happened--" + +He checked her with an almost imperceptible gesture. "Could you tell me +about it from the beginning?" + +Esther looked troubled. "I do not know much about the beginning. You +see, Aunt Amy is my step-mother's aunt, and I have only known her since +she came to live with us shortly after my father's second marriage. But +I know that she has been subject to delusions since she was a young +girl. She was to have been married and on the wedding day her lover +became ill with scarlet fever, a most malignant type. She also sickened +with it a little later; it killed him and left her mentally twisted--as +she is now. Her health is good and the--strangeness--is not very +noticeable. It has usually to do with unimportant things. She is +really," with a little burst of enthusiasm, "a Perfect Dear!" + +The doctor smiled. "And the new development?" + +"It is not exactly new. She has always had one delusion more serious +than the others. She believes that she has enemies somewhere who would +do her harm if they got the chance. She is quite vague as to who or what +they are. She refers to them as 'They.' Once, when she came to us first, +she was frightened of poison and, although my father, who had great +influence over her, seemed to cure her of any active fear, for years she +has persisted in a curious habit of drinking her coffee without setting +down the cup. The idea seemed to be that if she let it out of her hands +'They,' the mysterious persecutors, might avail themselves of the +opportunity to drug it. Does it sound too fantastic?" + +"No. It is not unusual--a fairly common delusion, in fact. There is a +distinct type of brain trouble, one of whose symptoms is a conviction of +persecution. The results are fantastic to a degree." + +Well, the day before yesterday Aunt Amy was drinking her coffee as +usual, when she heard Jane scream in the garden. She is very fond of +Jane, and it startled her so that she jumped up at once, forgetting all +about the coffee, and ran out to see what was the matter. Jane had cut +her finger and the tiniest scratch upsets poor Auntie terribly. She is +terrified of blood. When she came back she felt faint and at once picked +up the cup and drank the remaining coffee. I hoped she had not noticed +the slip but she must have done so, subconsciously, for when I was +helping her with the dishes she turned suddenly white--ghastly. She had +just remembered! + +'They've got me at last, Esther!' she said with a kind of proud +despair. 'I've been pretty smart, but not quite smart enough.' + +I pretended not to understand and she explained quite seriously that +while she had been absent in the garden 'They' had seen her half-filled +cup and seized their opportunity. It was quite useless to point out that +there was no one in the house but ourselves. She only said, 'Oh, "They" +would not let me see them "They" are too smart for that.' Overwhelming +smartness is one of the attributes of the mysterious 'They.' + +"I hoped that the idea would wear away but it didn't; it strengthened. +In vain I pointed out that she was perfectly well, with no symptom of +poisoning. She merely answered that naturally 'They' would be too smart +to use ordinary poisons with symptoms. 'I shall just grow weaker and +weaker,' she said, 'and in a week or a month I shall die!' I tried to +laugh but I was frightened. Mother advised taking no notice at all and I +have tried not to, but I can't keep it up. She is certainly weaker and +so strange and hopeless. I am terrified. Can mind really affect matter, +Doctor Callandar?" + +"No. As a scientific fact, it cannot. But it is true that certain states +of mind and certain conditions of matter always correspond. Why this is +so, no one knows, when we do know we shall hold the key to many +mysteries. The understanding, even partial, of this correspondence will +be a long step in a long new road. Meanwhile we speak loosely of mind +influencing matter, ignoring the impossibility. And, however it happens, +it is undoubtedly true that if we can, by mental suggestion, influence +your Aunt's mind into a more healthy attitude the corresponding change +will take place physically." + +"But I have tried to reason with her." + +"You can't reason with her. She is beyond mere reason. I might as well +try to reason you out of your conviction that the sun is shining. A +delusion like hers has all the stability of a perfectly sane belief." + +"Then what can we do?" + +"Since that delusion is a fact for her we must treat it as if it were a +fact for us." + +"You mean we must pretend to believe that the danger is real?" + +"It is real. People have died before now of nothing save a fixed idea of +death." + +"Oh!" + +"But don't worry. Aunt Amy is not going to die. When may I see her? If I +come over in a half an hour will that be convenient?" + +Esther rose with relief. How kind he had been! How completely he had +understood! She had been right, perfectly right, in coming to him. In +spite of Mrs. Coombe's ridicule, Aunt Amy's need had been no fancy. And +there was another thing; he was coming to the house. Her mother would +see him--and presto! her prejudice against doctors would vanish--he +would cure the headaches, and everything would be happy again. + +The doctor, watching keenly, thought that she must have been troubled +greatly to show such evident relief. + +"One thing more," he said. "Was there, do you know, any history of +insanity in your aunt's family?" + +The girl paled. The idea was a disturbing one. + +"Why--no--I think not. I never heard. You see, she is not my Aunt, +really, but my step-mother's aunt. There was a brother, I think, who +died in--in an institution. He was not quite responsible, but in his +case it was drink. That is different, isn't it? Does it make any +difference?" + +"No--only it may help me to understand the case. Good-afternoon." + +He watched her go, through a peep-hole made by Bubble in the blind. + +"Pretty, isn't she?" said a reflective voice below him. + +The doctor started. But it was only Mrs. Sykes who had stepped around +the house corner to pluck some flowers from the bed beneath the window. +As he did not answer, the voice continued, "That boy Burk has gone +fishing. I told you you'd regret putting that new suit on to him, brass +buttons and all! Not that I want to say anything against the lad and his +mother a widow, but when a person's dealing with a limb of mischief a +person ought to know what to expect. Anybody sick over at +Esther's house?" + +The doctor, leaning against the door in deep reverie, did not seem to +hear. Mrs. Sykes, after a suspicious glance, decided that perhaps he +really had not heard, and proceeded. + +"Not that I'm asking out of curiosity, Land sakes! But I've got some +black currant jelly that sick folks fancy. I could spare a jar as +well as not." + +A pause. + +The flower picker bunched her flowers into a tight round knot which she +surveyed with pride. "That step-mother of Esther's now," she said. "I +don't hold much with her. Flighty, I call her. Delicate, too, if looks +don't lie. Men are queer. The only thing queerer is women. What d'ye +suppose a sensible middle-aged man like Doctor Coombe ever saw in that +pretty doll? And what did she see in him--old enough to be her father? A +queer match, I call it. But they do say that her side of it is easy +explained. Anyway it must have been a trying thing when the doctor's +gold mine didn't--" + +Mrs. Sykes' flow of words ceased abruptly, for rising from a last +descent upon the rose bush she saw that her audience had vanished. + +"Dear me! I hope he didn't think I was trying to be curious," said Mrs. +Sykes. + + + + +CHAPTER IX + + +It required some persuasion to induce Aunt Amy to consent to see the +doctor. Doctors, she had found (with the single exception of Dr. +Coombe), were terribly unreasonable. They asked all kinds of questions, +and never believed a word of the answers. + +"And if I have a doctor," she declared tearfully, "I shall have to go to +bed. And if I go to bed who will get supper? The sprigged tea-set--" + +"But you won't need to go to bed, Auntie. You aren't ill, you know; just +a little bit upset. If you feel like lying down why not use the sofa in +my room? And even if you do not wish to see the doctor for yourself," +Esther's tone was reproachful, "think what a good opportunity it is for +us to get an opinion about mother. Don't you remember saying just the +other day that you thought mother was foolish to be so nervous +about doctors?" + +"Yes, but she needn't stay in the room, need she, Esther? I don't want +her in the room. She laughs. But I would like to lie on your sofa and if +I must see him I had better wear my lavender cap." + +"Yes, dear, and you will not mind mother staying--" + +"But I do mind, Esther. And anyway she can't," triumphantly, "because +she has gone out." + +"Gone out? Mother? But she knew the doctor was coming and she +promised--" + +"Yes, I know. She said to tell you she had fully intended staying in +until the doctor had been, but she had forgotten about the Ladies' Aid +Meeting. She simply had to go to that. She said you could attend to the +doctor quite as well as she could and that it was all nonsense anyway, +because there was nothing whatever the matter with me." The faded eyes +filled with tears again and Esther had much ado to prevent their +imminent overflow. + +She settled Aunt Amy upon the couch and adjusted the lavender cap +without further betrayal of her own feelings, but in her heart she was +both angry and hurt. Her mother had known of the doctor's intended visit +and had distinctly promised to remain in to receive him. What would Dr. +Callandar think? It was most humiliating. + +The Ladies' Aid Meeting was plainly an excuse for a deliberate shirking +of responsibility. Or, worse still, Mrs. Coombe, divining Esther's +double motive, may have left the house purposely to escape seeing the +doctor on her own account. Esther well knew the stubbornness of which +she was capable upon this one question, and the cunningness of it was +like her. She had made no objections; she had not troubled to refuse or +to argue--she had simply gone out. + +Well, it was something to feel that she, Esther, had done what she +could. At any rate, there was no time to worry, for the doctor was +already coming up the walk. + +Esther hurried to the door. It relieved her to find that he seemed to +expect her, and showed no offence on realising that the patient's +nearest relative was not at home to receive him. Indeed, he seemed to +think of no one save the patient herself. His manner, Esther thought, +was perfect. Had she been a little older she might have suspected such +perfection, deducing from it that Callandar, like herself, was +subconsciously aware of an interest in the situation not altogether +professional. But the girl made no deductions and certainly there was no +trace of any embarrassment in the doctor's way with his patient. It took +only a moment for Esther to decide that here, at least, she had done the +right thing. She waited only long enough to see the frightened look in +Aunt Amy's eyes replaced by one of timid confidence and then, murmuring +an excuse, slipped away, leaving them together. + +Callandar also waited while the startled eyes grew quiet and then lifted +the fluttering hand into his own firm one. + +"Creatures of habit, we doctors, aren't we?" he said, smiling. "Always +taking people's temperatures." + +Aunt Amy ventured upon a vague answering smile. + +"I understand," continued the doctor, "that you have reason to fear that +you have been poisoned?" + +The hand began to flutter again, but quieted as the pleasant, confident +voice went on: + +"Your niece has told me something of the case but no details. Perhaps +you can supply them for me. When exactly did it happen and what kind of +poison was it?" + +The fluttering hand became quite still and the eyes of Aunt Amy slowly +filled with a great amazement. Here was an unbelievable thing--a doctor +who did not argue or deny or playfully scold her for "fancies." A doctor +who took her seriously and showed every intention of believing what she +said. No one, save Dr. Coombe, had ever done that-- + +"It is always best in these cases to get the details from the patient +herself," went on the doctor, encouragingly. + +No, he was not laughing! Aunt Amy could detect nothing save the gravest +of interest in his kindly eyes. An immense relief stole over her. A +relief so great that Callandar, watching, felt his heart grow hot +with pity. + +"Oh, doctor!" she cried feebly, "I--" a rush of easy tears drowned the +rest of the sentence. + +Callandar let her cry. He knew the value of those tears. Presently when +she grew more quiet he exchanged her soaking bit of cambric for his own +more serviceable square. Aunt Amy dried her eyes on it and handed it +back as simply as a child. + +"Pray excuse me," she begged, "but--the relief! I might have died if you +had not come." She went on brokenly. "You see," dropping her voice, "my +relatives are _queer_. They have strange ideas. When I know things quite +well they tell me I am mistaken. Mary, my niece, laughs. Even Esther, +who tries to help me, thinks I do not know what I am talking about. They +all argue in the most absurd manner. If I do not pretend always that I +agree with them I have no peace. Sometimes when I tell some of the +things I know, Esther looks frightened and says I am not to tell Jane. +So I try to keep everything to myself. I don't want the children to be +frightened. They are young and ought to be happy. I was happy when I was +young--at least, I think it was I. Sometimes I'm not sure whether it +wasn't some other girl--I get confused--" + +"Don't worry about it," said the doctor calmly. "Or about Miss Esther +either. I want to hear all about the poison." + +Aunt Amy remembered her precarious condition with a start. Her eyes grew +vague. + +"I don't know how They put it in," she said. "I didn't see Them, you +know. I left my cup of coffee standing while I went to find Jane. I +heard her crying. She had cut her finger and when I had bound it up I +felt faint, so I foolishly forgot and picked up the coffee and drank it. +I wasn't quite myself or I should never have been so careless." + +The doctor seemed to appreciate this point. "Did you taste anything in +the coffee?" he asked. + +"No. Of course They would be too clever for that!" + +"And when did you begin to feel ill?" + +"Just as soon as I remembered that I had forgotten to pour out a fresh +cup." The naivete of this statement was quite lost upon the +eager speaker. + +Esther, who had re-entered the room, opened her lips to improve this +opportunity for argument but, meeting the doctor's eye, refrained. +Callandar took no notice of the significant admission. + +"Where do you feel the pain now?" he asked. + +Aunt Amy appeared disturbed. + +"Mostly in my head--I--I think." She moved restlessly. + +Callandar appeared to consider this. + +"But I suppose," he said thoughtfully, "that you really feel very little +actual pain. None at all perhaps?" + +Aunt Amy admitted that she could not locate any particular pain. + +"Weakness is the predominating symptom," went on the doctor. "It is, in +fact, a very simple case. All the more serious, of course, for being so +simple, _if_ we did not understand it. But now that we know exactly what +is wrong we need have no fear." + +Aunt Amy's vague eyes began to shine. + +"Shall we get the better of them again?" she asked eagerly. + +"We certainly shall," kindly. "Miss Esther, I am going to leave some +medicine for your aunt; these little pink tablets. She must have one +every two hours and two at bedtime. When she has taken them for two days +I shall send something else. You will notice an improvement almost at +once. Even in an hour or two, perhaps. By the end of the week all +medicine may be discontinued." + +He crushed a little pink tablet in a spoon, mixed it with water, and +watched the old lady while she eagerly swallowed it. + +"There!" he exclaimed. "That is the beginning! All we need now is a +little rest and quiet. Nothing to excite the patient and a tablet +regularly every two hours." He arose, affecting not to see Aunt Amy's +grateful tears. "And of course," he added as if by an afterthought, +"_They_ won't know anything about this. They will think that, having +taken the coffee, the result is certain. They will take for granted that +They have finished you, in fact! So cheer up, it is worth a little +illness to be rid of the fear of Them forever." + +A lightning flash of hope lit up the worn face upon the pillow. "Oh, +Doctor! Do you really think I am free?" + +"Sure of it." + +Aunt Amy sank back with a long sigh; her lined face grew suddenly +peaceful. Esther, who had observed the little scene with wonder, said +nothing, but taking the tablets, kissed her Aunt, and led the way out +in silence. + +"Well?" + +As they stood together in the hall she could see the amused twinkle in +the doctor's eye. + +"I don't like it! You lied to her!" + +"So I did," cheerfully. + +"These tablets," holding up the glass vial, "what are they?" + +"Tonic." + +"And the medicine which you are going to send later?" + +"More tonic." + +"But she thinks--you gave her to understand that they are the antidote +for the poison which you know does not exist." + +"No. They are the antidote for a poison which does exist--medicine for a +mind diseased." + +"It's--it's like taking advantage of a child." + +"So it is, exactly. I suppose you have never taken advantage of a child, +for the child's good?" + +"Certainly not." + +"Never told one, gave one to understand, so to speak, that a kiss will +cure a bumped head?" + +"That's different!" + +"Never told your school class during a thunderstorm that lightning never +hurts good children?" + +"That's very different." + +"And yet all the time you know that lightning falls upon the just and +unjust equally." + +Esther was silent. The doctor laughed. + +"I fear we are both sad story-tellers," he said gaily. "But in Aunt +Amy's case the fibbing will all be charged to my account, you are merely +the nurse. A nurse's duty is to obey orders and not frown (as you are +doing now) upon the doctor. You will find that I shall effect a cure. +Seriously, I do not believe that you have any idea of what that poor +woman has been suffering. If the delusion of living in continual danger +can be lifted in any way even for a time, it will make life over for +her. You would not really allow a scruple to prevent some alleviation of +your Aunt's condition, would you?" + +The girl's downcast eyes flashed up to his, startlingly blue. + +"No. I would not. I love her. I would tell all the fibs in the world to +help her. But all the time I should have a queer idea that _I_ was doing +wrong. It would be common sense against instinct." + +"Against prejudice," he corrected. "The prejudice which always insists +that truth consists in a form of words." + +They were now in the cool green light of the living room. Esther stood +with her back to the table, leaning slightly backward, supporting +herself by one hand. She looked tired. There were shadows under her +eyes. The doctor felt an impulse of irritation against the absent mother +who let the girl outwear her strength. + +"My advice to you is not to worry," he said abruptly. "You are tired. +More tired than a young girl of your age ought to be. You cannot teach +those imps of Satan--I mean those charming children--all day and come +back to home cares at night. Will it be possible for me to speak to Mrs. +Coombe before I go?" + +Watching her keenly he saw that now he had touched the real cause of the +trouble. + +"I am sorry," began Esther, but meeting his look, the prim words of +conventional excuse halted. A little smile curled the end of her lips +and she added, "Since she went out purposely to escape you, it is +not likely." + +"Your mother went out to escape me?" in surprise. + +"In your capacity of doctor only. You see," with a certain childish +naivete, "she hasn't seen you yet. And mother dislikes doctors very +much. Oh!" with a hot blush, "you will think we are a queer family, +all of us!" + +"It is not at all queer to dislike doctors," he answered her cheerfully. +"I dislike them myself. At the very best they are necessary evils." + +"Indeed no! And when one is ill it seems so foolish--" + +"Is Mrs. Coombe ill?" + +"I don't know. I think so. She has headaches. She is not at all like +herself. I hoped so much that you would meet her this afternoon, and +then she--she went out!" + +"And this is really what is troubling you, and not Aunt Amy?" + +"Yes. You see, Aunt Amy has been quite all right until the last two +days. But mother--that has been troubling us a long time." + +"How long?" + +"Almost since father died--a year ago." + +"But--don't you think that if Mrs. Coombe were really ill her prejudice +would disappear? People do not suffer from choice, usually." + +"No. That is just what puzzles me!" She did indeed look puzzled, very +puzzled and very young. + +"If I could help you in any way?" suggested Callandar. "You may be +worrying quite needlessly." + +"Do people ever consult you about their mothers behind their mother's +back?" + +"Often. Why not?" + +"Only that it doesn't seem natural. Grown-up people--" + +"Are often just as foolish as anybody else!" + +"Besides, I doubt if I can make you understand." Now that the ice was +broken Esther's voice was eager. "I know very little of the real trouble +myself. It seems to be just a general state of health. But it varies so. +Sometimes she seems quite well, bright, cheerful, ready for anything! +Then again she is depressed, nervous, irritable. She has desperate +headaches which come on at intervals. They are nervous headaches, she +says, and are so bad that she shuts herself up in her room and will not +let any of us in. She will not eat. I--I don't know very much about +it, you see." + +"You know a little more than that, I think, perhaps when you know me +better?--It is, after all, a matter of trusting one's doctor." + +"I do trust you. But feelings are so difficult to put into words. And +the greatest dread I have about mother's illness is only a feeling, a +feeling as if I knew, without quite knowing, that the trouble is deeper +than appears. Jane feels it too, so it can't be all imagination. It is +caused, I think, by a change in mother herself. She seems to be growing +into another person--don't laugh!" + +"I am not laughing. Please go on." + +"Well, one thing more tangible is that the headaches, which seem to mark +a kind of nervous crisis, are becoming more frequent. And the +medicine--" + +"But you told me that she took no medicine!" + +"Did I? Then I am telling my story very badly. She has some medicine +which she always takes. It is a prescription which my father gave her a +few months before he died. She had a bad attack of some nervous trouble +then which seems to have been the beginning of everything. But that time +she recovered and it was not until after father's death that the +headaches began again. Father's prescription must, long ago, have lost +all effect, or why should the trouble get worse rather than better? But +mother will not hear a word on the subject. She will take that medicine +and nothing else." + +"Do you know what the medicine is?" + +"No. Father used to fill it for her himself. She says it is a very +difficult prescription and she never has it filled in town, always in +the city." + +"But why? Taylor, here, is quite capable of filling any prescription. He +is a most capable dispenser." + +"Yes--I know. But mother will not believe it." + +"And you say it does her no good whatever?" + +"She thinks that it does. She has a wonderful belief in it. But she gets +no better." + +The doctor looked very thoughtful. + +"She will not allow you to try any kind of compress for her head?" + +"No. She locks her door. And I am sure she suffers, for sometimes when I +have gone up hoping to help I have heard such strange sounds, as if she +were delirious. It frightens me!" + +"Does she talk of her illness?" + +"Never, and she is furious if I do. She says she is quite well and +indeed no one would think that anything serious was wrong unless they +lived in the house. Any one outside would be sure that I am worrying +needlessly. Am I, do you think?" + +"I can't think until I know more. But from what you tell me, it looks as +if this medicine she is taking might have something to do with it. If it +does no good, it probably does harm. Perhaps it was never intended to +be used as she is using it. Otherwise, as you say, the attacks would +diminish. At the same time a blind faith in a certain medicine is not at +all uncommon. One meets it constantly. Also the prejudice against +consulting a physician. It is probable that Mrs. Coombe does not realise +that she is steadily growing worse. Could you let me examine the +medicine?" + +Esther hesitated. + +"It is kept locked up. But, I might manage it. If I asked her for it she +would certainly refuse. I--I should hate to steal it," miserably. + +"I see. Well, try asking first. It is just a question of how far one has +the right to interfere with another's deliberately chosen course of +action. The medicine is probably injurious, even dangerous. I should +warn her, at least. If she will do nothing and you still feel +responsible I should say that you have a moral right to have your own +mind reassured upon the matter." + +Esther smiled. "I believe I feel reassured already. Perhaps I have been +foolishly apprehensive and it never occurred to me that the medicine +might be at fault; at the worst I thought it might be useless, not +harmful. If I could only manage to have you see it without _taking_ it! +There must be a way. I'll think of something and let you know." + +"Do." The doctor picked up his hat for the second time. He was genuinely +interested. He had not expected to find a problem of any complexity in +sleepy Coombe. The cases of Aunt Amy and the peculiar Mrs. Coombe seemed +to justify his staying on. It was pleasant also to help this charming +young girl--although that, naturally, was a secondary consideration! + +Esther ran upstairs with a lightened heart. + + + + +CHAPTER X + + +"I really could not help being late, Esther! I tried to hurry them but +Mrs. Lewis was there. You know what _she_ is!" + +Mrs. Coombe sank gracefully into a veranda chair. Out of the corners of +her eyes she cast a swift glance at the face of her step-daughter and, +as the girl was not looking, permitted herself a tiny smile of malicious +amusement. She was a small woman but one in whom smallness was charm and +not defect. Once she had been exceedingly pretty; she was moderately +pretty still. The narrow oval of her face remained unspoiled but the +small features, once delicately clear, appeared in some strange way to +be blurred and coarsened. The fine grained skin which should have been +delicate and firm had coarsened also and upon close inspection showed +multitudes of tiny lines. Her fluffy hair was very fair, ashy fair +almost, and would have been startlingly lovely only that it, too, was +spoiled by a dryness and lack of gloss which spoke of careless treatment +or ill health, or both. Still, at a little distance, Mary Coombe +appeared a young and attractive woman. The surprise came when one looked +into her eyes. Her eyes did not fit the face at all; they were old eyes, +tired yet restless, and clouded with a peculiar film which robbed them +of all depth. Curiously disturbing eyes they were, like windows with +the blinds down! + +If her eyes were restless, her hands were restless too and she kept +snapping the catch of her hand-bag with an irritating click as +she spoke. + +"I know I ought to have been here when the doctor called to see Amy," +she went on, "but I could not get away. Mrs. Lewis talked and talked. +That woman is worse than Tennyson's brook. She makes me want to scream! +I wonder," musingly, "what would happen if I should jump up some day and +scream and scream? I think I'll try it." + +"Do!" + +"What did Doctor Paragon-what's-his-name say about Amy?" + +"He thinks we have been treating Aunt Amy wrongly. He thinks she should +be humoured more. His name is Callandar." + +"Callandar? What an odd name! It sounds half-familiar. I must have heard +it somewhere. There is a Dr. Callandar in Montreal, isn't there? A +specialist or something." + +"I think this is the same man. But if it is he, doesn't want it known. +He is here for his health, and he has never taken the trouble to correct +the impression that he is a beginner working up a practice. I thought so +myself at first." + +"At first?" + +"When I first saw him. I have met him several times." + +Mrs. Coombe was evidently not sufficiently interested to pursue the +subject. "Whoever he is," she said fretfully, "I hope he is not going to +allow Amy to fancy herself an invalid." + +"He is going to cure the fancy." + +"Oh!" dubiously. "Well, I hope he does! I find I must run over to +Detroit for a few days." + +"What?" + +"It would be provoking to have her ill while I'm away. No one else can +manage Jane properly while you're at school. Where is Jane?" + +"I don't know. You are not speaking seriously, are you?" + +"I certainly am. At a pinch I suppose I could take Jane with me. She +needs new clothes. But I'd rather not bother with her. Her measure will +do quite as well. I wish you would call her. I've got some butterscotch +somewhere. Here it is." The restless hands fumbled in the hand-bag. "No, +it isn't here, how odd! I promised Jane--" + +"Mother, when did you decide to go away?" + +"Some time ago. It doesn't matter, does it? I had a letter from Jessica +Bremner to-day. She asks me to come at once. It's in this bag somewhere. +I declare I never can find anything! Anyway, she wants me to come." + +"When did you get the letter?" + +"On the noon mail, of course." + +Esther turned away. She knew very well that there had been no letter +from Detroit on the noon mail. But there seemed no use in saying so. +These little "inaccuracies" were becoming common enough. At first Esther +had exposed and laughed at them as merely humorous mistakes; but that +attitude had long been replaced by a cold disgust which did not scruple +to call things by their right names. She knew very well that Mary Coombe +had developed the habit of lying. + +"You see," went on the prevaricator cheerfully, "it would be necessary +to run down to Toronto soon anyway. I haven't a rag fit to wear and +neither has Jane. But Detroit is better. Things are much cheaper across +the line. And easy as anything to smuggle. All you need to do is to wear +them once and swear they're old." + +"An oath is nothing? But where is the money coming from?" + +Mrs. Coombe shrugged her shoulders. "One can't get along without +clothes! And even if I could, there is another reason for the trip. My +medicine is almost finished. I can't risk being without that." + +It was the opportunity for which Esther had waited. She spoke eagerly. + +"Why not try getting it filled here? I'm sure they are as careful as +possible at Taylor's." + +The hand-bag shut with a particularly emphatic click. Mrs. Coombe rose. + +"We have discussed that before," she said coldly. "It is a very +particular prescription and hard to fill. As it means so much to me in +my wretched health to have it exactly right, I am surprised at +you, Esther!" + +Esther put the surprise aside. + +"You could get it by mail, couldn't you?" + +"I shall not try to get it by mail." + +"But Taylor's are absolutely reliable. Why not give them a chance? If it +is not satisfactory I shall never say another word. It seems so +senseless going to Detroit for a few drugs which may be had around the +corner. Perhaps it is not as difficult to fill as you think. Let me show +the prescription to Dr. Callandar--" She stopped suddenly for Mrs. +Coombe had grown white, a pasty white, and she broke in upon the girl's +suggestion with a little inarticulate cry of rage, so uncalled for, so +utterly unexpected, that Esther was frightened. For a moment the film +seemed brushed from the hazel eyes--the blinds were raised and angry +fear peeped out. + +"You wouldn't dare!" The words were a mere breath. Then meeting the +girl's look of blank amazement she caught herself from the brink of +hysteria and added more calmly, "What an impossible suggestion! I need +no second opinion upon the remedy which your father prescribed for me +and I shall take none. As for the journey, I shall ask your advice when +I wish it. At present I am capable of managing my own affairs. I shall +come and go as I like." + +The would-be firm voice wavered wrathed badly toward the end of this +defiance, but the widely opened eyes were still shining and as she +turned to enter the house, Esther caught a look in them, a gleam of +something very like hate. + +"So that is what comes of asking," said Esther sombrely. + +She did not follow her step-mother into the house but remained for a +while on the veranda, thinking. It was clearly useless to reopen the +subject of the prescription. For some reason Mrs. Coombe regarded it as +a fetish. She would not trust it to Taylor's. She would not allow a +doctor to see it; there remained only the suggestion of Dr. Callandar +that it be inspected without her consent. Esther knew where the +prescription was kept, but-- + +Women are supposed, by men, to have a defective sense of loyalty and it +is a belief fairly well established, also among men, that there is a +fundamental difference in the attitude of the sexes to that high thing +called honour. Esther was both loyal and honourable. To deceive her +step-mother, however good the motive, could not but be horrible to her +and just now, being angry with a very young and healthy anger, she was +less willing than ever to lose her own self-respect in the service of +Mary Coombe. + +"I won't!" said Esther firmly, and went in to prepare Aunt Amy's supper. + +"I don't feel like I ought to be eating upstairs this way," fussed the +invalid as Esther came in with the tray. "I am so much better. That +medicine the doctor gave me helped me right away. He must be a very +smart man, Esther." + +"It looks like it, Auntie." + +"I don't doubt I'll be around to-morrow just like he said. So I don't +want you staying home from school. That girl you get to take your place +is kind of cross with the children, isn't she?" + +"She is strict." + +"Well, don't get her. I don't like to think about the children being +scared out of their lives on my account. So I'll just get up as usual. I +could get up now if necessary. And my mind feels better." + +"Your _mind_?" Never before had Esther heard Aunt Amy refer to "her" +mind as being in any way troublesome. + +"Yes. I suppose you never knew, but sometimes I have felt a little +worried about my mind." + +"Whatever for?" The surprise which still lingered on the girl's voice +was balm to Aunt Amy's soul. She laughed nervously. + +"Of course it was foolish," she said, "but really there have been times +when I have felt--felt, I can hardly express it, but as if there were a +little something _wrong_, you know. Did you ever guess that I felt like +that, Esther?" + +"No, Auntie." + +Aunt Amy shivered. For a moment her faded eyes grew large and dark. "I'm +glad you did not guess it. It is a dreadful feeling, like night and +thunder and no place to go. A black feeling! I used to be afraid I might +get caught in the blackness and never find a way out and then--" + +"And then what, dear?" + +"Why, then--I'd be mad, Esther!" + +"Oh, darling, how awful!" Esther's warm young arms clasped the trembling +old creature close. "You must never, never be afraid again! Why didn't +you tell me and let me help?" + +"I couldn't. You would not have believed me. And it would have +frightened you. And you might have told Mary. If Mary knew of it she +would be certain to be frightened and if she was frightened she would +send me away. Then the darkness would get me." + +"It never shall, Auntie. No one shall ever send you away! And you won't +be afraid any more, will you?" + +"No, not if you don't keep telling me that things I know aren't true. I +know they are true, you see, but when you say they aren't it makes my +head go round." + +"We'll be more careful, dear! And here is your medicine before you have +your supper." + +Aunt Amy turned cheerfully to the supper tray. + +"Your mother need not be told about it," she observed. "She wouldn't +understand. She was in a while ago to say she hoped I'd be better in the +morning. She is going to the city. What she came for was to ask me to +lend her my ruby ring. She never understands why I can't lend it to her. +I told her she might have the string of pearls and the pearl brooch and +the ring with the little diamonds and anything else except the ruby. +You see, I might die before she got back, and I couldn't die without the +ruby ring on my finger. I promised somebody--I can't remember whom--" + +"I know, dear, don't try to remember." + +"Mary says it is shameful waste to leave it lying shut up in the box in +my drawer. But it has to lie there. If I took it out now it would stop +shining immediately. And it must be all red and bright when I die, like +a shining star in the dark. Then, afterwards, you can have it, Esther. +You don't mind waiting, do you?" + +"Gracious! I hope I'll be an old woman before then! So old that I shan't +care for ruby rings at all." + +Aunt Amy looked at the girl's pretty hand wistfully. "I'd like to give +it to you right now, Esther. But you know how it is. I can't. If the red +star did not shine I might lose my way. Some one told me--" + +"I know, Auntie. I quite understand. And you have given me so many +pretty things that I don't need the ruby." + +"You may have anything else you want. But of course the ruby is the +loveliest of all. If I could only remember who gave it to me--" + +"Perhaps you always had it," suggested Esther, hastily, for she knew +quite well the tragic history of the ruby. + +"Perhaps. But I don't think so. I love it but I never dare to look at +it. It makes the blackness come so near. Does it make you feel +that way?" + +"No--I don't know--large jewels often give people strange feelings they +say." + +"Do they?" hopefully. "Go and look at it now. Don't lift it out of the +box. Just open the lid and look in. Perhaps you will feel something." + +Esther went obediently to the drawer where the beautiful jewel had lain +ever since Aunt Amy's arrival. As no one outside knew of its existence +it was considered quite safe to keep it in the house. The box lay in a +corner under a spotless pile of sweet smelling handkerchiefs. Esther +snapped open the lid of the case and looked in. She looked close, closer +still, bending over the open drawer-- + +"Do you feel anything, Esther?" + +The girl's answer came, after a second's pause, in a strained voice. +"The drawer is so dark, I can't tell!" + +"Take it to the window," said Aunt Amy. + +Esther lifted the case from the drawer and carried it into a better +light. Her eyes were panic-stricken. For her indecision had been only a +ruse to give herself time to think. She had known the moment she opened +the case that the ruby was gone! + +"It does make me feel queer," she said, closing the case. "I'll put it +away." + +"Is it a black feeling?" with interest. + +"I think it is." + +"Then you are kin to it," said Aunt Amy sagely. "Your mother never has +any feeling about it at all. Except that she would like to wear it. She +was looking at it when she was in. She was as cross as possible when I +told her she could not take it with her." + +Esther gathered up the tea things without a word. Her curved mouth was +set in a hard red line. At the door she paused and turning back as if +upon impulse, said: "If it makes you feel like that, I would advise you +not to look at it, Auntie. It will be quite safe. I'll see to that. I'll +appoint myself 'Guardian of the Ring.'" + + + + +CHAPTER XI + + +Esther carried the tea-tray into the kitchen and stood for a moment +beside the open window letting the sweet air from the garden cool the +colour in her cheeks. Through the doorway into the hall she could see +into the living room where Jane sat at the table in a little yellow pool +of lamplight, busy with her school home work. Farther back, near the +dusk of one of the veranda windows, Mrs. Coombe reclined in an easy +chair. Her eyes were closed; in the half light she looked very pretty, +very fragile; her relaxed pose suggested helplessness. Unconsciously +Esther's innate strength answered to the call; her hard gaze softened. +To apply the terms liar and thief to that dainty figure in the chair +seemed little short of brutality. Mary was weak, that was +all--just weak! + +At the sound of the girl's step in the doorway Mrs. Coombe opened her +eyes. They were very filmy to-night, blank, contented. Her nervousness +seemed to have left her. Perhaps she was half asleep, for she yawned, an +open, ugly yawn, which she did not trouble to raise her hand to hide. + +"I have decided to take Jane with me, Esther." + +"I don't want to go," said Jane. + +"Well, you are going--that's enough." + +"If you have really decided to go," began Esther slowly, "I think you +are wise to take Jane. We cannot tell yet just how Aunt Amy may be." + +The child returned to her book with a discontented sigh. Esther came +nearer and spoke in a lower tone. "But before you go," she said, "please +don't forget to replace Aunt Amy's ring. If she were to find it gone it +would be no joke but a serious shock, as I suppose you know." + +Mrs. Coombe laughed. And Esther realised that a laugh was the last thing +she had expected. For anger, evasion, denial, she had been prepared. +Mary would probably storm and bluster in her ineffective way--and return +the ring. Instead-- + +"How did you know I had it?" she asked good humouredly. + +"I saw that it was gone." + +"And the deduction was obvious? Well, this time you are right. I did +take it. I expect I have a right to borrow my own Aunt's things if she +is too mean to lend them. It's a shame of her to want to keep the only +decent jewel we have shut up. Amy gets more selfish every day." + +"But you will put it back before she misses it?" + +Mrs. Coombe could see her step-daughter's face quite plainly and its +expression made her wince, but she was reckless to-night. After all, why +pretend? If Esther intended to eternally interfere with her affairs the +sooner an open break came, the better. + +"Perhaps, perhaps not. Certainly not until I return from my visit." + +Esther fought down her rising dismay. + +"Mother, don't you understand what you are doing? The ring is Aunt Amy's +You have no right to take it!" + +"I've a right if I choose to make one." + +"If Auntie finds out it is not in its box, we cannot tell what the +effect may be!" + +"She needn't find out. What she doesn't know won't hurt her!" + +"But--it is stealing!" + +Mrs. Coombe laughed. "What a baby you are, Esther, for all your solemn +eyes and grown-up airs. Stealing--the idea! Anyway you need not worry +since you are not the thief." She yawned again, rose, and declared that +she felt quite tired enough to go to bed. + +When she had gone, Jane left her lessons and came to her sister's side. + +"Esther, do I really have to go away with Mother?" + +"It looks like it, Janie. But you'll like it. Mrs. Bremner has a little +girl." + +"I don't like little girls." + +"Then you ought to! The change will probably do you good." + +Jane looked dubious. "Things that I don't want never do me any good. +Will you help me with my 'rithmetic?" + +"I will when I come back." + +"Where're you going?" + +"Out. I'll not be long. Answer Aunt Amy's bell if it rings, like a dear +child." + +Esther's decision had been made, as many important decisions are, +suddenly, and without conscious thought. All the puzzling over what was +right and wrong seemed no longer necessary. Without knowing why, she +knew that it had become imperative to get some good advice and get it at +once. If she had been disturbed and uneasy before, she was frightened +now. Something must be done, if not for Mary's sake at least for the +sake of the honoured name she bore, and for Jane's sake! + +"Mother doesn't seem to _know_ when a thing is wrong any more!" was the +burden of the girl's thought as she hurried upstairs. + +She knew where the prescription was kept--in a little drawer of her +father's old desk, a drawer supposed to be secret. To-morrow Mary would +take it away with her. Esther opened the drawer without allowing herself +a moment for thought or regret. The paper was there, folded, in its +usual place. + +With a sigh of relief she seized it, hurried to her own room for her hat +and then out into the summer night. A brisk five minute walk brought her +to Mrs. Sykes' gate, and there, for the first time, she hesitated. + +"Evening, Esther!" called Mrs. Sykes cheerfully from the veranda. "Come +right along in. Mrs. Coombe told Ann you might be over to borrow the +telescope valise if she decided to take Jane. Rather sudden, her going +away, isn't it? Hadn't heard a word about it until the Ladies' Aid--come +up and sit on the veranda and I'll get it." + +"I didn't come for the telescope," said Esther. "I came to see Dr. +Callandar." + +"Oh," with renewed interest. "Well, he's in. At least he's in unless he +went out while I was upstairs putting Ann to bed. That's his consulting +room where the light is. It's got a door of its own so folks won't be +tramping up the hall--but of course you know. You were here this +afternoon. Funny, Mrs. Coombe going away with your poor Auntie sick and +all! I suppose it _is_ your Auntie, since it can't be Jane or +Mrs. Coombe?" + +"Yes, it is Aunt Amy. She has not been very well." + +"The heat, likely. Heat is hard on folks with weak heads. Not that your +Auntie's head ever seems weaker than lots of other folks. Won't you come +up and sit awhile?--Well, ring the bell." + +Mrs. Sykes voice trailed off indistinctly as Esther rounded the veranda +corner and stood by the rose bush before the doctor's door. She pushed +the new electric bell timidly. + +"You'll have to push harder than that!" called Mrs. Sykes. "It sticks +some!" + +But the door had opened at once, letting out a flood of yellow light. + +"Miss Coombe--you?" + +"It's Esther Coombe come about her Aunt Amy," called the voice from the +veranda. + +Hastily the doctor drew her in and closed the door with an emphatic +bang. Then for the second time that day they looked into each other's +eyes and laughed. + +"Do you think my patients will stand that?" he asked her ruefully. + +"Oh, we are used to Mrs. Sykes, we don't mind." + +"That's good! Ah, I see you have the mysterious prescription. It wasn't +so hard after all, was it? Probably your mother was quite as anxious +as you." + +"No, she refused to let me show it you. I took it. To-night was the only +chance, for she is going away to-morrow and will take it with her." + +"And how about your Presbyterian conscience?" Still with a twinkle. + +"Silenced, for the present. But look at it quickly for the silence may +not last. It seemed that I simply had to help mother, in spite of +herself. And there was no other way. All the same I shall despise myself +when I get time to think." + +The doctor took the paper with a smile. "When that time comes I shall +argue with you, though argument rarely affects feeling. To my mind you +are doing an eminently sensible thing." + +He opened the paper and peered at it under the lamp; looked quickly up +at the girl's eager face and then from her to the paper again. + +"What is it?" she asked anxiously. + +"Why--I don't know. Where did you get this?" + +"In the secret drawer of father's desk." + +"Was the prescription always kept there?" + +"Yes." + +The doctor folded the paper again and handed it to her. "Does this look +like the prescription?" + +"Yes, of course. It is the prescription." + +"I'm afraid not. Come and look." + +Esther seized the paper eagerly and saw--a neatly written recipe for +salad dressing! + +Hot and cold with mortification, she stared at it blankly. "I have been +nicely fooled," she said in a low voice. + +"Am I permitted to smile, or would it hurt your feelings?" + +"It is not at all funny! Of course the real prescription has been +removed. She must have suspected. You see, I asked her to let me have +it. Oh!" with sudden shame and anger. "She guessed that I might take it, +don't you see?" + +"I am afraid you are right. But now at least I should think that you +have done your whole duty. It would look as if Mrs. Coombe was herself +aware of the inadvisability of continuing this prescription. Why else +should she be so careful to prevent you showing it to me? At the same +time she is determined to go on using it. We cannot prevent her." + +"Can we do nothing?" + +"When I see her I shall be better able to judge." + +"But she is going away." + +"Then we must wait. If it is, as I suspect, a case of disordered nerves +aggravated by improper treatment, the instinct is strongly for +concealment. Do you find, for instance, that Mrs. Coombe is not as frank +in other matters as she used to be?" + +A shamed blush crimsoned the girl's cheek, but the doctor's tone was +compelling and she answered in a low voice: "Yes, I think so." + +"Don't look like that. It is only a symptom of something rotten in the +nervous system." + +"Isn't there such a thing as character?" bluntly. + +"As distinct from the nervous system? Some say not. But we do not need +to venture such a devastating belief to know, well, that a dyspeptic is +usually disagreeable. In potential character he may be equal to the +cheeriest man who ever ate a hearty dinner. Think of Carlyle." + +"I don't like Carlyle." + +"But don't you admire him?" + +"No. Do you remember the story of the beggar who picked up his hat one +day and instead of giving him sixpence, Carlyle said, 'Mon, ye may say +ye hae picked up the hat of Thomas Carlyle.'" + +The doctor laughed. "Oh he had a guid conceit o' himself--must you go?" +For Esther had risen. + +"Yes, thank you. Oh, please do not come with me. It is only a step. I'd +much rather not. Mrs. Sykes would conclude that the whole family were in +danger of immediate extinction." + +She was so evidently perturbed that the doctor laid down his hat, but +for the first time it occurred to him that Mrs. Sykes was not an +unmixed blessing. + +Esther was holding out her hand. + +"Then you think we can safely leave it until mother returns?" + +"I think we shall have to, and if things have been going on as long as +you think, a week more or less will make no very material difference. In +any case we cannot examine a lady by force or prevent her from getting a +prescription until one knows it to be dangerous." + +"No, of course not. Good-night, and--thank you, Doctor!" + +"And I am not to be allowed to walk home with you?" + +"Truly, I would rather not." + +"Then good-night, and don't worry." + +He watched her flit down the dusky path, heard the click of the gate +latch, and turned back into the office to wonder why it seemed suddenly +bare and empty! + + + + +CHAPTER XII + + +Mrs. Coombe had been in the city a week when one morning Ann, who was +feeling lonely without Jane, sat swinging upon the five-barred gate and +whistling intermittently for Bubble. She had become very tired of +waiting. She knew that Bubble could hear. The five-barred gate was +within easy hearing distance of the house, and both doors and windows of +the office were open. Therefore it became each moment more evident that +the whistles were being deliberately ignored. + +"Horrid, nasty boy!" exclaimed Ann, climbing to a precarious seat on the +highest of the five bars. "Well, if he waits until I come to get him, +he'll--just wait!" + +It was very hot on the gate. The vacant field on the other side, where +the Widow Peel pastured her cow, was hot, too, but if one cut across the +field and circled the back of the Widow Peel's cottage one substantially +lessened the distance between oneself and the cool deliciousness of the +river. The Widow Peel was near-sighted and hardly ever noticed one +rushing over her beds of lettuce and carrots and onions, or if she did, +she could not "fit a name to 'em." + +Ann sighed and swung her brown legs. Should she or should she not go in +search of Bubble? Going would mean a distasteful swallowing of proper +pride; not going would mean--no Bubble. It would be a case of cutting +off one's nose--Ann's small white teeth came together with a +little click. + +"I'll go. But I'll pay him out afterwards." + +With this thoroughly feminine decision she tumbled off the gate, raced +across the orchard and, having paused a moment to regain breath and +poise, appeared casually at the office door. The office looked cool and +empty; Bubble was not upon his official stool. Perhaps, after all, he +had not heard the whistles! Perhaps-- + +"What d'ye want?" asked a gruff voice from behind the desk. + +Ann jumped, and then tried to look as if she hadn't. + +"I knew you were there!" she said. "But just you wait till the doctor +catches you at it!" Mounting the step she frowned across at Bubble who, +in the doctor's favourite attitude, was reclining in the doctor's chair. +"I suppose you think you look like him, but you don't, nor act like him +either. If he was sitting there and a lady came in, he'd be up too quick +for anything. And if the lady was polite and stayed on the doorstep +(just like I am) he would say, 'Pray come in, madam,' and then he'd set +a chair and--" + +"Oh, cut it out!" Bubble's dignity collapsed with his attitude. The +tilted chair came down with a bang and its occupant settled himself more +naturally upon a corner of the desk. "Don't bother me! I can't come out. +Doctor's away. Some one's got to attend to business. See those +medicines? Well, don't you go handling them! This here is for Lizzie +Stephens (measles), and that there is for Mrs. Nixon (twins). If they +got mixed I'd be responsible. Run away!" + +"Where's the doctor?" asked Ann, ignoring. + +"The doctor is out. You needn't wait. He won't be back all day." + +"Where'd he go?" + +"Little girls mustn't ask questions!" + +Ann's small face wrinkled into an elfish grin. "I know where he's gone," +she said slyly. + +"Yes, you do!" This sarcastic comment was Bubble's most emphatic +negative. + +"Very well, then, I don't." + +Not to be outdone, Ann volunteered no further information. She sat down +on the step and waited. + +Bubble busied himself with tying up the bottles. Presently he stepped +out from behind the desk. + +"Think you can mind the office while I run around with these medicines?" +he asked sternly. + +"Sure!" Ann's assent was placid. + +"What'll you say if any one comes and asks for the doctor--or me?" + +"You're out delivering medicines and the doctor's been called away very +sudden." + +"What'll you tell them if they ask you what he's been called away to?" + +"Oh, I'll just say they needn't worry, 'tisn't anything catching." + +Bubble allowed his face to relax. He even displayed a grudging +admiration for this feminine diplomacy. + +"And you wouldn't be telling lies, either," he remarked approvingly. +"All the same," with a return to gloom, "we can't keep it a secret. +Folks are bound to find out. You can bet your eyes on that!" + +Ann nodded. "I expect most of them know by now. Any one that wanted to +could see them. _He_ didn't seem to care. They drove right down the main +street and you could see the picnic basket sticking out at the side!" + +"O cricky! Isn't that just like him? You'd think he wanted the whole +town to know he'd gone off picnicking with a girl. But I'd have thought +Esther Coombe would have better sense!" + +"It wasn't Esther's fault. She couldn't act as if she was ashamed of +him, could she? When a gentleman asks a lady to go out in his automobile +she can't ask him to drive down the back streets." + +"If he had only taken her at night!" groaned the harassed junior +partner. "But no, he must take a whole day off and him with two patients +on his hands. Look at me! Have I ever asked off to go on any picnics? +Not on your tintype. Business is business. Doctors can't fool round like +other folks." + +Ann nodded agreement. Things were coming her way very nicely. She +glanced at the wrathy Bubble out of the corners of her eyes. "I didn't +think he'd be mean like that," she remarked craftily. + +"Like what? He isn't mean!" + +"To make you stay in all day." + +"He didn't. Not him! He gave me fifty cents and told me to take a day +off. 'Just run around with the medicine, Bubble,' says he, 'and then you +can hike it. I have a feeling in my bones,' he says, 'that nobody's +going to die to-day.'" + +"Well, then--" + +"A man has a sense of duty for all that." + +"Well," rising with a dejected air, "if you're not coming, good-bye. It +will be lovely paddling! Aunt's given me some lettuce sandwiches and two +apple turnovers. One was for you, but I suppose I can eat them both. The +sugar's leaked all round the edge--lovely!" + +The stern disciple of business watched her tie on her sun-bonnet with +mingled feelings. It began to look as if she was really going! + +"Good-bye," said Ann. + +Bubble's red face grew a shade redder. + +"Just like a girl!" he said bitterly. "Because a man's got to deliver +two medicine bottles, off she goes and won't wait for him. And the +farthest I've got to go is over to Mrs. Nixon's. The whole thing won't +take five minutes." + +Sun-bonnets are splendid things for hiding the face! Had Bubble seen +that slow smile of victory there is no telling what might have happened. +But he did not see it. And Ann was too good a general to exult openly. +Her answer was carefully careless. "I'll wait--if you'll hurry up!" + +But the look which she threw after his hastily retreating figure was as +old as Eve. + +Meanwhile the doctor and Esther, who had been so criminally careless of +professional appearances as to drive down Main Street with a picnic +basket protruding, were enjoying themselves with an enjoyment peculiar +to careless people. Esther had forgotten about the pile of uncorrected +school exercises which were supposed to form her Saturday's work; the +doctor had forgotten about the measles and the twins. Rain had fallen in +the night and the dust was laid, the trees were intensely green. + +Neither of them knew exactly how this pleasant thing had come about, +although, as a matter of crude fact, Mrs. Sykes had played the part of +the god from the machine. This energetic lady had made the doctor's +professional career her peculiar care and it had occurred to her that, +as a resident physician, he was disgracefully ignorant of the +surrounding country. At the same moment she had remembered that +to-morrow was Saturday, and that for trapesing the country and +meandering around in outlandish places there was no one in town equal to +Esther Coombe. + +"But," objected the doctor, "I hardly know Miss Coombe well enough to +ask a favour of her." + +Mrs. Sykes opined that that didn't matter. "Land sakes," she declared, +"it would be a nice state of affairs if one huming-being couldn't do a +kindness to another without being acquainted a year or two." Besides, +Esther, as the old doctor's daughter, might almost be said to have a +duty toward the newcomer. Mrs. Sykes felt sure that Dr. Coombe would +have insisted upon proper attentions being shown, since he was always +"the politest man you ever saw, and terrible nice to strangers." + +Mrs. Sykes also, with the assistance of Aunt Amy, had provided the large +basket. They might not need it all, but then again they might. It was +best to be prepared. And, anyway, no one should ever say that she, Mrs. +Sykes, "skimped" her boarders' meals. As for the big shawl, once +belonging to a venerated ancestress, it is always safe to take a big +shawl on a country trip even in June heat with the thermometer going up. + +The doctor agreed to everything, even the shawl. Whether one is taking a +rest cure or not, it is distinctly pleasant to look forward to a day in +the country with a lovely girl. Esther had taken his request quite +simply. It seemed only natural to her that he should wish to explore, +while the invitation to act as guide was frankly welcomed. Indeed her +girlish gaiety in the prospect had shown very plainly that such holidays +had been rare of late. School did not "keep" on Saturday, Jane was away, +and Aunt Amy was so much better that she could leave her without +misgiving. Bubble alone prophesied disaster, and at him they +all laughed. + +There is a little folder published by the Town Council which gives a +very good idea of the country around Coombe. We might quote this, but it +will be much better for you to go some time and see things for yourself. +Dr. Callandar saw a great deal that day, but was never very clear +afterwards in his descriptions. It was rocky in spots, he knew, and wild +and sweet and piney. And there were little lakes. He remembered the +lakes particularly because--well, because of what came later. + +They had their lunch on the shores of a jewel-like bay, sitting upon the +shawl of Mrs. Sykes' grandmother. Esther had many memories of the place. +She had often camped there with her father. But it had been wilder then. +Once a bear had come right up to the door of her tent. + +"By Jove!" said the doctor enviously, "what did you do?" + +"I said 'shoo'!" + +"And did he?" + +"Yes, he did. He was a nice bear, very obedient. Some days later father +and I saw Mrs. Bear trot across the clearing with two baby bears behind. +They were moving. I think Mr. Bear was looking for a house when he +called on me." + +Altogether it was a magic day. There is an erroneous belief that magic +has died out of the world. But in our hearts we all know better. Which +of us has not lived through the magic hours of a magic day? Which of us +does not know that land, unmapped, unnamed, a land whose sun is +brighter, whose grass is greener, whose sky is bluer, and whose every +road runs into a golden mist? Magic land it must be, for much seeking +cannot find it. No one, not the wisest nor the best, may enter it at +will; but for every one at some time the unseen gate swings open, birds +sing, flowers bloom, the glory and the dream descend! Poor indeed, +unutterably poor and cheated of his heritage is he who has not +passed that way. + +They were not in love, of course. They were too happy for that. Love is +the greatest thing in the world, but it is seldom quite happy. Esther +and the doctor were not lovers but lingered in that deliciously +unconscious state of "going-to-be-in-love-presently" which is nothing +less than heavenly. Therefore they ate their lunch with appetite and +laughed about the story of the bear. Both were surprised when the +doctor's watch told them it was time to think of home. + +They came back very slowly along the shaded trail to where the car stood +waiting in the brilliant light of the declining sun. + +"Just a moment," said the doctor, and cranked vigorously. A confusion of +odd noises ensued, from which, somehow, the right noise did not emerge. + +"Just a moment," he repeated. "There appears to be something loose--or +tight--or something. If you'll just sit out on the grass a moment, Miss +Esther, I'll see what it is." + +Esther descended. The grass was just as pleasant to sit upon as the car +seat and she knew nothing whatever about the tricky ways of motors. + +"Just a moment," said Callandar for the third time, and disappeared +behind the bonnet. Fifteen minutes after, he reappeared with a very hot +face decorated fantastically with black. + +"She's sulking," he announced gloomily. + +"Is she?" Esther's tone held nothing save placid amusement. + +"Just a moment." The doctor banged down the bonnet and effaced himself +once more. This time under the body of the car. + +Motors are mysterious things. Why a well-treated, not to say pampered, +car which some hours before had been left in perfect condition and +excellent temper should abruptly turn stubborn and refuse to fulfil its +chief end is a problem which we shall not attempt to solve. Every one +who has ever owned a motor knows that these things be. + +The doctor, a modest man, considered himself a fair mechanician. In +expansive moments he, who made nothing of his undoubted excellence in +his own profession, was wont to boast that you couldn't teach him much +about motors! He had laughed to scorn the remark of his Scotch chauffeur +that "they things need a deal o' humourin'!" Humour a thing of cogs and +screws? Absurd! One must master a motor, not humour her. + +Half an hour later he emerged from the car's eclipse and sank, a +pitiable figure, upon the grass beside Esther. + +"Won't it go?" asked Esther dreamily. It had been very pleasant sitting +there watching the sun set. + +The master of motors made a tragic gesture. "No," he said, "she won't." + +"Shake her," said Esther. + +Dr. Callandar pushed back his sweat-bedewed hair with fingers which left +a fearsome streak above his left eyebrow. The girl laughed. But the +doctor's decorated face was rueful. + +"Do you know, Miss Esther, I'm afraid it isn't a bit funny." His tone, +too, was sober; and Esther, suddenly more fully alive to the situation, +noticed that the hands clasped recklessly about the knees of once +spotless trousers were shaking, just a little. He must be awfully tired! + +"That's because you can't see yourself. Give the motor a rest. There is +plenty of time. Let's have tea here instead of on the way home. There is +cold tea and chicken-loaf, bread and butter, and half a tart." + +The doctor brightened. "You may have the half-tart," he concluded +generously. "And in return you will forgive me my pessimism. I believe I +am hungry and thirsty and--if I could only swear I should be all right +presently." + +Esther put her small fingers in her ears and directed an absorbed gaze +toward the sunset. + +Callandar laughed. + +"All over!" he called. "Richard is himself again. And now we have got to +be serious. Painful as it is, I admit defeat. I can't make that car +budge an inch. It won't move. We can't push it. We have no other means +of conveyance. Deduction--we must walk!" + +"Yes, only like most deductions, it doesn't get us anywhere. We _can't_ +walk." + +"Not to Coombe of course. Merely to the nearest farm house." + +"There isn't any nearest farm house." + +"Then to the nearest common or garden house." + +"I thought we were going to be serious. Really, there is no house within +reasonable walking distance. We are quite in the wilds here. Don't you +remember the long stretches of waste land we came through? No one builds +on useless ground. The nearest houses of any kind are over on the other +side of the lake. The beach is good there and there are a few summer +cottages and a boarding house. Farther in is the little railway station +of Pine Lake--" + +"Jove! That's what we want! Why did you try to frighten me? Once let us +reach the station and our troubles are over. There is probably an +evening train into Coombe." + +"There is. But we shall never catch it. We are on the wrong side of the +lake. We have no boat. There is a trail around but it is absolutely out +of the question, too far and too rough, even if we knew it, which we do +not. It would take a woodsman to follow it even in daylight." + +"But--" The doctor hesitated. He was beginning to feel seriously +disturbed. It seemed impossible that they could be as isolated as Esther +seemed to think. Distance is a small thing to a powerful motor eating up +space with an effortless appetite, which deceives novice and expert +alike. It is only when one looks back that one counts the miles. He +remembered vaguely that the nearest house was a long way back. + +"I'll have another try," he answered soberly, "and in the meantime, +think--think hard! There may be some place you have forgotten. If not, +we are in rather a serious fix." + +"There are no bears now," said Esther. + +"There are gossips!" briefly. + +The girl laughed. The thought of possible gossip seemed to disturb her +not at all. "Oh, it will be all right as soon as we explain," +confidently. "But Aunt Amy will be terrified. If we could only get word +to Aunt Amy! I don't mind so much about Mrs. Sykes, for she is always +prepared for everything. She will comfort herself with remembering how +she said when she saw it was going to be a lovely day: 'It may be a fine +enough morning, Esther, but I have a feeling that something will happen +before night. I have put in an umbrella in case of rain and a pair of +rubbers and a rug and you'd better take my smelling salts. I hope you +won't have an accident, I'm sure, but it's best to be forewarned.'" + +The doctor glanced up from his tinkering to join in her laugh. He felt +ashamed of himself. The possibility of evil tongues making capital of +their enforced position had certainly never entered into the thought of +this smiling girl. Yet that such a possibility might exist in Coombe as +well as in other places he did not doubt. And she was in his charge. The +thought of her clear eyes looking upon the thing which she did not know +enough to dread made him feel positively sick! + +When he spoke to her again there was a subtle change in his manner. He +had become at once her senior, the physician, and man of the world. + +"Miss Esther," he said, leaving his futile tampering with the machine, +"I can see no way out of this but one. I am a good walker and a fast +one. I shall leave you here with the car and the rugs and a revolver +(there is one in the tool box), and go back along the road. I shall walk +until I come to somewhere and then get a carriage or wagon--also a +chaperone--and come back for you. It is positively the only thing +to do." + +Esther's charming mouth drooped delicately at the corners. "Oh no! +That's not at all a nice plan. I'm afraid to stay here. Not of bears, +but of tramps--or--or something." + +"Where there are no houses there will be no tramps." + +"There may be. You never can tell about tramps. And I couldn't shoot a +tramp. The very best I could do would be to shoot myself--" + +"But--" + +"And I might bungle even that!" pathetically. + +"But, my dear girl--" + +"And anyway, I've thought of another plan. There is a place on the lake, +on this side. Not a house exactly, but a log cabin, where old Prue +lives. Did you ever hear of old Prue? She is a man-hater and a recluse +and lives all by herself in the bush. It is a dreadful place and she +keeps a fierce dog! But perhaps she keeps a boat, too. She must keep a +boat," cheerfully, "because she lives right by the water and I know she +fishes. If she would only let us have the boat! But I warn you she may +refuse. She is like the witch in 'Hansel and Gretel.' Do you remember--" + +But at the first mention of the boat, the doctor had sprung to action +and was now standing ready laden with the basket and the rug. With the +air of a man who has never heard of "Hansel and Gretel" he slipped a +most businesslike revolver into a pocket of his coat. "For the dog, if +necessary," he said. "We must have that boat! Is it far?" + +"Quite a walk. About two miles through the bush. But I know the way and +the trail is fairly good, or should be. It branches off from the one we +took this morning." + +The sun was gone when they turned back into the woods but the wonderful +after-light of the long Canadian sunset would be with them for a good +time yet. There was no breeze to stir the trees, but the air had cooled. +It was not unpleasantly hot, now, even in the thickest places. The +doctor stepped out briskly. + +"Listen!" Esther paused with uplifted finger. The trees were very still +but in the undergrowth the life of the woods was beginning to stir. +Startled squirrels raced up the fallen logs, glancing backward with +curious but resentful eyes. Hidden skirmishings and rustlings were +everywhere and something brown and furry darted across the path with a +faint cry. + +"Don't you feel as if you were in some fairy country?" asked the girl. +"You can feel and hear them all about you though they keep well hidden. +A million eager eyes are watching, Lilliputian armies lie in ambush +beneath the leaves. How quiet they are now that we have stopped moving, +but as soon as we go on the hurry and skurry will break out afresh! We +are the invading army and the fairies fly to help the wood-folk protect +their homes." + +As they branched into the deeper path the light grew dimmer. Outside, it +would still be clear golden twilight but here the grey had come. And now +the trees grew closer together and a whispering began--a weird and +wonderful sighing from the soul of the forest; the old, primeval cry to +the night and to the stars. + +It was almost dark when they reached the tiny clearing by the lake. +Across the cleared space the water could be seen, faintly luminous, with +the black square of the cabin outlined against it. There was no sign of +life or light from the dark windows. A dog began to bark sharply. + +"He is chained!" said Callandar. "We are fortunate." + +"How can you tell?" + +"A free dog never barks in that tone. I think he has been a bad dog +to-day. Killing chickens, perhaps, or chasing cats. A man-hater, like +your old witch, is certain to have cats! I wonder where she is? Does she +count going to bed at sundown as one of her endearing peculiarities?" + +"Quite the contrary, I imagine. Let's knock." + +They raced up the path to the door like children and struck some lusty +blows. No one answered. The door was locked and every window was blank. + +"Knock again!" + +They knocked again, banged in fact, and then rattled the windows. + +"She could never sleep through all that racket!" said Callandar with +conviction. "She must be out. Well, out or in, we've got to get that +boat. Let's explore--this path ought to lead to the lake." + +"Shall we steal it?" in a delighted whisper. + +"We probably shall. You won't mind going to jail, I hope?" + +"Not at all!" The doctor was walking so rapidly that Esther was a little +out of breath. "Only, the oars--are certain--to be locked--in the +house!" she warned jerkily. + +"Then we shall serve sentence for house breaking also." + +"Oh, gracious!" Esther stumbled over the root of a tree and nearly fell. +But the doctor only walked the faster. They scrambled together down the +steep path and over the stretch of rocky beach to where the tiny float +lay a black oblong on the water. The boat house was beside it. + +"Eureka!" cried the doctor, springing forward. + +But the door of the boat house was open and the boat was gone. + + + + +CHAPTER XIII + + +It is a fact infinitely to be regretted, but the doctor swore! + +"Well, did you _ever!_" exclaimed Esther. She was a little tired and +more than a little excited, a condition which conduces to hysteria, and +collapsing upon the end of the float she began to laugh. + +"I wish," said the doctor judicially, "that I knew exactly what you find +to laugh at." + +"Oh, nothing! Your face--I think you looked so very murderous. And you +did swear--didn't you?" + +"Beg your pardon, I'm sure," stiffly. + +For an instant they gazed resentfully at each other. The doctor was +seriously worried. Esther felt extremely frivolous. But if he wanted to +be stiff and horrid,--let him be stiff and horrid. + +"I declare you act as if it were my fault the old boat is gone!" she +remarked aggrievedly. + +"Don't be silly!" + +An uncomfortable silence followed. Esther began to realise how tired she +was. Callandar stared out gloomily over the darkening lake. + +"Anyway it's bad enough without your being cross," said Esther in a +small voice. + +"Cross--my dear child! Did I seem cross? What a brute you must think me. +But to get you into this infernal tangle!--If this old woman is out in +the boat she'll have to come back some time. She can't stay out on the +lake all night." + +Esther, who thought privately that this was exactly what the old woman +might do, made no reply. She rather liked the tone of his apology and +was feeling better. + +"Then there is the dog. If she is anywhere near, she will be sure to +hear the dog. From the noise he is making she will deduce burglars and +return to protect her property. As a man-hater she will have no fear of +a mere burglar. Luckily for us, that dog has a carrying voice!" + +Scarcely had he spoken than the dog ceased to bark. + +"Shall I go and throw sticks at it?" asked Esther helpfully. + +"Hush! The dog must have heard something. Let's listen!" + +In the silence they listened intently. Certainly there was something, a +faint indeterminate sound, a sound not in the bush but in the lake, a +sound of disturbed water. + +"The dip of a paddle," whispered Callandar. "Some one is coming in a +canoe. The dog heard it before we did--recognised it, too, probably. It +must be the witch!" + +The dipping sound came nearer and presently there slipped from the +shadow of the trees a darker shadow, moving. A canoe with one paddle was +coming toward them. + +Esther with undignified haste scrambled up from the float, abandoning +her position in the line of battle in favour of the doctor. The dog +broke into a chorus of ear-splitting yelps of warning and welcome. The +moving shadow loomed larger and a calm though harsh voice demanded, "Be +quiet, General! Who is there?" + +"We are!" answered Callandar, stepping as far from the tree shadow as +possible. "Picnickers from Coombe, in an unfortunate predicament. Our +motor has broken down, and we want the loan of a boat to get over to +Pine Lake station." + +As he spoke he was vividly conscious of Esther close behind. So near was +she that he felt her warm breath on his neck. She was breathing quickly. +Was the child really frightened? Instinctively he put out his hand, +backward, and thrilled through every nerve when something cool and small +and tremulous slipped into it. + +The canoe shot up to the float. + +"You can't get any boat here." + +There was no surprise or resentment in the harsh level voice. Only +determination, final and unshakable. + +Esther felt the doctor's hand close around her own. Its clasp meant +everything, reassurance, protection, strength. In the darkness she +exulted and even ventured to frown belligerently in the direction of the +disagreeable canoeist. They could see her plainly now. A tall woman in a +man's coat with the sleeves rolled up displaying muscular arms. Her +face, even in the half-light, looked harsh and gaunt. With a skill, +which spoke of long practice, she sprang from the canoe, scarcely +rocking it, and proceeded to tie the painter securely to a heavy ring in +the float. Then she straightened herself and turned. + +"I'll loose the dog!" she announced calmly. + +Just that and no more! No arguments, no revilings, no display of any +human quality. There was something uncanny in her ruthlessness. + +"If you do, it will be bad for the dog," said Callandar coldly. "Who +are you who threaten decent people?" + +It was the tone of authority and for an instant she answered to it. Her +harsh voice held a faint Scotch accent. + +"There'll be no decent people here at this hour o' the nicht. Be off. +You'll get no boat. Nor the hussy either. The dog's well used to +guarding it." + +"How dare you!" Esther was so angry at being called a hussy that she +forgot how frightened she was and faced the woman boldly. But the old +hard eyes stared straight into her young indignant ones and showed no +softening. Next moment old Prue had pushed the girl aside and +disappeared in the darkness of the wooded path. + +"Quick!" The doctor's tone was crisp and steady. "The canoe is our +chance. Jump in, while I hold it--in the bow, anywhere!" + +"But the paddle! She has taken the paddle!" Even as she objected she +obeyed. The frail craft rocked as she slid into it, careful only not to +overbalance; next moment it rocked more dangerously and then settled +evenly into the water under the doctor's added weight. + +"Sit tight!" Carefully he leaned over her, steadying the canoe with one +hand on the float. In the other she saw the glint of a knife, felt the +confining rope sever, felt the strong push which separated them from the +float and then, just as a great dog, fiercely silent now, bounded from +the path above, a paddle rose and dipped and they shot out into +the lake. + +"If he follows and tries to overturn us I'll have to shoot him," said +the doctor cheerfully. "But he won't. Hark to him!" + +The long bay of the baffled dog rose to the stars. + +"There was an extra paddle in the boat-house," he explained. "I +took it out when we first came down--in case of accident. Old +She-who-must-be-obeyed must have forgotten it. It is a spliced paddle +but we shall manage excellently. Luckily I know how to use it. All I +need now is direction. Lady, 'where lies the land to which this ship +must go?'" + +"'Far, far away is all the seamen know,'" capped Esther, laughing. "But +if you will keep on around that next point and then straight across I +think we ought to get there--Oh, look! there is the moon! We had +forgotten about the moon!" + +They had indeed forgotten the moon. And the moon had been part of their +programme too. Both remembered at the same moment that, according to +schedule, they were now supposed to be almost home, running down Coombe +hill by moonlight. + +"This is much nicer," said Esther, comfortably. + +"But--" he did not finish his sentence. Why disturb her? Besides it +certainly was much nicer! The forgotten moon bore them no malice. A soft +radiance grew and spread around them, the whole sky and lake were +faintly shining though the goddess herself had not yet topped the trees. +The shadows were becoming blacker and more sharply defined. In front of +them the point loomed, inky black. Like a bird of the night the little +canoe shot towards it, skimmed its darkness and then slipped, +effortless, into shining silver space. The smile of the moon! Pleasing +old hypocrite! Always she smiles the same upon two in a canoe! + +They were paddling toward her so that her light fell full on the +doctor's face--a clean cut, virile face, manly, stern, yet with a +whimsical sweetness hidden somewhere. + +"How handsome he is!" thought Esther, exactly as the moon intended. + +"Strong, too," her thought added as the light picked out his well-set +shoulders and the sweep of the arm which sped the paddle so lightly yet +so strongly up and down. Clear, yet soft, the moon showed no touch of +grey in the hair (although the grey was there) nor did she point out the +markings which were the legacy of strenuous years. Seen so, he appeared +no older than she who watched shyly from girlish eyes. + +With a little shiver of utmost content Esther settled herself against +the thwart of the canoe. + +Manlike he did not know the meaning of that shiver. + +"Fool that I am!" he exclaimed. "You are cold, and behold we have left +behind the shawl of Mrs. Sykes' grandmother!" + +"Indeed we have not! The dog would have torn it to bits. I assure you +the shawl of the venerated ancestress was in the canoe before I was." + +"Then wrap yourself up. It is wonderful how cool the nights are." + +Esther was not cold. But it is sometimes pleasant to be commanded. This +is what enables man to persist in a certain pleasing delusion regarding +woman's natural attitude. When she occasionally pleases herself by a +simulation of subjection he immediately thrills with pride, crying, +"Aha! I have her mastered!" Of course he finds out his mistake later. + +It pleased Esther, though not cold, to wrap herself in the shawl and it +pleased Callandar to see her do it. I assure you it left the whole +question of the subjection of women quite untouched. + +The moon knew all about it but, feminine herself, she favoured the +deception. Around the girl's dark head she drew a circle of light. The +branching tendrils of her hair, all alive and fanlike now in the +coolness of the night, made a nimbus of black and silver from which her +shadowed face shone like a faint pure pearl. As he seemed younger, so +did she seem older; under the moon she was no longer a child, but a +woman with mysterious eyes. + +An impulse came to him--the rare impulse of confidence! Suddenly it +seemed that what he had mistaken for self-sufficiency had been in +reality loneliness. He had learned to live to himself not because he was +of himself sufficient but because no one else, save the Button Moulder, +had ever come within speaking distance. Lorna Sinnet, for all his +admiration of her, had established no claim upon his confidence, yet +now, with this young girl, whom he had known but a few weeks, a new need +developed--a need to talk of himself! A primitive need indeed, but, like +all primitive needs, compelling. + +We need not follow the history. Perhaps, reported, it would not seem +very lucid. There were blanks, unsaid things, twists of phrase, eloquent +nothings which, wonderfully understandable in themselves, do not report +well. Somehow he must have made it plain, for Esther understood it and +understood him, too, in a way which we, who have never sailed with him +under the moon, cannot hope to do. Faults of expression are no hindrance +to this kind of understanding. He did not talk well, was clumsy, not at +all eloquent, but magically she reconstructed the hopes and dreams of +his ambitious youth. From a few bald phrases she fashioned the +thunderbolt which shattered them, saw him stunned, then alive again, +struggling. With every ready imagination she leaped full upon the fires +of an ambition which accepted no check but fed upon difficulty and +overleapt obstacles. Between stories of his early college life, her +sympathy sensed the deadly strain which his narrative missed and, long +before he mentioned it, her foresight had descried the coming of hard +won success. + +But the really vital thing, the core of the short history, she followed +slowly word by word, anxiously. It told of wonders which she did not +know--love, passion, despair! Now indeed he seemed to be speaking in a +strange language--yet not strange entirely. She hid each broken phrase +in her heart, knowing them rare, and wondering at the treasure entrusted +to her. Some of her girlhood she left behind her as she listened. +Something new, yet surely old, stirred faintly. What was this love he +spoke of? The breath of bygone passion brushed across her untouched soul +and left it trembling! + +Into the long silence which followed the story her voice drifted like a +sigh. + +"If she could only have lived until you came!" + +It was of the girl wife she thought. Her heart was full of an aching +pity for that other girl whom life had cheated of her sweetest gift. +More than the man who had lived out a bitter expiation, did she pity her +who had missed the fight, slipped out of the struggle. Death seemed to +Esther such a terrible thing. The new life stirring in her shuddered at +the thought of mortality. That breath of the divine which we name Love +began already to proclaim itself immortal. + +Yet Molly, that other girl, had loved--and died. + +The doctor, too, was lost in self communings. Already, with the words +not cold upon his lips, he was surprised that he had told the story. How +could he? Why had he? That pitiful little story of Molly which had been +too sacred for the touch of a word. Above all, why had the telling been +a relief? It was a relief, he knew that. Somewhere, in the silver waters +of Pine Lake he had buried a burden. He felt lighter, younger. Had his +very love for Molly become a load whose proper name was remorse? Had his +heart harboured regret and fear under the name of sorrow? Or had he +never loved at all, never really sorrowed? Had the thing he called love +been but a boy's hot passion caught in the grip of a man's awakening +will, a mistake made irrevocable by a stubbornness of purpose which +could not face defeat? Whatever it had been, it had come to be a burden. +And the burden had lightened--it pressed no longer. In a word, he was +free! He was his own man again, unafraid, able to look into his heart, +to open all the windows--no dark corners, no haunting ghosts! He could +enter now without the dread of echoing footsteps or wistful, half-heard +whisperings. The shade of pretty, childish Molly would vex no more. + +The relief of it--the pain of it! It was like a new birth. + +Meanwhile the strong, sure strokes were bringing them swiftly nearer the +opposite shore where yellow dots of light proclaimed the position of the +summer cottages. One dot, larger, detached itself from the others and +indicated the flare on the end of the landing float. Outlines began to +be darkly discernible, the moon's silver mirror was shivered by lances +of gold. Very soon their journey would be ended. + +The paddle dipped more slowly. Esther sighed, and sat up straighter. +Considering all the trouble they had taken, neither of them seemed +overjoyed to be so near the desired haven. + +"We are nearly there," said Callandar obviously. + +Esther looked backward over their shining wake. Something precious +seemed to be slipping away on those fairy ripples. Yet all she could +find to say was-- + +"We have come very fast. You must be tired." + +Strange little commonplaces, how they take their due of all the +wonderful hours of life! Esther wriggled out of the shawl, smoothed her +hair, arranged her ruffled collar. Callandar shipped his paddle and +resumed his coat. + +"Where to, now?" he asked practically. + +"There is only one landing, we shall be right on it in a moment. +Then--there are several of the cottagers whom I know. But I think Mrs. +Burton will be the best. She has often asked me to visit her and is such +a dear that the present unexpected arrival will not make me +less welcome." + +"That's good! As for me, I'll make for the station and send the +telegrams. They won't be seriously anxious yet, do you think? +Then--there is a train I think you said?" + +"You have missed that. But there is a very early morning train, a milk +train--O gracious!" Esther broke off with a start of genuine +consternation. "To-morrow is Sunday!" + +"Naturally!" in surprise. + +"How horribly unfortunate! The milk train doesn't run on Sunday!" + +"Does the milk object to Sunday travelling?" + +"Don't joke!" forlornly. "It's dreadful that it should be Sunday. People +will talk!" + +"Oh, will they?" The doctor was immensely surprised. "Why?" + +"Because it's Sunday." + +"What has Sunday got to do with it? They can't talk. Here you are safe +and sound with your friend Mrs. Burton by 9 o'clock, an intensely +respectable hour even in Coombe. What can they say?" + +"But it's Sunday! You will return home, by rail, on Sunday. Every one +will know. Your breaking of the Sabbath will be put down to careless +pleasuring. It will hurt your practice terribly!" + +Callandar laughed heartily. But before he could reply the quick bursting +out of a blaze upon the shore startled them both. "What is it?" he asked +apprehensively. + +"Only a bonfire! Some one is giving a bonfire party. It is quite the +fashionable thing. There will be songs and speeches with lemonade and +cake. Oh, hurry! We shall be in time for the programme." + +The mysterious woman, born of the moon, was gone. In her place was a +rumple-haired, bright-eyed child. Callandar took up the paddle with a +whimsical smile. + +"Sit still or you'll overturn the canoe!" he said warningly. And across +the narrowing stretch of water floated the opening sentiments of the +patriotic cottagers. + +"O Cana_dah_, our heritage, our love--" + + + + +CHAPTER XIV + + +Henry Callandar, resting neck-deep in the cool green swimming pool, +tossed the wet hair out of his eyes and whistled ingratiatingly to a +watching robin. A delightful sense of guilt enveloped him, for it was +Sunday morning and, since his experience at Pine Lake a week ago, he had +learned a little of what Sunday means in Coombe. Esther had been quite +right in fearing that his return by train upon that sacred day might +deal a severe blow to his prestige--at least until Mrs. Sykes had had +time to explain to every one how unavoidable it had been--and he knew +that if he were to be caught in his present delightful occupation his +Presbyterian reputation might be considered lost forever. + +The robin twittered at him prettily but refused to be beguiled. Sunday +bathing was not among its weaknesses. Presently it flew away. + +"Gone to tell the minister, I'll be bound!" murmured Callandar. "'Twill +be a scandal in the kirk. I'll lose all my five patients. Horrid +little bird!" + +Smiling, he drew himself from the embrace of the faintly shining water +and retiring to the willow screen began to dress with that virtuous +leisureliness which characterises those who rise before their fellows. +He had the world to himself; a world of cool, sweet scents, pure light +and Sabbath quiet--that wonderful quiet which seems a living thing with +a personality of its own, so different is it from the ordinary quiet of +work-a-day mornings. + +The primrose sky gave promise of a beautiful day. The blue grey vault +overhead was already filling with shimmering golden light, the drooping +willows and the dew-wet grass were stirring in the breeze of dawn, the +voice of the water sang in the stillness. + +Callandar slipped his blue tie snugly under the collar of his white +flannel shirt and sighed with the ecstasy of health renewed. A +half-forgotten couplet hummed through his brain. + + "Sweet day, so cool, so calm, so bright! + The bridal of the earth and sky--" + +"And it's a hymn, too, or I'm a Dutchman," he declared, much edified. +"That proves that swimming on Sunday is quite compatible with proper +orthodoxy of mind. Shouldn't wonder if the Johnnie who wrote that wrote +it on Sunday morning after a dip. I'll tell Mrs. Sykes he did +anyway--where in thunder did I put my boots?" + +The missing articles had apparently fulfilled the purpose of their being +by walking away, or else the robin had collected them as evidence! +Callandar chuckled at a whimsical vision of them in a church court, +damningly marked "Exhibit 1." But as he searched for them the utter +peace of the morning fled and suddenly he became conscious that he and +the willows no longer divided the world between them. Some one was near. +He felt eyes watching. The curious half-lost instinct which warns man of +the approach of his kind, told him that he was no longer alone. The +doctor fixed a stern eye on the screening willows. + +"Zerubbabel!" he commanded, "come out of there at once, sir!" + +A stirring in the bushes was the only answer. + +The doctor glanced at his bootless feet. + +"Bubble," more mildly, "if you want a swim--" + +"It isn't Bubble," said a meek voice, "it's me. Are you dressed enough +for me to come out?" Without waiting for an answer the elfish face of +Ann appeared through the willow tangle. "If you're looking for your +boots," she remarked kindly, "they're hanging on that limb behind you." + +But boots no longer absorbed the doctor. + +"Come out of those willows, both of you!" + +"There's only me," still meekly. "And I didn't come to swim. I came for +you. Honour bright! The Button Man's here." + +"What?" + +"Yes, he is. He came in a big grey car and was sitting on the doorstep +when Aunt got up. He told her not to disturb you, but of course Aunt +thought that you ought to know at once and when she found that you were +gone"--a poignant pause! + +"Yes, when she found me gone--" + +"When she found you gone," slowly, "she said you must have been called +up in the night to a patient!" + +"Did she really?" The doctor's laugh rang out. + +"And I hope the Lord will forgive her for such a nawful lie!" finished +Ann piously. + +"He will, Ann, He will! You can depend on that. He has a proper respect +for loyalty between friends. Did I understand you to say that you had +seen my boots? Oh, yes, thanks! Now I wonder what can have brought our +Button Man back so soon? He didn't by any chance say, I suppose?" + +"Him?" with scorn. "Not much fear! I'll do up your boots if you like." + +"Thanks, no. That would be using unseemly haste. Button-men who go +visiting on Sunday must learn to wait. Don't you want to have a splash, +Ann? I'll walk on slowly, you can easily catch me up!" + +The child looked enviously at the now sparkling water, but shook her +head. + +"I'd love to. But I dasn't. Aunt always knows when I've been in. Even if +I go and muddy myself afterwards, she knows. She says a little bird +tells her." + +"A robin, I'll bet. I know that bird! Sanctimonious thing! He was +watching me this morning and went off as fast as he knew how, to spread +the news. Ann, you have lived in this remarkable town all your life. Can +you tell me just why it is wicked to go swimming on Sunday?" + +Ann looked blank. "No. But it is. You're likely to get drowned any +minute! Not but what I'd risk it if it wasn't for Aunt. I'm far more +scared of Aunt than I am of God," she added reflectively. + +"Why, Ann! What do you mean?" + +"Well, you never can tell about God, but Aunt's a dead sure thing! If +she says you'll get a smack for going in the river you'll get it--but +God only drowns a few here and there, for examples like." + +"Look here!" Callandar paused in his stride and fixed her dark eyes by +the sudden seriousness in his own. "You've got the thing all wrong. God +doesn't drown people for swimming on Sunday. He isn't that sort at all. +He--He--" the unaccustomed teacher of youth faltered hopelessly in his +effort to instruct the budding mind, but Ann's eyes were questioning and +at their bidding the essential truth of his own childhood came back to +him. "God is Love," he declared firmly. "Great Scott! a person would +think that we lived in the Dark Ages! Don't you let 'em frighten you, +Ann. What are you allowed to do on Sunday anyway?" + +"Church," succinctly. "And Sunday-school and church and the 'Pilgrim's +Progress.'" + +"Well, that's something. Jolly good book, the 'Pilgrim's Progress'!" + +"Yes," dubiously. "If it didn't use such a nawful lot of big words. And +if he'd only get on a little faster. He was terrible slow." + +"So he was. Well, let us be merry while we can. I'll race you to the +orchard gate." + +At the gate they paused to regain their lost breath and sense of decorum +for, across the orchard, the veranda could be plainly seen with the trim +figure of Professor Willits in close proximity to the taller and gaunter +outline of Mrs. Sykes. With one of her shy quick gestures, the child +slipped her fingers from the doctor's hold and sped away through the +trees. Her friendship with Callandar was the most wonderful thing that +had ever happened to Ann, but she was not of the kind which +parades intimacy. + +"Patient dead?" asked Willits dryly after they had shaken hands. + +"Patient?" Then, catching sight of the flaming red in the cheeks of his +landlady, "Dead? Certainly not. Even my patients know better than to die +on a morning like this. But whatever possessed you to disturb a +righteous household? Mrs. Sykes, he doesn't deserve breakfast, but I do. +When do you think--" + +"In just about five minutes, Doctor. Soon's I get the coffee boiling and +the cream skimmed. I didn't know," with an anxiously reproving glance, +"but what you might want to get washed up after you got in." + +"I--no, I think I'm quite clean enough, Mrs. Sykes. But it was very +thoughtful of you to wait--" + +"Aunt, the coffee's boiling over!" The warning was distinctly audible +and, with a gesture of one who abandons an untenable position, Mrs. +Sykes retreated upon the kitchen. + +The visitor watched her flight with mild amaze. + +"I suppose I should seem curious if I were to ask why the excellent Mrs. +Sykes imperils her immortal soul in your behalf? But why in the name of +common sense is the peril necessary? It isn't a crime, is it, for a +medical man to get up early and go for a swim?" + +"You forget what day it is," said Callandar solemnly. "Or rather, you +never knew. I myself was not properly acquainted with Sunday until I +came to this place. Your presence here is in itself a scandal. People do +not visit upon the Seventh day in Coombe." + +"No? You should have informed me of the town's eccentricities. As it is, +if my presence imperils your social standing you can seclude me until +the next train." + +"Better than that," cheerfully, "I can take you to church." + +The alarmed look upon the professor's face was so enticing that +Callandar continued with glee: + +"Why not? I have always thought your objection to church-going a blot +upon an otherwise estimable character. Hitherto I have been too busy to +attend to it, but now--" + +"Quit chaffing, Harry! I came up because I had to see you. You pay no +attention to my letters. I never dreamed that you would stay a month in +this backwater. What is wrong? What is the matter with you?" + +"Look at me--and ask those questions again." + +The keen eyes of the Button-Moulder looked deep into the doctor's steady +ones. There was a slight pause. Then-- + +"Yes, I see what you mean. I saw it as you came across the orchard." The +sharp voice softened. "My anxiety for your health could hardly survive +the way in which you leaped that fence! But all this makes it only the +more mysterious. Have you found the fountain of youth or--or what?" + +Callandar threw an affectionate arm over the other man's shoulders. + +"I _am_ young, amn't I! Trouble is, I didn't know it." He ruffled his +hair at the side so that the grey showed plainly. "Terrible thing when +one loses the realisation of youth! But I've had my lesson. I'll never +be old again, never!" + +In spite of himself the professor's straight mouth curved a little. A +spark of pride glowed in his cool eyes as he bent them upon the smiling +face of his friend. Yet his tone was mocking as he said, "Then it is the +fountain of youth? One is never too old to find that chimera." + +"It's not something that I've found, old cynic. It's something that I've +lost. Look at me hard! Don't you notice something missing? Did you ever +read the 'Pilgrim's Progress'?" + +"The Pilgrim's--" + +"Breakfast is ready!" called Ann, teetering on her toes in the doorway. + +"The Pil--" + +"And Aunt--says--will--you--please--come--at--once--so's--the +coff--ee--won't--be--cold!" chanted Ann. + +"Yes, Ann. We're coming." + +"But I want to know--" + +"Old man, I'll tell you after breakfast. I want you to see me eat. I +wish to demonstrate that there is no deception. A miracle has really +happened. No one could observe me breakfasting and doubt it!" + +When they were seated he looked guilelessly into the still disapproving +face of Mrs. Sykes. "Perhaps you are wondering, as I did, what has +brought Professor Willits back to Coombe," he said, "but time and space +mean little to professors, and the fact is that Willits has long wished +to hear a sermon by the Reverend Mr. Macnair. He is coming with me this +morning. Perhaps you hadn't better mention it, though. It might disturb +Mr. Macnair to know that so eminent a critic was listening to him." + +The eminent critic frowned grimly and took a fourth cream biscuit +without noticing it. + +"Not a mite!" declared Mrs. Sykes. "The man ain't born that can fluster +Mr. Macnair. Nor yet the woman, unless it's Esther Coombe--Land sakes, +Doctor! I forgot to tell you how that cup tips! Ann, get a clean table +napkin. I hope your nice white pants ain't ruined, Doctor? I really +ought to put that cup away but it's a good cup if it's held steady and I +hate to waste good things. Last time it tipped was when the Ladies' Aid +met here. Mrs. Coombe had it and the whole cup spilled right over her +dress. I was that mortified! But she didn't seem to care. I can't +imagine what's the matter with that woman. She's getting dreadful +careless about her clothes. Next time I met her she wore that same +dress, splash an' all! 'Tisn't as if she hadn't plenty of new +things,--more than they can afford, if what folks say is true. You +haven't met Mrs. Coombe yet, have you, Doctor?" + +"She is away from home." + +"Well, when you do meet her you'll see what I mean, or like as not you +won't, being a man. Men never seem to see anything wrong with Mary +Coombe. But Esther must feel dreadful mortified sometimes when her Ma +forgets to get hooked up behind. Esther's as neat as a pin. Always was. +Why, even when she got home last week after that awful time you and she +had up at Pine Lake, and her having to stay overnight without so much as +a clean collar, she walked in here as fresh as a daisy--won't you let me +give you some more coffee, Professor?" + +"Thank you, yes. You were saying--" + +"Willits, do you think so much coffee is good for you?" + +"Land sakes, Doctor, my coffee won't hurt him! It never seems to trouble +you any. As I was saying, one would almost have thought that what with +picnicking in the bush all day and trapesing around in a canoe half the +night and having to stay where she wasn't expected and wouldn't like to +ask the loan of the flat-irons--" + +"Please, Mrs. Sykes, don't let Ann eat another biscuit. I don't want her +to be ill just when I want a day off to take Willits to church. Willits, +as your medical adviser, I forbid more coffee. He will really injure +himself, Mrs. Sykes, if I do not take him away. He isn't used to +breakfasts like this and his constitution won't stand it." + +Mrs. Sykes beamed graciously under this delicate compliment and +confiscated Ann's latest biscuit with a ruthless hand. "If you gentlemen +would like to sit in the parlour--" she offered graciously. But +Callandar with equal graciousness declined. The office would do quite +well enough. Willits might want to smoke. "And as it-seems that my watch +has stopped," he added, "perhaps you would be so kind as to tell us +when it is time to change for church." + +The professor settled himself primly upon the hardest chair which the +office contained and refused a cigar. + +"You seem to have acquired a reprehensible habit of fooling, Henry," he +said. "Your language also is strange. When, for instance, you say +'change for church,' to what sort of transformation do you refer?" + +Callandar chuckled. + +"Only to your clothes, old chap. Don't worry. You wouldn't expect me to +go to church in flannels?" + +"I should not expect you to go to church at all." + +"Well, the fact is, old man, you are painfully ignorant. I do go to +church, and the proper church costume for a professional man is a frock +coat and silk hat. But as you are a traveller, and as you are not +exactly a professional man, I shall not lose caste by taking you as +you are." + +The imperturbable Willits waived the point. "I understood you to say, +also, that your watch had stopped. Was that a joke?" + +"No such luck!" The doctor took out his watch and shook it. "Mainspring +gone, I'm afraid!" + +"A month ago," said the professor, "if your watch had stopped you would +have had a fit." + +"Really! Was I ever such an ass? Well, I'm not the slave of my watch any +longer. Time goes softly in Coombe. Aren't you glad I'm not taking +a fit?" + +"I am glad. But I want to understand." + +"Then let's return to the 'Pilgrim's Progress.' Ann and I were talking +about it this morning. Do you remember the man with the pack on his back +and how when he reached a certain spot the pack, seemingly without +effort of his own, fell off and was seen no more?" + +Willits reflected. The doctor was thoroughly in earnest now. "I seem to +recollect the incident to which you refer," he said after a pause. "If I +remember rightly it is an allegory and is used in a definitely religious +sense. The man with the pack meets a certain spiritual crisis. Do I +understand that you--er--that you have experienced conversion? I am not +guilty of speaking lightly of so important a matter, but I hardly know +how to frame my question." + +The doctor tilted back his chair and looked dreamily out of the window. +"I did not mean you to take my illustration literally. My religious +beliefs are very much the same as they have always been. To a +materialist like you they seem, I know, absurdly orthodox; to a church +member in good standing they might seem fatally lax; but such as they +are I have not changed them. Still, I was, as you know, a man with a +burden. You may call the burden consequence or what you will, the name +doesn't matter. The weight of that youthful, selfish, unpardonable act +which bound a young girl to me without giving her the protection which +that bond demanded, was always upon me, crushing out the joy of life. +The news of her death made no difference, except to render me hopeless +of ever making up to her for the wrong I had done. Her death did not set +me free, it bound me closer. + +"I seemed like one caught in the tow of some swift tide, always fighting +to get back, yet eternally being drawn away. The tide still flows out, +for the tide of human life is the only tide which never returns, but I +have ceased to struggle. I no longer look back. It is not that God has +forgiven me (I have never been able to think of God as otherwise than +forgiving), it is that I have forgiven myself." + + + + +CHAPTER XV + + +"It amounts to this, then," said Willits presently. "You are cured. The +balance is swinging true again. It has taken a long time, but the cure +is all the more complete for that. Now, when are you coming back to us?" + +Callandar did not answer. + +"You are needed. Not a day passes that your absence is not felt. You +used to have a strong sense of responsibility toward your work. What has +become of it?" + +"I have it still. I am not slighting my work by taking time to build +myself into better shape for it." + +"But you will simply stagnate here!" querulously. "You are becoming +slack already. You let your watch run down." + +The doctor laughed. + +"If many of my patients could do the same without worry they would not +need a doctor. Half of the nervous trouble of the age can be ultimately +traced to watches which won't run down. Leisure--unhurried leisure--that +is what we want. We've got to have it!" + +"Piffle! I shall hear you talk about inviting your soul next." + +"Well, if I do he is in better shape to accept the invitation than he +used to be." + +The professor's gesture was sufficiently expressive. + +"Very well. I give up. Remember, I advise against it. I think you are +making a mistake!--I'll have that cigar now. I suppose one is allowed to +smoke in the garden?" + +"Yes, do, that's a good fellow! I must run up and make myself +presentable. I suppose you haven't seen Lorna lately?" + +"I have seen her very lately. She asked to be remembered." + +"Oh, you old prevaricator! Lorna never asked to be remembered in her +life. What she really said was, 'If you see Harry give him my love!'" + +"If she did, you don't deserve it! Oh, boy," with sudden earnestness, +"why will you make a fool of yourself? She's a woman in a thousand. +Others see it if you don't. Since you've been away, MacGregor is paying +her marked attention." + +"Good old Gregor!" The doctor's exclamation was one of pure pleasure. +"And yet you say my absence isn't doing any good? Go along with you! +Take your cigar and wait for me underneath the Bough. I'll not be long." + +He was long, however. The professor's cigar and his cogitations came to +an end together without the promised reappearance. Even when he returned +to the office it was empty except for Ann, who in the stiffest of +starched muslin and whitest of stockings was spread out carefully upon +the widest chair. Her black hair was parted as if by a razor blade and +plastered tightly in slablike masses while the tension of the braids was +such that they stuck out on either side of the small head like decorated +sign posts. Weariness, disgust and defiance were painted visibly upon +the elfish face. + +"This is the best chair!" said Ann politely, "but if you'll excuse me I +shan't get up. Every time I sit down it makes a crease in a fresh place. +By the time church is over I look like I was crumpled all over. It's the +starch!" she added in sullen explanation. + +Willits, who liked children but did not understand them, essayed a mild +joke. + +"Did you put some starch in your hair too?" + +Ann flushed scarlet with anger and mortification and made no answer. + +"It looked much nicer at breakfast," blundered on the professor +genially. "If I were you I should unstarch it--" he paused abashed by +the glare in Ann's black eyes and turned helplessly to Callandar, who +had just come in, resplendent in faultless church attire. + +"Don't listen to him, Ann!" said the doctor. "Button moulders are so +ignorant. They know absolutely nothing about hair or the necessity for +special tidiness on Sundays. All the same, I'm afraid we shall have a +headache if we don't let a reef out somewhere. Sit still a moment, Ann. +I was always intended for a barber." + +To the fresh astonishment of Willits his friend's skilful hands busied +themselves with the tightly drawn hair which, only too eager for +freedom, soon fell into some of its usual curves. With a quick, shy +gesture the child drew the adored hand to her lips and kissed it. +Callandar turned a deep red. The professor chuckled, and Ann, furious at +betraying herself before him, fled precipitately, the crackling starch +of her stiff skirts rattling as she ran. + +For a moment Willits enjoyed his friend's embarrassment and then, as the +probable meaning of the frock coat began to dawn upon him, his +expression changed to one of apprehension. + +"You weren't in earnest about that church nonsense, were you?" + +"Certainly. If you need a clean collar take one of mine, and hurry up. +The first bell has stopped ringing." + +"But I'm not going!" + +"Not if I ask you nicely?" + +"But why? What are you going for?" + +"Come and see." + +The shrewd eyes of the professor grew coldly thoughtful. + +"That is exactly what I shall do," he decided. + +From the home of Mrs. Sykes upon Duke Street to the First Presbyterian +Church upon Oliver's Hill is a brisk walk of fifteen minutes. As Coombe +lies in a valley, Oliver's Hill is not a hill, really, but a gentle +eminence. It is a charming, tree-lined street bordered by the homes and +gardens of the well-to-do. It is, in fact, _the_ street of Coombe, and +to live upon Oliver's Hill is a social passport seldom mentioned but +never ignored. + +As if social prominence were not enough, it had another claim upon the +affections and memories of many, for up this hill every Sunday in a long +and goodly stream poured the first Presbyterians who were not only the +elect but also the elite of Coombe. To see Knox Church "come out" was +one of the sights of the town and, decorously hidden behind a muslin +curtain, a stranger might feast his eyes upon greatness unrebuked. It +was said at one time that every silk hat in Coombe attended Knox Church, +but this was vainglory, for it was afterwards proved that several +repaired to St. Michael's and at least one to the Baptist tabernacle. +With this explanation you will at once understand why the sidewalk was a +few feet broader upon the church side of Oliver's Hill, and if this +circumstance savours to you of ecclesiastical privilege we can only +conclude that you are not Presbyterian, and request you not to be so +narrow-minded. + +As the doctor and his half-reluctant friend turned at the foot of the +hill they were immediately absorbed by the stream pressing upwards, for +the last bell had already begun to ring. + +"We're all right," whispered Callandar encouragingly. "It rings for five +minutes." + +The professor opened his lips to say something, but shut them with a +snap. There was probably method in the doctor's madness but it was +method which would never be disclosed through much questioning. With an +expression of intense solemnity he fixed his eyes, gimlet-like, upon the +middle button of the Sunday blouse of the lady in front of him and +followed up the hill. To the absurdly low-toned remarks of his companion +he vouchsafed no reply whatever. + +They entered the church to the subdued rustle of Sunday silks and the +whisper of Sunday voices. At the door some one shook hands with +Callandar and remarked in a ghostly whisper that it was a fine day. A +grave young man, in black, led them to a pew half way down the aisle. +Most of the pews were already full, the latest comers showing slight +signs of hurry; and as they seated themselves the bell stopped and the +organ began. + +There was a moment's expectant interval and then two doors, one at +either side of the pulpit, opened simultaneously and the minister +entered from one side, the choir from the other. Before the minister +walked a very solemn man with abnormally long upper lip. This was Elder +John MacTavish, a man of large substance, of great piety and poor +digestion. It was upon this latter account that the doctor always +observed him with peculiar interest, for had not Mrs. Sykes declared +that if he should only be called in once to prescribe for John +MacTavish's stomach his future in Coombe was secure? + +"Doctor Parker is doing him just no good at all," she reported. "So keep +an eye on him. If he looks especially dour it's a good sign." + +"Would you say that he looks especially 'dour'?" whispered Callandar to +Willits. + +"I should. Why?" + +"Oh, nothing--only it's a good sign! Hush!" + +When the minister has entered the pulpit at Knox Church there is a +moment during which you may bow your head, or, if you consider this +popish, you may cover your face with your gloved hand. It is a moment of +severe quiet. One does not dare even to cough. Hence the doctor's +warning "hush!" + +But this morning the quiet was rudely broken. Somewhere, just outside +the open windows, sounded a laugh; a young, clear, unrestrained laugh, +then the call of a sharp whistle, and next moment, through the doors not +yet closed, hurtled something yellow and long-legged! With a joyous bark +it rushed along the nearest aisle, across the front of the pulpit, down +the other aisle and out at the door again. + +The congregation was amazed and grieved. Its serenity was shaken, even +the minister seemed disturbed. Some younger members of the choir +giggled. It was most unseemly. + +"Naughty dog!" said the voice outside the window. "Go home! Don't dare +to lick my hand!" + +One of the choir members grew red in the face and choked. It was +outrageous! And then, as if nothing at all had happened, the girl who +had been the cause of the whole unfortunate incident entered and walked +down the aisle. She appeared to be quite undisturbed; was, in fact, +smiling. Every eye in the church followed her as, a little out of +breath, a little flushed, with dark hair slightly disarranged as if from +an exciting chase, she took her seat, unconscious, or careless, of them +all. The minister, who had paused with almost reproachful obviousness, +gave out the opening psalm and the congregation freed itself from +embarrassment with an accustomed flutter of hymn-books. + +Going to church was somewhat interesting after all, thought Professor +Willits. Then, in common with the rest of the congregation, he detached +his eyes from the girl's exquisite profile and focused them upon +the minister. + +Friends of the Rev. Angus Macnair asserted that he was a man in a +thousand. For that matter he was a man in any number of thousands; for +his was a personality, true to type, yet not likely to be duplicated. +Born of a Highland Scotch father and a Lowland Scotch mother, he +developed almost exclusively in his father's vein. Loyal in the extreme, +narrow to fanaticism, passionate, emotional, yet trained to the cold +control of a red Indian, he was a man of power, at once the victim and +the triumph of his creed. + +Early in life he had come under a conviction of sin, had received +assurance of forgiveness and of election and, before he had left the +Public School, his Call had come. From that time forward he had burnt +with a fierce fire of godliness which, together with a natural +incapacity for seeing two sides to anything, had carried him safely +through the manifold temptations to unbelief and heresy which beset a +modern college education. Many wondered that a man so gifted should +remain in Coombe, but the explanation is simple. He suited Coombe; the +larger churches of the larger cities he did not suit. Lax opinions, +heretical doctrines, outlooks appallingly wide were creeping in +everywhere. It is safe to say that in most of the churches of his own +faith he would have seemed bravely but hopelessly behind the times. But +in Coombe he had found his place. Coombe was conservative. Coombe +Presbyterians were still content to do without frills in the matter of +doctrine. Coombe could still listen to hell fire and, if not unduly +disturbed, did not at least smile behind its hand. + +Something of all this the Button-Moulder, student of men, felt as he +watched the sombre yet glowing face of the preacher. + +The sermon that morning was one of a series dealing with the +Commandments and the text was, "Thou shalt not bear false witness +against thy neighbour." The speaker had the scholar's power of +concentration, the orator's power of delivery. He was both poignant and +personal. He seemed to do everything save mention names. Some sinners in +that congregation, thought Willits, had undoubtedly been bearing false +witness, and were now listening to a few plain words! Cautiously he +glanced around, almost expecting to see the tale of guilt and sorrow +legibly imprinted upon some culprit's face. But no one seemed at all +disturbed, save one old lady who glared back at him an unmistakable +"Thou art the man!" The congregation sat, serenely, soberly attentive, +testifying their entire agreement with the speaker by an occasional sigh +or nod. The more fiery the preacher's denunciations, the more complacent +his hearers. In astonishment Willits realised that, if appearances go +for anything, no one in Knox Presbyterian Church had ever borne false +witness against anybody! + +The collecting of the offering was somewhat of an anti-climax, as was +also the anthem by the choir, the latter consisting of a complicated +arrangement of the question, "If a man die shall he live again?" +reiterated singly by all parts in succession, by duets and quartets and +finally by the whole choir, without so much as a shadow of an answer +appearing anywhere. + +Willits gave a long sigh as they stepped into the summer day again. It +had not been uninteresting, but he was quite ready for lunch. The +doctor, on the contrary, seemed unaccountably to linger. He even paused +to talk to a fat lady in mauve velvet who had mauve cheeks to match. + +"So glad to see you in church, Doctor! Young men, you know, are inclined +to be young men! And these nice days--very tempting, I'm sure! Is your +friend a stranger?" + +Callandar gravely introduced Willits, who became immediately convinced +that this mauve lady was the most unpleasant person he had ever seen and +doubtless the very person to whom the minister had spoken in his sermon. + +Why had Callandar let him in for this? Why was he waiting around for +anyway? There he was, shaking hands with some one else--this time it was +the girl who had laughed. + +"May I present my friend, Professor Willits, Miss Coombe?" + +The girl extended a graceful hand and for an instant the professor was +permitted a look into eyes which caused him to set his firm lips +somewhat grimly. + +"And I know, Willits, you will be delighted to meet our pastor, Mr. +Macnair." + +A spark began to glow in the professor's eye, but Callandar's face was +guileless. The minister shook hands with professional heartiness, but +his gaze, Willits thought, was wandering. He began to feel interested. + +"Very fine day," he remarked imperturbably. + +"Lovely, lovely," agreed the minister, still heartily. The mauve lady +was waiting for the pastoral handshake, but he did not notice her. He +was watching the dark girl talking to Callandar. + +"What is so rare as a day in June?" said Willits, with deliberate +malice. + +"Ah, yes, very much so. Delighted to have met you. You will excuse me, +I'm sure. Annabel," with an impatient glance toward a stout, awkward +woman in the background, "if you are not quite ready I think Miss Coombe +and I will walk on." He moved toward the dark girl as he spoke and +Willits followed. + +"Then I'll have to come some other day to get the roses," they heard +Callandar say. "But remember I haven't a single flower in the office. So +it will have to be soon." + +"At any time," answered the girl, flushing slightly. + +"No flowers?" repeated the minister, a little fussily, "dear me, I will +speak to my sister. Annabel will be delighted to send you any quantity, +Doctor. You must really drop in to see our garden, some day. Sunday, of +course, is a busy day with me. Come, Miss Esther. Good morning, Doctor. +Good morning, Professor. Glad to see you at our services any time--" + +Bowing courteously, the minister moved away, followed perforce by Miss +Coombe. (An invitation to lunch at the manse is an honour not to be +trifled with.) Perforce also the doctor stood aside and Willits caught +the look, half shy, half merry, which the girl threw him from the depths +of her remarkable eyes. It was really quite interesting, and rather +funny. Not often had he seen fair ladies carried off from under the nose +of Henry Callandar. Transferring his glance quickly to the face of his +friend, he hoped to surprise a look of chagrin upon his abashed +countenance, but the countenance was not abashed, and the look which he +did surprise there startled him considerably. Henry Callandar, of all +men, to be looking after any girl with a look like that! + +Well, he had been invited to come and see. And he had seen. + + + + +CHAPTER XVI + + +As Esther walked away, demurely acquiescent, by the side of the Rev. Mr. +Macnair she was conscious of a conflict of emotions. The sight of the +doctor's disappointed face as he stood hat in hand, awoke regret and +perhaps a trifle of girlish gratification. She had been sorry herself to +miss that half hour among the roses but she was still too young and too +happy to know how few are such hours, how irrevocable such losses. Also, +it had seemed good to her maidenly pride that Dr. Callandar should +know--well, that he should see--just exactly what he should know and see +she did not formulate. But underneath her temporary disappointment she +felt as light and glad as a bird in springtime. + +The minister was speaking, but he had been speaking for several moments +before Esther's delighted flutter would permit of her listening to him. +When at last her thoughts came back she noticed, with a happy-guilty +start, that his tone was one of dignified reproof. + +"Naturally we all understand," he was saying, "at least I hope we all +understand, that you are not primarily to blame. At the worst one can +only impute carelessness--" + +"Oh, but it wasn't carelessness! You don't know Buster. He's the +_cleverest_ dog! He hid. I had no idea that he was with me until he +bounded past me at the church door. And though I whistled and tried to +grab him he was in before I knew it. I'll make him sit up meekly and beg +your pardon." + +A flush of what in a layman might have been anger crimsoned the +minister's cheek. + +"You are well aware," stiffly, "that I am not referring to the incident +of the dog." + +"To what then? I am sorry I wasn't listening but you seemed to be +scolding and I couldn't think of anything else." Even the abstruse Mr. +Macnair saw that her surprise was genuine. His tone grew gentler. + +"You are very young, Miss Esther. But since I must speak more plainly, I +was referring to that mad escapade of a week ago. Don't misunderstand +me, the blame undoubtedly rests upon the man who was thoughtless enough, +selfish enough, to put you in such a position." + +"Whatever do you mean?" Esther was torn between anger and a desire to +laugh. But seeing the earnestness in his face, anger predominated. "Can +you possibly be referring to the breakdown of Dr. Callandar's motor?" +she asked coldly. + +"I refer to the whole unfortunate adventure. If your step-mother had +been at home I feel sure it would not have happened. She would never +have permitted the excursion to take place." + +The girl's dark brows drew together in their own peculiar manner. + +"Let us be honest," she suggested. "You know quite well that my +step-mother would not have bothered about it in the least." + +"I feel it my duty," went on the minister, "to tell you that there were +some peculiar features in connection with the disablement of the motor. +I understand from the mechanician who accompanied Dr. Callandar to the +spot for the recovery of the machine that there was really very little +the matter. A short ten minutes completed the necessary repairs." + +"Ten minutes? Oh, how silly he must have felt--the doctor I mean. After +all the hours he spent and the things he said." She laughed with +reminiscent amusement. "He threw the monkey wrench at it, too. And he +thought he knew so much about motors!" + +Her companion observed her with sombre eyes. Was it possible that she +had actually missed the point of his remark? + +"Can you understand," he said slowly, "how a man used to driving a motor +car can have been entirely baffled by so slight an accident? To me it +seems--odd!" + +"So Dr. Callandar thought, only he expressed it more forcibly." + +"And you?" + +"Well, I suppose I was heartless. But it was the funniest thing I ever +saw!" Esther's laughter bubbled again. + +They were now at the manse gate. He saw that he must hasten. + +"My dear Miss Esther, let us be serious. I do not like to +disturb your mind but I have a duty in this matter. Has it never +occurred to you that this so-called accident may not have been +so--so--er--entirely--er--irremediable, so to speak, as it was made +to appear?" + +"Do you mean that he did it on purpose?" The tone was one of blank +amazement. Esther's hand was upon the gate but forgot to press the +latch. She was a quick brained girl and the insinuation in the +minister's words had been patent. Yet that he should be capable of such +an idea seemed incredible! Had he been looking at her he would have seen +the clear red surge over her face from neck to brow and then recede, but +not before it had lighted a danger spark in her eyes. + +"You did mean that!" She went on before he could answer. The scorn in +her voice stung. But the Reverend Angus was not a coward. + +"That was my meaning. You are a young and inexperienced girl. You go +upon an excursion with a man whom none of us know. An accident, a very +peculiar accident, happens. You are led to believe that the damage is +serious, but later, when the matter is investigated, it is found to have +been trifling. What is the natural inference? What have you to say?" + +"It has been said before," calmly. + +"Well--" + +"Thou shalt not bear false witness against thy neighbor." + +They faced each other, the man and the girl. And the man's eyes fell. + +"God forbid that I should do so," he murmured. + +Esther's face softened. Her anger was not proof against humility. + +"If you are really disturbed about it," she said slowly, "I can reassure +you. You say that you do not know Dr. Callandar. But I do know him. The +whole situation rests upon that. He is a man incapable of the caddish +villainy you impute. Why he could not repair the car, I cannot say. I +think," with a smile, "that he does not know quite as much about cars as +he thinks he does. But he did his best, I know that! When we found his +efforts useless we took the only course possible and made at once for +the canoe. We had to steal it, you remember, but the doctor showed no +faltering in that. He was also prepared to shoot the dog. And you have +my word for it that he made no attempt to swamp the canoe or to +otherwise complicate matters. I arrived at Mrs. Burton's by ten minutes +past nine. She was delighted to see me. Dr. Callandar walked over to the +station and sent telegrams to Aunt Amy and Mrs. Sykes. He returned to +Coombe upon the morning train. I remained with Mrs. Burton and came back +in time for school on the milk train Monday morning. That is the whole +story of the adventure and, to be frank, I enjoyed it immensely." + +The minister shook his head, but he could say no more. His attitude had +not changed, yet he felt a sense of shame before the straightforward +honesty of Esther's outlook. She had no sense of the evil of the world. +That very fact seemed to make the world less evil. + +"When will Mrs. Coombe be back?" he asked abruptly. + +Immediately the girl's frank look clouded. "I do not know," she said. +"She hardly ever tells me when she is returning. She may be at home any +day now. You know how impulsively she acts." + +"Yes--just so." The minister's manner was absent. "The fact is I wish +very much to speak with your mother regarding a certain matter. Not the +matter we have been discussing, we will say no more of that, but a +matter of great importance to--er--to me. The importance is such indeed +that I doubt if I am justified in delaying longer if you have no idea of +when I may expect to see her." + +Had Esther been noticing she must have remarked the unusual agitation of +his manner, but Esther was not noticing. + +"Is it anything you could discuss with me?" she asked innocently. +"Mother cares less and less for business. Unless it is something quite +private she will probably turn it over to me in any case." + +"But this is not--er--a matter of business. Not exactly. Not a business +matter at all, in fact. It is a matter which--" + +"Oh, there you are!" Miss Annabel's voice was breathless but gratified +and free from the faintest suspicion of having arrived, as usual, at +exactly the wrong moment. "Are you showing Esther the new rose, Angus? +Such a disappointment, Esther, my dear! I had quite made up my mind that +it was to be red. It came out pink, and such a beautifully strong +plant--such a waste! I simply can't make myself care for pink roses. +They are so common. Was I very long? You must both be starved. I know I +am. Won't you come upstairs, Esther, and put off your hat?" + +Esther intimated that she would. Just now, she had no desire for the +further company of Mr. Macnair. She was conscious even of a faint +stirring of dislike. Therefore the eagerness with which she followed +Miss Annabel filled that good lady with hospitable reproach. + +"I didn't intend to be so long," she apologised, "but you know what +choir-leaders are? And Angus won't speak to him. I can't make Angus out +lately. Tell me," abruptly, as they stood in the cool front room with +its closed green shutters, "did _you_ notice anything peculiar +about Angus?" + +"No," in surprise, "is he peculiar?" + +"Quite. He's getting fussy. He never used to be fussy. The trouble was +to induce him to be fussy enough. Except over church matters. But this +morning he was just like an ordinary man. About his collar" (Miss +Annabel had a fascinating habit of disjointing her sentences anywhere) +"nothing suited him. And you know, Esther, what care I always take with +his collars. He said they were too shiny. Of course they're shiny. Why +not? He said he noticed that men weren't wearing shine on their collars +now. Fancy that!" + +"Not really?" Esther's fresh laugh rang out. + +"Well, words to that effect. He asked me if I wanted to make him a +laughing stock before the congregation. Did you ever? And he _banged +the door_!" + +"Does he not bang doors usually?" + +"Never. And he banged it hard. It shook the house." + +"But people have to bang doors, hard, sometimes, even ministers. I +wouldn't worry if I were you. It probably did him the world of good. As +for the collars--he may have been noticing Dr. Callandar's. Mrs. Sykes +says the doctor sends all his laundry to the city." + +"You don't say? And is it different from ours?" + +"I--yes, I think it does look different." + +"How did you happen to notice it? Oh, Esther, you aren't really carrying +on with that strange young man, are you?" + +The girl's cheek flamed. The question, she knew, was void of offence. +"Carrying on" meant nothing, but the homely phrase seemed suddenly very +displeasing--horribly vulgar! Her very ears burned. What if, some time, +he should hear a like phrase used to describe their wonderful +friendship? The thought was acute discomfort. Oh, how mean and small and +misunderstanding people were! + +She took off her hat and smoothed her hair without answering. But Miss +Annabel was so used to having her anxious queries unanswered that she +did not notice the lack. + +"I know you haven't, of course," she went on. "But Coombe is such a +place for gossip. Ever since you and he had that smash-up with the +automobile, people have kind of got it into their heads that you're +keeping company. But I said to Mrs. Miller, 'I know Esther Coombe better +than you do and it isn't at all likely that a girl who can pick and +choose will go off with a stranger--even if he is a doctor. And,' I +said, 'how do we know he is a doctor anyway?' Goodness knows he came +into the place like a tramp. You've heard, haven't you, Esther, how he +came into the Imperial with nothing but a knapsack and riding in +Mournful Mark's democrat?" + +This time she did pause for an answer and Esther said "Yes," shortly. + +"Then that settles it. I knew you had some sense. Just like I said to +Mrs. Miller. Next time I see her I'll tell her what you say. 'Tisn't as +if we knew anything about the man. No wonder you feel vexed about it." + +"I hope you will not mention the subject at all." + +"Of course not. Except to tell them how silly they are. You're sure you +didn't notice anything queer about Angus when you were walking home +from church?" + +"Nothing at all." Yet, as she said it, it occurred to her that she had +noticed something unusual in the minister's manner--an agitation, a lack +of poise! "Perhaps he is disturbed about church matters," she suggested, +thinking of the interrupted conversation about the important matter +which was not business. "Why don't you ask him?" + +Miss Annabel shook her head. "Oh, I never ask him anything! But," +cheerfully, "I almost always manage to find out. I'm rather good at +finding out things. But this isn't a church matter. I know all the +symptoms of that. This is different. It's--it's more human!" + +"Liver?" suggested Esther. + +"No. I know the symptoms of liver too, Esther! What if it should be +_Love_!" + +The idea was so daring that Miss Macnair justly spoke it in italics. But +the attitude of her listener was disappointing. Esther looked as if it +might be quite a natural thing for the minister of Knox Church to +fall in love. + +"Love!" she said the word caressingly. "Perhaps it is. They say love is +a disturbing thing. But--does it usually make a man bang doors?" + +"It often turns a sensible man into a fool." Miss Annabel's tone held +bitterness. "But what I can't discover is this! If Angus is in love, +whom is he in love with?" The question was delivered with such force +that Esther jumped. + +"I'm sure I don't know!" + +"Nor do I. And that is what I must find out. I have my suspicions. My +dear, don't let me startle you, but have you ever thought that it might +possibly be--your mother?" + +"Gracious! So it might! I never thought of it." + +"I have not been blind," went on Miss Annabel complacently. "I have +noticed how often he calls at the Elms and how long he stays. Also how +very considerate he is of Mrs. Coombe, how patient with Jane, how +indulgent with you--" + +"Indulgent with me!" indignantly. "Why should he be 'indulgent' with +me?" + +"Why, indeed," asked Miss Macnair pointedly, "unless on account of your +mother?" + +Esther subdued a desire to laugh. Many little things, half-observed, +seemed to fit in with Miss Annabel's theory. Yet, somehow, instinct told +her that the theory was wrong. + +"I don't believe it," she declared finally. "At first I thought it +possible but now I seem to know that we're on the wrong track. Mr. +Macnair is not in love with mother, and as for mother--Oh, the thing is +absurd! Aren't you awfully hungry, Miss Annabel?" + + + + +CHAPTER XVII + + +It was a curious luncheon party. The host was abstracted, nervous, far +from being his usual bland self. The guest was subdued, silent, uneasy +for no reason at all. The hostess, usually an ever-springing well of +comment and question, had decided upon quiet dignity as the most fitting +expression of sensibilities ignored by the banging of doors. + +"I think, Angus," she ventured once, "that you ought to remonstrate with +Mr. McCandless in regard to 'If a man die.' An Easter Anthem is an +Easter Anthem, but after five renderings it is hardly fair to expect the +congregation to behave as if they had never heard it before." + +"Quite so," said the minister absently. + +"Then may I tell him myself that it is your special request--" + +"Certainly not. I wish you would not interfere, Annabel. The choir does +very well. I think I have told you before that your continual desire for +something novel in music has not my sympathy. I am not sure that I +approve of this growing craze for anthems. They seem to me, sometimes, +wholly unconnected with worship. We do not ask for new hymns every +Sunday, nor do we ever become weary of the psalms. Indeed, familiarity +seems often the measure of our affection." + +"Net with anthems," firmly. "Anthems are different. Aren't anthems +different, Esther?" + +"I have known familiarity to breed something besides affection in the +case of anthems," agreed Esther. + +In the ordinary course of things this remark would have aroused her host +into delivering a neat and timely discourse upon the proper relation of +music to the service of the Protestant Church and the tendency of the +present age to unduly exalt the former at the expense of the latter. But +to-day he merely upset the salt and looked things at the innocent +salt-cellar which his conscience, or his cloth, did not allow him +to utter. + +Miss Annabel raised her eyebrows at Esther in a significant way, +telegraphing, "What did I tell you?" And Esther signaled back, "You were +right. He is certainly not himself." + +Several other topics were introduced with no better result and every one +felt relieved when lunch was over. + +"I think," said the Reverend Angus, as they arose, "that it is probably +pleasanter in the garden." + +Esther glanced at Miss Annabel. She wanted very much to go home. Yet in +Coombe it was distinctly bad mannered to leave hurriedly, after a meal. +She thought of pleading a headache, but the excuse seemed too +transparent and she could think of nothing better. Miss Annabel was +unresponsive. Her host was already moving toward the door. Now he held +it open for her. There was nothing to do but go. If she were clever she +could keep the conversation in Miss Annabel's hands. + +But Miss Annabel's brother had other ideas. "I think," he suggested with +the soft authority which in that house was law, "that as you are taking +Mrs. Miller's class, Annabel, it might be well for you to look over the +Sabbath School lesson. Our guest will excuse you, I know." + +"Why, I've hardly seen her at all, Angus." + +"There will be time later. I am sure Miss Esther understands." + +Esther understood very well and her heart sank. She was probably in for +another scolding. However, as politeness required, she murmured that on +no account would she wish to interfere with the proper religious +instruction of Mrs. Miller's class. Miss Annabel looked rebellious, but +as usual found discretion the better part and contented herself with +another facial telegram to Esther: "Find out what is the matter with +him." And Esther smiled and nodded: "I'll try." + +"Perhaps you would like to see the rose bush to which my sister +referred," began the minister nervously as they stepped out upon the +lawn. "It is a very fine rose, but pink, I regret to say, pink. It is +unfortunate that Annabel should dislike pink so much. I think myself +that a pink rose is very pretty. Something a little different from the +red and white varieties." + +Esther murmured, "Naturally," and opened her strange eyes widely so +that he could see the mischief which was like a blue flash in the depths +of them. He coloured faintly. + +"I fear I am talking nonsense! The fact is that I am thinking of +something else. Something so important that it occupies my mind +completely. That is why, Esther, I wished to speak with you alone." + +The girl was thoroughly interested now. She was flattered also. Miss +Annabel had been right. Something was troubling the minister. And she, +Esther, was to be his confidant. To her untroubled, girlish conceit +(girls are very wise!) it seemed natural enough. She had no doubt of +her ability to help him. Therefore her face and her answering "Yes?" +were warmly encouraging. + +It is a general belief that a woman always knows, instinctively, when a +man is going to propose to her. She cannot be taken unawares; her +flutter, her surprise, her hesitancy are assumed as being artistically +suitable, but her unpreparedness is never bona fide. If this be the true +psychology of the matter then Esther's case was the exception which +proves the rule. No warning came to her, no intuition. She was still +looking at the minister with that warm expression of impersonal +interest, when, without further preliminaries, he began his halting +avowal of love. + +Had the poor pink rose-bush suddenly flamed into crimson she could +scarcely have been more surprised. She caught her breath with the shock +of it! But shocks are quickly over. One adjusts one's self with +incredible swiftness. A moment--and it seemed to Esther that she ought +to have been expecting this. That she ought to have known it all along. +Thousands of trifles mocked at her for her blindness, thousands of +unheeded voices shrieked the truth into her opened ears. She felt +miserably guilty. Not yet had she arrived at the stage when she could +justify her blindness and deafness to herself. Later, she would +understand how custom, the life-long habit of regarding the minister as +a man apart, had helped to dull her perception. Later, common sense +would prove her innocent of any wilful blunder. But just now, in her +first bewilderment, it seemed that nothing could ever excuse that lack +of understanding which had made this declaration possible! + +"I love you, Esther! I have loved you for two years." (It was like the +Reverend Angus to refer to the exact period.) "You must have seen it. +This can be no surprise to you. You may blame me in your heart for not +speaking sooner. But you were young. There seemed time enough. Then, +lately, when I saw that you were no longer a child, I decided to speak +as soon as your mother should have returned. But to-day I felt that I +could not wait longer. I must know at once--now! I must hear you say +that you love me. That you will be my wife. You will--Esther?" + +His impassioned tones lingered on the name with ecstasy. + +The startled girl forced herself to look at him, a look swift as a +swallow's dart, but in it she saw everything--the light on his face--the +love in his eyes! And something else she saw, something of which she did +not know the name but from which, not loving him, she shrank with an +instinctive shiver of revolt. He seemed a different man. The minister, +the teacher, was gone, and in his place stood the lover, the claimer. +Yes--that was it. He claimed her, his glance, his voice--somewhere in +the girl's heart a red spark of anger began to glow. + +She tried to speak, but he silenced her by a gesture. "No, do not answer +yet. Although you must have known what I have felt for you, you are +startled by my suddenness, I can see that. I have told you that it was +not my intention to speak so soon. Circumstances have hurried me. I felt +that I must have this settled. That--that episode of last week alone +would have determined me. Things like that must not recur. I must have +the right to advise, to--to protect you. You are so young. You do not +know the world, its wickedness, its incredible vileness." His face was +white with intense inward passion. "With me you will be safe. My God! +to think of you at the mercy of that man--of any man! It stirs a madness +of hate in me. Hate is a sin, I know, but God will understand--it is +born of love, of my love for you." + +Again the girl tried to force some words from her trembling lips. And +again he stopped her. + +"Do not speak yet. I apologise for my violence. Forgive it. We need not +refer to this aspect of the matter again. Let us dwell only upon the +sweeter idea of our love--for you do love me? You will love me--Esther?" + +But the time for speech had gone. To her own intense surprise and to the +minister's consternation, Esther burst into tears. + +She was frightened, angry, stung with pity and a kind of horror. She +felt herself honoured and insulted at the same time; and with this +strange medley of emotions was a consciousness of youth and inexperience +very different from the calm, untried confidence of a few +minutes before. + +"Forgive me, forgive me!" pleaded the conscience stricken suitor. "I +have been too sudden! I should have prepared you. I should have allowed +you to see more plainly." With a lover's first, fond air of possession +he attempted to take her hand. + +"Don't!" The word was sharp as a pistol shot. Esther's tears were +suddenly stayed. Furtively she slipped the hand he had touched behind +her. With the other she felt for her handkerchief and frankly wiped +her eyes. + +"You startled me," she explained presently. "And I am so sorry, so very +sorry! I never dreamed that you thought of me at all--in that way, any +more than I have thought of you. You honour me very much. But it is +impossible. Quite, quite impossible." + +"You mean my position here, as minister? Believe me, I have thought of +all that. There may be difficulties but we will conquer them together. +Nothing is impossible if you love me, dear." + +"Oh!" She turned wide blue eyes upon him. "That is just it. I do not +love you." + +The blow fell swift, unerring, dealt by the mercilessly honest hand of +youth. Esther's eyes were quite dry now. Her nervousness was passing. +Regret and pity were merged in one overpowering, instinctive desire: the +desire to show him beyond all manner of doubt that she repudiated that +possessive touch upon her hand. "I could not ever possibly marry you," +she said, as calmly as if she had been accustomed to dismissing suitors +all her life. + +They were still standing by the rose-bush whose desperate fate it was to +produce pink roses. With incredulous dismay, the minister saw her turn +from him and take a step toward the house. + +She had refused him! She was leaving him! At any moment Annabel might +finish her Sunday School lesson and come out upon the lawn--all his +self-possession vanished like a puff of smoke. + +"Esther!" he cried, "Esther! wait. Give me a moment." + +She paused, but did not turn. + +"I think there is nothing more to say--I am very sorry." + +Sorry! She was sorry. This young girl upon whom he had set his desire, +of whom he had felt so sure, to whom his love should have come as a +crown, was sorry. King Cophetua, flouted by the beggar maid, could not +have been more astonished, more deeply humiliated! + +But the greater wound was not to his pride. At any cost to his dignity +and self-respect he could not let her go like this. His ministerial +manner fell away, his readiness deserted him. In a moment he became all +lover, pleading, entreating, with the one great abandon of his life, +with the stammering eloquence of unspeakable desire! + +Slowly the girl turned to him. He saw her pure profile, then the full +charm of her changing face. The blue eyes, widely open, were darker, +lovelier than ever--Surely there was softening in their depths.... + +"Es--ther, Es--ther!" Miss Annabel's voice broke upon the tense moment +with cheerful insistence, and Miss Annabel herself appeared at the turn +of the walk, waving a slip of paper. She saw them at once. + +"You're wanted at home, Esther. Your mother's come back. To-day! Think +of that! On the noon train. In face of the whole town. And all she said +when Elder MacTavish met her coming up from the station was that she had +forgotten it was Sunday. Fancy!" + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII + + +Perhaps never, in all her life of inopportune arrivals, had Miss Annabel +been so truly welcome--or so bitterly resented! Esther turned to her +with a heart-sob of relief, the minister walked away without a word. + +"Dear me! What's the matter?" said the good lady. "You seem all excited. +Perhaps I shouldn't have shouted out the news so abruptly. But it never +occurred to me that you might be startled. 'Tisn't as if your mother had +been away a year. Jane's waiting for you down by the gate. Such a +peculiar child! Nothing I could say will induce her to come in. Don't +you find Jane is a peculiar child, Esther?" + +"Only a little shy," said Esther, quickening her steps. + +"Shy! Mercy, I shouldn't call her shy. That child has the +self-possession of a Chinee! I hope you won't mind me saying it, but a +little shyness is exactly what Jane needs." + +Esther, whose shaken nerves threatened hysterical laughter, made no +reply to this, but hurried toward the small figure by the garden gate. + +"Oh, Jane!" she called, somewhat shakily. + +At her voice, the Shy One stopped kicking holes in the turf with the +toes of her new boots and executing a bearlike rush, threw herself into +her sister's arms. + +"I'm home, Esther! So's mother! And she says I don't have to go to +Sunday School. That's why I didn't want to come in. Let's hurry before +the minister comes." + +"Listen to that!" said Miss Annabel in indignation. "Any one would +think my brother was an ogre. Angus! Why, he's gone! I thought he was +following us." + +"I think Mr. Macnair went into the house." + +"Did he? What did I tell you? Perhaps my news surprised him as well as +you. I thought he looked as pale as a plate. What do you think?" + +"I think it is none of our business." + +Miss Annabel gave her a shrewd look. "Perhaps not your business. You +don't have to live with him. But I do. Well, good-bye, my dear. Tell +your mother," significantly, "that I'll be over to see her soon." + +Both girls were relieved that the minister did not leave his study to +say good-bye. They breathed more freely and their steps slackened as +soon as the corner which hid the manse had been safely passed. + +"I've got new boots," began Jane. "See them? And Fred's new dog has got +puppies! He calls her Pickles. She got the puppies this morning. Oh! +they're darlings! But Fred is horrid. He says he is going to give me one +for my own, to make up for Timothy. Just as if anything ever could! I +never knew any one so heartless as Fred--except Job." + +"Job who?" It was a relief to Esther to let the childish chatter run on. + +"Why, _Job_. Job was just like Fred. When all his wives died and his +little children and his cows, he felt bad, but when God gave him more +wives and more children and lots of cows he was pleased as Punch. I +always thought that so strange of God," in a reflective tone, "but I +expect he knew what kind of man Job was and that he didn't have any real +feelings. Do you think I ought to take the puppy, Esther? I shouldn't +like to be like Job." + +"I think there is no danger, dear. But how is mother? Better?" + +"Was she sick?" in surprise. + +"Her headaches, you know." + +"Oh, yes. I don't know whether they are better or not," carelessly. "I +didn't see much of mother while we were away. I played all day with Mrs. +Bremner's little girl. Except when we went shopping. I think she must be +better, for she did such lots of shopping." + +Esther smiled. "Not very much, I think, Janie. Shopping takes money." + +"But she did! I have lots and lots of new clothes. Only," +discontentedly, "most of them don't fit. Mother could never be bothered +trying them on. She's got some lovely things, too. Dresses and hats and +piles of new shoes and heaps of silk stockings--" + +"Jane, why do you say 'lots' and 'piles' and 'heaps' when you know you +are exaggerating?" + +But there was a note of anxiety in the reproof nevertheless. + +"I'm not exaggerating, Esther! She did. Even Miss Bremner asked her what +she was going to do with them all." + +The elder girl's fingers tightened upon the small hand she held. Her red +lips set themselves in a firm line. In face of a danger which she could +see and measure Esther had courage enough. And she had faced this +particular danger before. + +"Mother will tell me all about it, no doubt," she said calmly. "Did she +get me something pretty, too?" + +"Yes. It's a surprise." + +"And when she got all the pretty things I suppose she told the clerks to +charge them?" + +"Oh, no. She paid for them out of her purse." + +Esther was conscious of a swift reaction. The things were paid for. Of +course Jane had exaggerated. Children have no sense of value. Some +dainty things, Mrs. Coombe was sure to buy; but, as Esther well knew, +her slender stock of money would hardly have run to "piles" and "heaps." +And of course she had been unjust in fearing that Mary had gone into +debt. They had one experience of that kind, an experience which had +ended in a solemn promise that it would never happen again. Mary +understood the position as well as she did. + +As the girl's thought trailed naturally into the problem paths of every +day, her weeks of freedom, her new interests, the strange experience in +the manse garden seemed already remote. With the little frown of +accustomed perplexity slipping in between her straight, black brows, her +deeper agitation quieted. The unusual has no antidote so effective as +the commonplace. + +They found Mrs. Coombe waiting for them on the veranda. Lying back in +the shade, in her white dress she looked very much at her ease. Yet a +quick observer might have noticed a certain anxiety in the glance she +tried to render merely welcoming. She was thinner than she had been; +tired lines dragged at the corners of the pouting mouth and dark circles +showed plainly through their dusting of pearl powder. Changes which +creep in unnoticed when one sees a person every day are startlingly +apparent when absence has forced a clearer focus. Esther had known that +her step-mother had changed, was changing, but as she bent over her now, +the extent of the change shocked her. With a tightening at her heart +she wondered what her father would say if he could see the difference +wrought by one short year. Pearl powder, lavishly used, is not becoming, +especially when it sifts into multitudes of fine lines; nor can powder +or anything else brighten a dull, yellowing skin which in health would +still be delicately clear and firm. + +But the dulled eyes and the faded face were only the symptoms of the +real change in Mary Coombe. The thing itself lay deeper. Striving to +express a subtlety which would not lend itself to words, Esther had more +than once told herself that her mother was "not the same woman." Yet it +was only to-day, as she stooped to kiss her, that the startling, literal +truth of the phrase struck home. The outside changes were nothing--it +was the woman herself who had changed. + +"Well, Esther!" The sweet high voice with its impatient note was the +same as ever. "Here we are home again. Fancy me forgetting it was +Sunday! Wasn't it funny? We met old MacTavish coming up from the station +(not a single cab down to meet the train, of course!) and he looked so +shocked. Really, this place grows more insufferable every day. It seems +to agree with you, though, you're looking awfully well. Amy looks well, +too. The new doctor must be something of a wonder." + +"He is considered very clever. Aunt Amy is certainly better. Now that +you are home you must let him see what he can do for you." + +Mrs. Coombe's pouting lips lengthened into a hard line. + +"I won't see a doctor. And that's flat." + +"Are you feeling better, then?" + +As was always the case, her mother's perversity dissipated Esther's +sympathy and left her tone cold. It was all the colder probably because +just at that moment she had noticed that the simple white frock Mrs. +Coombe was wearing was not simple at all. The delicate embroidery on it +was all hand work. And French embroidery is no inexpensive trifle. It +was probably a new "best" gown; but if so, why had it been worn on the +train, why was it soiled in places and carelessly put on? The skirt was +not even, the collar, having lost a support, sagged at one side and just +below the girdle belt there was a small, jagged rent. Esther noticed +these details with vexation and discomfort, for it was part of the +change in Mary Coombe that from being one of the most carefully gowned +women in town she had become one of the most slovenly. All her natty, +pretty, American "style" which the plainer Canadians had sometimes +envied was gone. But this--this was worse than usual! The girl's quick +eyes travelled downward, noting the increased signs of deterioration +with something like distress. + +"Why, mother," she exclaimed involuntarily, "there is a hole in your +stocking!" + +"Is there?" Mary Coombe thrust out a small and elegant foot clad in +thinnest silk and shod with pretty slippers not very clean and turning +over at the heel. + +"Dear me!" she said. "So there is. I need new slippers too. I quite +forgot to get any." + +"Oh, mother!" Jane's cry was instant. "You got heaps. Tan ones and brown +ones and white ones and black ones with silver buckles--" + +"Jane!" interrupted Esther, laughing. "Give your imagination a rest." + +"But you did, didn't you, mother?" + +"Did I? Why, yes--I did buy a few shoes. I had forgotten. The Customs +man didn't find them either. Run and fetch me a clean white pair, Jane, +and bring down the surprise we got for Esther--see how disapproving she +looks. I declare, Esther, it would be just like you to make things +disagreeable the moment I get home. I didn't charge a cent, if that's +what you're afraid of." + +"I knew you wouldn't do that," gravely. "And of course I'm glad you got +the things. But I can't see how you managed." + +"Oh, sales," vaguely. "Things are so cheap in Detroit and Jessica +Bremner is a born shopper. She gets wonderful bargains. Anyway, I got +them, and I'm not a cent in debt." + +"What's debt?" asked Jane. + +"Buying what you can't pay for, Janie." + +"Oh, mother paid for everything. I saw her. It's Mrs. Bremner that's in +debt, isn't she, mother?" + +"Don't be silly, Jane, of course not. Jessica is far better off than we +are." + +"But she only gave you half the money for the ring. I heard her say--" + +"Jane, get those slippers at once." + +"I'm going. But Mrs. Bremner said--" + +Mrs. Coombe's hand came down with stinging force upon the child's ear. + +"Will you obey me--or will you not?" + +Jane retired wailing and her mother sank back into her veranda chair, +red spots burning through the powder on her cheeks. + +Esther sat very still for a moment, and then, without looking at the +other, she asked in a low voice: + +"What did she mean?" + +"How should I know?" fretfully. + +"What ring did Mrs. Bremner give you money for? Did--you have to sell +one of your rings?" + +"Yes, I did." + +"Which one?" + +"Oh, don't bother me, Esther." + +"But I want to know which one." + +"It was the big red one!" called Jane from the hallway, where she had +waited, safely out of reach. + +Mary Coombe sprang up, fury blazing in her eyes, but Jane had fled, and +Esther, cool and capable, was blocking the doorway. + +"Sit down, mother. I've got to know about this. What ring does she +mean?" + +For an instant the older woman hesitated, then with a little shrug she +turned back to the chair. The fury had died away as quickly as it +had arisen. + +"I knew you would be disagreeable," she said. "And you were bound to +hear about the ring some time. Jane is the most ungrateful child, and a +little tell-tale; the makings of a regular little cat! I'm sure I spent +her full share on her, and I've brought you something nice, too. Not +that I expect to be thanked for it. Of course I had to have some money. +I hadn't a rag to wear, not a rag. And I got everything ready made. It's +cheaper. Anyway, I can't stand dressmakers any more. They paw one so. I +can't bear to be touched, my wretched nerves! And I remembered the fuss +you made about the bills last time. You know you did make a fuss, +Esther, as if all your dear father left belonged to you and not to me--" + +"But what did you _do_?" + +"I'm telling you, amn't I? I sold the ring, of course." + +"Which ring?" + +"The ruby ring. It's the only one that is worth anything!" + +"You sold Aunt Amy's ring?" + +"If you wish to put it that way, yes. I consider it is as much my ring +as hers. She is my aunt and it is understood that all her things will +come to me. She has lived here ever since I was married and I think it's +a funny thing if she can't help me out occasionally. I simply had to +have money and the ruby was the only thing worth selling. Good Heavens! +Don't look so crazy. One would think I had stolen it!" + +"You have." + +Again Mrs. Coombe arose; this time without flurry. The little excitement +had done her good. The dull eyes were actually sparkling, the sallow +cheeks were flushed. She looked just as she used to look in one of her +little rages before the great change came. + +"That's enough, Esther. I'll take no more from you. I did what seemed to +me right. If Amy were in her right mind I should not have had to take +the ring, she would have offered it. Under the circumstances I did the +only sensible thing. Amy will never discover the loss. I am getting a +very good price for it from Jessica Bremner. It is a valuable jewel. She +snatched at the chance of getting it." + +Behind its whiteness Esther's face seemed to glow with pale flame. "Is +it possible that you have forgotten the history of that ring?" she +asked. "That it was poor Auntie's engagement ring and that, although she +can't remember anything about it, she knows it means something more than +life to her. And that she always says that she cannot die without the +ruby on her finger?" + +Mrs. Coombe looked uncomfortable, but kept her poise. + +"It's all rubbish. She'll forget all about it. Dying people don't think +of ruby rings. And anyway, she will probably outlive all of us. If +not--we can easily divert her attention." + +The girl looked at her step-mother in horror, half believing that this +must be some cruel joke. The callousness of the words seemed +unbelievable. But the reality of them could no longer be doubted and the +pale glow died out of her face, leaving it white and hard. + +"I do not understand you," she said slowly. "Somehow you do not seem +quite--human. But be sure of this, Aunt Amy shall have back her lover's +ring. Jane says it has not all been paid for. How much did you receive?" + +"I shall not tell you. And I warn you, Esther, not to waste your money. +If you buy it back, I shall sell it again." + +They were standing now facing each other. Esther took a step forward and +looked down steadily into her step-mother's face. Her own curious eyes +were wide open, they looked like blue stars, bright, cold and +powerful as flame. + +"No! You shall not." + +For a space Mary Coombe met that sword-like look, then her weaker will +gave way. Her eyes shifted and fell. Her hands began to pluck nervously +at the embroidery of her dress. She laughed, a little, affected laugh +with no mirth in it, turned and entered the house. + + + + +CHAPTER XIX + + +We have stated elsewhere that Coombe was conservative, but by this we do +not mean to imply that it was benighted. Far from it! True, it talked a +great deal before it ventured upon anything strange or new, referred +constantly to the tax rate and ran no risks, but at the time of which we +write it had decided to take a plebescite upon the matter of Local +Option and, a little later, the council wished to go so far as to +present Andrew MacCandless, who had served them five times as mayor, +with an address and a purse of fifty dollars. + +The Presbyterian church, too, although still clinging to solid doctrine, +was far removed from the tuning-fork stage. Through throes of terrible +convulsion it had come to possess an organ, a paid soloist, and a +Ladies' Aid, that insidious first thing in women's clubs. + +The first meeting of the Knox Church Ladies' Aid, after the return of +Mrs. Coombe and Jane, was held for the purpose of putting together a +quilt, not the old-fashioned kind, of course, but something quite +new--an autograph quilt, very chaste. + +It was a large meeting and, providentially, Mrs. Coombe was late. I say +providentially because, had she been early, it is difficult to imagine +how her fellow members would have eased their minds of the load of +comment justified by her indiscreet home-coming, and several other +things equally painful but interesting. The Ladies' Aid had its printed +constitution but it also had its unwritten laws and one of these laws +was that strictest courtesy must always be observed. No member, whatever +her failings, was ever discussed in meeting--when she was present. + +"What I cannot excuse," said Mrs. Bartley Simson, "is the tone of levity +in which she answered Mr. MacTavish when he met her on the way from the +station. It is possible that she had some good reason for coming on that +particular train. I am not one of those who hold that nothing can ever +justify Sunday travel. Exceptional cases must be allowed for. But the +frivolity of her excuse nothing can justify." + +"Besides," said Miss Atkins, the secretary, "it was a--it sounded +like--what I mean to say is that she could not possibly, _no one_ could +possibly, have forgotten what day of the week it was." + +A subdued chorus of "Certainly not" and "Absurd" showed the trend of +public opinion upon this point. + +"I once forgot that Wednesday was Thursday," said the youngest Miss +Sinclair, who always stood for peace at any price. + +"Don't be silly, Jessie!" The elder Miss Sinclair, who believed in war +with honour, jogged her sister's elbow none too gently. "That's a +different thing altogether. For my own part," raising her voice, "I +think that as a society we cannot be too careful how we minimise the +fact itself. To us, as a society, it is the fact itself that matters, +and not what Mrs. Coombe said about it. That, to a certain extent, may +be her own affair. But I hold, and I say it without fear of successful +contradiction, that no member of a community can disregard the Sabbath +in a public way without affecting the community at large. That is why I +feel justified in criticising Mrs. Coombe's behaviour. And I hope," here +she raised a piercing eye and let it range triumphantly over the circle, +"I sincerely hope that the minister has been told of this occurrence!" + +The meeting rustled with approbation. This, it felt, was something like +a proper spirit. There was no compromise here. A thrill of conscious +virtue, raised to the _n_th power, shot through the circle. + +"You think that Mr. Macnair ought to take cognizance of it officially?" +asked Miss Atkins. (Being the secretary she used many beautiful words.) + +"I do." + +"But he and Mrs. Coombe are such friends!" objected the younger Miss +Sinclair, who was a kindly creature. + +An electric silence fell upon the quilters. Every one looked toward the +president. + +"I cannot allow such insinuations to be made at this meeting," said the +President firmly. + +"But--but I did not insinuate anything!" stammered poor Miss Jessie who, +severely jogged by her sister and transfixed by the President's eye, had +turned the colour of the crimson square before her. + +"We all know," went on the President more mildly, "that Mr. Macnair +calls fairly often at the Elms. We may even have heard rumours to the +effect that he intends--I hardly know how to phrase it, but as our +minister is unmarried and Mrs. Coombe is a widow you will understand +what I mean. But, ladies, I may state on no less an authority than Miss +Annabel that Mr. Macnair has no such intentions. There is absolutely +nothing in it. His calls no doubt may be accounted for by the presence +of--er--affliction in the house." + +"Do you mean Aunt Amy?" A younger woman with a clever and rather pretty +face looked up. "Why, can't you see that there is a much simpler +explanation than that?" + +It was certainly unfortunate that Mrs. Coombe should have chosen this +moment to arrive. But the Ladies' Aid were used to interrupted +statements. It was felt to be very convenient that one of the windows +looked out directly upon the steps so that the meeting was never quite +taken by surprise. A sudden pause there might be, but late arrivals had +learned to expect that. It was the penalty for being late. + +"Dear Mrs. Coombe, so glad you have come!" said the hostess pleasantly. +"No, you are not very late. We are only just beginning." + +Every one nodded and smiled. Chairs were moved and sewing shifted to +provide space for the newcomer. A few left their work in order to shake +hands and there was a general readjustment of everything, including +topics of conversation. In the space of a few seconds it was noticed +that Mrs. Coombe wore a new hat, a new gown, new slippers and silk +stockings and that in spite of all these advantages they had never seen +her look worse. + +"Dear Mrs. Coombe, I think your belt-pin has become--allow me!" Miss +Milligan, dressmaker in private life, with a discreet swiftness, +twitched the blouse and skirt into place and deftly fastened it. At the +same time she closed a gap in the fastening of the blouse itself. + +Mary Coombe laughed. "Dear me! Am I undone? I must have forgotten to +ask Amy to fix me. These blouses that fasten in the back are such a +nuisance!" + +The President smiled politely, but with evident effort. Mrs. Coombe was +a prominent member. Still, on principle, she, a president, could not be +expected to approve of people who forgot to have themselves done up. +Supposing the minister had been present! + +"What are we doing this afternoon?" asked the unconscious delinquent +languidly. "Autograph quilts? I've got a lot of blocks for you--friends +of mine in the city." She began to fumble in the pretty workbag she +carried. "Gracious, I was sure I had them with me! Isn't that odd? I +can't find them." + +"Let me look," suggested Miss Jessie Sinclair kindly. + +But the other snatched back the open bag with a gesture which was almost +rude. + +"Oh, no--they are not there! I can't imagine what I have done with +them." She looked up in a bewildered way. Indeed the perturbation was so +out of proportion to the size of the calamity that the ladies questioned +each other with their eyes. + +The President tapped with her thimble upon the quilting frame and every +one became very busy. "I hope," she said, taking the conversation into +her own hands for safe keeping, "that you found all well upon your +return, Mrs. Coombe? I hardly ever seem to see Esther now. Did you know +that we have been talking of changing our meeting to Saturday afternoon +so that Esther and some more of our younger folk may join us? We thought +that it would be so nice for them--and for us too," she finished +graciously. + +Mrs. Coombe looked surprised. "I can hardly see Esther at a Ladies' Aid +Meeting," she said. "Did she tell you she would come?" + +"No. We have not yet told any one of the proposed change. But we all +felt--" + +"We all felt," interrupted Miss Sinclair, who was fairly sniffing the +air with the spirit of glorious war, "that the less time our young girls +have to go off philandering with young fools whom no one knows anything +about, the better it will be for everybody concerned!" + +Mary looked up with an air of pleased surprise. + +"Has Esther been philandering?" she asked eagerly. + +The President frowned. This was hardly according to Hoyle. + +"I really think," began Miss Jessie Sinclair indignantly, "that Esther +ought to be allowed to tell her mother--" + +"Gracious! Esther never tells me anything. And I'm dying to know. Who is +the 'young fool'?--do tell me, somebody." + +Strangely enough, now that the way was open, no one seemed to have +anything to say. + +"You've simply got to tell me now," urged Mary delightedly. "Unless it's +only a silly bit of gossip." + +This fillip had the desired effect. Everybody began to talk at once and +in five minutes Esther's step-mother knew all about the new doctor and +the broken motor. When they paused for breath, she laughed softly. + +"It's the most amusing thing I've heard in ages. Fancy--Esther! Oh, it's +delicious." She looked around the circle of surprised and disappointed +faces and laughed again. "Oh, don't pretend! You know very well that +you're not a bit shocked, really. And surely you don't think that I +ought to scold Esther? Why," with a little flare of her old-time +loyalty, "Esther is worth a dozen ordinary girls. I'd trust Esther with +Apollo on a desert island. But I'll admit I'm rather anxious to see the +young man. He must be rather nice if Esther agreed to show him around. +As for the accident," she shrugged her shoulders, "I know enough about +motors to know that that might happen any time." + +"You are right, of course," the President's tone was more cordial. "And +anyway we have no right to discuss Esther's affairs. The reference to it +grew out of the proposed change of meeting. And the change of meeting +was thought of chiefly because when Mr. Macnair heard about the escapade +he seemed much worried. Naturally, as he says, he carries all his young +people on his heart, and Dr. Callandar being such a newcomer--" + +"Oh, yes, naturally." Mary Coombe's little gurgle of amusement had a +note of cruelty in it, for she alone of all these women had guessed why +the Rev. Angus Macnair should have taken Esther's escapade so much to +heart. She knew, too, that the minister had no chance, but the idea of a +rival was novel--and entertaining. Could Esther really have taken a +fancy to this young doctor? Mary knew the Coombe gossips too well to +take their chatter seriously, but there might be something in it. At any +rate, there was enough to use as a conversational weapon against Esther. +She was becoming a little nervous of Esther lately. The girl was +positively growing up. Somehow, almost overnight it seemed, a new +strength had come to her, a strength which her step-mother's weakness +felt and resented. But now with this nice little story in reserve, +things might be more even. Mary's eyes sparkled as she thought of some +of the smart things she could say the next time Esther began to make a +fuss about--about the matter of the ruby ring, for instance. Esther had +been most disagreeable about that. Just as if any one could have +foreseen that Amy would miss it so soon, or indeed at all, since it had +been her fancy to keep it shut up in a stupid box. + +As a matter of fact, the affair of the ring had assumed the proportions +of a small catastrophe. Aunt Amy had been feeling so much better that it +had occurred to her to see if the ring were feeling better too. Only one +peep she would take, hopeful that at last its strange enchantment might +be past. If she could look into its depths without the blackness coming +close she would know, with utter certainty, that Dr. Callandar's +cleverness had circumvented the power of her old enemies. "They" would +trouble her no more. + +But when, flushed with hope, she looked--the ring was gone! + +Esther, reading in the sitting room, was startled beyond words by the +scream which rang through the house. She seemed to know at once what had +happened and her gaze flew to her step-mother, laden with bitter +reproach, before she sped up the stairs to Aunt Amy's room. The door was +open and the tragedy was plain to see. Aunt Amy stood by the bureau with +the empty box in her hand and on her face an expression so dreadful, so +hopeless that, with a sob, the girl tried to crush it out against +her breast. + +"What is it, dear? Don't look like that." + +"The ring, Esther! 'They' have taken the ring!" + +For an instant the girl hesitated, but common justice demanded that the +sordid truth be told. + +"No, dear. The ring is safe. It was taken from the box, but in quite an +ordinary, simple way. Don't tremble so! It is not lost. It is just as if +I had gone to the box and borrowed it--" + +As she faltered, the poor woman raised her head in an agony of hope. +"Have you got it, Esther? Oh, Esther, give it to me! I love you, Esther! +You shall have it when I am dead. But I can't die without it. I promised +somebody--I--I can't remember. Oh, Esther, don't keep it away from +me--give it to me now!" + +Bitter, angry tears filled the girl's eyes as she took the pleading, +fluttering hands in hers. + +"Don't, dear! Listen. It is quite safe. But I haven't got it. I promise +you solemnly I will get it back. You'll believe me, won't you? You know +I would not deceive you. And you won't be frightened? No one had +anything to do with taking it but ourselves. I am going to tell you just +how it happened--" + +"Don't bother. I'll tell her myself." + +In the doorway stood Mrs. Coombe, her eyes venomous with the anger of +tortured nerves. Her high voice trembled on the verge of hysteria, yet +she tried to speak with her usual mocking lightness. + +"There is no need to make a mystery of the thing, I'm sure. I took the +ring because I was hard up--needed money at once. You understand what +that means, I suppose, Amy? You never wore the ring, nor would you allow +me to wear it. It was simply wasted lying in that silly box. My own +jewelry is of much less value. Besides, I use it. One would have thought +that you would be glad to assist in some way with the--er--household +expenses. In any case, no such fuss is necessary, and I should advise +you," her voice grew suddenly cold and menacing, "not to scream like +that again. A few more such shrieks and--people will begin to wonder." +Without so much as a glance at Esther she passed on to her own room. + +"Don't mind her!" The indignant girl tried to draw the trembling woman +close. But Aunt Amy cowered away. Five minutes had undone the work of +weeks. All the doctor's carefully laid foundations were crumbling. +Esther, wrung with pity and remorse, stroked the grey hair in silence. +She expected an outbreak of childish tears, but it did not come. Rather, +the shivering grew less and presently Aunt Amy raised her head. + +"It was she--Mary--who took it?" she asked in a whisper. + +"Yes. But remember I have promised to get it back." + +Aunt Amy looked at her blankly. She did not seem to hear. + +"I never guessed it was Mary. Never! But now I know. I'll never be +fooled again." + +"Know what?" asked Esther uneasily. There was a look in Aunt Amy's eyes +which she disliked, a sly, cool look--more nearly mad than any look she +had ever surprised there. "Tell me what it is that you know," she +repeated coaxingly. + +But Aunt Amy would not tell. It was just as well, she thought, that +Esther should not know that at last, after many years, she had found out +the agent employed by "they" for her undoing. Ah, if she had only found +out sooner. The ruby ring might still be shining in its box. But of +course "they" knew that she would never suspect Mary, her own niece. +They were so clever! But now she could be as clever as they--oh, very, +very clever! + +"What did she mean about my screaming?" she asked, looking at Esther +cunningly. + +"Nothing, nothing at all! Don't think of it." + +"But she did. I know what she meant. She meant that if I +get--troublesome--she will shut me up!" + +"Nonsense!" declared Esther, thrilled to the heart with pity. "You must +never think such a thought, dear. You shall never live anywhere but here +with us. Why, you are our good angel, Auntie. We could never get on +without you--you know that." + +Aunt Amy nodded, stroking the girl's soft hand with her work-worn one. +"You are good and kind, Esther. I know you will take care of me, if you +can. And I'm not afraid just now. It will be all right if I am clever. I +must not be troublesome. If I am, she will put me away with the mad +people. The people that make faces and scream. I never scream. Until +to-day I haven't screamed for a long time. And I'll be more careful. Oh, +I can be very careful, now that I know!" + +Again the strange mad look. It flitted across her lifted eyes like a +dark shadow behind a window shade. And again Esther tried gently to +question her, but Aunt Amy was "clever." She didn't intend that Esther +should find out. + +The girl left her at last feeling both troubled and sad, but Mary Coombe +laughed at her fears. She was in one of her most difficult moods. + +"It was all a tempest in a tea cup, as usual," she declared pettishly. +"I do wish, Esther, that you would not be so disagreeable. She will have +forgotten all about the ring by to-morrow. All she needs is a little +plain speaking, and firmness." + +"Firmness! Cruelty, you mean. You terrified her." + +"Well, it had a good effect. She quieted down at once." + +"She is too quiet. It's that which troubles me. Surely you can see the +damage that has been done? All her new cheerfulness is gone. She is back +to where she was before the doctor helped her." + +"I never believed that any real improvement was possible. Insane people +never recover." + +"She is not insane! How can you say so? But how shall we explain the +change in her to Dr. Callandar? We can't tell him that--that you--" + +"Oh, don't mind me!" flippantly. + +"Anyway, the ring will soon be back, thank heaven! I have written to +Mrs. Bremner." + +"You wrote to Jessica?" + +"Certainly. I told you I should. It was the only thing to do." + +Mary Coombe's rage flickered and sank before the quiet force in the +girl's face and voice. With all the will in the world she was too weak +to oppose this new strength in Esther. And before her mortified pride +could frame a retort, the girl had left the room. + +It was of this quiet exit of Esther's that Mary was thinking as she +sewed on the autograph quilt. Better than anything else it typified the +change in the girl. It meant decision, and decision meant action. Mary +shrugged her shoulders and frowned over the quilt. Yes, undoubtedly, +Esther was getting troublesome. It might be well if she were married. + + + + +CHAPTER XX + + +Meanwhile, unconscious of her step-mother's troubled musings, Esther was +loitering delightfully on her way from school. Aunt Amy, who never +looked at a clock, but who always knew the time by what Jane called +"magic," was beginning to wonder what had kept her. Strain her eyes as +she would, there was no glint of a blue dress upon the long straight +road, and Dr. Callandar, who in passing had stopped by the gate, +declared that he had noticed a similar absence of that delectable colour +between the cross roads and the school house. + +"I thought that I might meet her," he confessed ingenuously, "but when +she was not in sight, I concluded that I was too late. Some of those +angel children have probably had to be kept in. Could you make use of me +instead? I run errands very nicely." + +"Oh, it isn't an errand." Aunt Amy smiled, for she liked Dr. Callandar +and was always as simple as a child with him. His easy, courteous +manner, which was the same to her as to every one else, helped her to be +at once more like other people and more like herself. "It's a letter. I +wanted Esther to read it to me. Of course I can read myself," as she saw +his look of surprise, "but sometimes I do not read exactly what is +written. My imagination bothers me. Do you ever have any trouble with +your imagination, Doctor?" + +"I have known it to play me tricks." + +"But you can read a letter just as it's written, can't you?" + +"Yes. I can do that." + +"Then your imagination cannot be as large as mine. Mine is very large. +It interferes with everything, even letters. When I read a letter myself +I sometimes read things which aren't there. At least," with a faint show +of doubt, "people say they aren't there." + +"In other words," said Callandar, "you read between the lines." + +Aunt Amy's plain face brightened. It was so seldom that any one +understood. + +"Yes, that's it! You won't laugh at me when I tell you that everything, +letters, handkerchiefs, dresses and everything belonging to people have +a feeling in them--something that tells secrets? I can't quite explain." + +"I have heard very sensitive people express some such idea. It sounds +very fascinating. I should like very much to hear about it." + +"Would you? You are sure you won't think me queer? My niece, Mary +Coombe, does not like me to tell people about it. She has no imagination +herself, none at all. She says it is all nonsense. But I think," +shrewdly, "that she would like to know some of the things that I know. +Won't you come in, Doctor? Come in and sit under the tree where it +is cooler." + +The doctor's hesitation was but momentary. He was keenly interested. And +at the back of his mind was the thought that Esther must certainly be +along presently. Fate had not favoured him of late. He had not seen her +for five days. It is foolish to leave meetings to fate anyway. Then, if +another reason were needed it was probable that if he stayed he would +meet Esther's mother. He was beginning to feel quite curious about +Mrs. Coombe. + +"Thanks. I think I will come in. All the trees in Coombe are cool, but +your elm is the coolest of them all. Let me arrange this cushion for +you. Is that right?" + +He settled Aunt Amy comfortably upon the least sloping portion of the +old circular bench and, not wishing to trust it with his own weight, sat +down upon the grass at her feet. + +"Now," he said cheerfully, "let us have a regular psychic research +meeting. Tell me all about it." + +"What's that?" suspiciously. + +"Psychic research? Oh, just finding out all about the queer things that +happen to people." + +"Do queer things happen to other people besides me?" + +"Why, of course! Queer things happen to everybody." + +Aunt Amy seemed glad to know this. + +"They never talk about them," she said wistfully. "But, then, neither do +I. Except to you. What was it you wanted me to tell you?" + +"Tell me what you mean when you say that you read in a letter what is +not written there. You see I haven't much imagination myself and I don't +understand it." + +"Neither do I," naively. "But it seems to be like this--take this +letter, for instance, when I found it in--well, it doesn't matter where +I found it--but as soon as I picked it up, I knew that it was a love +letter. I felt it. It is an old letter, I think. And some one has been +angry with it. See, it is all crumpled. But it is a real love letter. +All the love is there yet. When I took it in my hands it all came out +to me, sweet and strong. Like--like the scent of something keen, +fragrant, on a swift wind. I can't explain it!" + +"You explain it very beautifully," gravely. "I can quite understand that +love might be like that." + +"Can you?" with a pleased smile. "And can you understand how I feel it? +I can feel things in people, too. Love and hate and envy and all kinds +of things. I never say so. I used to, but people did not like it. They +always looked queer, or got angry. They seemed to think I had no right +to see inside of them. So I soon pretended not to see anything. But a +letter doesn't mind. This one," swinging the crumpled paper swiftly +close to his face, "is glad I found it. Can't you feel it yourself?" + +Callandar shook his head. "I am far too dull and commonplace for that!" +He smiled. "But I have no doubt it is all there, just as you say. Why +not? Our knowledge of such things is in its infancy." + +Aunt Amy stroked the paper with gentle fingers. "Yes, yes, it is all +there," she murmured. "But I may have read it wrongly for all that. The +written words I mean. I can't help reading what I feel. Once I felt a +letter that was full of hate, dreadful! And I read quite shocking things +in it. But when Esther read it, it was just a polite note, beginning +'Dear' and ending 'Your affectionate friend."' + +"It might have been very hateful for all that." + +"But no one knew it. That is why I am so anxious always to know if I +read things right. Will you read this letter to me?" + +"With pleasure--if I may." + +"Oh, it doesn't belong to any one. It isn't Esther's because it's too +old and it begins 'Dearest wife' and it isn't Mary's because it isn't +Doctor Coombe's writing; so you see I thought it might not hurt anybody +if I pretended it was mine." + +"No," gently, "I do not see why it would." + +"I never had a love letter of my own. Or if I did I cannot find it. The +only thing I ever had with love in it was the ruby ring, and that--" + +She checked herself suddenly; her small face freezing into such a mask +of tragedy that Callandar was alarmed. But to his quick "What is it?" +she returned no answer and the expression passed as quickly as it +had come. + +When he held out his hand for the letter, she seemed to have forgotten +it. Her gaze had again grown restless and vague. It would do no good to +question further, the rare hour of confession was past. + +"You both look very comfortable, I'm sure!" It was Esther's laughing +voice. She had come so quietly that neither of them had heard her. Aunt +Amy's vagueness vanished in a pleased smile and Callandar, as he sprang +to open the gate, forgot all about the unread letter and everything +else, save that she had come. + +Why was it, he wondered, that he could never recall her, save in dulled +tints. Lovely as she had lingered in his memory, her living beauty was +so much lovelier. There, in the shade of the elm, her blue dress flecked +with gold, the warm pallor of heat upon her face, her hair lying close +and heavy, a little pulse beating where the low collar softly disclosed +the slim roundness of her white throat, she was not only beautiful, she +was Beauty. She was not only Beauty, she was Herself, the one woman in +the world! He acknowledged it now, with all humility. + +The girl greeted him quietly. She did not, as was her custom, look up +at him with that sweet widening of the eyes which he had learned to +hunger for. The truth was that she, too, was moving slowly toward her +awakening. The days in which they had not met had been full of thoughts +of him. Dreams had come to her, vague, delicious bits of fancy which had +whispered in her ear and passed, leaving a new softness in her eyes, a +new flush upon her cheek. There was about her a dewy freshness which +seemed to brighten up the world. Vaguely her girl friends wondered what +had "come over" Esther Coombe, and at home Aunt Amy's pathetic eyes +followed her, dim with a half-memory of long past joy. But it was Mrs. +Sykes' Ann who best expressed the change in her beauty when, one day, +she said to Bubble: "Esther Coombe looks like she was all lighted up +inside and when she walks you'd think the wind was blowing her." + +So it happened that while yesterday she might still have smiled into the +doctor's eyes as she greeted him, to-day she shook hands without looking +at his face at all. + +Callandar found himself remarking that it was a fine day. Esther said +that it was beautiful--but dusty. A little rain would do good. She +fanned herself with her broad hat, and stopped fanning to examine +closely a tiny stain on the hem of her frock. + +"Dear me," she said, "I'm afraid it's axle grease! Mournful Mark gave me +a lift this morning." + +"Oh, I hope not!" anxiously from Aunt Amy, and referring, presumably, to +the grease. + +The doctor looked at the little stray curl on the nape of the graceful +neck and wished--all the foolish things that lovers have wished since +the world began. But he had a great longing to see her eyes. If he were +to say sharply, "Look at me!" would she look up? Absurd idea! And +anyway he couldn't say it, or anything else, for the first time in his +life Henry Callandar was tongue-tied. + +Did she, too, feel strange? Was that why she kept her eyes so +persistently lowered? No, it could hardly be that. She laughed and +talked quite naturally--seemed entire mistress of herself. + +"I know I am late, Auntie. It's Friday, you know, and I walked slowly. I +forgot that I had promised to help Jane wash the new pup. But there is +time yet. Supposing we have tea, English fashion, out here. I'll +tell mother--" + +"She is at the Ladies Aid, Esther." + +"Oh, yes. I forgot. Well, then you must entertain Dr. Callandar while I +see about tea." + +"No tea for me, thanks," said the doctor hastily. He didn't know why he +said it except that he wanted to say something, something which might +make her look at him. + +But she did not look. His refusal lost him a cup of tea and gained him +nothing whatever. + +"No tea?" Her tone was mildly wondering, but she was looking at Aunt Amy +while she spoke. "I'm sorry you are in a hurry. Bubble said you +were busy." + +"Not busy exactly. But it's office hours, you know. My partner grows +quite waxy if I'm late, and I'm late now." + +"Another day, then?" Esther's tone was charmingly gracious, but she +seemed to be addressing the gate post, as far as he could judge from the +direction of her gaze. + +Callandar picked up his hat, gloomily. There was nothing to do now but +take his leave. And if he had had any sense he might have been going to +stay for tea. Office hours be hanged! + +"Thank you, another day I shall be delighted." He took the hand she +offered and bowed over it. Delightful custom this of shaking hands! +Esther's hand was cool as a wind-blown leaf. Would she actually say +good-bye without looking at him? He held the hand firmly but she did not +seem to be conscious that he held it. She was smiling at some children +who were going by on the sidewalk. + +"Good-bye," said Callandar in a subdued voice. + +"Good-bye," said Esther sweetly. + +He dropped her hand, they bowed formally, and the foolish, poignant +little tragedy of parting was over. Not once had they looked into each +other's eyes. + +When he had gone Esther sank down upon the elm tree seat. + +"Oh, Auntie!" she said with a little sob in her voice. "I want--some +tea!" + +Aunt Amy glanced irresolutely from the open letter in her hand to the +girl's face, and decided to postpone the matter of the letter. "I'll get +it, Esther. You sit here and rest." + +When she returned the girl seemed herself again. She took the tea-tray +and kissed the bearer with a fervour born of remorse. "I am a Pig," she +declared, "and you are a darling! Never mind, we'll even up some day." + +"When you have had your tea, Esther, I've got a letter I want you to +read." + +"A letter? Who from? I mean, from whom? Gracious! I'll have to be more +careful of the King's English, now that I'm a school teacher." + +"I don't know. It is signed just 'H' and it's written to 'Dearest wife.' +You don't know who that could be, do you?" + +"Mother, perhaps?" + +"No. It's not in your father's writing and his name did not begin with +'H.'" + +"Where did you find it, dear?" + +"Up in an old trunk of your grandma's--I mean of Mary's mother's. One of +the trunks that were sent here after she died. Mary asked me to put moth +balls in it. This letter was all crushed up in a corner. I took it out +to smooth it, because I knew it was a love letter. You don't think any +one would mind?" + +"N--o." Esther, who knew Aunt Amy's feeling about love letters, could +not find it in her heart to disagree. "I think we may fairly call it +treasure-trove. It's only a note anyway." Her eyes ran swiftly over the +two short paragraphs upon the open sheet. + +"Dearest wife:-- + +"At last I can call you 'wife' without fear. Our waiting is over. Brave +girl! If it has been as long to you as to me, you have been brave +indeed. But it is our day now. Even your mother cannot object any +longer. I am coming for you to-morrow. Only one more day! + +"Dear, I think that in my wild impatience I did you wrong. But love does +not blame love. No wife shall ever be so loved as you. May God forget me +if I forget what you have done for me...." + +"What a strange letter!" Esther looked up wonderingly. + +"Is that all, Esther?" Aunt Amy's face was vaguely disappointed. "The +one I read was much longer than that." + +"That is all that is written here, Auntie. But it is a beautiful letter. +They had been separated, you see, and she had been brave and waited. One +can imagine--" + +The click of the garden gate interrupted her. + +"Here's your mother," said Aunt Amy, in a flurried tone. "Don't let +her--" + +"Is that the mail, Esther?" Mrs. Coombe's high voice held a fretful +intonation. Aunt Amy seized the letter and hid it in her dress. "She +shan't see it," she whispered childishly. + +"Is that the mail?" repeated Mrs. Coombe, coming up the walk. + +"No, there is no mail," said Esther, "No one has been to the post +office. Perhaps Jane had better run down now." + +"But you had a letter," suspiciously. "I'm sure I saw it. Where is it?" + +"Don't be absurd, mother. I have no letter. Nor would I think it +necessary to show it to you if I had. I am not a child." + +"You are a child. And let me tell you, a clandestine correspondence is +something which I shall not tolerate. Let me see the letter." + +Esther was feeling too happy to be cross. Besides it was rather funny to +be accused of clandestine correspondence. + +"I think I'll go and help Jane with the pup," she said cheerfully. "Too +bad you didn't come in sooner, mother. Dr. Callandar was here." + +"Then you do refuse to show me the letter?" + +"If I had one I should certainly refuse to show it. Why do you let +yourself get so excited, mother? You never used to act like this. It +must be nerves. Every one notices how changed you are." She paused, +arrested by the frightened look which replaced the futile anger on her +step-mother's face. + +"I'm not different. Who says I am different? It is you who are trying +to make a fuss. I'm sure I do not care about your letter. Why should I? +Your father always seemed to think you needed no advice from any one. +Only don't imagine that I am blind. I _saw_ you with a letter." + +Having triumphantly secured the last word, she turned to busy herself +with the tea-tray, and Esther, knowing the uselessness of argument, went +on toward the house. Aunt Amy attempted to follow but was stopped +by Mary. + +"Amy, what did that doctor want here?" + +"He came to see me." + +Mary laughed. "Likely!" she said. "This tea is quite cold. Was it he who +left the letter for Esther?" + +"Esther didn't have a letter. I had one." + +Again the incredulous laugh, and the dull red mounted into Aunt Amy's +faded cheeks. She clutched the treasured letter tightly under her dress. +This mocking woman should never see it! But as she turned again to leave +her, another consideration appealed to her unstable mind. Mary suspected +Esther--and nothing would annoy her more than to find herself mistaken. +On impulse Aunt Amy flung the letter upon the tea-tray. + +"There it is. Read it, if you like. It has nothing to do with Esther. Or +any one else. I found it in one of your mother's old trunks." + +Left alone, Mary Coombe drank her tea, which after all was not very +cold. She was not really interested in the letter, now that she had got +it. Had not a vagrant breeze tossed it, obtrusively, upon her lap, she +would probably not have looked at it. + +Listlessly she picked it up, opened it, glanced at the firm, clear +writing.... + +A sharp, tingling shock ran through her. It was as if some one had +knocked, loudly, at dead of night at a closed door! That writing--how +absurdly fanciful she was getting! + +"Dearest wife," she read, "at last I can call you 'wife' without +fear"--the vagrant breeze, which had tossed the letter into her lap, +tossed it off again. Her glance followed it, fascinated! + +Of course she had dreamed the writing? She had been terribly troubled by +dreams of late. But what had Amy said about finding the paper in her +mother's trunk? The whole thing was a fantastic nightmare. She had but +to lean forward, pick up the letter, read it properly and laugh at her +foolishness. + +But it was a long time before she found the strength to pick it up. When +she did, she read it quietly to the end with its scrawled "H." Then she +read it over again, word by word. Her expression was one of terror +and amaze. + +When she had finished she looked up, over the pleasant garden, with +blank eyes. Her face was ashen. + +"He came," she said aloud. "He came! But--_what did she tell him when he +came_?" + +The garden had no answer to the question. Somewhere could be heard a +girl's laugh and the sharp bark of a protesting puppy. Mary Coombe drew +her hand across her eyes as if to clear them of film and, trying to +rise, slipped down beside the elm-tree seat, a soft blot of whiteness on +the green. + +They found her there when they had finished washing the puppy, but +though she came quickly to herself under their eager ministrations, she +would not tell them what had caused her sudden illness. To all their +questionings she answered pettishly, "Nothing! Nothing but the heat." + + + + +CHAPTER XXI + + +When a man of thirty-five has at last shaken himself free from the +burden of an unhappy love affair, he is not particularly disposed to +welcome an emotional reawakening. He knows the pains and penalties too +well; the fire of Spring, he has learned, can burn as well as brighten. +Callandar thought that he had done with love, and a growing suspicion +that love had not done with him brought little less than panic. Upon the +occasion of Willits' second visit he had begun to realise his danger and +the professor never guessed how nearly he had persuaded him to leave +Coombe. Some deep instinct was urging flight, but the impulse had come +just a little bit too late. He could not go, because he wanted so very +much to stay. + +After Willits' departure he had deliberately tested himself. For five +days he did not try to see Esther and upon the sixth he realised finally +that seeing Esther was the only thing that mattered. Then had come the +short interview under the elm tree--an interview which had shown him a +new Esther, demure, adorable, with eyes which refused to look at him. He +had come away from that meeting with a new pulse beating in his heart. + +To doubt was no longer possible. He loved her. + +But she? Lovers are proverbially modest, but their modesty is fear +disguised. They hope so much that they fear to hope at all; it seemed +impossible to Callandar that Esther should not love him and yet it +seemed impossible that she should. Only one thing emerged clearly from +the chaos--the immediate necessity of finding out. + +"Why don't you ask her?" demanded Common Sense in that wearily patient +way with which Common Sense meets the vagaries of lovers. + +"But it is so soon," objected Caution, while Fear, aroused, whispered, +"Be careful. Give her time." Even Mrs. Grundy made herself heard with +her usual references to what people, represented by Mrs. Sykes, might +say, adding scornfully, "Why, you haven't met the girl's mother yet. +Don't make a fool of yourself, please." + +But over all these voices rose another voice, insistent, demanding to be +satisfied. It might be premature, it might be all that was rash and +foolish but he simply had to find out at once whether or not Esther +Coombe loved him. + +His final decision came one morning when driving slowly home from an all +night fight with death. He was tired but exultant, because he had won +the fight, and life, which slips so easily away, seemed doubly precious. +After all, he was no longer a boy. If life still held something +beautiful for him, why should he wait? He had waited so many +years already. + +Guiding the car with one hand, he slipped the other into his pocket and +opening a small locket which he found there, gazed long and earnestly at +the picture it contained. The face it showed him was a young face, fair, +rounded, childish. Dear Molly! his thought of her was infinitely tender. +He loved her all the more for the knowledge that he had not loved her +enough. Well, he could never atone now. She was gone--slipped away, he +thought, with but little more knowledge of living than the tiny baby he +had just helped to bring into the world. Brushing away the mist which +for a moment blurred his sight, Callandar kissed the picture gently and +shut the case. + +The dawn was golden now. The motor began to gather speed. An early +farmer getting into market with a load of hay, drew amiably to one side +to let it pass. From a, wayside house came the cheerful noise of opening +shutters; a milk cart rattled out of a nearby gate; the motor sped still +faster--the new day was fairly begun. + +Early as it was, Mrs. Sykes was busy washing the veranda. This was a +ritual, rigorously observed twice every day; in the morning with a pail +and broom, in the evening with the hose. Par be it from us to malign the +excellent Mrs. Sykes or to suggest that her opportune presence on the +front steps was due to anything save the virtue of cleanliness. Mrs. +Sykes, as she often said, couldn't abide curiosity. Still, it would be +very interesting to know whether Amelia Hill's latest was a boy or a +girl. Mrs. Hill had already been blessed with nine olive branches, all +girls, and had confided to Mrs. Sykes that if the tenth presented no +variation, she didn't know what on earth Hill would do--he having acted +so kind of wild-like last time. Mrs. Sykes, unable to resist the trend +of her nature, had advised that no variation could be looked for. "It +may be," she had said, "but after a run of nine, it isn't to be +expected. There's no denying that girls run in some families. I know +jest how you feel, Mrs. Hill, and, if I could, I'd encourage you, for +I'm a great believer in speaking the truth in kindness. But it's best to +be prepared, and a girl it will be, you may be sure." + +"You are up early, Mrs. Sykes," said the doctor cheerfully. "Wait till I +take the car around and I'll finish up those steps for you." + +"Land no! I won't let you, Doctor. You're clean tired out. I've got a +cup of hot coffee waiting. I don't suppose, with Amelia laid aside, any +of them Hills would think to give you so much as a bite. All girls too." + +"Not all girls now, Mrs. Sykes," said the doctor cheerfully. "A son and +heir arrived this morning. Fine little fellow. They appear to be +delighted." + +The discomfited prophet leaned against the door-post for support. + +"A boy? It can't be a boy! It doesn't stand to reason!" + +"It never does, Mrs. Sykes." + +"And I was so sure 'twould be another girl!" There was an infinitesimal +pause during which Mrs. Sykes' whole outlook readjusted itself, and then +with a heavy sigh she continued, "Poor Amelia Hill! She'll certainly +have her troubles now. I shouldn't wonder a mite if it didn't live. +Miracles like that seldom do. And if it does, it will be spoiled to +death. No boy can come along after nine sisters and not be made a sissy +of. Far better if it had been a girl in the first place. And yet I +suppose Amelia's just as chirpy as possible? She never was one to look +ahead to see what's coming." + +"Lucky for her!" murmured Callandar, as he picked his way over the +shining wetness of the veranda. "And now, Mrs. Sykes, I want you to do +me a favour. Don't go predicting to my patient that her boy baby will +die, or if he doesn't it would be better for him if he did. A woman who +has mothered nine children is entitled to a little peace of mind with +the tenth. Don't you think so?" + +"Land sakes, yes. If you put it that way. But the shock will be all the +worse when it comes. Still, if you want the poor thing left in a fool's +paradise I don't object. Perhaps it would be a good thing to have the +three littlest Hills over here to spend a week with Ann. I can stand +them if you can." + +"Good idea!" Callandar smiled at her, but attempted no thanks. He had +learned early that she was as shy about doing a kindness as a child who +hides its face, while offering you half of its lolly-pop. "I'll fetch +them. But some one will have to pick them out. Likely as not I'd bring +the middle three instead." + +"They are dreadful similar," assented Mrs. Sykes, pouring coffee. "I +don't know but what it was them Hill children that made me a +suffragette!" + +"What?" + +Mrs. Sykes did not notice the unflattering (or flattering) surprise in +the doctor's voice. + +"Yes. I think it was the Hill children as much as anything. There they +are, nine of them, like as peas in a pod, and all healthy. I shouldn't +wonder if the whole nine grows up--and what then? Amelia Hill just can't +hope to marry nine of them. Three out of the bunch would be about her +limit. And what are the others going to get? I say, give them the vote. +Land sakes! Why not? I ain't one to refuse to others what I don't +want myself." + + + + +CHAPTER XXII + + +Tired though he must have been, the doctor had never felt less like +sleep. There was a fever in his blood which the cool quietness of the +spare room could not soothe. The lavendered freshness of the bed invited +in vain. Crossing to the western window, he threw up the blind and +looked out to where, peeping out between roofs and trees, the gable +window of the Elms glittered in the early sun. The morning breeze blew +softly on his face, sweet with the scent of flowering pinks and +mignonette. In the orchard all the birds were up and singing. Every +blade of grass was gemmed with dew, sparkling through the yellow glory +of dawn like diamonds through a primrose veil. But Callandar, usually so +alive to every manifestation of beauty, saw nothing save the distant +glitter of the gable window. The morning, in which he could hardly hope +to see Esther, stretched before him intolerably long. + +Upon impulse he drew his desk to the window and, sitting down, began to +write: + +"Dear Old Button-Moulder-- + +"Behold the faulty button about to be recast! This is to be a big day. I +am writing you now because if she refuses me, I shan't be able to tell +you of it, and if she accepts me I shan't have time. I fancy you know +who she is, old man. I saw enlightenment grow in your eyes that day +after church. I hardly knew it myself, then, but now I am sure. Do you +remember that house we looked at one day? I have forgotten even the +street, but we can find it again. It had a long sloping lawn, you +remember, and stone steps and a beautiful panelled hall running straight +through to a walled garden which might well have fallen there by some +Arabian Nights enchantment. That is the house I mean to have for Esther. +I can see her there quite plainly, in her blue dress, filling the rose +bowl which stands upon the round table in a dusky corner of the hall. +Over her shoulder, through the open door, glows the riotous colour of +the garden. Her pure profile gleams like mother-o'-pearl against the +dark panelling--say, Willits, just go and look up that house, will you? +I am going to ask her to marry me. And I never knew before what a coward +I am. Was there ever a chap named Callandar who quoted uppish remarks +about being Captain of his Soul? If so, let me apologise for him. I +think the chap who wrote those verses could never have been in love--or +perhaps he wrote them after she said 'yes.' I'll telegraph the news. +Don't expect me to write. And don't dare to come down to see me. H.C. + +"P.S.--I came upon a good thing the other day. It is by Galsworthy, the +chap who writes English problem novels: + + "'If on a spring night I went by + And God were standing there, + What is the prayer that I would cry + To Him? This is the prayer: + O Lord of courage grave, + O Master of this night of spring, + Make firm in me a heart too brave + To ask Thee anything!'" + +"Rather fine, don't you think? Or is it just a madness of pride? On +second thought, I don't believe that I have arrived at the stage when I +can do without God. H." + +He folded the letter, stamped and addressed it and placed it upon the +table in the hall where Ann would find and post it. Then, lighting a +cigar, he sat down beside the open window and began to wonder how the +momentous meeting with Esther could be best arranged. Perhaps if he +walked out to the schoolhouse and waited until lunch time? No, it was +Saturday morning and there was no school. The obvious thing was to call +at the house, but this, the doctor felt, was sure to be unsatisfactory. +Not only was there Jane to think of and Aunt Amy--but there was also the +as-yet-unknown Mrs. Coombe. The visit would almost certainly end in a +formal call upon the family. He might perhaps send Bubble over with an +invitation to go fishing. No, that was too risky. Esther might refuse to +go fishing and that would be a bad omen. + +In a sudden spasm of nervousness Callandar threw the half-burned cigar +out of the window and, following it with his eyes, was not sorry to be +distracted by the sight of Ann in her night-dress, crying under the pear +tree. Ann crying was an unusual sight, but Ann in a night-dress was +almost unbelievable. The doctor knew at once that something serious must +have happened and went down to see. + +The child looked up at his approach, all the natural impishness of her +small face drowned in sorrow. In her open hand she held the body of a +tiny bird, all that was left of a fledgling which had tried its +wings too soon. + +"It toppled off and died," said Ann. "All its brothers and sisters +flewed away." + +"Heartless things!" said Callandar, and then seeing that comfort was +imperative he sat down beside the mourner and tried to do the proper +thing. He explained to her that the dead bird was only one of a +nest-full and that the dew was wet and that she was getting green stains +on her nightie. He reminded her that birds' lives, for all their seeming +brightness, are full of danger and trouble. Perhaps the baby bird was +just as well out of it. At least it would never know the lack of a worm +in season, nor the bitterness of early snow. This particular style of +comfort he had found very effective in cases other than baby birds, but +it didn't work with Ann. + +"I don't care," she sobbed, "it might have lived anyway. It never had a +chance to live." + +Living, just living, was with Ann clearly the great thing to be desired. + +Callandar stopped comforting and took the child on his knee. + +"I believe you've got the right idea, little Ann," he said. "It isn't so +much the sorrow that counts or the joy either, but just the living +through it. We're bound to get somewhere if we keep on. Don't cry any +more and we'll bury the little bird all done up in nice white fluffy +cotton. As Mrs. Burns says when any one dies: 'It's such a comfort to +have 'em put away proper.' And then after a while you and Bubble might +go fishing." + +"I can't." Ann showed signs of returning tears. "If Aunt lets me go +anywhere, I promised to go and help Esther Coombe pick daisies to fix +the church for to-morrow." + +Here was chance being kind indeed! But the doctor dissembled his +exultation. + +"Hum! too bad. Where did Miss Esther tell you to go?" he asked +guilelessly. + +"To the meadow over against the school." + +"What time?" + +"Half past two." + +"Well, cheer up, I'll tell you what--I'll go and help Miss Esther pick +the daisies. I can pick quite as fast as you. And I'll speak to Aunt +Sykes and make it right with her. So if you run now and get dressed you +and Bubble may go just as soon as you've had breakfast. And stay all +day. Be sure you stay all day, mind." + +A good sound hug was the natural answer to this and when the +conspirators met at breakfast everything had been satisfactorily +arranged. Ann had her holiday and the doctor's way lay clear before him. +For all his apparent ignorance Callandar knew that daisy field quite as +well as Ann. It was wild and lonely, yet full of cosy nooks and hollows. +Mild-eyed cows sometimes pastured there. It was a perfect paradise for +meadow-larks. Could any man ask better than to meet the girl he loved in +a field like that? + +"You're not eating a mite, Doctor." + +With a start, Callandar helped himself to marmalade. + + * * * * * + +So much for the morning of the eventful day. We have given it in detail +because it was so commonplace, so empty of any incident which might have +foreshadowed the happenings of the afternoon. Callandar was restless, +but any man is restless under such circumstances. He found the morning +long, but that was natural. Long afterwards he thought of its slow +moving hours, lost in wonder that he should have caught no glimpse, +heard no whisper, while all the time, through the beauty of the scented, +summer day, the footsteps of inescapable fate drew so swiftly near. +Fortunate indeed for us that the fragile house we dwell in is provided +with no windows on the future side, and that the veil of the next moment +is as impenetrable as the veil of years. + +What are they, anyway, these curious combinations of unforeseen +incidents which under the name of "coincidence" startle us out of our +dull acceptance of things? Can it be that, after all, space and +circumstance are but pieces in a puzzle to which the key is lost, so +that, playing blindly, we are startled by the _click_ which announces +the falling of some corner of the puzzle into place? Or is it merely +that we are all more closely linked than we know, and is "coincidence" +but the flashing of one of numberless invisible links into the light of +common day? Some day we shall know all about it; in the meantime a +little wonder will do us good. + +It was, of course, coincidence that this afternoon Mary Coombe should +offer to gather the marguerites for Esther and that, the Saturday help +having failed to materialise, Esther was glad of the offer which left +her free to help Aunt Amy in the kitchen. It was also coincidence that +Mary should choose to wear her one blue dress and her shady hat which +looked a little like Esther's. But, given these coincidences, it is easy +to understand why the doctor, passing slowly by the field of +marguerites, felt his heart bound at the supposed sight of Esther among +the flowers. + +Now that the moment had really come, his restlessness fell from him. He +felt cool, confident, happy! The world, the beautiful world, was gay in +gold and green. Over the rise, half hidden by its gentle undulation, he +caught the glint of a blue gown-- + +Running his car under the shade of some nearby trees, the doctor leapt +the pasture fence in one fine bound. The blue figure among the daisies +was stooping, her face hidden by a shady hat. No one else was in +sight--just he and she in all the lovely, sunny, breeze-swept earth! He +came towards her softly; called her name, but so low that she did not +hear. Then a meadow-lark, disturbed, flew up with his piercing "sweet!" +the stooping figure turned and he saw, in the clear sunlight, the face +under the shady hat-- + +Had something in his brain snapped? Or was he living through a nightmare +from which he would awake presently? The world, the daisy field, the +figure in blue, himself, all seemed but baseless fabrics of some +fantastic vision! + +For, by a strange enchantment, the face which should have been Esther's +face was the face of Molly Weston, his lost wife! + +It could not be! But it was. + +Incredible the swiftness with which nature rights herself after a +stunning shock. Only for a moment was Callandar left in his paradise of +uncertainty. The next moment, he knew that he beheld no vision, knew it +and accepted it as certainly and completely as if all his life had been +but a preparation for the revelation. + +"You!" he said. It was only a whisper but it seemed to fill the +universe. "You--Molly!" + +At the name, the hazel eyes which had met his so blankly sprang suddenly +alive--recognition, knowledge, fear, entreaty, flashed across them in +one moment's breathless space--then they grew blank again and Mary +Coombe fell senseless beside her sheaf of daisies. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIII + + +Bending over the form of his lost wife, Henry Callandar forgot Esther. +His mind, careful of its sanity, removed her instantly from the +possibility of thought. She was gone--whisked away by some swift genie +and, with her, vanished the world of blue and gold inhabited by lovers. + +There remained only that white, faded face among the daisies. With +careful hands he removed the crushed hat and loosened the collar at the +neck. It was Molly. Not a doubt of that. Not Molly as he remembered her +but Molly from whom the years had taken more than their toll, giving but +little in return. He could not think beyond this fact, as yet. And he +felt nothing, nothing at all. Both heart and mind lay mercifully numb +under the anaesthetic of the shock. + +Deftly he did the few things necessary to restore the swooning woman, +noting with a doctor's eye the first faint flush of pink under the dead +white nails, then the flutter of breath through the parted lips and the +slow unclosing of the hazel eyes which, at sight of him, sprang widely, +vividly into life. + +"Harry!" The name was the merest whisper and held a quiver of fear. He +remembered, stolidly, that just so had she whispered it upon the evening +of their hurried marriage. + +"Yes, Molly. It is all right. Don't be frightened!"--Just so had he +soothed her. + +She closed her eyes a moment while strength came back and then, raising +herself, slipped out of his arms with a little breathless movement of +avoidance. She seemed indeed to cower away and the fear in her eyes hurt +him with a physical pang. Instinctively he put out his hand to reassure +her, repeating his entreaty that she should not be frightened. + +"But I am frightened!" Her voice was hoarse. "You terrified me! You had +no right to come like that. You should have let me know--sent +word--or--or something." + +"Sent word?" He repeated the words, in a dazed way. "How could I? How +could I know?" + +"How could you come if you didn't know?" Already the miracle of +readjustment which in women is so marvellously quick, had given back to +Mary Coombe something of her natural manner. Besides, she had always +known that some day he might find her--if he cared to look. + +"Why should you come at all?" she flashed, raising defiant eyes. "The +time to come was long ago." + +"I did come." Callandar spoke slowly. "I came--" he paused, for how +could he tell her that his coming had been to a house of death. + +The bald answer, the strangeness of his gaze stirred her fear again. For +a moment they stared at each other, each busy with the shifting puzzle. +Then her quicker intuition abandoned the mystery of the present meeting +to straighten out the past. + +"Then you followed the letter?" + +"Yes, I followed the letter." + +"And you saw her--my mother?" + +"Yes, I saw your mother." + +Impulsively he moved toward her but she shrank back, plainly terrified. + +"Don't! I didn't know. I swear I did not know. I never saw the +letter--until last night. And I don't understand. What--what did my +mother tell you when you came?" + +"There was only one thing which would have kept me from you, Molly." + +"Only one thing? What?" she almost whispered. + +"She told me you were dead." + +The flash of understanding on her face showed that she, at least, had +shifted part of the puzzle into place. + +"I see now," she said slowly, "I have wondered ever since I saw the +letter. But I did not think she would go that far. Yet it was the +simplest way. There was no date on the letter--but I guessed that it +must have come too late." + +"Too late?" + +"Yes, or she would never have dared. Besides she might not have wanted +to. She didn't know. I never had the courage to tell her. But if the +letter had come in time--" + +She faltered, growing confused under his intense gaze. + +"In time for what?" he prompted patiently. + +She brushed the question aside. + +"Did you believe her when she said that?" + +"Yes. Why should I have doubted? It seemed to be the end. I fainted on +the doorstep. A long illness followed, when it was at its worst a friend +came--helped me to pull out. When I was well again, I searched for your +mother, employed detectives, but we never found her. Neither did we find +anything upon which to hang a doubt of what she had told me." + +"No. She was very clever." + +"But _why?_ For God's sake, why? Why should she lie to me? I had never +harmed her. We were married. I could give you a home. She knew it. I +told her. Why should she do this senseless, horrible thing?" + +She looked at him with wide eyes and stammered, + +"Don't--don't you know?" + +A sense of some hitherto undreamed horror came to him with that +stammering whisper. The spur of it brought some of his firmness back. + +"I do not know. There must have been a reason. You must tell me." + +He forced her, through sheer will, to lift her eyes to his. They were +startled and sullen. With a start he saw, what he had missed before, +that this woman, his wife, was a stranger. But he had himself well in +hand now and his gaze did not falter. There was no escaping its demands. +Her answer came in a little burst of defiance. + +"Yes, there was a reason. You may as well know it. Your letter and your +coming were both too late. I was married." + +The doctor was not quick enough for this-- + +"Yes, of course you were, but--" + +"Oh, not to you! Can't you understand? I was married to another man.... +You need not look like that! What did you expect? I warned you. I knew I +could never defy mother. I told you so. But you said it wouldn't be +long--that she need never know. And I waited and waited. I could have +married more than once but I wouldn't. I faced mother and said I +wouldn't. But every time it was harder. I couldn't keep it up. And you +didn't come. Then when he came and we thought he was so rich she made me +marry him. She _made_ me. I thought you were never coming back anyway. I +wrote you once telling you to come. You didn't answer." + +She paused breathless but he could find nothing to say. It seemed a +small thing that the letter must have missed him somewhere, his whole +mind was absorbed in trying to comprehend one stupendous fact. The +puzzle had shifted into place indeed. + +"I thought you didn't care any more," her words raced as if eager to be +done, "and mother gave me no peace. You will never understand how +terrified I was of mother. And he seemed so kind and was going to be +rich. He owned part of a gold mine--mother was sure it would mean +millions. But it didn't. Mother was fooled there!" with a gleam of +malice. "The mine turned out to be worthless--after we were married." + +Callandar drew a sharp breath and shook himself as if to throw off the +horror of some enthralling nightmare. + +"You married him--this man--knowing that you were a wife already?" + +"A fine sort of wife!" He quivered at the coarseness of meaning in her +tone. "We were never really married." + +"What do you mean?" + +"I mean that it was all a farce. What's a ceremony? For all I knew it +wasn't even legal. When you did not answer my letter I thought that was +what your silence meant. I asked a girl to ask her father who was a +lawyer if a marriage was legal when the girl was under age and the +parents didn't know about it. He said sometimes it wasn't." + +Callandar groaned. "And you married again--on that?" + +"Yes. I had to, anyway. I couldn't hold out against mother. I daren't +tell her. She left us after the wedding, when the mine failed, and went +back to Cleveland. It was there she must have got your letter, and the +note I found last night. And when you came, she told you I was dead--to +save the scandal. She was always different after that, though I never +guessed why. It was a lie, you see, and mother was terrified of telling +lies. It was the only thing she was afraid of. She believed that liars +go to hell." + +The tone in which she spoke of the probable torment of her mother was +quite without feeling. Callandar listened in fascinated wonder. Was this +Molly?--Pretty, kind-hearted Molly? + +"I cannot understand," he said in a stifled voice. "It is all too +horrible! This man you married--" + +"He is dead. He died a year ago. I thought at first that you must have +found out and that was why you came. I should have died of fright if you +had come while he was alive. He would never have understood--never! He +didn't like mother but he wasn't afraid of her. And I think that at last +he suspected that she had made me marry him for his money. But he was +always good. At first I was afraid all the time--oh, it was dreadful! I +think I have always been afraid--all my life--" Without warning she +threw her hands out wildly and broke into choking sobs, crying with the +abandon of a frightened child. Yet no one could have mistaken the +impulse of her grief. It was for herself she wept. + +Was it possible that she was a child still? A child in spite of her +woman's knowledge, and the dulled lustre of her hair? Callandar +remembered grimly that Molly's views of right and wrong had always been +peculiarly simple. She had never wished to do wrong, but when she had +done it, it had never seemed so very wrong to her. Her greatest dread +had always been the dread of other people's censure. + +"Don't cry," he said gently. + +She must have felt the change in his voice, for although her sobs +redoubled she did not again shrink from the hand he laid upon her hair. +It was all over. She had told him the truth. Surely he must see that he +was the one to blame, not she. + +After a while she dried her eyes and looked up at him timidly but with +restored confidence. + +"People need never know now!" she said more calmly. + +"People? Do people matter?" + +She picked a daisy and began nervously to strip it of its petals--a pang +of agony caught at the man's heart. So, only that morning, had he +imagined himself consulting the daisy oracle. "She loves me, she loves +me not." Absolutely he put the memory from him. Molly was speaking. + +"People do matter. They make things so unpleasant. Not that I care as +much about them as I used to; but still, one has to be careful. People +are so prying, always wanting to know things," she glanced around +nervously, "but let's not talk about them. I don't understand things +yet. How did you find me, if you thought I was--dead?" + +"Accident, if there be such a thing. I was driving down the road. I am +living in the town near here--in Coombe!" + +"But you can't! I live in Coombe. It is my home. There isn't a Chedridge +in the place." + +"My name is not Chedridge now. I took my uncle's name when I inherited +his money. I am called Henry Callandar." + +"Callandar!" Her voice rose shrilly on the word. "And you are living in +Coombe? Why you are--you must be--Esther's Dr. Callandar!" + +The man went deathly white, yet his enormous self-control, the fruit of +years, held him steady. + +Mary Coombe began to laugh weakly. "Why, of course, that explains it +all, don't you see? Haven't you placed me yet? Esther is my +step-daughter. The man I married was Doctor Coombe." + +"Good God!" The exclamation was revelation enough had Mary Coombe heard +it. But she did not hear it; this new aspect of the situation had seemed +to her so farcical that her laughter threatened to become hysterical. +"Oh, it's so funny!" she gasped. + +It was certainly funny--such a good joke! The Doctor thought he might as +well laugh too. But at the sound of his laughter, hers abruptly ceased. + +"Don't do that!" + +He tried to control himself. It was hard. He wanted to shriek with +laughter. Esther's step-mother, the mysterious Mrs. Coombe, was +Molly--his wife! Some mocking demon shouted into his ears the words he +had intended to say to her when he came to tell her that he and Esther +loved each other. He thought of his own high mood of the morning, of the +tender regret which he had laid away with the dead of the dead past. It +seemed as if all the world were rocking with diabolic laughter--Fate +plans such amusing things! + +He caught himself up--madness lay that way. + +"Please don't laugh!" said Mrs. Coombe a trifle fretfully. "At least not +so loudly. You startle me. My nerves are so wretched. And anyway it's +more serious than you seem to think. We shall have to discuss ways of +managing so that people will not know. Your being already acquainted +with Esther will help. It will make your coming to the house quite +natural. But it will be better to admit that we knew each other years +ago, were boy and girl friends or something like that. Your change of +name and my marriage will explain perfectly why we did not know each +other until we met. Nobody will go behind that. They will think it quite +romantic. The only one we need be afraid of is Esther. She is so quick +to notice--" + +She did not know about Esther then? She had never guessed that the girl +was more to him than a mere acquaintance. Thank God for that! And thank +God, above all, that the worst had not happened--Esther herself did not +know, would never know now-- + +"I believe it can come quite naturally after all," Mary went on more +cheerfully. "No one will wonder at anything if we say we are old +friends. And we can be specially careful with Esther. I wouldn't have +her know for anything. She is like her father. She would never +understand. She doesn't know what it is to be afraid, as I was afraid of +my mother. Do you think it is wicked that sometimes I'm glad she is +dead, mother, I mean?" + +He answered with an effort. "You used to be fond of your mother, Molly." + +"Oh, don't call me Molly. Call me Mary. It will sound much better. No +one has ever heard me called Molly here. If Esther heard it she would +wonder at once. You will be careful, won't you?" + +"Yes. I shall be careful." He had not heard what she said, save that she +had mentioned Esther's name. Rather he was thinking with a gratitude +which shook his very soul that fate had at least spared the innocent. +Esther was safe. She did not love him. He felt sure of that now. Strange +irony, that his deepest thankfulness should be that Esther did not +love him. + +A small hand fell like a feather upon his arm. + +"Harry!" + +"Yes, Molly!" + +He looked down into her quivering face and saw in it, dimly, the face of +the girl in his locket, not a mere outward semblance this time but the +soul of Molly Weston, reaching out to him across the years. Her light +touch on his arm was the very shackle of fate. Her glance claimed him. +Nothing that she had done could modify that claim--the terrible claim of +weakness upon the strength which has misled it. + +Vaguely he felt that this was the test, the ultimate test. If he failed +now he was lost indeed. Something within him reached out blindly for the +strength he had dreamed was his, found it, clutched it desperately--knew +that it held firm. + +He took the slight figure in his arms, felt that it still trembled and +said the most comforting thing he could think of. "Don't worry, Molly. +No one will ever know." + + + + +CHAPTER XXIV + + +Ester was sitting upon the back porch, hulling strawberries and watching +with absent amusement the tireless efforts of Jane to induce a very fat +and entirely brainless pup to shake hands. It had been a busy day, for +owing to the absence of the free and independent "Saturday Help" Esther +had insisted upon helping Aunt Amy in the kitchen. Now the Saturday pies +and cakes were accomplished and only the strawberries lay between Esther +and freedom. + +She had intended, a little later, to walk out along the river road in +search of marguerites, but when Mary, more than usually restless after +her fainting spell of yesterday, had offered to go instead, she had not +demurred. It would be quite as pleasant to take a book and sit out under +the big elm. Esther was at that stage when everything seems to be for +the best in this "best of all possible worlds." She was living through +those suspended moments when life stands tiptoe, breathless with +expectancy, yet calm with an assurance of joy to come. + +With the knowledge that Henry Callandar was not quite as other men, had +come an intense, delicious shyness; the aloofness of the maiden who +feels love near yet cannot, through her very nature, take one step +to meet it. + +There was no hurry. She was surrounded with a roseate haze, lapped in +deep content; for, while the doctor had learned nothing from their last +meeting under the elm, Esther had learned everything. She had not seemed +to look at him as they parted, yet she had known, oh, she had known very +well, how he had looked at her! All she wanted, now, was to be alone +with that look; to hold it there in her memory, not to analyse or +question, but to glance at it shyly now and again, feeding with quick +glimpses the new strange joy at the heart. + +"D'ye think He ever forgets to put brains into dogs?" asked Jane +suddenly. "Oh, you silly thing, don't roll over like that! Stop +wriggling and give me your paw!" + +"He, who?" vaguely. + +Jane made a disgusted gesture. "You're not listening, Esther! You know +there is only one Person who puts brains into dogs!" + +"But Pickles is such a puppy, Jane. Give him time." + +"It's not age," gloomily. "It's stupidness. All puppies are stupid, but +Pickles is the most abnormously stupid puppy I ever saw." + +Esther laughed. "Where did you get the word, ducky?" + +"From the doctor. It was something he said about Aunt Amy. Say, Esther, +isn't he going to take you driving any more? I saw him going past this +very afternoon. He turned down towards the river road. There was lots of +room. Next time he takes you, may Pickles and me go too?" + +"Pickles and I, Jane." + +"Well, may we?" + +"I don't know. Perhaps. When did the doctor go past?" + +"Nearly two hours ago. I wonder if there's some one kick down there? +Bubble says they're getting a tremenjous practice. I don't like Bubble +any more. He thinks he's smart. I don't like Ann, either. I shan't ask +her to my birthday party." + +"I thought you loved Ann." + +"Well, I don't. She thinks she's smart!" + +"Ann, too? Smartness must be epidemic." + +"It's all on account of the doctor," gloomily. "They can't get over +having him boarding at their place. I told Ann that my own father was a +doctor, but she said dead ones didn't count. Then I told her that my +mother didn't have to keep boarders anyway." + +"That was a naughty, snobbish thing to say. I'm ashamed of you!" + +"What's 'snobbish'?" + +"What you said was snobbish. Think it over and find out." + +Jane was silent, apparently thinking it over. The fat pup, tired with +unwonted mental exertions, curled up and went to sleep. Esther returned +to her dreams. Then, into the warm hush of the late afternoon came the +quick panting of a motor car. + +"There he is!" cried Jane excitedly. "Let's both run down to the gate to +see him." + +"Jane!" Esther's cheeks were the colour of her ripest berry. "Jane, come +here! I forbid you--Jane!" + +"He's stopping anyway. He'll be coming in. You had better take off that +apron.--Oh, look! Some one's with him. Why," with some disappointment, +"it's mother! He is letting her out. I don't believe he is coming in at +all--let go! Esther, you pig, let me go!" + +She wriggled out of her sister's firm hold but not before the motor had +started again; when she reached the gate it was out of sight. + +Mrs. Coombe surveyed her daughter coldly. "You are a very ill-mannered +child," she said, and putting her aside walked slowly up the path and +around the house to where Esther sat on the back porch. + +"Where are the daisies?" asked Esther, looking up from her berries. + +"The daisies?" vaguely. "Good gracious! I forgot all about the daisies." + +"Didn't you get any?" + +"Heaps, but the fact is I didn't bring them home. I felt so tired. I +don't know how I should have managed to get home myself if Dr. Callandar +hadn't picked me up." + +"Dr. Callandar?" Esther's voice was mildly questioning. + +"Yes, why not?" + +"I thought you had not met him." + +"Neither I had--at least I hadn't met him for a good many years." Mary +gave a little excited laugh. "But that's the funny part of it--he is an +old friend." + +Esther looked up with her characteristic widening of the eyes. The news +was genuinely surprising. And how agitated her mother seemed! + +"It is really quite a remarkable coincidence," went on Mary nervously. +"I was so surprised, startled indeed. Although it's pleasant, of course, +to meet an old schoolmate." + +"You and Doctor Callandar schoolmates?" The eyes were very wide now. + +Mary grew more and more confused. + +"Yes--that is, not exactly. I mean his name wasn't Callandar then. His +name was Chedridge. Did you never hear me speak of Harry Chedridge?" + +"Never." + +"Well, you never listen to half I say. And how was I to know that Doctor +Callandar was the Harry Chedridge I used to know? He took the name of +Callandar from an uncle--or something. Anyway it isn't his own." + +Esther hulled a particularly fine berry and carefully putting the hull +in the pan, threw the berry away. + +"Curiouser and curiouser!" she said, quoting the immortal Alice. "Did +you recognise him at once?" + +If it be possible for a lady of this enlightened age to simper, Mrs. +Coombe simpered. "He recognised me at once!" with faint emphasis on +the pronouns. + +The girl choked down a rising inclination to laugh. + +"Why shouldn't he? I suppose you haven't changed very much." + +"Hardly at all, he says; at least he says he would have known me +anywhere. But it's quite a long time, you know, terribly long. I was a +young girl then. Naturally, he was much older." + +"I should have thought so. That's why it seems queer--your having been +schoolmates." + +Mrs. Coombe looked cross. "I did not mean schoolmates in that sense." + +"Oh, merely in a Pickwickian sense!" Esther's laugh bubbled out. + +Mary arose. She was afraid to risk more at present, until she had been +to her room and--rested awhile. "You are rude, as usual," she said with +dignity. "When I said that Dr. Callandar and I were schoolmates I meant +simply that we were old friends, that we knew each other when we were +both younger. I do not see anything at all humorous in the statement." + +"No, of course not!" with quick compunction. "It's quite lovely. Just +like a book. Why didn't he come in?" + +The question was so cleverly casual that no one could have guessed the +girl's consuming interest in the answer. But its cleverness had overshot +the mark, for so colourless was the tone in which it was asked that Mary +did not notice it at all. Instead she retreated steadily along her +own line. + +"I hope I always treat your friends with proper courtesy, Esther. And I +shall expect you to do the same with mine. Dr. Callandar is a very old +friend indeed. Should he call to-night I wish you to receive him +as such." + +"I'll try," said the girl demurely. + +The way of escape was now open, but Mrs. Coombe hesitated. She seemed to +have something else to say. Something which did not come easily. "It's +horrid living in a town like Coombe," she burst out. "People always want +to know everything. We met the elder Miss Sinclair on the river +road--you know what that means! If people ask you any question--or +anything--you had better tell them at once that Dr. Callandar is not a +stranger." + +"I should not dream of suppressing the fact." + +"You see," again that odd hesitation, "he may call--rather often. +And--people talk so easily." + +Despite her care, Esther's sensitive face flamed in answer to the +quickened beat of her heart. What an odd thing for her mother to say! +What did she mean? Was it possible that he had already told her--asked +her? Or had she merely guessed? There was a moment's pause, and then, +"Let them talk!" said the girl softly. "It can't make any difference, to +them, how often Dr. Callandar calls." + +Mrs. Coombe looked doubtful, hesitated once more, but finally turned +away without speaking. As she went, she cast a careless glance at Aunt +Amy, who stood just within the kitchen doorway, a curiously watchful +look in her usually expressionless eyes. + +"Berries all ready, Auntie," said Esther cheerfully. "What's the matter +with me as a Saturday Help?" + +But Aunt Amy did not smile as she usually did. + +"She's gone to get dressed," she said abruptly, indicating with a +backward gesture Mrs. Coombe's retiring figure. + +"Well?" + +"For him. She's gone to get dressed for him." + +Esther was puzzled. "Why shouldn't she? Oh, I forget you didn't know! +It's quite a romance. Mother used to know Dr. Callandar when she was a +girl. 'We twa hae rin aboot the braes,' you know. Only it seems so +funny. Fancy, Dr. Callandar and mother! But we shan't have to worry any +more about her health. She can't possibly avoid him now." + +Aunt Amy was not listening. The curiously watchful look was still in her +eyes and suddenly, apropos of nothing, she began to wring her hands in +the strange, dumb way which always preceded one of her characteristic +mental agonies,--agonies which, far beyond her understanding as they +were, never failed to awake profound compassion in Esther. + +"What is it, dear?" she asked gently. "Are you not so well?" + +"Don't you ever feel things, Esther? Don't you ever sense +things--coming?" + +"No, dear. And neither do you, when you are well. You are tired." She +placed her hands firmly upon the locked hands of Aunt Amy and with +tender force attempted to separate them. But Jane, who had been a silent +but interested spectator, spoke eagerly. + +"Don't, Esther! Do let her tell us what is coming. You know she always +tells right when she wrings her hands. Go on, Auntie--" + +"Jane, be quiet! I'll tell you why afterwards. Auntie dear, sit down." + +'Aunt Amy's hands relaxed and the strange look faded. "It's nothing," +she said. "It's gone! I must be more careful. Do not mention it to your +mother, children. She might think me queer again, and I am not at all +queer any more. You have noticed that I'm not, haven't you, Esther? I'll +do anything you say, my dear." + +"Then lie out in the hammock while I get supper. The berries are all +ready. Then we'll all get dressed. Jane may wear one of her new frocks +and you shall wear your grey voile. It will be quite a party." + +"Will there be ice cream? Because if there isn't I don't want to get +dressed," sighed Jane. "My new things don't fit. They look like bags." + +"It will soon be holidays and then I'll fix them for you." + +Jane laid a childish cheek to her sister's hand. + +"Nice Esther," she cooed. "I'm sorry I called you a pig." Then, in a +change of tone as they left Aunt Amy resting in the hammock, "Esther, +why is Auntie so afraid of mother lately? She says such queer things I +don't know what she means." + +"Neither do I, dear. But I think it is just a passing fancy. She was +very much hurt about the ring being sold. When she gets it back she will +forget about it." + +"She looks at mother as if she hates her." + +"Oh, no!" in a startled tone. "How can you say such a thing, Jane?" + +"But she does. I've seen her. I don't blame her. I think it was +horrid--" + +"That's enough. You know nothing about it. Little girls who do not +understand have no right to criticise." + +"Fred says it was the most underhan--" + +"Jane, one word more and you shall have no berries to-night. Duck, don't +you realise that you are speaking in a very unkind way of your +own mother." + +The child's eyes filled with ready tears, but her little mouth was +stubborn. "Auntie's more my mother, Esther, and so are you. And it was +mean to take the ring and I don't care whether I have any berries +or not." + +Supper was a very quiet meal that night. Mrs. Coombe, interrupted in the +process of dressing, came down in an old kimono, but ate almost nothing, +Jane was sullen, Aunt Amy silent and Esther happily oblivious to +everything save her own happy thoughts. + +As soon as she could, she slipped away to her own room, and, choosing +everything with care, began to dress herself as a maiden dresses for the +eye of her lover. She was to be all in white, her dainty dress, her +petticoats, stockings and shoes. White made her look younger than ever, +absurdly young. He had never seen her all in white and she knew quite +well how soft it made the shadows of her hair, how startlingly blue her +eyes, how warm and living the ivory of her lovely neck. + +"Oh, I am glad I am pretty!" she whispered to her mirror. "Glad, glad!" +Then with a laugh at her own childishness she "touched wood" to +propitiate the jealous fates and ran down stairs to hide herself in the +duskiest corner of the veranda. + +It was delightful there. The cooling air was sweet with the mingled +perfumes of the garden border below, an early star had fallen, +sparkling, upon the blue-grey train of departing day, a whispering +breeze crept, soft-footed, through the shrubbery. Esther lay back in the +long chair and closed her eyes. For thirty perfect moments she waited +until the click of the garden gate announced his coming. Then she sprang +up, smiling, blushing,--peering through the screen of vines-- + +A man was coming up the path. At first sight he seemed a stranger, some +one who walked heavily, slowly--the doctor's step was quick and +springing. Yet it was he! She drew back, shyly, yet looked again. Some +one, in a pretty green silk gown, had slipped out from under the big elm +and was meeting him with outstretched hands. + +"Mother," thought Esther, "how strange!" + +They had paused and were talking together. Mary's high, sweet laugh +floated over the flowers, then her voice, a mere murmur. His voice, +lower still. Then silence. They had turned back, together, down the +lilac walk. + +Esther sat down again. She felt numb. She closed her eyes as she had +done before. But all the dreams, all the happy thoughts were gone. She +opened them abruptly to find Aunt Amy staring down upon her, dumbly, +wringing her hands. In the warm summer air the girl shivered. + +"What is it?" she asked a little sharply. But Aunt Amy seemed neither to +see nor hear her. She flitted by like some wandering grey moth into the +dim garden, still wringing her hands. + +Esther sat up. "How utterly absurd," she said aloud. Indeed she felt +heartily ashamed of herself. To behave like a foolish child, to startle +Aunt Amy into a fit and all because her mother and Dr. Callandar had +gone for a stroll down the lilac walk--the most natural thing in the +world. They would return presently. She had only to wait. But the +waiting was not quite the same. Those golden moments already sparkled in +the past. Nothing could ever be quite the same as if he had come +straight up the path to where she waited for him in the dusk. + + * * * * * + +In the living-room, Jane who had small patience with twilight, had +lighted the lamp. Its shaded beams fell in golden bars across the +veranda floor. The sky was full of stars, now, but the voice of the +breeze was growing shrill, as if whistling up the rain. + +They were coming back along the side of the house. Esther rose quickly +and slipped into the safety of the commonplace with Jane and the lighted +lamp. Mrs. Coombe entered first, there was an instant to observe and +wonder at her. She seemed a different woman, young, pretty, sparkling; +even her hair seemed brighter. Behind her came Callandar and when Esther +saw his face her heart seemed to stop. It was the face, almost, of a man +of middle age, a firm, quiet face with cold eyes. + +"Esther!" Mrs. Coombe's voice held incipient reproof. + +The girl came forward and offered her hand. The doctor, this new doctor, +took it, let it drop and said, "Good evening, Miss Esther," then turned +to Jane with a politely worded message from Ann and Bubble. + +"You can tell them I won't go," said Jane crossly. "They think they are +smart. Just because--" + +Esther slipped quietly from the room. In the hall outside she paused, +breathless. She felt as if she had run a long way. Shame enveloped her, +a shame whose cause she could not put into words. She only knew that she +had, in the few seconds of that cold greeting, been profoundly +humiliated. She quivered with the sting of unwarranted expectancy. But +if this had been all, it would have been well. There was something else, +some deeper pain surging through the smart of wounded pride, something +which led her with blind steps into a dark corner of the stairs where +she sat very quiet and still. + +Through the open front door, she could see the bars of lamplight on the +deserted veranda, and hear from the open windows of the living-room a +hum of conversation in which Jane seemed to be taking a leading part. +Then came the tinkle of the old piano and Mary's voice, singing, or +attempting to sing, for it was soon apparent that her voice sagged +pitifully on the high notes. + +Presently Jane came out, banging the door. Jane's manners, Esther +thought, were really very bad. She had probably banged the door because +she had been sent to bed and she had probably been sent to bed because +she had been saucy. Esther wondered what particular form her sauciness +had taken, but when Jane called softly, "Esther!" she did not answer. +She did not want to put Jane to bed to-night. The child flashed past her +up the stairs and soon could be heard from an upstair window calling +imperatively for Aunt Amy. But Aunt Amy, flitting through the dim garden +wringing her hands, did not hear. Jane, much injured, went to bed by +herself that night. + +In the lamp-lit room there was no more music. The murmur of voices grew +less distinct. There were intervals of silence. (Only very old friends +can support a silence gracefully--but of course these two were very old +friends.) Esther wondered, idly, how it would be best to explain her +absence to her mother. Toothache, perhaps? Not that the excuse mattered. +Mary never listened to excuses. She would be cross and fretful anyway +and complain that Esther never treated her friends with proper courtesy. +The best thing she could do would be to go to bed. But she made no +movement to go; the moments ticked by on the hall clock unnoticed. + +After a time, which might have been long or short, there was a stir in +the room and her mother's voice called "Esther! Esther!" + +The girl stood up, smoothed her white dress, slipped out on to the +veranda and into the garden. From there she answered the call. +"Yes, Mother?" + +"Where are you? You sound as if you had been asleep. Doctor Callandar is +going." + +Esther came lightly up the steps. + +"So soon?" + +"It is early," agreed Mrs. Coombe playfully, "but I can't keep him." + +Esther, herself in shadow, could see the doctor's face as he stood +quietly beside his hostess. It was full of an endless weariness. Her +pride melted. Impulsively she put out a warm hand-- + +"Good night, Miss Esther. How very sweet your garden is at night. But it +feels as if our fine weather were over. The wind begins to blow +like rain." + +Esther's hand dropped to her side. Perhaps he had not seen it in the +dusk. + + + + +CHAPTER XXV + + +We all know that strange remoteness into which one wakes from out deep +sleep. Though the eye be open, the Ego is not there to use it. For an +immeasurable second, the awakener knows not who he is, nor why, nor +where. Only there is, faintly perceptible, a reminiscent consciousness +whether of joy or sorrow, a certain flavour of the soul, sweet or +bitter, into which the Ego, slipping back, announces, "I am happy" or "I +am miserable." + +Esther had not hoped to sleep that night but she did sleep and heavily. +When she awoke it was to blankness, a cold throbbing blankness of +undefined ill being. Then her Ego, with a sigh, came back from far +places; the busy brain shot into focus; all the memories, fears, +humiliation of the night before stood forth clear and poignant. She +buried her face in the pillow. + +Yet, after the first rush of consciousness, there came a difference. +There always is a difference between night and day thoughts. Fresh from +its wonder-journey, the soul is braver in the morning, the brain is +calmer, the spirit more hopeful. After a half-hour's self-examination +with her face in the pillow Esther began to wonder if she had not been +foolishly apprehensive and whether it were not possible that half her +fears were bogies. The weight began to lighten, she breathed more +freely. Looking over the rim of the sheltering pillow the morning seemed +no longer hateful. + +Foremost of all comforting thoughts was the conviction that instinct +must still be trusted against evidence. Through all her speculations as +to the unexplained happenings of the previous day, she found that +instinct held firmly to its former belief regarding the doctor's +feelings toward herself. There are some things which one knows +absolutely and Esther knew that Henry Callandar had looked upon her as a +man looks upon the woman he loves. He had loved her that night when they +paddled through the moonlight; he had loved her when he watched for her +coming along the road, but most of all he had loved her when, under the +eye of Aunt Amy, they had said good-bye at the garden gate. This much +was sure, else all her instincts were foresworn. + +After this came chaos. She could not in any way read the riddle of his +manner of last night. Had the sudden resumption of his old friendship +with her mother absorbed his mind to the exclusion of everything else? +Impossible, if he loved her. Had purely physical weariness or mental +worry blotted her out completely for the time being? Impossible, if he +loved her. Then what had happened? + +Doubtless it would all be simple enough when she understood. She sighed +and raised her head from the pillow. At any rate it was morning. The day +must be faced and lived through. Any one of its hours might bring +happiness again. + +The rainstorm which had swept up during the night had passed, leaving +the morning clean. She needed no recollection to tell her that it was +Sunday. The Sabbath hush was on everything; no milkman's cans jingled +down the street; no playing children called or shouted; there was a bell +ringing somewhere for early service. Esther sighed again. She was sorry +it was Sunday. Work-a-day times are easiest. + +A rich odour of coffee, insinuating itself through the half open door, +testified mutely to the fact that Aunt Amy was getting breakfast. It was +later than usual. After breakfast it would be time to dress for church. +Every one in Coombe dressed for church. It was a sacred rite. One and +all, they had clothes which were strictly Sabbatarian, known indeed by +the name of Sunday Best. + +Esther's Sunday best was a blue, voile, a lovely blue, the colour of her +eyes when in soft shadow. It was made with a long straight skirt +slightly high at the waist, round neck and elbow sleeves and with it +went soft, wrinkly gloves and a wide hat trimmed with cornflowers. She +knew that she looked well in it--and the doctor would be in church. + +On this thought which flew into her mind like a swift swallow through an +open window, her lethargy fled and in its place came nervous haste; a +feverish impatience which brought her with a bound out of bed, flushed +and eager. Philosophy is all very well but it never yet stilled the +heart-beat of the young. + +Aunt Amy looked up in mild surprise as she hurried into the kitchen in +time to butter toast and poach the eggs. + +"Why, Esther!" she said in her bewildered way. "I thought--I didn't +think that you would get up this morning." + +"Why? I am perfectly well, Auntie. Where is mother?" + +"Oh, she's up! Picking flowers." + +Esther looked slightly surprised. It was not Mrs. Coombe's habit to rise +early or to pick flowers, but before she had time to comment, Mary +herself entered the kitchen with an armful of roses. + +"Hurry with your breakfast, Jane," she said, "I want you to take these +over to the doctor's office. I wonder you have not sent some to the poor +man before this, Esther. Mrs. Sykes' roses never amount to anything. +Shall I pour the coffee? I suppose you felt that you did not know him +well enough. But flowers sent in a neighbourly way would have been quite +all right. If you weren't always so stiff, people would like you better. +I felt quite ashamed of your behaviour last night. Of course it wasn't +necessary for you to stay in the room _all_ the evening, but it was +simply rude to run away as you did. You needn't make Jane an excuse. +Jane could put herself to bed, for once." + +"I did--" began Jane, but catching sight of her sister's face, went no +further. And Mrs. Coombe, who was always talkative when airing a +grievance, paid no attention. + +"If you are feeling huffy about the motor breaking down, you'll just +have to get over it," she went on. "It couldn't possibly have been Dr. +Callandar's fault anyway." + +"I am quite sure that it wasn't." + +"Then don't sulk. He is rather fine looking, don't you think? Though as +a boy he was almost ugly. It doesn't seem to matter in men--ugliness, I +mean. And of course in those days he could not afford to dress; dress +makes such a difference. I shouldn't be a bit surprised if his clothes +are English made. That baggy look that isn't really baggy, you know. +When I knew him his people were quite poor. Only a mother and sister. +The father shot himself. People said suicide ran in that family. But +Harry--Henry said that if it did, it was going to stop running. He said +such odd things. I was staying with friends when I met him, at a church +social. One meets all kinds at an affair like that. My friends didn't +ask him to the party they gave for me. For although they were a very +good family, the Chedridges, Henry was almost a hired man at that time, +working for old Dr. Inglis, to put himself through college. His mother +and sister never went out." + +"Were they both invalids?" + +"Don't be clever, Esther! I mean socially, of course. Jane, run up to my +dresser and look in the second drawer on the right hand side and bring +down my small photo case. I think I have a photo somewhere, not a very +good one, but enough to show how homely he was.... Amy, aren't you going +to eat any breakfast this morning?" + +Aunt Amy, who had been following her niece's unusual flow of talk with +fascinated attention, returned with a start to her untasted egg. Esther +tried to eat some toast and choked. In spite of all her resolutions she +felt coldly and bitterly angry. That her mother should dare to gossip +about him like that! That she should call him "ugly," that she should +speak with that air of almost insolent proprietorship of those wonderful +early years long, long before she, Esther, had come into his life at +all, it was unendurable! + +Do not smile, sophisticated young person. When you are in love you will +know, only too well, this jealousy of youless years; this tenderness for +photos and trifling remembrances of the youth of the one you love. You +will envy his very mother, who, presumably, knew him fairly well in the +nursery, and that first dreadful picture of him in plaid dress and +plastered hair will seem a sacred relic. + +In the meantime you may take my word for it, and try to understand how +Esther felt as she bent, perforce, over the photo of a dark-browed lad +whose very expression was in itself a valid protest against photography. + +"Ugly, wasn't he?" asked Mrs. Coombe. + +"Very," said Esther. + +"Perfectly fierce," said Jane, peering over her shoulder. "Really +fierce, I mean, not slang. He looks as if he would love to bite +somebody." + +"The photographer, probably." + +Esther shrugged her shoulders and laid the photo carelessly upon the +table. So careless was she, in fact, that a sharp "Look out!" from Jane +did not prevent a sudden jerk of her elbow upsetting her steaming cup of +coffee right over the pictured face. + +With an angry exclamation, Mary sprang forward to rescue her property +but Esther had already picked it up and was endeavouring to repair the +damage with her table napkin. + +"Oh, do take care!" said Mary irritably. "Don't rub so _hard_--you'll +rub all the film off--there! What did I tell you?" + +"Dear me! who would ever have dreamed it would rub off that easily?" +Esther surveyed the crumpled bits of photo with convincing dismay. + +"Any one, with sense. It's ruined--how utterly stupid of you, Esther." +Mary's voice quivered with anger. "You provoking thing! I believe you +did it on purpose." + +The cold stare from the girl's eyes stopped her, but she added +fretfully, "You are always doing things to annoy me. I can't think why, +I'm sure." + +"She was trying to dry it," declared Jane, belligerently. "She didn't +mean to hurt the old photo. Did you, darling?" + +"I can hardly see what my motive could have been," said Esther politely, +rising from the table. She had deliberately tried to destroy the +photograph and was exultantly glad that she had succeeded, yet, so +quickly does the actress instinct develop under the spur of necessity, +that her face and manner showed only amused tolerance of such a foolish +suspicion. + +Later, the culprit smiled understandingly at her image in the mirror as +she dressed for church. "I did not know I could be so catty," she told +her reflection, "but I don't care. She hadn't any right to have that +darling picture. Ugly, indeed!" The blue eyes snapped and then became +reflective. "Only she didn't think it ugly any more than I did. It was +just talk. She was certainly furious when the film rubbed off. I +wonder--" She fastened the last dark tress of hair, still wondering. + +All the way to church she wondered, walking demurely with Jane up +Oliver's Hill, while Mary, nervously gay, fluttered on a step or two +ahead. Jane found her unresponsive that morning. The acquaintances they +passed found her distant. They wondered if Esther Coombe were becoming +"stuck up" since she had a school of her own? For although, as Miss +Agnes Smith said, it is not quite the thing to do more than nod and +smile on the way to church, one doesn't need to pass one's friends +looking like an absent-minded funeral. + +Poor Esther! She saw nobody because she looked for only one. + +"Oh, Esther, Mrs. Sykes has a new bonnet. There she is, Esther, look!" + +"Very pretty," murmured Esther absently. + +Jane dropped her hand. "You're blind as well as deaf, Esther. It's +perfectly, dreadfully awful, and you know it!" + +Thus abjured, Esther managed to look at Mrs. Sykes' bonnet. And, having +looked, she laughed. Mrs. Sykes had certainly surpassed herself in +bonnets. And poor Ann, her skirts were stiffer, her pig-tails tighter +and her small face more mutinous than ever. The doctor was not of the +party. Esther had known that, long before Jane had noticed the bonnet. + +Still, there was nothing in that. He did not always walk with Ann to +church. He might not come up Oliver's Hill at all. He might come from +the opposite direction. He might be in church already. Esther's step +quickened. But she had no excuse for hurry. Unless one sang in the choir +or were threatened with lateness it was not etiquette to push ahead of +any one on Oliver's Hill. Decently and in order was the motto, so Esther +was sharply reminded when she had almost trodden on the unhastening +heels of Mrs. Elder MacTavish. + +Mrs. MacTavish turned in surprise but, seeing Esther, relaxed into the +usual Sunday smile and bow. + +"Good morning, Esther. Good morning, Mrs. Coombe. Good morning, Jane. +What perfect weather we are having. You are all well, I hope?" + +"Very well, thank you." + +"And dear Miss Amy?" + +"Very well indeed." + +"So sad that she never cares to come to church. But of course one +understands. And it must be a satisfaction to you all that she keeps so +well. I said to Mr. MacTavish only last night that I felt sure Dr. +Callandar was not being called in professionally. That is the worst of +being a doctor. One can hardly attend to one's social duties without +arousing fear for the health of one's friends. Not that Dr. Callandar is +overly sociable, usually." + +The last word, delivered as if by an afterthought, said everything which +she wished it to say. Esther's lips shut tightly. Mary Coombe flushed. +But she was quick to seize the opening nevertheless. + +"Such an odd thing, dear Mrs. MacTavish! Dr. Callandar turns out to be +quite an old friend of--of my family. We knew each other as boy and +girl. In his college days, you know." + +"How very pleasant. But I always understood your family lived in +Cleveland. Did Dr. Callandar take his degree in the States?" + +"Oh, no, of course not, but I was visiting in Canada when we knew each +other. Mutual friends and--and all that, you know." + +"Very romantic," said Mrs. MacTavish. Her tone was pleasantly cordial, +yet there was a something, a tinge--her quick glance took in Mrs. +Coombe's pretty dress and flowered hat, and the beginning of a smile +moved her thin lips. She said nothing. But then she did not need to say +anything. Mind reading is common with women. + +Mrs. Coombe was furious. Esther laughed suddenly, a bubbling, girlish +laugh, and then pretended that she had laughed because Jane had stubbed +her toe. Jane looked hurt, Mrs. Coombe suspicious and Mrs. MacTavish +amused. So in anything but a properly Sabbatical frame of mind the +little party arrived at the church door. + +Who does not know, if only in memory, that exquisite thrill of fear and +expectation with which Esther entered the place which might contain the +man she loved? Another moment, a breath, and she might see him!... And +who has not known that stab of pain, that awful darkness of the spirit, +which came upon her as, instantly, she knew that he was not there? + +He was not in the church. Mental telepathy is recognised as well by its +absence as by its presence. Esther knew that the church was empty of her +lover and that it would remain empty. He was not coming to church +to-day. Fortunate indeed that Mrs. MacTavish was not looking, for the +girl's lip quivered, an unnatural darkness deepened the blue of her +eyes. Then, smiling, she followed her mother up the aisle. Girls are +wonderfully brave and if language is given us to conceal our thoughts +smiles are very convenient also. + +Mary Coombe settled herself with a flutter and a rustle, and then, +behind the decorous shield of a hymn book, she whispered, + +"Did you see Dr. Callandar as we came in?" + +"No." + +"Look and see if he is here." + +The girl glanced perfunctorily around. + +"No," she said. + +Mrs. Coombe frowned. She was patiently annoyed and Esther felt cold +anger stir again. What difference could the doctor's absence possibly +make to Mary Coombe? + +The singing of the psalm and the reading were long drawn out +wearinesses. Esther had not come to church to worship that morning. We +do not comment upon her attitude. We merely state it. To-day, church, +the service and all that it stood for had been absolutely outside of +her emotions. Yet with the prayer came the thought of God and with the +thought a thrill of angry fear--a fear which was an inevitable after +effect of her very orthodox training. God, she felt dimly, did not like +people to be very happy. He was a jealous God. He was probably angry now +because she had come to church thinking more of Dr. Callandar than of +Him. "Thou shalt have no other Gods before me!" Awful, mystical words! +Did they mean that one couldn't have any human god at all? Not even a +near, kind protecting god--like the doctor? It frightened her. + +She found herself explaining to God that her lover was not really a +rival. That although she loved him so terribly it was in quite a +different way and would never interfere with her religious duties. Then, +feeling the futility of this, she pretended carelessness, trying to +deceive God into the belief that she didn't think so very much of the +doctor anyway. + +This was in the prayer, while she sat with her eyes decorously shaded by +her hand. Above her in the pulpit, the minister in an ecstasy of +petition set forth the needs of the church, the state and the +individual. Esther did not hear a word until a sudden dropping of his +voice forced a certain phrase upon her attention. He was praying, with +an especial poignancy for "that blessing which maketh rich and addeth +no sorrow." + +Was there such a blessing? A blessing which would make rich and add no +sorrow? No wonder the minister prayed for it. To Esther, whose mind was +saturated with the idea of God as the author of chastenings, the +possibility came with a shock of joy. She, too, began to pray, and she +prayed for one thing only, over and over--the blessing that maketh rich +and addeth no sorrow. There was no need, she felt, to specify further. +God was sure to guess what blessing she meant. + +A subdued rustle, a swaying as of barley in a gentle breeze and the +prayer was over. Esther removed her hand from her eyes and looked up at +the minister. For a tiny second his glance met hers. A thrill shot +through her, a thrill of dismay. With all the force of a new idea, it +came to her that she and he were in the same parlous case. He loved her, +as she loved--somebody else. + +And that meant that he must suffer, suffer as she had suffered last +night. Last week when he had told her of his love she had been +surprised, sorry and a little angry. But last week he had spoken of +unknown things. Love and suffering had been words to her then, now they +were realities. + +Then, for she was learning quickly now, came another flash of +enlightenment. They had been praying for the same thing. He, too, had +prayed for the blessing which maketh rich--and he had meant _her_. She +knew it. He had been asking God to give her to him. Horrible! + +Common sense shrank back before the invading flood of fear. What if God +had listened? What if He had answered? Ministers, she knew, have great +influence with God. What if He had said, "Yes"? What if all the trouble +of last night, the blankness of to-day, were part of the answer? + +"Never! Never!" she said. She almost said it aloud, so real had her fear +been. Her eyes, fixed upon the minister's face, were terrified, but her +soul was strong. Fearful of blasphemy, yet brave, she faced the bogie of +a God her thought had evoked, saying, "I make my own choice. Take my +lover from me if you will--I shall never give myself to another." + +All this was very wrong, shocking even, especially in church. But it +really happened and is apt to happen any Sunday in any church so long as +human love rebels at the idea of a Divine love less tender than itself. + +Gradually the panic fear died down. Esther's sane and well-balanced +nature began to assert itself. Some voice, small but insistent, began to +say, "God is not like that," and she listened and was comforted. She had +not yet come to the love which casts out fear, but she was done with the +fear which casts out love. + +So that when on the church steps in the sunshine she felt Angus +Macnair's hand tremble in hers, she was able to meet his eyes, +straightly, understandingly, but unafraid. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVI + + +The manner in which Dr. Callandar spent that tragic Sunday is not +clearly on record. We have watched Esther so closely that he has been +permitted to escape our observation, and it would be manifestly unfair +to expect any coherent account of the day from him. He knows that he +went for a walk, early, and that he walked all day. He remembers once +resting by the willow-fringed pool which had seen his introduction into +Coombe, but he could not stay there. Between him and that hot June day +lay the wreck of a world. Once he stumbled upon the Pine Lake road and +followed it a little way. But here, too, memory came too close and drove +him aside into the fields. There he tried to face his future fairly, +under the calm sky. But it was hard work. With such a riot of feeling, +it was difficult to think. His mind continually fell away into the +contemplation of his own misery. It was a bad day, a day which left an +ineffaceable mark. + +With night came the first sign of peace, or rather of capitulation. He +fought no more because he realised that there was nothing for which to +fight. There had never been, from the very first moment, a possibility +of escape, the smallest ray of hope. Fate had met him squarely and the +issue had never been in doubt. + +It was a "wonderful clear night of stars" when, having circled the town +in his aimless wandering, he found himself opposite the schoolhouse gate +and calm enough to allow his thoughts to dwell definitely upon Esther. +She, at least, was safe, and the knowledge brought pure thankfulness. +Not for anything in the world would he have had her entangled in this +tragic coil. Leaning over the gate he saw the school steps, faintly +white in the starlight. It needed small effort of imagination to see her +there as he had seen her that first day--a happy girl, looking at him +with the long, straight glance of unawakened youth. A great wave of +protecting love went out to meet that vision. Self was lost in its +immensity. As he had found her, so, please God, she was still and so he +would leave her. + +Then, somewhere in the back of his brain, a question sprang to vivid +life. Was she the same? He knew that all day he had been fighting back +that question. Last night something had frightened him--something +glimpsed for a moment in Esther's face when she had come in from the +garden to say good-night. Fancy, perhaps, or a trick of the lamplight. +She could not really have changed. He would not allow himself even to +dream that she had changed. + +By this time she would know about himself and Mary--know all that any +one was to know. He had insisted upon that. Mary had promised to tell +her to-day that they were to be married soon. Next time he saw her she +would look upon him with different eyes; eyes which would see not her +sometime friend and companion but her step-mother's future husband. He +must steel himself for this. Probably she would laugh a little. He hoped +she would laugh. Last night she had looked so--she had not looked like +laughter. If she should laugh it would answer the last doubt in his +heart. He would know that she was free. + +Presently he felt himself to be unbearably weary. Physical needs, +ignored all day, began to clamour. He must get home at once. No _outre_ +proceedings must raise the easy breath of gossip. He must not flinch, he +dared not run away, all must be done decently and in order. Let him only +keep his head now--the bravest man need not look too far into +the morrow. + +It must be late, he knew. The road into Coombe was deserted. All the +buggies of the country folk returning from evening service had passed +long ago and even the happy young couples indulging in a Sunday night +"after church" flirtation had decorously sought their homes. He looked +at his watch by the clear starlight. It was later even than he had +thought. No need to avoid passing the Elms, now; they would all be +asleep--he might perhaps be able to sleep himself if he knew that no +light burned in Esther's window. + +There was no light in the house anywhere. It stood black in the shadow +of its trees. The doctor found himself walking softly. His steps grew +slower, paused. Irresistibly the "spirit in his feet" drew him to the +closed gate from where he could see the black oblong of her window. + +"She is asleep," he thought. "Of course she is asleep. Thank God!" + +Then, on the instant of dropping his eyes from the window, he saw her. +She was standing quite near, in the shadow of the elm. + +"Esther!" The one word leaped from his lips like a cry. + +"Yes, it is I," she said. + +She offered no word of explanation nor did any need of one occur to +him. Moving from the shadow into the soft starlight she came toward him +like the spirit of the night. But when she paused, so close that only +the gate divided them, he saw that her eyes were wide and dark +with trouble. + +"I am so glad you came. I wanted to see you. I--I could not sleep." She +spoke with the direct simplicity of a child, yet nothing could have +shown more plainly that she was a child no longer. All her pretty +girlish hesitation, all her happy shyness had passed away on the breath +of the great awakening. It was a woman who stood there, pale, remote, +with a woman's question in her eyes. + +The keen shock of the change in her filled Callandar with rebellious +joy; it would be pain presently, but, just for the moment, love exulted +shamelessly, claiming her own. He tried to answer her but no words came. + +"You look very tired." She seemed not to notice his silence. "I must not +keep you. But there is a question I want to ask. Mother told me to-night +that you and she are to be married. Is it true?" + +How incredible she was, he thought. How perfect in her direct and simple +dignity. Yet there had crept into her tone a wistfulness which broke +his heart. + +"Yes. It is true." He could do no less than meet her on her own high +ground. + +"She said," the girl's sweet, remote voice went on, "that you had loved +each other all your lives. Is that true, too?" + +He had hoped that he might be spared the bitterness of this, but since +only one answer was possible, "It is true," he said hoarsely, "it is +true that we loved each other--long ago." + +"Long ago--and now?" He was to be spared nothing, it seemed. Her wide +eyes searched his face. Lest she should read it too plainly, he +bowed his head. + +Then suddenly, even as she drew back from him, hurt to the heart, some +trick of moonlight on his half-hidden face, linked to swift memory, +showed her another moonlight night, a canoe, a story told--and in a +flash the miracle had happened. Intuition had leaped the gulf of his +enforced silence--Esther knew. + +A great wonder grew in her eyes, an immense relief. + +"Why," she spoke whisperingly, "I see, I know! She, my mother, is the +girl you told me of. The girl you married--" + +She did not need the confirmation of his miserable eyes. It was all +quite plain. With a little broken sigh of understanding, she leaned her +head against the gate post and, all child again, began to cry softly +behind the shelter of her hands. + +"Esther!" + +He could say nothing, do nothing. He dared not even touch the dark, bent +head. But we may well pity him as he watched her. + +The girl's sobbing wore itself out and presently she lifted +tear-drenched eyes, like the blue of the sky after rain. Her tragic, +unnatural composure had all been wept away. + +"I understand--now," she faltered. "Before, I didn't. I thought dreadful +things. I thought that I--that you--oh, I couldn't bear the things I +thought! But it's better now. You did love me--didn't you?" + +"Before God--yes!" + +She went on dreamily. "It would have been too terrible if you hadn't--if +you had just pretended--had been amusing yourself--been false and base. +But I felt all along that you were never that. I knew there must be +some explanation and it didn't seem wrong to ask. Instead of pretending +that I didn't know all the things you had not time to say. Forgive me +for ever doubting that you were brave and good." + +"Spare me--" + +She was not yet old enough to understand the tragic appeal. For she +leaned nearer, laying her soft hand over his clenched ones. + +"It is all so very, very sad," she said with quaint simplicity which was +part of her, "but not so bad--oh, not nearly so bad as if you had been +pretending--or I mistaken. Think!--How terrible to give one's love +unworthily or unasked!" + +"But you do not love me," he burst out, "you cannot! You must not!" + +Never had he seen her eyes so sweet, so dark. + +"I do love you. And I honour you above all men." + +Before he could prevent her, she had stooped--her lips brushed his hand. + +"Oh, my Dear!"--He had reached the limit of his strength--instant flight +alone remained if he would keep the precious flower of her trust. And +she, too, was trembling. But in the soft starlight they looked into each +other's eyes, and what they saw there helped. Their hands clasped, but +in that moment of parting neither thought of self, so both were strong. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVII + + +Mrs. Sykes thought much about her boarder in those days and, for a +wonder, said very little. Gossip as she was, she could, in the service +of one she liked, be both wise and reticent. Perhaps she knew that +oracles are valued partly for their silences. At any rate her prestige +suffered nothing, for the less she said, the more certain Coombe became +that she could, if she would, say a great deal. Of course her pretence +of seeing nothing unusual in the doctor's engagement was simply absurd. +Coombe felt sure that like the pig-baby in "Alice," she only did it "to +annoy because she knows it teases." + +One by one the most expert gossips of the town charged down upon the +doctor's landlady and one by one they returned defeated. + +"True about the doctor and Mary Coombe? Why, yes of course it's true. +Land sakes, it's no secret." Mrs. Sykes would look at her visitor in +innocent astonishment. "Queer? No. I don't see anything queer about it. +Mary Coombe's a nice looking woman, if she is sloppy, and I guess she +ain't any older than the doctor, if it comes to that. No, the doctor +doesn't say much about it. He ain't a talking man. Sudden? Oh, I don't +know. 'Tisn't as if they'd met like strangers. As you say, they _might_ +have kept company before. But I never heard of it. I always forget, +Mrs. MacTavish, if you take sugar? One spoon or two? As you say, old +friends sometimes take up with old friends. But sometimes they don't. My +Aunt Susan found her second in a man who used to weed their garden. But +it's not safe to judge by that. Ann, hand Mrs. MacTavish this cup, and +go tell Bubble Burk that if he doesn't stop aggravating that dog, it'll +bite him some day, and nobody sorry." + +In this manner did Mrs. Sykes hold the fort. Not from her would Coombe +hear of those "blue things of the soul" which her quick eye divined +behind the quiet front of her favourite. But with the doctor himself she +had no reserves, it being one of her many maxims that "what you up and +say to a person's face doesn't hurt them any." The doctor was made well +aware that her unvarnished opinion of his prospective marriage was at +his disposal at any time. + +"I'm not one as gives advice that ain't asked," declared Mrs. Sykes with +sincere self-deception. "But what sensible folks see in Mary Coombe I +can't imagine. I may be biased, not having ever liked her from the very +first, but being always willing to give her a chance--which I may say +she never took. There's a verse in the Bible she reminds me of, +'Unstable as water'--Ann, what tribe was it that the Lord addressed them +words to?" + +"I don't know, Aunt." + +"There, you see! She doesn't know! That's what happens along of all +these Sunday Schools. In my day I'd be spanked and sent to bed if I +didn't know every last thing about the tribes." + +"Ann and I will go and look it up," said the doctor hastily, hoping to +escape; "it will be good discipline for both of us." + +"Land sakes! I'm not blaming you, Doctor. Naturally you haven't got your +mind on texts, and I don't blame you about the other thing either. Men +are awful easy taken in. My Aunt Susan used to say that the cleverer a +man was the more he didn't understand a woman. Dr. Coombe was what you'd +call clever, too, but it didn't help him any. Mind you, I'm not +criticising, far from it, but I suppose a person may wonder what a man's +eyes are for, without offence. No one knows better than you, Doctor, +that I'm not an interfering woman and I'd never dream of saying a word +against Mary Coombe to the face of her intended husband, but if I did +say anything it would have to be the truth and the truth is that a more +thorough-paced bit of uselessness I never saw." + +"Mrs. Sykes," the doctor's voice was dangerously quiet, "am I to +understand that you are tired of your boarder?" + +Mrs. Sykes jumped. + +"Land, Doctor, don't get ruffled! I'm real sorry if I've hurt your +feelings. I didn't mean to say a word when I set out. My tongue just +runs away. And naturally you have to stand up for Mrs. Coombe. I see +that. That'll be the last you'll hear from me and 'tisn't as if I'd ever +turn around and say 'I told you so' afterwards." + +This was _amende honorable_ and the doctor received it as such; but when +he had gone into his office leaving his breakfast almost untouched, Mrs. +Sykes shook her head gloomily. + +"You needn't tell me!" she murmured, oblivious of the fact that no one +was telling her anything. "You needn't tell me!" Then, with rare +self-reproach, "Perhaps I hadn't ought to have said so much, but such +blindness is enough to provoke a saint. If he'd any eyes--couldn't he +see Esther?" Mrs. Sykes sighed as she emptied the doctor's untasted cup. + +More frankly disconsolate, though not so outspoken, were Ann and Bubble. +Not only did they dislike the bride elect but they objected to marriage +in general. "A honeymoon will put the kibosh on this here practice, +sure," moaned Bubble. + +"Look at me. I'm not thinking of getting married, am I? No, and I'm +never going to get married either." + +"I am," said Ann, "and I'm going to have ten sons and the first one is +going to be called 'Henry' after the doctor." + +"Huh!" said Bubble, "bet you it isn't. Bet you go and call it after its +father. They all do." + +"No chance! Bet you I won't. I wouldn't call it 'Zerubbabel' for +anything." + +For an instant they glared at each other, and then as the awful +implication dawned upon Bubble his round face grew crimson and his voice +thrilled with just resentment. + +"Well, if you think you're going to marry me, Miss Ann, you're jolly +well mistaken." + +"Will if I like," said Ann, retiring into her sun-bonnet. + +Upon the whole, however, their affection for the doctor kept them +friendly. Both children felt that something was wrong somewhere. Their +idol was not happy. Bubble whispered to Ann of long hours when the +doctor sat in his office with an open book before him, a book the pages +of which were never turned. Ann told of weary walks when she trotted +along by his side, wholly forgotten. Only between themselves did they +ever speak of the change in him, and Henry Callandar was well repaid +for the careless kindness of his brighter hours by a faithful +guardianship, a quick-eyed consideration and a stout line of defence +which protected his privacy and ignored his moods without his ever being +aware of such a service. + +Esther he seldom saw. She was remarkably clever, he thought, with a +tinge of bitterness, in arranging duties and pleasures which would take +her out of his way. It was better so, of course. It was the worst of +injustice to feel hurt with her for doing what of all things he would +have had her do. But one doesn't reason about these things, one feels. + +Sometimes he wondered if that midnight interview with her at the gate +had ever really taken place--or had it been midsummer madness, too sweet +to exist even in memory? Certainly, in the Esther he saw now there was +nothing of the Esther of the stars. She wore her mask well. School had +closed for the holidays and the summer gaieties of Coombe were in full +swing. Esther boated, picnicked, played croquet and tennis. If there was +any change in her at all it showed only in a kind of feverish gaiety +which seemed to wear her strength. She was certainly thinner. Callandar +ventured to suggest to Mary that she was looking far from well. But Mary +laughed at the idea. She was very much annoyed with Esther. The girl +appeared to care nothing at all for the great event, refused to discuss +it, declined absolutely to put herself out in the slightest for the +entertainment of her mother's prospective husband, seemed to avoid him +in fact. Moreover, she openly expressed her intention of leaving home +immediately after the wedding. Mrs. Coombe was afraid people would talk. + +Of them all, Aunt Amy was the only one who understood. How her poor, +unsound brain arrived at the knowledge we cannot say. Perhaps Esther was +more careless in her presence, dropping her mask almost as if alone, or +perhaps Aunt Amy's strange psychic insight took no note of masks, or +perhaps--account for it as you will, Aunt Amy knew! Esther and Dr. +Callandar loved each other, and Mary stood between. This latter fact was +not at all surprising to Aunt Amy. Was it not the special delight of the +mysterious "They" to bring misery to all Aunt Amy loved, and was not +Mary their accredited agent? The affair of the ruby ring had proved her +that, though no one else must guess it. What would come of it all, Aunt +Amy could not tell. Wring her hands as she might she could not see into +the future. Often she would mutter a little as she went about her work, +or stand still staring, straining into the dark. No one noted any +difference in her save Jane, for Jane was as yet happily free to +observe. The others, caught up in the whirl of their own destinies, saw +nothing save the problems in their own anxious hearts. + +"Esther," said Jane one evening, "Aunt Amy is odder and odder and you +don't seem to care a bit." + +Esther, who was preparing to go to a garden party, turned back, a little +startled. + +"What do you mean, Jane?" + +"I don't know. Can't you see that she isn't happy?" + +"But she is better. She never complains. She almost never fancies things +now." + +"She goes into corners and stares--and she wrings her hands." + +"But she always did that, duck." + +Jane was not equal to a more lucid explanation. + +"It's not the same," she insisted. "I know it isn't. Esther, when you +go away, will you take Aunt Amy and me?" + +"How could I, dear? Your home is here. And you like Dr. Callandar, don't +you?" + +"I used to. But he never plays with the pup any more. He's different. +And you're different and mother's different. I don't want to live with +mother. That was a fib I told you the other day about the cut on my +head. I didn't fall and hurt it. It was mother She threw her clothes +brush at me." + +"Jane!" There was pure horror in her sister's voice. + +"Yes, she did. I went into her room when she was taking some medicine in +a glass and I asked her what it was. Honest, Esther, that is all I did. +And she screamed at me--and threw the brush." + +Esther came back into the room and sat down. + +"When was this?" in businesslike tones. + +Jane considered. "It was that day she wasn't down stairs at all, and +sent word to Dr. Callandar not to come--three days ago I think." + +"Yes, I remember. O Janie dear, it looks as if things were going to be +bad again! It must have been one of her very bad headaches. She was +probably in great pain. Of course she did not mean to throw the brush +Are you sure it was medicine she was taking?" + +"It was something in a glass," vaguely, "she was mixing it--look out, +Esther! You are spoiling your new gloves." + +The girl threw the crumpled gloves aside and drawing the child to her +knee kissed her gently. + +"It seems to me," she said slowly, "that big sister has been losing her +eyes lately. She must find them again; it isn't going to help to be a +selfish pig." + +"Help what, Esther?" + +Esther's only answer was another kiss, but when she had hurried out of +the room, Jane found something round and wet upon her hand. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVIII + + +Jane was still looking at the wet place on her hand when the doctor +entered. + +"Esther's been crying," she told him. In her voice was the awe which +children feel at the phenomenon of tears in grown-ups. + +Callandar felt his heart contract--Esther crying! But he could not +question the child. + +"I don't know why," went on Jane obligingly. "Esther's so strange +lately. Every one is strange. You are strange too. Am I strange?" + +"A little," said Callandar gravely. + +"Perhaps it's catching? Do you want mother? She is upstairs and her door +is locked. Perhaps she'll be down in a little while. She said Esther was +to stay in and entertain you, but Esther wouldn't. She has gone to a +garden party. I'll entertain you if you like." + +"That will be very nice." + +"Shall I play for you on the piano?" + +"Thanks. And you won't mind if I sit in the corner here and close my +eyes, until your mother comes?" + +"No. You may go quite to sleep if you wish. I'm not sensitive about my +playing. Bubble says you are nearly always tired now. He says you have +such a 'normous practice that you hardly ever get a wink of sleep. +That's what makes you look so kind of hollow-eyed, Bubble says." + +"So Bubble has been diagnosing my case, has he?" + +"Oh, he doesn't talk about professional cases usually. He said that +about you because Mrs. Atkins said that being engaged didn't seem to +agree with you. She said she was just as glad you didn't take a fancy to +her Gracie if prospective matteromony made you look like the dead +march in Saul." + +"Observing woman!" + +"What," resumed Jane, "is a dead march in Saul?" + +"It is a musical composition." + +Jane considered this and then dismissed it with a shrug. "It sounded as +if it was something horrid. Mrs. Atkins thinks she's smart. Anyway, I +didn't tell mother." + +"Well, suppose you run now and tell her that I am here." + +"Can't. The door is locked." + +"Then let us have some of the music you promised. I'll sit here and +wait." + +Strange to say, Jane's music was not unsoothing. She had a smooth, light +touch and the little airs she played tinkled sweetly enough from the old +piano. The weary, nerve-wrung man was more than half asleep when she +grew tired of playing and slipped off to bed without disturbing him. The +moments ticked themselves away on the big hall clock. Mrs. Coombe did +not come, nor did the doctor waken. + +He was aroused an hour later by a voice upon the veranda. It was +Esther's voice and in response to it he heard a deeper murmur, a man's +voice without doubt. There was a moment or two of low-toned talk, then +"Good-night," and the girl came in alone. + +She did not see him as she came slowly across to the table. He thought +she looked grave and sad, older too--but, so dear! With a weary gesture +she began to pull off her long gloves. + +"Who was it with you, Esther?" He tried hard to make the inquiry, so +devouringly eager, sound carelessly casual. + +She looked up with a start. + +"Oh--I didn't see you, Doctor! Mr. Macnair was with me. Did you wish to +see him?" She could play at the game of carelessness better than he. +"Where is mother?" she added quickly. + +"In her room, I think. Esther, are you going to marry Macnair?" + +The girl slipped off her second glove, blew gently into its fingers, +smoothed them and laid it with nice care upon the table beside +its fellow. + +"I do not know." + +He realised with a shock that he had expected an indignant denial. + +"You do not love him!" + +"No. Not now. He knows that. And I do not expect ever to love him. But +perhaps, after a long while, if I could make him happy--it is so +terrible not to be happy," she finished pathetically. + +Callandar could have groaned aloud; the danger was so clear. And how +could he, of all men, warn her. Yet he must try. He came quickly across +to where she stood and compelled her gaze to his. + +"Do not make that mistake, Esther! It is fatal. Try to believe that in +spite of--of everything, I am speaking disinterestedly. You are young +and the young hate suffering. You would marry him, out of pity. But I +tell you that no man's happiness comes to him that way. You will have +sacrificed yourself to no purpose. The risk is too awful. Wait. Time is +kind. You will know it, some day. But even though you do not believe it +now--wait. Wait forever, rather than marry a man to whom you cannot give +your heart." + +"That is your advice?" She spoke heavily. "You would like some day to +see me marry a man I could--love?" + +"Yes, a thousand times yes!" + +"I shall think over what you say." She was still gravely controlled but +it was a control which would not last much longer. She glanced around +the empty room with a quick caught breath. "Why are you left all alone?" + +"Is a keeper necessary?" Then, ashamed of his irritation and willing to +end a scene which threatened to make things harder for both of them, he +added in his ordinary tone, "I really do not know who is responsible for +such unparalleled neglect. Jane played me to sleep, I fancy. She said +her mother was upstairs but would be down presently. It must be late. I +had better go." + +"Wait a moment, I will see if there is any message from mother." + +As she left the room her light scarf slipped from her shoulders and fell +softly across his arm. Callandar crushed it passionately to his lips and +then, folding it carefully, laid it beside the gloves upon the table. +Even the scarf was not for him. Aunt Amy, passing through the hall on +her way upstairs, saw the dumb caress and shivered anew at the +mysterious power of "They" which could tear such a man as Callandar from +the woman he loved. + +Esther was gone only a moment and when she returned she brought with her +a change of atmosphere. Something had banished every trace of +self-consciousness from her manner. She looked anxious but it was an +anxiety with which no embarrassment mingled. + +"Doctor," she said at once, "mother seems to be ill. The door is locked +and she did not answer my knocking. Yet she is not asleep. I could hear +her talking. I think you ought to come up." + +An indescribable look flitted across the doctor's face. He looked at the +girl a moment in measuring silence and then pointed to a chair. + +"Sit down," he said briefly, "I thought that this would come. I have +been afraid of it for some time. Is it possible that you have no +suspicion at all in regard to these peculiar--illnesses--of your +mother's?" + +The startled wonder in her eyes was answer enough even without the +quick, "What do you mean?" + +Callandar's face grew gravely compassionate. "I think you ought to +know," he said. "I have put off saying anything because I was not +absolutely sure myself. And I have never had quite the right opportunity +of finding out. But I have had fears for some time now that your mother +is in the habit of taking some drug which--well, which is certainly not +good for her. Do not look so frightened. It may not be serious. Do you +remember when you first consulted me about your mother and how we both +agreed that the medicine she was taking for her nervous attacks might be +harmful? I was suspicious then, but there was little to go on, only her +fear of any one seeing the prescription, and a few general symptoms +which might be due to various causes. Since then I--I have noticed +things which have made me anxious. I think for her own sake as well as +yours and mine, the sooner the truth is known the better. Are you sure +the door is locked?" + +"Yes," the girl's voice was tense, "but the window is open. It opens on +the top of the veranda. You could enter there." + +"If that is the only way, I must take it. I thought, I hoped that if +things were as I feared she would tell me herself, but she never has. It +is useless, now, to hope for her confidence. The instinct is so strongly +for concealment. We must help her in spite of herself." + +"Hurry then! I shall wait here. You will call me if necessary?" + +She did not ask him exactly what it was that he feared nor did he tell +her, but for the first time in many weeks they were able to look at each +other as comrades look. The eruption of the old trouble into the new +obscured the latter so that, for the time at least, the sick woman +behind the locked door held first place in both their thoughts. + +It seemed to Esther that she waited a long time before the summons came. +Then she heard him call, "Esther!" It was a doctor's call, cool, +passionless, commanding. She flew up the stairs, closing Jane's door as +she hurried by. The door to her mother's room was open. It was brightly +lighted. The shade of the lamp had been removed and its garish yellow +fell full upon the bed and the strange figure which lay there. + +Mary Coombe had apparently thrown herself down fully dressed--but in +what a costume! Surely no nightmare held anything more bizarre. Esther +had no time to notice details but she remembered afterwards how the feet +were clothed in different coloured stockings and that while one +displayed a gaily buckled slipper, the other was carefully laced into a +tan walking boot. Just now she could see nothing but the face, for the +greatest shock was there. It did not look like Mary's face at all--it +was strange, old, yellow and repulsive. Her unbrushed, lustreless hair +hung about it in a dull mat, one of her hands was clutched in it--the +hand was dirty. + +A terrible thought struck every vestige of colour from Esther's cheek. +Her terrified gaze swept over the disordered room, up to the face of the +man who stood there so silently, then down again to the inert woman upon +the bed. Once, not long ago, she had seen a drunken man asleep upon the +roadside grass--like this. + +"Is it--is it drink?" The words were a whisper of horror. + +The doctor shook his head. + +"I wish it were. I wish it were only that. Have you never heard of the +drug habit--morphia, opium? That is what we have to fight--and it is +what I feared." + +"Oh!" It was a breath of relief. To Esther, who knew nothing of drugs, +or drug habits, the truth seemed less awful than the thing she +had imagined. + +"Is--is it serious?" she asked timidly. + +The doctor smiled grimly. "You will see. No need to frighten you now. +But it will be a fight from this on." He threw a light coverlet over the +helpless figure and replacing the shade on the lamp, turned down the +flaring wick. "I will tell you what I can, but at present it is very +little. Probably this began long ago, before your father's death. In the +first place there may have been a prescription--I think you said she had +had an illness in which she suffered greatly. The drug, opium in some +form probably, may have been given to reduce the pain--and continued +after need for it was gone without knowledge of its dangerous qualities. +Nervous people form the habit very quickly. Then--I am only +guessing--as the amount contained in the original prescription ceased to +produce the desired effect, she may have found out what drug it was that +her appetite craved. If she saw the danger then, it was already too +late. She could not give up voluntarily and was compelled to go on, +shutting her eyes to the inevitable consequences, if indeed she ever +clearly knew them." + +"But now that you know? It ought not to be hard to help her now that you +know. There are other drugs--" + +"Yes. There is a frying-pan and a fire. In fact I fear that she has +already tried that expedient herself. Some of the symptoms point to +cocaine. No, our best hope is in the decreasing dose with proper +auxiliary treatment. I cannot tell yet how serious the case may be. At +any rate there must be an end of the mystery. Every one in the house +must know, even Jane; for in this fight ignorance means danger. But," he +hesitated and his face grew dark, "you cannot realise what this is going +to mean. It is my burden, not yours. At least I have the right to save +you that. We must have a nurse--" + +A little eager cry burst from her. "Oh, no! Not that! You wouldn't do +that. You can't mean not to let me help." + +"You do not know--" + +"I do not care what it means. But if you won't let me help, if you shut +me out--" Her voice quivered dangerously, but with a spark of her old +fire she recovered herself. "You cannot," she added more firmly, +"because it is my burden as well as yours. Whatever she is to you, she +was my father's wife and I am responsible to him. Unless extra help is +really needed, no nurse shall take my place." + +"Very well," quietly. "Call Aunt Amy, then, and search the room. She +will sleep for a long time yet. When she wakes there must be no more of +the drug within her reach. I must find out the amount to which she has +been accustomed and arrange a decreasing dose. But if you are to be a +nurse, you know, you must expect a bad time. It will not be easy." + +Esther's reply was to call Aunt Amy and while the doctor explained to +the bewildered old lady the danger in which her niece stood and the +absolute importance of keeping all "medicine" away from her, Esther +quietly and swiftly searched the room. Boxes and drawers she unlocked +and opened, the dresser, the writing-table, the bureau, the long unused +sewing basket, all were examined without success. But in the locked box +which contained her father's portrait, she made another discovery which +woke a little throb of angry pity in her heart. There, still wrapped in +its carelessly torn off postal wrappings, lay the box containing the +ruby ring which Jessica Bremner had returned. Mary must have got it from +the post herself and had immediately hidden it, careless of the fact +that all Esther's careful savings had been necessary to make the return +possible. Without comment she slipped the ring into the bosom of +her dress. + +"Have you found anything?" + +"Nothing yet." + +Aunt Amy took a fascinated step nearer the figure on the bed. If +Callandar could have intercepted the look she cast upon it he might have +been warned of the subtle change which had taken place in her of late, +but the doctor had turned to help Esther. Aunt Amy could gaze +undisturbed. + +"She looks like Richard," said Aunt Amy suddenly. "Do you remember +Richard?" She brushed her hand over her eyes in a painful effort of +memory. "He was a bad man, a very bad man." + +"She means her brother Richard," explained Esther. "He has been dead for +ages. I believe he was not a family ornament." + +"Just like Richard," murmured Aunt Amy again with a quickly checked +chuckle. "But you ought to be glad of that. You won't have to marry her +now. You can marry Esther." + +If a shell had burst in the quiet room, it could scarcely have caused +more consternation. The doctor's stern face quivered, Esther's searching +hand dropped paralysed. Here was a danger indeed! Was their secret +really so patent? Or had it been but a vagrant guess of a clouded mind? + +Callandar recovered himself first. Without glancing at the girl he +walked quietly over to the bed and placing his hand upon Aunt Amy's +shoulder compelled wavering eyes to his. + +"Aunt Amy, you must never say that again." He spoke with the crisp +incisiveness of a master, but for once his subject did not immediately +respond. With a sulky look she tried to wrench herself free. + +"Why?" she questioned. But Callandar knew his business too +well to argue. "You must never say it again," he repeated. +"You--must--never--say--it--again!" + +The poor, weak lips began to quiver. Her own boldness had frightened her +quite as much as his vehemence. Her eyes fluttered and fell. + +"Very well, Doctor," she answered meekly. + +They searched now in silence and presently Esther emerged from the +closet with a pair of dainty slippers in her hand. + +"I think I have found something," she said. "There are three pairs of +party slippers and the toes of them are all stuffed with these." She +handed the doctor a package of innocent looking tablets done up in +purplish blue paper. + +Callandar glanced at them, shook them out and counted their number. + +"You are sure you have them all?" + +"I can find no trace of more." + +"Then I think we have a strong fight coming--but a good hope, too." + + + + +CHAPTER XXIX + + +Miss A. Milligan stood before the door of her select dressmaking +parlours, meditatively picking her teeth with a needle. We hasten to +observe that her teeth were quite clean and that this was merely a +harmless habit denoting intense mental concentration. Miss Milligan was +tall and full of figure with an elegant waist and a bust so like a +pin-cushion that it fulfilled the duties of that article admirably. Her +small bright eyes set in a wide expanse of face suggested nothing so +much as currants in an underdone bun, and just now, as she watched the +graceful figure of Mrs. Coombe, bride to be, disappear around the +corner, they gave the impression of having been poked too far in while +the bun was soft. + +The door of Miss Milligan's select parlours did not open upon the main +street, it being far from her desire to attract promiscuous trade. The +parlours, indeed, were situated upon one of the "nicest" streets in +Coombe and occupied a corner lot, so that a splendid view down two of +the most genteel residential streets was obtainable from their windows. +The only sign of business anywhere was a board of chaste design over the +doorway, bearing the simple legend, "A. MILLIGAN." Even the word +"Dressmaker" was considered superfluous. Also there was one window, near +the door, which from time to time displayed wonderfully coloured plates +of terribly twisting and elegantly elongated females purporting to be +the very latest from Paris (_France_). + +Mrs. Coombe was getting some "things" made at Miss Milligan's. It had +been rumoured at first that she had contemplated running down to Toronto +and Detroit, buying most of her trousseau there, but for some +unexplained reason the plan had been given up. Doctor Callandar, it +appeared, believed in patronising local tradesmen and had been +sufficiently ungallant to veto the Detroit visit altogether. Everybody +wondered why Mary Coombe stood it. Surely it was bad enough when a man +sets up to be a domestic tyrant after marriage. They were surprised at +Dr. Callandar--they hadn't thought it of him. + +"It is women like Mary Coombe who submit tamely to such indignities," +declared the eldest Miss Sinclair, "who have held back the emancipation +of women from the beginning of time." + +"She looks so poorly, too," agreed Miss Jessie. "I am sure she needs a +change. I should think that Esther would insist upon it." + +But Esther appeared in all things to back up Dr. Callandar. People +admitted that they were disappointed in Esther and only hoped that the +day would never come when she would be sorry. For if all the world loves +a lover, all the world is indulgent to a prospective bride and any one +could see that this particular bride was being denied her proper +privileges. Any one would think she was a child and not to be trusted +alone. Esther went with her everywhere, simply everywhere. Of course it +was sweet of Esther to be so attentive, but people didn't wonder that +her mother didn't like it. + +Such were the current comments of the town, sent out somewhat in the +nature of feelers, for behind them all, Coombe, having a very sensitive +nose for gossip, was uneasily aware that their cleverest investigators +were not yet in possession of the root of the matter. Every one seemed +to know everything, and yet--no wonder that Miss Milligan picked her +teeth in agonies of mental tumult at finding herself sole possessor of a +satisfactory explanation which she was bound in honour not to disclose. + +Mrs. Coombe had just been in. She had been having a "first fitting" and +in the privacy of the fitting room she had been perfectly frank with +Miss Milligan. She had told Miss Milligan "things." She had told her +things which would move a heart of stone, regardless of the fact that +Miss Milligan's heart was made of the softest of soft materials and beat +warmly under her spiky pin cushion. The fact that her eyes were hard and +black had nothing to do with it; mistakes in eyes occur constantly in +the best regulated families. At this very moment when her eyes were more +like currants than ever she was making up her mind that, come what +might, doctors or no doctors, she was not going to see a fellow +creature put upon. + +For, you see, Mrs. Coombe, poor little thing, had confided in Miss +Milligan. She had told her all about it, and like most mysteries, it had +turned out to be very simple. It seemed that Dr. Callandar, such a +perfectly charming man in most respects, had a most absurd prejudice +against patent medicines. This prejudice, common to the medical +profession on account of patents interfering with profits, was, in Dr. +Callandar's case, almost an obsession. Miss Milligan, being a sensible +person, knew very well that there are patents _and_ patents. Some of +them are frauds, of course, but there are others which are better than +any prescription that any doctor ever wrote. Miss Milligan did not speak +from hearsay, she had had an extensive experience the results of which +lent themselves to conversational effort. Therefore it is easy to see +how she understood and sympathised at once when Mrs. Coombe told her of +a remedy which she had found to be quite excellent but which the doctor +absolutely forbade her to use. + +"Not that he means to be inconsiderate, dear Miss Milligan, only he is +so very sure of his own point of view. Doctors have to be firm of +course. But you can see it is rather hard on me. The trouble is that I +cannot obtain the remedy I need in Coombe. It is a remedy very little +known and useful only in obscure nerve troubles. I have been in the +habit of getting it from a certain firm in Detroit, not a very +well-known firm, and now, of course, that is impossible--without +upsetting the doctor, which I hesitate to do." + +Miss Milligan was of the opinion that a little upsetting was just what +the doctor required. + +"No--o." The visitor shook her head. She could not bring her mind to it. +She would prefer to suffer herself. But did not Miss Milligan think +that, in face of such an unreasonable and violent prejudice, a little +innocent strategy might be justified? + +Miss Milligan thought so, very emphatically. + +Mrs. Coombe sighed. "I do so want to look well for the wedding, you +know. And really, nothing seems to help me like my own particular +medicine. It is hard, very hard, to be without it." + +Miss Milligan did not doubt it. It seemed, to her, a perfect shame. But +had Mrs. Coombe ever tried "Peebles' Perfect Pick-me-ups" for the +nerves? They were certainly very excellent. + +Yes. Mrs. Coombe had heard of them and no doubt they were very good for +some people. But constitutions differ so. On the whole she felt sure +that even "Peebles' Perfect Pick-me-ups" would not suit her nearly as +well as her own particular remedy. + +It was at this point that Miss Milligan stopped fitting and began to +pick her teeth, a sign, as we have before stated, of great mental +activity. If nothing would suit Mrs. Coombe but this one medicine and if +the medicine could be obtained in Detroit and if Mrs. Coombe had the +correct address--why not write for it? It was a brilliant idea, but Mrs. +Coombe shook her head. + +She had the address, naturally, and she had also thought of writing, but +it would be of no use. Esther and the doctor actually watched her mail. + +"Incredible!" + +"Oh, not in any offensive way. They did not mean to be tyrannous. They +were quite convinced that patent medicines were very injurious. But +women suffering from nerves (like yourself, dear Miss Milligan) know +that relief is often found in the least likely places and from remedies +not mentioned in the Materia Medica." + +Miss Milligan knew that very well. And people are so hard to convince. +When Mrs. Barker, over the hill, had first recommended that new +blood-purifier to Miss Milligan, Miss Milligan had laughed. But after +taking only six bottles she had thanked Mrs. Barker with tears in her +eyes. "And I must say," added she in a burst of virtuous indignation, +"that if I were going to Detroit to-morrow I would bring you back all +the patent medicine you wanted, Mrs. Coombe, and be very glad to +do it." + +This was most satisfactory save for one small fact, namely that Miss +Milligan was not going to Detroit to-morrow. Mrs. Coombe thanked her +very much and raised her arm (which shook sadly) while Miss Milligan +pinned in the underarm seam. + +"Even as it is," went on Miss Milligan, "I don't see why--a little +higher please, and turn a trifle to the light, thank you!--I don't see +why it can't be done. Nobody inspects my mail, thank heaven! and one +address is as good to a druggist as another." + +What a bright idea! Strange that it had never occurred to Mrs. Coombe to +arrange things so easily. It was very, very clever and kind of Miss +Milligan to think of it. But--people might talk! Think how upset the +doctor would be if their innocent little plot were spoken of abroad. +People are so unkind, quite horrid in fact. And as Esther and the doctor +were doing it all for her good they would naturally hate to have their +actions misunderstood. Of course, Mrs. Coombe knew that Miss Milligan +herself would never mention it to a soul. She felt quite sure of that, +still--as it did not appear how the little plot could be spread abroad +under those circumstances unless the lay-figure in the corner should +become communicative, Mrs. Coombe's sentence remained plaintively +unfinished. Miss Milligan, in spite of its being so very unnecessary, +found herself promising solemnly never to mention it. + +As the whole thing was entirely unpremeditated it seemed like a special +piece of good luck that Mrs. Coombe should have at that moment in her +pocket a note to the druggists (who were not called druggists, exactly) +and that all she needed to do was to add Miss Milligan's address, and +hand to that lady sufficient money to secure a postal note as an +enclosure. She did this very quickly and the whole little affair was +satisfactorily disposed of when Esther was seen coming hurriedly down +the street. + +"I thought," said Esther, who entered a little out of breath and with a +worried pucker between her eyes, "I thought that I would just run in and +see how the linings look." + +"You can never tell anything from linings," said Miss Milligan in an +injured tone. "Gracious! I don't suppose any one would ever want a dress +if they went by the way the linings look. I always advise my customers +never to look in the glass until I get to the material, what with seams +on the wrong side and all!" + +"There is really nothing at all to see as yet," assented Mrs. Coombe +crossly. + +Esther seated herself by the open window. + +"Very well," she said quietly. "I won't look. I'll just wait." + +Mrs. Coombe shrugged her shoulders and displaced a pin or two. There was +an injured look upon her face and Miss Milligan, replacing the pins, +wondered how it is that nice girls like Esther Coombe never see when +they're not wanted. + +The fitting went quickly forward. Mrs. Coombe seemed to have lost all +her genial expansiveness. Miss Milligan's pins had overflowed from her +pin-cushion into her mouth and Esther, who appeared tired, gazed +steadily out of the window. Only the humming of the machines in the +adjoining workroom and the subdued talk and laughter of Miss Milligan's +young ladies saved the silence from becoming oppressive. Occasionally, +when her supply of pins became exhausted, Miss Milligan would +contribute a cooing murmur to the effect that it did "set beautiful +across the shoulders" or that "the long line over the hip was +quite elegant." + +Without doubt the atmosphere had changed with the coming of Esther. Mrs. +Coombe became each moment more fidgety, she became, in fact, jerky! Her +hands twitched, her head twitched, she could not stand still and +suddenly she twitched herself out of Miss Milligan's hands altogether +and flinging herself into a chair declared that she couldn't stand any +more fitting that day. Even Miss Milligan's black currant eyes could see +that her nerves were terribly wrong--she looked ghastly, poor thing! And +all on account of a silly prejudice regarding patent medicines. + +Esther, who exhibited no surprise at her mother's sudden collapse, +helped Miss Milligan to unpin the linings. + +"My mother has been a little longer than usual without her tonic," she +calmly explained. "The other fittings can wait," and quickly, yet +without flurry, she found Mary's hat, bag, gloves and parasol and picked +up her handkerchief which she had flung upon the floor. + +Mrs. Coombe accepted these services without thanks, indulging indeed in +a little spiteful laugh which Miss Milligan obligingly attributed to her +poor nerves. Things had come to a pretty pass indeed, thought the +sympathetic dressmaker, when a grown woman is obliged to have her +medicine chosen for her like a baby. + +As she stood in the doorway watching the two ladies out of sight, a just +indignation grew within the breast so strongly fortified outside, so +vulnerable within; and without even waiting to call her giggling young +ladies to order, she pinned on her hat and departed to send Mrs. +Coombe's postal note to the Detroit druggist, who, oddly enough, was not +a druggist at all. + + + + +CHAPTER XXX + + +Esther and her step-mother set out upon their homeward walk in silence. +The older woman's face was drawn and bitter, Esther's thoughtful and +sad. Though there seemed no reason for haste, Mrs. Coombe's steps grew +constantly quicker until she was hurrying breathlessly. + +More than once the girl glanced at her anxiously as if about to speak, +yet hesitating. Then when the walk threatened to become a run she laid a +detaining hand upon her arm. + +"If you walk so very rapidly, mother, people will notice." It was the +only argument which never failed of effect. Mrs. Coombe's steps +slackened. + +"Besides," went on Esther eagerly, "every moment is a gain. Ten minutes +more will make this the longest interval yet. Don't you think you +could try...." + +"No!" + +The word was only a gasp and the face Mary turned for a moment on the +girl was livid. The eyes shone with hate. "You--you beast!" she muttered +chokingly. + +Esther turned a shade paler, but otherwise gave no sign that she had +heard. "Mother, just try, you are doing so well, so splendidly. The +doctor says ..." + +"Be quiet--be quiet! I hate him. I won't try. I won't be tortured--oh, +why can't you all leave me alone!" She began to sob and moan under her +breath, careless even of a possible passerby. Fortunately there was no +one, and they were already within sight of home. Esther, very white, +supported the shaking woman with her arm and they hurried on together. +At the door she would still have accompanied her but Mary flung herself +angrily from her hold and ran up the stairs with sudden feverish +strength. Esther turned into the living room and dropped into the +nearest chair. + +She was still sitting there without having removed either hat or gloves +when, a little later, Callandar entered. + +"Well, nurse," with a faint smile, "how are things to-day?" His quick +eye had noticed in a moment the girl's closed eyes and listless +attitude, but nothing in his tone betrayed it. + +"Very well, I think, until a little while ago. We were late in getting +home from the dressmaker's--" + +"I see. You look rather done up. The fact is you are overdoing things. +Rather foolish, don't you think?" + +"No," stubbornly. "I am all right." + +"You are exhausted and there is no need. Things are going well. The dose +is steadily diminishing, more quickly than she suspects. It looks as if +we might begin to breathe again. It is a great gain to feel reasonably +sure that she has no more of the stuff hidden anywhere. If she had, she +would have used it during that last crisis." + +The girl in the chair winced. She hated even to think of the night to +which his words referred. "Yes," she said, "but--but there won't be any +more times like that, will there?" + +"Yes," grimly. "We are not through yet. But every crisis will be a +little easier--if things go as they are going." + +Esther sighed. "It is very terrible, isn't it?" she said. "And really it +doesn't seem fair, for it wasn't her fault; in the beginning she didn't +know. And she does suffer so." + +"We must not think of it in that way. It helps more to think of the +suffering she is escaping. What she is going through now is saving her, +body and soul. It is taking her out of torment and leading her back to +life, and sanity. You don't know, but I do, and any struggle, any +suffering is mild compared to the horrors before her if she kept on. She +was taking some cocaine too. The word means nothing to you, but to a +physician it spells hell. So you see--it gives one strength." + +Esther sat up and straightened her collar. "I'm ashamed of myself," she +said. "No wonder you want another nurse. But I won't resign yet. And I +wanted to ask you--do you think it is necessary now to be with her +whenever she goes out? She hates it so. I think she is getting to hate +me, too. Where could she possibly get the stuff? None of our local +stores would sell it without a prescription." + +"I know. But in a case like this you can never be sure of anything. No, +we must not relax in the slightest. Even as it is, I am continually +afraid." He began to pace the room restlessly. "There may be a weak spot +somewhere, some loop-hole we have forgotten. I think the druggists are +safe and the mail is watched. That last supply, you are sure it was all +destroyed?" + +"Yes, I burned it. At least I gave it to Aunt Amy to burn. I couldn't +leave mother." + +"Well, let us call Aunt Amy, and make sure. I believe I am foolishly +nervous, but--" without finishing his sentence the doctor walked to the +door and waited there until Aunt Amy answered his call. + +"Auntie," said Esther, "you remember the little package I gave you that +night when mother was so ill? It was done up in purplish blue paper." + +"Yes, Esther." + +"Do you remember what you did with it, dear?" + +Aunt Amy looked frightened. + +"I--I don't know. I've a very good memory, Esther. But somehow I'm not +quite sure." + +"You will remember presently," said Callandar kindly. "We want to be +quite sure that it was destroyed. You know, I explained to you, that +Mary must take no more of that medicine. It is very dangerous...." + +"What does it do?" unexpectedly. + +"It is a kind of poison. It makes people very ill, so ill that in time +they die." + +"Mary likes it. She says it makes her nerves better and puts her to +sleep." + +"When did she say that?" + +"When she asked me if I had any." + +The doctor and the girl exchanged a quick look. + +"And you gave her some?" + +"Oh, no, I couldn't. I had burned it in the stove--I remember now." + +They both drew a breath of intense relief. But when she had left them, +Callandar looked very sober. "There, you see," he said, "was a +possibility we had overlooked." + +"Yes, and it would have been my fault. I should have made sure long ago. +It is hard to get out of the habit of taking things for granted." + +"Yet it is the one thing we must never do. In this we must trust no one, +and nothing. Then we shall win. If there is no relapse now, the worst, +the slowest part, is over. Soon you will be free, dear girl--and God +bless you forever for what you have been to her and to me." + +She answered him only with a wistful smile and when he had gone, she +sighed. She would be free soon, he said. Strange that he could not see +that it was her freedom that she dreaded. Hard as it had been, hard as +it was, there was a still harder time coming--the time when she would be +free--free, to leave forever the man she loved. + +The present with its load of duty and anxiety, the constant strain of +watching, its bearing of poor Mary's thousand ingratitudes seemed dear +and desirable when she thought of the black gulf of separation at the +end of the tortuous way. But of course he could not guess. How could he? +Men are so different from women. + +She knew, though, that she was coming to the end of her strength. Not +even the doctor guessed how great the strain of those past weeks +had been. + +When Mary had awakened to find that her secret was discovered she had +been like a mad thing. There had been rage, tears, protestations, +hysterical denials--finally confession and anguished promises. That she +had never realised the reality of her danger, nor the extent of her +servitude was plain. It seemed easy enough to promise. Esther and the +doctor were making a terrible fuss about nothing, as usual. She grew +sulky under Callandar's warnings and her fury knew no bounds when she +found that certain of her hidden stores had been confiscated. She +demanded that the supply be left in her hands; was not her +promise enough? + +But all this was before she knew what denial meant, before she realised +that the way back along the path she had trodden so easily was +thick-set with suffering; that every backward inch must be fought for +with agony and tears. Then she had broken down altogether, had raved and +pleaded. The very knowledge of the depth to which she had fallen, +threatened to send her deeper still. Callandar soon realised that if she +were to be saved it must be in spite of herself. There were but two +points of strength in her weak nature; one the newly awakened, yet +capricious passion for himself, and the other that ruling terror of her +life, which of all her inherent safeguards was the last to give way +under the assaults of the drug, namely, "What will people say?" but +neither of these, nor both of them together, could stand for a moment +before the terrible appetite when once its craving was denied. + +Twice she failed her helpers just when they were beginning to hope. In +her first search Esther had not exhausted the hiding places of the +poison and, to retain the temptation by her, Mary had lied and lied +again. Twice when the crises of her desire had come upon her she had +given way, helplessly, completely; and twice they had begun all over +again. The third time she had not been able to procure the drug, had +been compelled to fight through on the decreasing dose which the doctor +had allowed. + +No wonder Esther shuddered when she thought of that night! Yet at the +time she had stood beside the moaning woman, white and firm, when even +Callandar had staggered for a moment from the room. + +Next morning they had taken heart of hope again. Undoubtedly Mary had +exhausted the supply, and the possibility of its being replenished +seemed remote. It was only a matter of time now; of care, of +unremitting, yet gentle vigilance and Mary would be cured. The bride +could go to her husband, clean and in her right mind. And Esther +would be free. + +Strangely enough, it was Mary herself who objected to a hastening of +their remarriage. Perhaps in spite of her inevitable deterioration there +was that in her still which forbade her going to him as she was. Perhaps +it was only another and more obscure effect of the drug; some downward +instinct which made her dread the putting of herself within the circle +of her husband's strength. She would fight her fight outside. Why? Was +it because she would conquer of herself, or because she did not really +wish to conquer at all? + +To Esther, Mary's refusal came as a reprieve. But to Callandar it was +but a lengthening out of torture. Man's love must always, in its +essence, be different from woman's; though many women seem incapable of +recognising this fact. To Esther, now that she had put aside her first +half-understood glimpse of passion, it was sweet to be near him, to hear +his voice, to touch his hand and, above all, to spend her strength in +his service. But to him the strain was almost intolerable. The sight of +her, the touch of her, the whole soul-shattering nearness of her beauty +meant constant conflict; all the fiercer since it must be unsuspected. + +Willits, the only man who had been told the truth, watched the fight +with admiration, sharply touched with anxiety. Expert in the moulding of +buttons, he knew very well that Callandar was drawing rather recklessly +upon his newly acquired strength. If the tension did not slacken soon +there might be another physical breakdown, and then--Willits shrugged +his shoulders. It would be entirely too bad if this very fine button +were to be spoiled after all. His heart was sore for his friend. + +"You see," Callandar had written in one of his rare letters, "it was a +right instinct which warned me that no man escapes the consequences of +his own acts. There did come a short, golden time when I put the voice +of instinct behind me and dared to think that I, at least, had shaken +myself free. Closing the door of yesterday, I boldly knocked open the +door of to-morrow--and lo, to-morrow and yesterday were one! + +"I know, now, that even had poor Mary been dead, as I believed, the +payment would have been exacted in some other way. When my brain is +clear enough to think, I have flashes of thankfulness that payment is +permitted to take the form of expiation. I can save Mary, and I will. In +some strange and rather dreadful way her need is my salvation. + +"I have said nothing of Esther. How can I? The other day I heard Miss +Sinclair say that Esther Coombe was losing all her good looks. 'Thin as +a rail, and peeked as a pin' were the words she used. To me she has +never been so lovely. She is thinner; there are hollows in her cheeks; +her lips are no longer a thread of scarlet. The transparent lids of her +deep, wonderful eyes droop often and her hair seems to have lost its +life and hangs soft and very close to her face. I love her. I love her +as a man loves a woman, as a knight loves his lady, as a Catholic loves +the Madonna! This terrible strain must soon be over for her. I am doing +all in my power to hurry on the marriage. She is young. She is bound to +forget. When she leaves here she goes out of my life--and may God +speed her! + +"She is to go to Toronto. Lorna Sinnet has good friends there and they +will take her into their circle. She will begin to taste a fuller life, +and as her interests expand the old wound will heal. She will find +happiness yet. When Mary recovers, she and I will return to Montreal. I +am quite fit now. I feel that I can never work hard enough. Mary will +like the excitement of city life, and I rely upon you and Lorna to make +our coming as easy as possible. How is Lorna? A talk with her will be +a tonic. + +"Does not all this sound admirably lucid and sensible? I want you to see +that I am not losing my hold--that I have finally faced down the problem +of the future. And there is one thing that has come to me out of all +this, a wonderful thing; I have forgotten Fear. It seems to me that all +my life I have lived in fear. Now I am not afraid...." + +It was when Bubble was entering the post office for the purpose of +posting this letter that he met Miss Milligan, coming out. Miss Milligan +was evidently in a hurry, so great a hurry that she had not time to +question Bubble upon affairs in general as was her usual custom. Instead +she asked him to do something for her. It was a trifling service, only +to deliver to Mrs. Coombe a small postal packet which she held in +her hand. + +"It will only take you a few moments, Zerubbabel," she said. "I was +going to deliver it myself but Mrs. Stanton wants a fitting right away. +I ought not to have come down to the post at all. But I promised Mrs. +Coombe--does Dr. Callandar permit you to run messages in your +spare time?" + +"Sure," declared the youth, "only I don't get much spare time. The +doctor's terrible busy. Since we got the phone in, it's ringing all the +time! But I guess I can slip over to Mrs. Coombe's or if I see Jane I +can give the parcel to her." + +"No!" Miss Milligan seemed struck with a sudden hesitancy. "You must +not give it to Jane, you must give it to Mrs. Coombe. Dear me, I believe +I had better take it myself." + +Without listening to the boy's polite protests she hurried off again. +Bubble gazed after her with relieved astonishment. + +"Guess it must be something for the wedding," declared he, sapiently. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXI + + +The next day was the day of the Presbyterian Sunday school picnic. It +was bound to be beautiful weather, because it always was. The +Presbyterians seemed to have an understanding with Providence to that +effect. But Jane, who must have been born a sceptic, was up very early +just to see that there was no mistake. + +There was a hint, just a hint, of autumn in the air. On the window-sill +lay a golden leaf. It was the forerunner. The garden lay quiet, +brooding; the rising sun shone softly through a yellow haze. + +Jane shivered deliciously in her thin night gown. It was going to be a +perfectly glorious, scrumptious day. She leaned farther out to make sure +that the leaves of the small silver maple beneath her window were not +turned wrong side up--a sure sign of rain. And as she looked, she +noticed a curious thing--the side door was open. + +Somebody else must be up. If it were Esther, Jane decided that she would +call "Boo" very loudly and surprise her; but it was her mother and not +Esther who came out of the open door. Jane drew back, watching through +the curtains. She thought her mother looked very pretty in her dressing +gown with her hair down and her bare feet thrust into pink satin mules. +It was a pity, Jane thought, that she wasn't as nice as she looked. And +how curiously she was acting. She was actually climbing up the little +ladder which led to the bird house by the side of the lawn. Jane knew +there was nothing at all in the bird house, for she herself had placed +the ladder there the day before. Whatever was she doing? Jane giggled, +for one of Mary's slippers had fallen off leaving her foot bare. But she +didn't seem to care. She was putting her hand far into the bird house. +Jane watched the hand carefully to see what it might bring out. But it +came out empty. Mary hurriedly climbed down the ladder, picked up her +slipper, glanced quickly around the empty garden and ran back into the +house closing the door without a sound. + +Jane was puzzled. What had her mother hoped to find in the bird house? +She crept back into bed, wondering, and just as she was slipping off to +sleep, the solution came. "She was hiding something," thought Jane, +sleepily, "and when I get up I'll find out what it is." + +Little things are the levers which move the big things of life. Had it +been any other day save the day of the picnic, Jane would certainly have +found out what Mary hid in the bird house and many things might have +been different. But there was so much to do that morning and Ann and +Bubble came over before Jane finished breakfast so that in the +delightful hurry of getting ready and packing baskets, she forgot +all about it. + +There was a disappointment, too, at the last moment, for just when they +were all ready and the doctor had come with the motor, Mrs. Coombe +decided that she really did not feel equal to going and that meant that +Esther had to stay behind. Jane showed signs of tears. Ann and Bubble +protested volubly. Even the doctor did his best to change +Mary's decision. + +"You really ought to come, Mary," he said, "the drive alone will do you +good, and if you get tired of it, I can bring you home early." He looked +at her rather anxiously as he spoke but she did not seem ill. She looked +better than usual for her eyes were brighter and her face was +faintly flushed. + +"No, I won't come to-day. I'm tired. There is not the slightest need for +Esther to stay. I am going to stay in my room with a good book." + +"Oh, Esther, do come! Oh, Esther, you promised!" Thus Ann and Bubble, +while Jane pulled at her frock. + +Mary looked on with a slightly acid smile. The doctor drew her aside. + +"Won't you come?" he asked patiently. "You see how disappointed the +children are." + +"Yes, about Esther. And Esther does not need to stay. It's absurd. Are +you never going to trust me?" + +"You know it isn't you that we distrust. It is something stronger than +you, or any of us. Mary, be patient, just a little longer. You want to +be free, don't you?" + +She hid the glitter in her eyes, against his coat. "Yes, of course. Only +don't ask me to go to-day. It excites me. I want to be quiet." + +"Very well, and you promise--" + +"Yes, I'll promise anything. And if Esther stays I'll be decent to her. +Though why you bother about her so much, I don't see. She is nothing +to you." + +"She is very much to you," sternly. + +"Yes--a spy! Oh, well, don't let's quarrel. Be sure to be back early for +the supper party to-night. Mr. Macnair and Annabel are invited. You can +bring them with you in the motor. It is just as well Esther isn't +going. There'll be lots of little things to attend to." + +"That's settled then." Knowing that further persuasion was useless, he +kissed her and turned to quiet the eager children. + + * * * * * + +Almost she held her breath as she watched him go. Her small hands +twisted, a pulse beat visibly in her temple, her lips worked, she shook +from head to foot. Nevertheless she stood there, controlling herself, +until the motor horn had honked its farewell to a chorus of children's +laughter. Then, as one released from some desperate strain, she turned +and fled to her room.... + +"Mother!" Esther came in slowly, unpinning her hat. There was no answer +to her call. But she had not expected any. In her sulky moods Mrs. +Coombe often went for days without speaking to her step-daughter. When +the girl saw that she had gone to her room she was rather relieved than +otherwise; it meant at least a peaceful afternoon. Mary, in her room, +was considered safe and all that Esther need do was to be ready in order +to accompany her if she decided to go out. + +She was not disappointed at missing the picnic. It was getting rather +hard to be gay. And it would be nice to have everything ready when the +party returned. + +It was a quietly beautiful afternoon and as the girl went about her +simple tasks she was not unhappy. Already she was learning the great +lesson which many more fortunate lovers miss, that the rarest fragrance +of love lies in its bestowal. That is why love is of all things most +securely ours. + +Once she called up to the blowing curtains of Mrs. Coombe's window. + +"Mother, won't you come and help me with the flowers?" But no hand +pushed the curtain aside, nor did she receive any answer. Perhaps Mary +was really asleep. In that case she was sure to be amiable at +supper time. + +Everything was daintily ready and Esther had had time to slip on her +prettiest frock when the "honk" of the returning motor brought a faint +colour into her pale cheeks. + +"Dear me, you've got quite a colour, Esther," said Miss Annabel Macnair +in a slightly injured voice. She had come intending to tell Esther how +badly she was looking and to recommend a tonic. + +"I don't see why you didn't come to the picnic." + +"Oh, Esther," Jane's plain little face was radiant, "you missed it! It +was the nicest picnic yet. I won one race and Bubble won another, and +Ann won't speak to either of us. She says she hates her aunt because +she'd have won a race too if she hadn't had so much starch in her +petticoats. But Mrs. Sykes says she wouldn't be a mite surprised if Ann +has a bad heart--not a wicked heart, just a bad one, the kind that makes +you drop down dead. Some of Ann's folks died of bad hearts, Mrs. Sykes +says. But the doctor says it's all nonsense. He agreed with Ann that it +wasn't anything but petticoats--Oh, say! how pretty the table looks. Did +mother say you could use the best china?" + +"Seeing that it's Esther's china on her own mother's side, I guess she +can use it if she likes," said Aunt Amy, mildly belligerent. "I thought +you might want to set the table before we got home, Esther, and I was so +afraid you might forget and use the sprigged tea set. But the doctor +said you'd be sure not to." + +"That's one of her queer notions, I suppose?" said Miss Annabel in a +stage whisper plainly heard by every one. "How odd! Can you come +upstairs with me, Esther? I want to speak to you most particularly and I +haven't seen you for ages. + +"Not that I haven't tried," she continued in her jerky way as they went +up the stairs together; "but you seem to be always with your mother. +Going to lose her soon. Natural enough. I said to Mrs. Miller, 'There's +real devotion.' Possible to overdo it though. Marriage is terribly +trying. For relatives. But long engagements are worse. How was it you +didn't get to the picnic?" + +Esther murmured that she hadn't quite felt like going to the picnic. + +"Well, you didn't miss much. Even Angus wasn't as cheerful as usual. +Inclined to be moody. And that brings me to what I wanted to tell you. +Remember that last time you had lunch with us?" + +"Yes." + +"Remember me saying that I never ask questions, but that I always find +out? Well--I have." + +"Have what?" asked Esther, who had not been following. + +"Found out. Found out what is the matter with my brother. Exactly what I +thought. He is the victim of an unhappy attachment. Unreciprocated!" + +"But--" + +"You remember you laughed at me, Esther. Suggested liver. And when I +mentioned your mother you almost convinced me that I was wrong. Although +I am never wrong. It _is_ your mother, Esther. My poor brother, +brokenhearted, quite--utterly!" + +This was so amazing that Esther waited for more. + +"I suppose he felt certain of her until Dr. Callandar stepped in. Could +hardly believe it. When I told him of your mother's reputed engagement +he was not in the least disturbed. Said 'Pshaw!' Couldn't imagine such a +possibility. I said, 'I assure you it is the truth, Angus,' and he +merely remarked, 'Well, what if it is?' in a most matter of fact way. +Quite calm!" + +"And you think--" + +"My dear, I am sure. All put on. To deceive me. Although I never am +deceived. So I waited. And then one night last week I happened to get +home from a business session of the Ladies' Aid, early. I went in +quietly. Angus was in his study, without a light, but the door was a +little bit open, and I could hear his voice quite plainly. He was +praying--" + +"Oh, please--" + +"My dear, I couldn't help hearing. I didn't listen. I was rooted to the +spot. Positively! He--" + +"You must not tell me, Miss Annabel, I won't listen." + +"Very well, my dear. Perhaps you are right. Couldn't tell you his very +words anyway. I cannot remember them. He was very eloquent, terribly +worked up! And he was praying for Her. That's what he called your +mother, just Her. It sounded almost--almost popish, you know! Then +suddenly he stopped as if something had cut him off--sharp. There was a +silence. So long I began to be frightened and then he cried out loud, +'Not for me! Not for me!' It was dreadful! But it proves my point, I +think. Why, my dear, whatever is the matter?" + +Esther, leaning against the window frame, was sobbing weakly. + +"Dear me! I had no idea you would feel it so badly. Take a sip of +water--do!" + +Esther struggled to regain her self-control. + +"It seems so--sad," she faltered. + +"Yes, of course. It is sad. And I have great sympathy with my poor +brother," went on Miss Annabel pinning down her hair net. "But do you +know, I sometimes think," she hesitated and a slow blush arose in her +middle-aged cheek, "I sometimes think that people in love aren't to be +pitied after all. Though it is hardly a thought to express to a young +girl like you. + +"You know," she went on awkwardly as Esther still made no remark, "they +feel a great deal, of course, but it must be so very _interesting_. A +little cold cream for my nose, Esther. If I leave it until I get home I +shall certainly peel." + +Esther provided the cream and a powder puff. She felt sick at heart. Her +calmer world of the afternoon burst like a bubble leaving only a tear +behind. The vision of Angus Macnair in the dark study reaching out +frantic hands for the thing he knew could never be his, seemed a last +touch of unendurable irony. Surely some one, somewhere, must be moved to +dreadful mirth at these blunders of the fates. From the echo of such +laughter commonplace was the only refuge. Esther bathed her eyes and +called to Jane to let her mother know that supper was ready. + +The sounds of the child's cheerful tattoos upon Mrs. Coombe's door +accompanied them down the stairs, but when they had waited a few +minutes, Jane came quietly into the room alone. + +"Mother doesn't answer me, Esther." + +Miss Annabel looked surprised, then curious. Esther felt her face flame. +It was really too bad of Mary to make things so much harder than she +need. Her refusal to answer could only mean that she had determined to +be thoroughly disagreeable; and with company in the house. But her +annoyance was abruptly checked by the effect of the news upon the +doctor. It was not annoyance she read in his eyes. It was dismay. With a +murmured sentence, which may or may not have been excuse, he turned +from the room. + +"I am so sorry," explained Esther smoothly. "Mother is not at all well, +one of her old headaches. The doctor has gone up to see if he can be +of any use." + +Miss Annabel shook her head gloomily. "Mark my words," she said, "your +mother ought to take those headaches of hers more seriously. A headache +seems a little thing, but I know of a case--" + +With Esther's sympathetic encouragement the good lady launched upon a +recital of melancholy happenings more or less connected with headaches +which occupied her attention very pleasantly and prevented any one else +from saying anything until the return of the awaited guest. He came in +looking as usual and bearing an apology from the hostess for her sudden +indisposition. "Nothing at all serious," he added lightly. "It is +possible that she may join us later." But it was noticeable that as he +spoke he did not look at Esther nor could her anxious glance read the +impassive sternness of his face. + +It was not a successful meal. In spite of the pretty table, the dainty +food, the well kept up fire of conversation, the beautiful evening out +of doors, the softly shaded light inside, from first to last the supper +was a nightmare. Of what avail the careful pretence that nothing was +wrong? A very miasma of dread enveloped that table, a thing so palpable +that Miss Annabel found herself starting at a sound, the minister's +ready tongue faltered on a favourite phrase, Esther's clear voice grew +blurred, Aunt Amy wrung her hands, Jane's eyes were wide with +unchildlike care. Only Callandar seemed undisturbed, courteous, +interested. + +It was a relief to them all when after an uncomfortable half-hour with +coffee on the veranda the minister suddenly remembered a forgotten +committee meeting and hurried Miss Annabel away with half her parting +words unspoken. The doctor, still courteous and interested, walked down +with them to the gate. He would wait, he said, a little longer to see +how Mrs. Coombe found herself. Esther carried off a subdued and silent +Jane to bed. + +"Esther," whispered Jane as her sister bent to kiss her, "why do lovely, +lovely days always end so badly?" + +"They don't, Janie." + +The child sighed. "Mine do. I never had a perfect day in all my life." + +"You will have. Every one has perfect days--sometime." + +"Have you, Esther?" + +"Yes, dear." + +Jane looked up sleepily. "Perhaps mine will come to-morrow!" + +Esther went slowly down stairs and out into the garden. Callandar was +coming up the path from the gate. He walked slowly. When they met, he no +longer avoided her glance. + +"Well?" She had no need to ask. Yet she did ask, falteringly. + +"We have failed," he said briefly. + +The quiet hopelessness of his voice left no room for argument. Esther +opened her lips to protest, but found nothing to say. + +"She has outwitted us," he went on. "How? who can say? They have the +cunning of the devil! There is only one thing to do now. Only one way--" + +"You mean?--" + +"The wedding must take place at once. I suppose the farce is really +necessary. But there must be no more delay. Only the unsparing use of a +husband's authority can save her now. I shall take her away. I must be +with her day and night. In France there is a place I know, beautiful, +isolated. I shall take her there. If all else fails there is the +treatment of hypnotic suggestion. But--I shall not fail, I dare not!" + +Blindly she put out her hand--he clasped it gently--yet not as if he +knew whose hand it was. Then, laying it aside, he passed by, and, +leaving her sobbing in the dusk, went on into the house and up the +stairs to the closed room. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXII + + +It became quickly known in Coombe that, owing to Mrs. Coombe's delicate +health, the wedding would take place much sooner than had been expected. +A sea voyage, it was conceded, was the necessary thing and as Dr. +Callandar would not allow his fiancee to go away alone it seemed only +fair that he should make haste to go with her. Comment on all these +points was much more restrained than usual because, just at this time, +Coombe withstood the shock of finding out that Dr. Callandar was no less +than Dr. Henry Chedridge Callandar of Montreal. No, not his brother, nor +his cousin, but the man himself! + +Of course Coombe had suspected this all along. Never for a moment had it +been really deceived. Over and over again it had said: "My dear, that +young man is not a mere local practitioner, mark my words!" From the +first, Coombe had observed the marks of true distinction in him. He was +so odd! He seemed to care nothing at all for appearances, and, as +everybody knows, this comfortable attitude of mind is the privilege of +the famous few. Besides, there was the matter of the marriage. Coombe +had been right in thinking that Mary Coombe had not gone into the matter +blindfold. She had known very well upon which side her bread was +buttered, and as to her giving way to his whims in the absurd way she +did--that, too, was understandable under the circumstances. + +What puzzled Coombe, now, was how she had managed it. She was not +pretty, at least not very pretty. She was not young, at least only +comparatively young. And goodness knows, she was not clever! Hardly a +mother in Coombe but had at least one daughter prettier, younger and +cleverer; a daughter, in fact, who could give Mary Coombe aces and kings +and still win out. Why had the doctor not been attached to one of these? +It was incomprehensible. Even if, through a misplaced devotion to his +profession, he had determined to marry into a doctor's family--there was +Esther! Esther Coombe was a fine girl and quite nice looking before she +had begun to "go off." Even as it was she had more to recommend her than +her step-mother. There seemed to be a general impression that all men +are fools. + +"If they would only let some woman with sense choose their wives for +them," declared the eldest Miss Sinclair in a burst of confidence, "they +might get along fairly well. But if ever a man gets married to the right +woman, it happens by accident." + +Nevertheless, at a special meeting of the Ladies' Aid, called for the +purpose, it was decided to give the bride a present. They had not +intended to do it for fear of establishing a precedent. But when it came +out who Dr. Callandar was, it hardly seemed right to let one of their +best known members go from them to a more exalted sphere in a city +(which many of them might, from time to time, feel inclined to visit) +without showing her by some small token how very highly she was held in +their regard. Every one could see the sense of this and the vote was +unanimous. In regard to the nature of the gift there was more diversity +of opinion, but it was finally decided that, as the value of this kind +of thing lies not in the gift but in the spirit of the giving, a brown +jar with the word "Biscuits" in silver lettering would do very well. +Carving knives were thought of but as Mrs. Atkins very fitly said, +"Everybody is sure to give carving knives"--a phenomenon which all the +ladies accepted as a commonplace. + +Of the prospective bride herself, Coombe saw little. She remained very +much at home. She had lost much of her spasmodic energy, was inclined to +be moody and even rude. Her state of health accounted naturally for this +and also for the arrival of a new inmate at the Elms, a cool and capable +looking person who was discovered, after much amazed enquiry, to be a +trained nurse. Not a hospital nurse exactly but a kind of special nurse +whose duties included massage, and the giving of certain baths and +things which the doctor thought strengthening. Her name was Miss Philps. +Coombe never got behind that. No one could ever boast that she knew more +of Miss Philps than her name. She was, and remains to this day, +a mystery. + +There are people like that, although this was Coombe's first experience +of one. Miss Philps was not a recluse. Everywhere Mrs. Coombe went, Miss +Philps went too. Even Esther was not more assiduous in her attentions. +She was not a silent person either, far from it. She bubbled over with +precise and cheerful comment, she appeared to talk even more than was +absolutely necessary and it was only upon her departure that her +entertainers noticed that she had said nothing at all. A very baffling +person to deal with. Coombe could not manage to "take to" her at all and +great sympathy was felt for Mrs. Coombe when she was reported to have +said to Miss Milligan that going out with Miss Philps felt exactly like +a jail delivery--whatever that might be! + +But if Miss Philps was not appreciated at large it was different in her +own immediate circle. She had not been at the Elms a day before Esther +recognised the doctor's wisdom in getting her. She was discreet, +capable, kindly. The burden upon the girl's shoulders grew momentarily +lighter. Miss Philps, with her matter of fact cheeriness, her strength +and her experience, was exactly what that house of overstrained +nerves needed. + +"Dear me," she said, "you're all as fidgety as corn in a popper. And no +need for it. I've nursed dozens worse than your mother, Miss Esther, and +had them right as a trivet before I got through. As long as we can keep +her hands off the stuff--and that's what I'm here for. So don't worry!" + +Esther drew a deep breath. It was certainly good to feel the strain +lifting, to have time for dreams again. The time was so pitifully short +now. Two more weeks and she would leave Coombe behind her. The old life +would be definitely over and done with. Looking back, she could see that +it had been a happy life, and the future looked so dark. In youth, all +life's happenings seem so terribly final. Every parting feels like a +parting forever. Esther felt quite sure that she would never return +to Coombe. + +In the week before the wedding, freed from her continual attendance upon +her mother, she unobtrusively paid farewell to all her old haunts and +favourite places. It was a sweet sadness. She did not taste the sweet, +but it was there. As one grows older, one does not linger over sad +moments. It is because the sweet has vanished, only the bitter remains. +But in untried youth sadness has a touch of beauty, a glamour of +romance which shrouds its deepest pain. It is as if something within us, +infinitely wise, were smiling, knowing well that for the young there is +always to-morrow. + +The maple by the schoolhouse turned early that year. When Esther, in her +pilgrimage, came to say good-bye it welcomed her with all the glory of +autumn. Against its greener brothers it stood out, naming, defiant. +Beside it, the red pump seemed no longer red. Red and yellow, its +falling leaves tossed themselves into the girl's lap as she sat upon the +porch steps. It is almost certain that, as Esther gathered them, she +compared her sad heart to a leaf which had fluttered from the tree of +happy life. There seemed no outlook for her. She could not see through +winter into spring. + +The school children with their new teacher (whom Esther could not help +but feel was sadly incompetent) had all gone home and it was very quiet +on the porch steps. She closed her eyes and dreamed and clearly through +her dream she heard, as she had heard that first morning in early +summer, a determinedly cheerful, yet husky, voice singing. Some one was +coming down the hill. + + "From Wimbleton to Wombleton is fifteen miles; + From Wombleton to Wimbleton is fifteen miles; + From Wimbleton to Wombleton, from Wombleton to Wimbleton, + From Wimbleton to Wombleton,--" + +The song trailed off into silence as it had done before. The girl's +closed eyes smarted with tears--"Oh, it is a very long way!" she +murmured, and burying her face in fallen leaves she felt that at last +she knew the meaning of despair. + +But though his voice had echoed through Esther's dream, Callandar was +not on the long hill nor anywhere near it. Unlike Esther, he paid no +farewells during these last days. He avoided the hill particularly and +drove past the schoolhouse seldom and always at top speed. If the sight +of the turning maples moved him at all it was not because he compared +his lost happiness to a fallen leaf. Callandar was long past such gentle +sadnesses as these. Every day he filled as full of work as possible. He +walked far and hard in hope of tiring himself into dreamless sleep at +night. And every day his face grew older, greyer, more sternly set. + +At the very last, and as if inspired by some special imp of the +perverse, Mary declared that she must have a church wedding. Opposition +was useless. With all the distorted force of her drug-ridden brain, she +desired this one thing. She wept, she coaxed, she raved. Every woman, +she stormed, had a right to a proper wedding. She had always been +cheated, she had been a pawn shoved about at the bidding of others, her +own wishes never consulted. Was there any reason, any reason at all, why +she should not be properly married in the church? + +He ventured quietly to remind her that there were peculiar circumstances +in the case. But she burst out at that. He was ashamed of her. Ashamed +of his own wife. If there were peculiar circumstances whose fault were +they? Not hers, surely? Would she be where she was now if he had not +neglected her all those years? Anyway, peculiar circumstances or not, +she would be married decently or she would not be married at all. + +With set lips, the doctor gave in. Opposition maddened her, and, after +all, one farce more or less could not matter much. + +"Very well," he said, "make your own arrangements." + +Immediately, Mary became amiable. She was quite polite to Miss Philps, +almost pleasant to Esther. Into the preparations for the wedding she +entered with some of her old spasmodic energy. The occasion, she +determined, should be a talked of one in Coombe. She made plans, a fresh +one every day, and talked of them continually. + +Only--there was one plan of which she did not speak. There was one +unsaid thing which matured quietly, covered by the noise of much +talking. Yet this plan more than any other would have to do with the +success of her last appearance in Coombe. It would be foolish indeed, +she decided, to let any promise, however well-meant, stand in the way of +this success. She could not, and would not, face a crowded church +feeling as she felt now. That was absurd! She would need some little +stimulant to help her carry it off. A very slightly increased dose would +do it. Only sufficient to banish that horrible craving, to give her a +long, satisfying sleep and then just a touch more, very little, to brace +her in the morning. Enough to send warm tingling thrills of well being +through her tired body, to brighten her eyes, to clear her brain and +steady her shaking nerves--to make her young again, young and a bride. + +Only this once! Never again. + +Of what use to continue the sophistries which justified her treachery to +herself! Perhaps of the three it was she who suffered most during that +last week. She lived in an agony of anticipation, a hell of desire for +which a sane pen has no description. Yet no one must suspect that she +anticipated or desired anything--not the cool-eyed Miss Philps, not +Esther, not the doctor, not even Jane. The mask must not slip for one +single moment. So far, they suspected nothing; but they were always on +their guard, always. A careless look, an unconsidered movement might +betray her, and then--! She raved in her room sometimes when she thought +of a possible balking of her purpose. + +She was very clever. She still had self-control when it was necessary to +have it in the furtherance of the one devouring passion. Only when she +was quite alone did she ever give way. The doctor thought her +wonderfully docile and took heart of hope. A month or two alone with her +in Prance and all would be well. In the meantime, patience! Naturally +she was full of childish whims. He smiled at her indulgently when she +asked him to request Miss Philps to stay outside of the fitting room at +Miss Milligan's. "For you know," she said, "it is bad luck, very bad +luck, for any person to see one, in one's wedding gown before the proper +time. And anyway," the grey eyes filled with easy tears, "I'm sure it +isn't good for me never to be trusted, not even with silly Miss +Milligan." + +The plea seemed genuine. It was like Mary to be concerned about the +wedding-dress superstition. And what possible danger could there be? +Miss Milligan in all probability had never heard the fatal names of +opium and cocaine save as unpleasant things associated with Chinese and +tooth-drawing. It was absurd to imagine Mary coming to harm there. + +From this you will see that, upon the occasion of the last discovery, +Mary had lied desperately and well. The "cache" in the bird-house had +been found, but Miss Milligan's name had never been connected in the +most remote way with that relapse. Mary had sworn that the new supply +had not been new at all but had formed part of an old cache which she +had hidden, in a place which even she had forgotten, all quite +accidentally. And although many supplementary enquiries were made, the +real truth had remained undiscovered. + +So in the simplest way in the world, Mary secured several uninterrupted +"fittings" with Miss Milligan while the excellent Miss Philps sat +without and waited. + +"This is positively the last time I shall have to trouble you, dear Miss +Milligan," said her customer sweetly. "Of course, as soon as we are +married, I am going to tell Dr. Callandar all about it and when he sees +how very much better my medicine has made me, he will be quite ready to +withdraw his objections. In the meantime I am sure you feel, as I do, +that our little ruse has been quite justifiable!" + +Miss Milligan did. She felt quite proud of her part in it. It is +something to help a fellow woman and still more to get the better of a +fellow man. Especially such a celebrated man as Dr. Callandar! She would +order the fresh supply at once, that very afternoon, by the first mail. +And as soon as the packet came she would see that Mrs. Coombe had it in +person. "There is certain to be a few last touches necessary to the +dress after it has been sent home," she remarked with a smile of truly +Machiavellian subtlety. + +"Yes!" said Mary. "That night--after the dress comes home!" She spoke +sharply, unnaturally. Her face turned a dull, pasty white. She shook so +that Miss Milligan was thoroughly frightened. But presently she +controlled herself and forced a pathetic smile. + +"You see, dear Miss Milligan, how much I need it." + +"Indeed a blind bat could see that!" said the dressmaker pityingly. +"Shall I call the nurse?" + +But Mrs. Coombe would not hear of Miss Milligan calling the nurse! + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIII + + +It is the onlooker who sees most of the game and Aunt Amy was an ideal +onlooker. Always self-effacing and silent, she was now more silent and +self-effacing still. Consequently the principal actors tended to forget +their parts when in her presence. No one explained anything to Aunt Amy +but no one concealed anything from her. She simply "didn't matter." So +far as the playing out of the little drama was concerned, Aunt Amy was +supposed to be safely off the stage. She looked and listened, had her +strange flashes of psychic insight and came to her own conclusions about +it all, quite undisturbed by facts as they appeared to others. Her +conclusions were very simple. Esther loved the doctor. The doctor loved +Esther. That, in spite of this, Callandar was deliberately planning to +marry Mary she considered a purely arbitrary matter arranged by those +mysteriously malignant powers known as "They." Callandar, himself, had +clearly no choice, Esther was helpless, and Mary triumphed easily and +inevitably because Mary was one of "Them" herself. Aunt Amy had become +firmly convinced of this latter fact. Everything went to prove it--the +theft of the ring, the threat to shut her (Amy) up, the easy triumph +over Esther, and a thousand and one trifles all "confirmation strong as +proofs of holy writ." Of course it would be impossible to make this +clear to Esther or the doctor. Amy realised that and did not try. But in +her own mind she thought of it continually. And her little pile of proof +mounted higher day by day. + +Esther, absorbed in the care of her step-mother, was not even aware that +Aunt Amy noticed her growing listlessness, her heavy eyes, her fits of +brooding. She did not know that a silent foot paused before her closed +door, listening. All she knew was that it was relief unspeakable to be +with Aunt Amy, to let drop the mask of cheerful energy without fear of +questioning or of wonder. Aunt Amy didn't matter. + +Mary, too, felt that it was needless to hoodwink Amy. No need to pretend +with her. She might show herself as irritable, as conscienceless, as +nerve-racked and disagreeable as she chose without fear of displaying +"symptoms." Aunt Amy was not looking for symptoms, indeed Mary thought +she grew more stupid daily. After her marriage something would really +have to be done about Amy. She hoped the doctor wouldn't be silly +about it. + +Even Dr. Callandar was not careful to hide his burden from those faded +eyes. He was more self-conscious even with Ann or Bubble than he was +with her. What matter if she did see his mouth harden or his eyes +burn?--Poor Aunt Amy, such things could have no meaning for her. She was +a soul apart. + +A soul apart indeed, how far apart none of them quite realised; yet near +enough to love--and hate. As the days went by and Esther drooped like a +graceful plant athirst for water there grew in Aunt Amy's twisted brain +a slow corroding anger. The timid, bitter anger of a weak nature which +is often more deadly than the lordly passion of the strong. + +If she could only do something. If she could only outwit "Them"! She +would do anything at all, if she could only find the thing to do. It was +terrible to be so helpless. It was maddening to have to be so careful. +Yet careful she must be, she never forgot that. Often as she went about +the house or stood in the sunny kitchen rolling out her flaky pie-crust, +she pondered over ways and means. But none seemed suitable. Some of her +plans were fantastic to a degree, but she always had sense enough to +reject them in the end. In her planning she was conscious of no sense of +right or wrong but only of suitability. There could be no question of +right or wrong in dealing with "Them." They were outside the pale. No. +What she wanted was something simple and effective. A little poison, +now--in a pie? But Amy knew nothing of poison, nor how to obtain any, +nor how to use it effectively in a pie when once obtained. She might +consult the doctor perhaps? But something warned Aunt Amy that the +doctor would not take kindly to the idea of a little poison in a pie. So +this beautiful scheme had to be given up. She sighed. + +"What a big sigh, Auntie!" Esther, who was sitting at the table peeling +apples, looked up questioningly. "A penny for your thoughts." + +A look of cunning came over Aunt Amy's face. And instead of speaking her +real thoughts she said, "I was thinking of weddings, Esther." + +"But why the sigh?" + +"I don't like weddings. Once there was a young girl going to be married. +She was very happy. She was so happy that she was afraid to look at her +own face in the glass. And it was eleven o'clock on Tuesday. I mean she +was waiting for eleven o'clock on Tuesday. She was to be married then. +But just one minute before the time, something happened--the clock +stopped, I think. Anyway eleven o'clock on Tuesday never came. So she +could not get married. And she grew old and her flowers fell to pieces. +It was very sad." + +"Poor Auntie!" + +Aunt Amy moved uneasily. "Do you know who the girl was, Esther?" + +"Don't you know, Auntie?" + +"No, that is, I am never sure. Sometimes I think I used to know her. But +she's gone. I never see her now. I'd like to find her if I could." + +"You will find her some day, Auntie. Try not to fret about it." + +It was seldom indeed that Aunt Amy spoke even thus vaguely of that other +self of hers which she had lost in the tragedy of her youth. Esther's +heart was full of pity as she listened. What was her own trouble +compared to this? She at least would have her memories. + +"There is just one chance," went on Aunt Amy, now gently excited. She +had never spoken of this chance before but she felt that Esther might +like to hear of it. "Just one chance! You see, the world being +round--the world is round, isn't it, Esther?" + +"Yes." + +"Well, the world being round there is a chance that, if she waits long +enough, eleven o'clock on Tuesday may come around again. Then if she is +ready and if she has the ring he gave her, the red ring, and if they are +both very quick they may be married after all." + +"Oh, Aunt Amy, _dear_! That is why you love the ruby ring?" + +But the old lady's memory was clouding again. She looked bewildered and +would say no more. Esther kissed her with new tenderness. "I am so glad +you have it safely back," she whispered. "You need never be afraid of +losing it again." + +Aunt Amy found it hard to make the pies that morning. She was enveloped +in a deep sadness, a sadness which in some misunderstood way seemed +inseparable from the idea of that lost friend of hers, the girl-bride +whose marriage hour had never struck. It seemed to Aunt Amy that the +girl had been waiting a very long time and was tired. Even if the world +were round, it was a very big world and eleven o'clock on Tuesday took a +wearisome time to travel around it. She could not understand why she +should feel so terribly sorry for the waiting girl, but she did. A hot +tear fell into the pie-crust. That would never do! The pie-maker +furtively dried her eyes and came back to the consideration of more +immediate problems. + +It may seem strange that no one noticed the morbid state of Aunt Amy at +this time. But it would have been more strange if any one had noticed +it. Of outward signs there were practically none. Even the silent +hand-wringing had ceased. She ceased to rebuke Jane for stepping upon +the third stair; she ceased to talk of the peculiarities inherent in +sprigged china. She was more and more careful not to mention "Them," +and, as always, her housekeeping was a wonder and a delight. + +She even offered to make Mary's wedding-cake. An offer which Mary +received graciously. No one could make fruit cake like Aunt Amy and if +it proved too big for the house oven the baker could bake it in his. +Jane was delighted. She told Bubble that it was to be a "hugeous" cake, +the like of which was never seen in Coombe and she defied Ann to produce +any relative or ancestor whatever whose wedding-cake had even faintly +approached such dimensions. Ann retorted that big wedding-cakes were +vulgar and that her Aunt Sykes did not think it proper for a widow woman +to have a wedding-cake at all. + +The making of the cake was a great mental help to Aunt Amy. It seemed to +ease her mind and aid her to think clearly. She thought of many things +as she prepared the materials, made most clever plans. That all the +plans had to do with the preventing of the marriage and the final +circumventing of "Them" goes without saying. There was one especially +good plan which came to her while she stoned the raisins. Still another, +while the currants were being looked over, and a third, more brilliant +than either, while she chopped the candied peel. The trouble was that +when she came to mix all her ingredients into the batter, her plans +began to mix up too, until all was hopeless confusion. It was most +disheartening! And the wedding, now, only a few days off. She wanted to +go away into a corner and wring her hands, but if she did, some one +might notice--and then "They" would have the chance they were looking +for. Aunt Amy was too clever for that! + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIV + + +The day before the wedding, the wedding dress came home. No one had seen +it. Mary's superstition in regard to this point was indulgently smiled +at by everybody. + +"But hadn't I better see it on you just once," suggested Esther. "Some +trifle may have been forgotten and a missing hook and eye might spoil +the effect of the whole thing." + +"Oh, I have thought of that. Miss Milligan is going to run in after +supper to see that everything is right. Then if anything is needed she +can attend to it at once. Of course, it doesn't matter about Miss +Milligan seeing it--for bad luck I mean." + +"How about me?" asked Callandar, smiling. + +"You!" with a playful shriek, "you would be worse than anybody. You +would hoodoo it entirely!" + +"How about little girls?" asked Jane coaxingly. + +Mary turned suddenly peevish. "Don't bother me, Jane. I shall not let +any one see it and that's enough." But their combined suggestions had +disturbed her, and it was only upon their serious assurance that of +course her wishes would be respected that her amiability returned. + +Yet it was apparent that she felt rather worried about the dress herself +for she had worked herself into a small fever of nervous anxiety before +the promised appearance of Miss Milligan for the last fitting. When at +last that lady arrived, a trifle late, and very much out of breath, Mary +would hardly let her say good evening to the others, before hurrying +her upstairs. + +"And I think," said she hesitatingly, "that I shan't come down again +to-night. I am tired. If the doctor calls in, tell him that I am trying +to get a good rest for to-morrow. Good night, Miss Philps. Good +night, Esther!" + +To the girl's astonishment she kissed her. A light, hot kiss which fell +on her cheek like a fleck of glowing ash. Yet it was a real kiss and may +have meant that the giver was not ungrateful. Jane, too, had a good +night kiss that night; but Aunt Amy had already gone upstairs. + + * * * * * + +"Well?" They were safely in the upstairs room now and the door was +closed. + +"I've got it. It came on the afternoon mail. I went down to the post +office specially. I knew you kind of counted on it for to-morrow." + +With the glee of a child playing conspirator Miss Milligan dived into +the recesses of the reticule she carried. "Here it is. No, that's +peppermints. But it's here somewhere--" + +"Oh, hurry!" Mary almost snatched the packet from the friendly hand. At +sight of it she turned deathly white and began to shake as she had +shaken that day in the fitting-room. But this time she recovered +quickly, almost before Miss Milligan had noticed it. + +"Thank you so much," she said. With the last effort of her self-control +she forced herself to place the packet upon the dresser. She wanted to +snatch at it to tear it open, to scream with the relief of the tablets +in her hand, but she did none of these things. Instead she thanked Miss +Milligan again and proceeded to talk of other things, anything that +would do to fill up the short time necessary to conceal the real purpose +of the visit so that Esther and Miss Philps would not suspect--never for +a moment suspect! + +"Do you think we really need try on the dress?" asked the conscientious +Miss Milligan. + +Mrs. Coombe thought not. It was quite all right, she felt sure of that. +And really she was a little tired. It had been a trying day. She +moistened her lips and tried to smile, keeping her eyes well away from +the tempting heaven in the little pasteboard box. Would the woman +never go! + +Fortunately Miss Milligan was a lady who prided herself upon her good +sense and also upon her proper pride. She always knew, she declared, +when she was not wanted, and, strange as it may seem, it began to dawn +upon her that this was one of those rare occasions. Mrs. Coombe was very +pleasant, of course, but Miss Milligan missed something, a certain +cordiality which might have tempted her to prolong her stay. She was not +offended, for if she considered that her self-denying journeys to the +post office were meeting with less than their just deserts, she was not +a woman to insist upon gratitude where gratitude was not freely given. +She stayed therefore no longer than the fiction of dress-fitting +required and then with a somewhat strained "good night" passed down the +stairs and out of the house. + +Mary waited, rigid as a statue, until she heard the front gate close, +then, the last defence down, she sprang to the dressing table--tearing +off the paper from the package as a puppy dog might tear the covering +from a bone. A glass of water stood ready. Her shaking hands reached for +it, counted the number of tablets and slipped them in. Then, with a long +breath of relief, the tension relaxed. She raised her eyes, triumphing +eyes, to the mirror and saw--Aunt Amy watching her from the doorway. + +She had forgotten to lock the door! + +But it was only Aunt Amy. + +Fear and relief came in almost the same breath. She steadied herself +against the dresser. + +"Shut the door!" + +Aunt Amy obeyed. But she shut herself inside the door. "What do you +want?" Mary never wasted words on Amy--"Ah!" + +With a motion so swift that it seemed like a conjuror's miracle, Aunt +Amy had slipped from her stand by the door, snatched up the open box, +and was back again before the choking cry on the other's lips had +formed itself. + +"Esther says you musn't take these," said Aunt Amy in her colourless +voice. + +For a second Mary hesitated. If she made the murderous spring which +every baffled nerve in her tortured body urged her to make, Amy would +scream. A scream would mean, Miss Philps--Esther--the doctor: agony and +defeat. With a mighty effort she held herself. She tried to +speak quietly. + +"Don't be a fool, Amy. This is some medicine the doctor gave me himself. +Hand it to me at once." + +Aunt Amy smiled. It was a sly little smile. It made Mary want to rave, +for it said more plainly than words that Aunt Amy knew. Swiftly she +changed her tactics. Her face softened, became gentle, entreating-- + +"Amy--dear. I am only going to use a little. If you love me, give me the +box." + +Useless! Aunt Amy still smiled. She put the box behind her. With her +other hand she felt for the door knob. + +"Amy, give it to me! What have I ever done to you?" + +"You stole my ring." In exactly the same tone she might have said, "You +are a murderess." + +The ring! Mary had forgotten the ring. Wait, perhaps it was not hopeless +even yet. Amy placed an absurd value on that ring--and she, Mary, had +the gem in her possession. She did not know that Esther had found and +restored it. To her it was still in the box at the bottom of her drawer. +A dazzling plan flashed through her excited brain. She would bribe Amy +with the ring. The thought nerved her. + +"Do you really want your ring back?" she asked sweetly. + +Aunt Amy paused with her hands on the door knob. + +"I have it back." + +"Oh, no. You haven't. It is in a box in my drawer." + +"It is not. Esther gave it to me!" But there was a spark of fear in +Amy's eyes. Contradiction so easily confused her. _Had_ Esther given her +the ring? She felt oddly uncertain. + +Mary laughed, and the laugh increased Aunt Amy's confusion. After all it +was quite possible that Mary had taken the ring again. It had been +locked away and hidden, but locks and hiding-places were never an +obstacle to "Them." + +"I've got it safe enough!" taunted Mary, tormentingly. + +The spark of fear flamed. Amy took a swift step forward. "Give it to +me!" + +"Give me the box--and I will." + +Aunt Amy had ceased to care about the box. Almost she placed it in the +outstretched hand, then, with quick cunning, caught it back. + +"The ring first." + +Mary shrugged her shoulders. She felt cool enough now. It was going to +be easy. She turned to the bureau and began to pull things out of the +drawer, scattering them anywhere. She could not remember exactly where +she had put the ring. As she searched, she talked. + +"There is nothing to be tragic about," she said. "I intended to give you +your ring anyway--some day. And the medicine is nothing that will hurt. +It is only something to make me sleep so that I shan't look a sight +to-morrow. I am taking only a little. No one will know. I shall not even +oversleep. But if Esther or any of them knew, they would make a fuss. +You must promise not to tell them--before I give you the ring. Just tell +Esther that I do not want to be disturbed early. I'll wake myself, in +plenty of time for the wedding." + +"In plenty of time for the wedding!" For a moment Amy wondered what it +was about the phrase which sounded familiar? Then she seemed to see, as +in a dream, the vision of a young girl all in white, with flowers in her +hands, sitting alone in a room waiting, watching a clock--a clock which +never quite came round to the hour of eleven on Tuesday. Time has a +great deal to do with weddings, evidently. People who wish to be married +must be ready at the fateful moment, otherwise they have to +wait--forever, perhaps. "Plenty of time"--suddenly a flash of direct +inspiration seemed to coordinate her scattered faculties. She saw +clearly a plan, a beautiful, simple plan to prevent the marriage. What +if Mary should _not_ wake in plenty of time for the wedding? What if the +hour, the wedding hour, should not find her ready? The thing was so +simple! If one tablet would make Mary sleep, two would make her sleep +longer. For the moment she forgot even the ruby ring in her childish +pleasure at such a clever idea. Her worn face was lit by a satisfied +smile as she swiftly, quietly dropped more tablets from the box into the +glass--one--two--she was not quite sure how many! + +"Here is the ring," said Mary turning at last from the disturbed drawer +with a cardboard box in her hand. It was the box from which Esther had +taken the ring long before, but Mary was in too great a hurry to open +it. She did not doubt that it contained the ring. For once in her life +Mary thought she was playing fair. + +They completed the exchange in silence, Mary wondering a little at the +pleasant change which she saw in Amy's face. But she was too hurried to +enquire into the cause of it. She hardly waited to hear her promise not +to tell Esther but fairly pushed her from the room. Then, secure behind +her locked door, she wiped the perspiration from her forehead and sank +exhausted into the nearest chair. + +When her strength came back her first care was to hide the remaining +tablets in a safe place in her travelling bag, she never intended to use +them again, never! But it would do no harm to feel that she could trust +herself to leave them alone, as of course she could. Then she loosened +her hair, not pausing to brush it, and, slipping off her dress, wrapped +herself in a certain flowered dressing gown. Not one of the dainty new +ones, but a gown whose lace was yellowed and torn, a gown which felt +like an old friend but which, after to-night, she would wear no more-- + +Listen! Was that some one at the door? + +Only Miss Philps calling good-night. Mary answered "Good-night" in a +sleepy voice, and the step passed on. It left her shaking like a leaf in +the wind. What else indeed was she? A fluttering, fading leaf shaken in +the teeth of a wind of dread and mad desire. + +All was quiet now. She would be disturbed no more that night. Her +shaking hands rattled the spoon which stirred the mixture in the glass. +The familiar motion quieted her. Here, right in her hands, was peace, +rest, a swift and magical release from the torment of appetite denied. +To-morrow--but why think of to-morrow? She might be stronger then. +Everything might be easier. All she really needed was a long +night's sleep. + +She turned out the light and throwing up the blind stood for a moment +looking out into the soft moonlight. The moon was clear. It would be a +beautiful day for the wedding! Smiling, she picked up the glass and +with a whispered, "Here's to the bride!" raised it to her eager lips +and drank. + + * * * * * + +Silence settled down upon the Elms. There was a harvest moon that night, +a glorious rounded moon more golden than silver. The garden slumbered, +wrapped in mellow light, even the shadows gleamed faintly luminous. The +breeze, roaming at will, shook drowsy perfume from the lingering +flowers, but for all it aped the summer it was unmistakably an autumn +breeze, melancholy, earth-scented. It stirred the curtains at Mary's +window; rustled through the great bowlful of crimson leaves upon +Esther's writing table and softly stirred the dark hair of the girl as +she sat with her face hidden in her curved arms. For a very long time +she sat there while the moon looked in and looked away again and who +can tell what her thoughts were, or if she thought at all. + +By and by she rose and went to the window, looking out to where a month +ago she had stood by the garden gate under the stars. It was drenched +with moonlight now and the shadow under the elm tree was dark. + +What was that? A darker shadow in the shadow? Esther's hand caught at +the curtain, her heart gave a great leap and then grew still. She knew +who stood there. This was the good-bye he could not speak. Tears fell +unheeded down the girl's pale cheeks. If during those last days she had +had any doubt of the love which loyalty to Mary had helped him hide so +well, they were all swept away now. A warm spot grew and glowed in her +heart and a line from that old immortal love lyric which she had learned +in her school days came back vivid with eternal truth. + + "I had not loved thee, dear, so much + Loved I not honour more." + + + + +CHAPTER XXXV + + +It was a perfect day for the wedding. Autumn at her brightest and gayest +before her new bright robes began to brown. Soft air, mellow sun, +cool-lipped breeze, horizon veiled in tinted mist--a gem of a day, the +jewel of a season. + +"Them as has, gets," murmured Mrs. Sykes, gloomily, as she tied on her +Sunday bonnet. She rather resented the kindness of nature upon this +present occasion. A nice rain would have suited her mood better. + +Nevertheless, much as her mind misgave her in regard to the wedding, she +was early on her way to the Elms to see if she could help. + +"They're sure to be flustrated," she told herself. "Aunt Amy's just as +likely as not to lose what little bit of head she has and hired help are +broken reeds. Esther will have the brunt of it. She'll be glad enough to +see me, I'll be bound." + +Do not imagine that Mrs. Sykes was curious. Curiosity was a failing +which she systematically repudiated. But she was a very helpful person +and it was wonderful how many opportunities of helpfulness she found +upon solemn or joyous occasions. If, while helping, her ears were open, +and her eyes shrewd, can she be blamed for that? There may be people +with ears who hear not but they do not live in Coombe. The only +difficulty is to manage to be, like Mr. Micawber, on the spot. + +Mrs. Sykes was early, but not too early. When she slipped in at the side +door there was already a stir of unusual movement in the house but the +final flutter was still measurably distant. Jane dashed past with +crimped hair and white ribbons flying. Miss Philps, very stately in a +new gown, was arranging flowers in geometrical patterns. Dr. Callandar, +self-possessed as ever, talked upon the veranda with Professor Willits +who had arrived the night before. Aunt Amy was busy in the kitchen. +Esther, flushed and excited, with eyes that flashed blue fire, seemed +everywhere at once. + +"Oh, Mrs. Sykes," she exclaimed, "how nice of you to come! Won't you +please get Jane and tie her up--her ribbons, I mean? It is almost time +to dress." + +"Would you like me to assist?" asked Miss Philps, looking up from a +geometrical pattern. + +"Oh, thanks, Miss Philps. There are some hooks I cannot manage. But +mother will probably need a lot of help. I thought you were with +her now." + +"No. She has not yet sent for me." Miss Philps drew out her watch and +consulted it. "Dear me!" with slight surprise, "it is much later than I +thought. Perhaps I had better go up." + +Esther looked worried. "I believe you had--if she hurries at the last +she will be terribly excited. Aunt Amy told me she wished particularly +not to be disturbed this morning, but surely she has forgotten how late +it is getting." + +"I'll go up," said Miss Philps. "It's time for her tonic anyway, and we +must persuade her to eat something. When you are ready for me to hook +your dress, call. I can easily manage you both." + +This is all that Mrs. Sykes heard, for just then Jane flew by again like +a returning comet and had to be captured and properly tied up. Mrs. +Sykes, as she admitted herself, was no hand at fancy fixings but she was +painstaking and conscientious and the bow-tying absorbed all her +energies. She was getting on very well and had almost succeeded in +adjusting the last bow when a cry from the room above startled her into +the tying of a double knot. + +"What was that?" + +It was not a loud cry--but there was something in it which brought Mrs. +Sykes' heart leaping into her throat, which sent Esther reeling against +the stair baluster, which brought the doctor, white-faced from the +veranda--it was the kind of cry which carries in its note the psychic +essence of terror and disaster. + +Mrs. Sykes for all her iron nerve felt suddenly faint. Jane began to +cry. The doctor and Esther had raced up the stairs. But there was no +repetition of the cry. Instead there was silence. Then a murmur of +voices and sounds of ordered activity overhead. + +Clearly something had happened. But what? Mrs. Sykes wanted very much to +go and see. But the glimpse she had caught of Callandar's eyes as he +sprang to the stair, the look of white horror in Esther's face as she +followed him, and above all, that strange terrifying Something in the +cry she had heard seemed to discourage enquiry. The good lady turned her +attention to the comforting of Jane. After all, if she waited long +enough she could hardly help hearing all about it. At first hand, too. + +It seemed a long time that she waited. Miss Philps came up and down the +stairs several times but she did not appear to see Mrs. Sykes. Jane +stopped crying and wandered out into the garden. Still Mrs. Sykes +waited and presently Aunt Amy came in, looking quite excited and asked +eagerly what time it was. Mrs. Sykes told her, adding with asperity that +these were fine goings-on, and that they'd all be late for the wedding +if they didn't hurry up. + +"Yes, I think they will. I'm almost sure they will," said Aunt Amy, and +she laughed as a child laughs when it is greatly pleased. + +"Dear me, she is much madder than I thought," murmured Mrs. Sykes. +"Whatever is the matter? What are they doing?" she asked in a +louder tone. + +Aunt Amy raised a finger, "Hush! she's asleep. Let us tidy up the room. +I don't think she is going to wake up for a long time yet. And then +she'll have to wait till the world goes round again." + +"Well of all the--" began Mrs. Sykes, but she was interrupted by the +entrance of Professor Willits. With the virtuous air of one who strictly +minds her own business she began to tie her bonnet strings. + +"Don't go, Mrs. Sykes," said the professor gravely. "I think--I'm afraid +you may be needed." + +"I hope nothing serious has happened?" faltered Mrs. Sykes, now +thoroughly disturbed, but he did not seem to hear her. He was listening +intently to the sounds overhead. They were very slight sounds now and +presently they ceased altogether. Willits looked more anxious. Then, in +the midst of a new, heavier silence, Dr. Callandar himself came down +the stairs. + +At first sight he appeared almost as usual. He did not notice Mrs. Sykes +but went straight across the room to Willits. + +"Nothing--any use--" he began haltingly. Then suddenly the words ceased +to come. His lips moved but there was no sound. With an expression of +intense surprise he lifted his hand to his head, and swayed awkwardly +into the nearest chair. + +"Land sakes, look out! he's going to fall," cried Mrs. Sykes in terror. + +"Breakdown," said the professor briefly. "I expected something of the +kind. Help me to get him to the car." + +"Oh, Land, Land," moaned; Mrs. Sykes, "whatever"--but realising that the +time for questioning was not yet, she did what she was told without +more words. + +"Better send for Dr. Parker," said Willits crisply to Miss Philps who +had come in quietly. "Better tell the minister, too. Keep the little +girl down stairs. I'll be back as soon as I can. Mrs. Sykes, I shall +want you to come with me." + +"Oh, Land--" but she got no further, the car was off like the wind. + +Later when the doctor had been put to bed like a child and telegrams +dispatched which would bring a specialist and a nurse on the afternoon +train, the good lady drew a long breath and decided that she couldn't +"last out" a moment longer. + +Drawing Willits from the room her questions burst forth in their +unstemmed torrent. + +The tall man listened at first in bewilderment. Then, as the true +inwardness of the case dawned on him, a look which was almost admiration +came over his angular countenance. + +"Why, Mrs. Sykes," he said, "is it possible that you do not know? I +would have told you before but I took your knowledge for granted. The +poor lady whom my friend was to marry was found dead in her bed. She +died during the night. An overdose of sleeping powder." + + + + +CHAPTER XXXVI + + +Autumn that year was short and golden. Winter came early. In November it +stormed, thawed, stormed again and began to freeze in earnest. The frost +bit deeply but one night when its grip was sure, the temperature rose a +little and snow began to fall. For days and nights it snowed, softly, +steadily, without wind, and then the clouds parted and the sun shone +out--a far off sun in a sky as blue as summer and cold as polar seas. +The air tingled and snapped with frost. In the azure cup of the sunlit +sky it sparkled like golden wine, and, like wine, it thrilled and +strengthened. People stamped their feet and beat their hands to keep +warm but smiled the while and murmured: "Glorious!" + +So much for the weather--since it was the weather which became the main +factor in helping Coombe forget the tragedy at the Elms. Wonder is no +nine-day affair in Coombe. One sensation is carefully conserved until +the next one comes along, but in this case the early winter with its +complete change of interests, its sleighing, skating and snow-shoeing, +its reawakening of business and social bustle proved a distraction +almost as effective as battle, murder or sudden death. The talk died +down, the interest slackened, and the principal actors were once more +permitted to become normal persons living in a normal world. + +For a time it had seemed that this desired condition would never be +obtained. Coombe had felt the breath of a mystery. It was supposed to +know everything and suspected that it knew nothing--a state of things +aggravating to any well regulated community. + +There had been an inquest, of course, and at the inquest the whole sad +affair was supposed to have been made plain. It was simplicity itself. +Simplicity, in fact, was its most annoying characteristic. Mrs. Coombe, +it appeared, had been for a long time somewhat of a sufferer from an +obscure trouble, referred to generally as "nerves." For the relief of +this trouble, one of whose symptoms was insomnia, she had, from time to +time, had recourse to narcotics which, as everyone knows, are dangerous, +if not, as many thought, positively immoral. Undoubtedly the poor lady +had died from an overdose. It was easy, the coroner said, for a +sympathetic mind to reconstruct the details of the terrible occurrence. +It was the night before the wedding and the deceased had retired early. +Miss Milligan, who had run in for a last look at the wedding gown, and +who had been the very last person to see and speak with her, deposed +that she had appeared more than ordinarily tired and seemed anxious to +be alone. Asked if she detected any other signs of disordered nerves the +witness had said, no. The deceased had not appeared worried about +anything? No. The wedding gown had been quite satisfactory? Quite. + +No more questions were asked and Miss Milligan had not thought it +necessary to go into the matter of the getting of the nerve tonic. The +dead woman's harmless little deception was safe in her hands. It hadn't +anything to do with the case anyway. Although in her own heart Miss +Milligan blamed Dr. Callandar severely for not allowing the poor woman +to use her tonic constantly. Had he done so the final tragedy might +never have happened. Needless to say this good lady never knew what she +had done. The fact that Mary Coombe had been a drug victim under +treatment did not come out at the inquest. The coroner knew, but he was +a sensible man and a very kind one. It hardly needed the logical +arguments of Miss Philps or the heart-broken entreaties of Esther to +convince him that knowledge of this fact was not for the general public. +The only legally necessary information was the cause of death and that +was simple enough. Easily understood, too, for given a tendency to +sleeplessness and the excitement incident to a wedding, what more +natural than that the excited bride should have sought relief in her +customary sleeping draught. + +The mistake, the taking of a lethal dose, was, as all such mistakes are, +inexplicable. Did her hand shake? Had she miscounted the number of +tablets? Had she, in her nervous state, deliberately risked a larger +dose whose danger she did not realise? These questions would never be +answered. She had been alone in her room, nor was there a thread of +evidence upon which to hang a theory. Esther, the nurse, Jane, Dr. +Callandar (poor man!) had noticed nothing out of the ordinary when they +had parted from her that last time. Aunt Amy's evidence was not taken. +No one thought to question her and she volunteered no information. Of +all the household at the Elms she was least disturbed by the tragedy, +but, naturally, one does not expect the mentally weak to realise sorrow +like ordinary people. This exemption was, as many did not fail to +remark, one of their compensations. So in this, as in other things, Aunt +Amy did not matter. She went her quiet way undisturbed, the one +contented and peaceful person in that house of shock and horror. + +Why, then, since all was so plain, did Coombe scent a mystery? It would +be hard to say. Perhaps the curious behaviour of Dr. Callandar was +partly responsible. When the news of his sudden breakdown became known +the first natural comment was, "So, you see, he did love her after all." +But, upon longer consideration this did not seem to meet the case. A man +may be genuinely in love with a woman and yet not be stricken, as had +the doctor, by her sudden death. Dimly, Coombe felt that there must be a +cause behind the cause. Miss Sinclair, the eldest, even went so far as +to quote Shakespeare to the effect that "men have died and the worms +have eaten them, but not for love." True, the doctor was not dead but +his illness was proving a very long and stubborn one. In its early +stages he had been taken away to Toronto for special treatment and had +been quite unable to see any one, even the minister, before he left. +Mrs. Sykes alone, with the exception of the trained nurses, had laid +eyes on him since his sudden collapse on the day of the wedding. And +Mrs. Sykes, miraculously, had nothing to say. + +It was rumoured, however, that his brain was affected, that he was +paralysed, that he was deaf and blind, that he was dying of slow +decline. Somehow the town felt that Mary Coombe, living or dead, did not +loom large enough as a cause of such disintegration. + +Esther's actions, too, were part of the puzzle. It had been confidently +supposed that she would go away at once for a rest and change. Every one +knew that the Hollises had offered to take her with them on a long trip +to the Pacific Coast. But Esther had declined to go. She declined to go +anywhere. Worn out as she was with strain and grief, she persisted in +disregarding the advice of everybody. ("So headstrong in a young girl! +But Doctor Coombe, her father, was always like that.") Apparently she +intended to go on exactly as if nothing had happened and to all +arguments said nothing save, "I think it will be best," or, "I am not +fit for strange scenes just now," or something equally futile. Coombe +was quite annoyed with Esther--so stubborn! + +Only to Miss Annabel did the girl attempt to justify her attitude when +that kind soul had exhausted persuasion and was inclined to feel both +worried and hurt. + +"Don't you see," she explained haltingly, "I can't go away. I don't want +to. I can't make the effort. Here every one understands and will make +allowances. I want to be quiet, to rest, to think. I want to get back to +where I was before--if I can." + +"Before what, my dear?" + +"Before--everything! I can't explain. But I know it is the only way I +shall ever be content. I want to take my school again and to go on +working and looking after Jane and Aunt Amy. Although," with a little +smile, "it is really Auntie who looks after Jane and me. Won't you help +me, dear Miss Annabel? I am quite sure that this is the only thing +to do." + +"You are a strange girl, Esther. One would think you would be crazy to +get away. Look at Angus! He's going. He has suddenly found out that a +trip to the Holy Land is necessary if one is to speak intelligently upon +many portions of the Bible. Absurd! But I never let him dream that I +know that isn't his reason. And I hope you won't. It is all over now and +the sooner he forgets the better. But I think even you are convinced, +now, that I was right about--you know to what I refer!" + +Esther murmured something indistinguishable and Miss Annabel departed +much pleased with her own perspicacity. And she did help. She let it be +known at the Ladies' Aid that she quite understood Esther and approved +of her. After all, it was senseless to run away from trouble since +trouble can run so much faster. And it was natural and right of Esther +to feel that nowhere could she find so much sympathy and consideration +as in her own town. Travelling was fatiguing anyway. + +As for the school, that was easily arranged. A little discreet wire +pulling and Esther was once more established as school mistress of +District Number Fifteen. People shook their heads, but by the time of +the first snowstorm they had ceased to prophesy nervous prostration, and +by the time sleighing was fairly established they were ready to admit +that the girl had acted sensibly after all. + +No one guessed that there was another reason for Esther's refusal to go +away. It was a simple reason and had to do with the fact that in Coombe +the mails were sure and regular. Travellers miss letters and strange +addresses are uncertain at best, but in Coombe there was small chance of +any untoward accident befalling a certain weekly letter in the +handwriting of Professor Willits. Esther lived upon these letters. Brief +and dry though they were, they formed the motive power of her life and +indeed it was from one of them that she had received the impetus which +roused her from her first trance of grief and horror. + +"My dear young lady (Willits had written). + +"I believe that there are times when the truth is a good thing. It might +be tactful to pretend that I do not know the real reason of Calendar's +collapse but it would also be foolish. I think he is going to pull +through. Now the question is--how about you? Are you going to be able to +do your part? + +"Let me be more explicit. It may be a long time before our friend is +thoroughly re-established in health but it is quite probable that he +will be well enough, and determined enough, to face some of his problems +in the spring. He will turn to you. Are you going to be able to help +him? When he comes to you will he find a silly, nervous girl, all +horrors and regrets and useless might-have-beens or will he find you +strong and sane, healthily poised, ready to face the future and let the +dead past go? For the past is dead--believe me! + +"You have seemed to me to be an excellently normal young person, but no +doubt the shock and trouble of late events have done much to disturb +your normality. Can you get it back? On the answer to that, depends +Callandar's future. I shall keep you informed, weekly, of his progress." + +Esther had thought deeply over this letter. Its brief, stern truth was +exactly the tonic she needed. Like a strong hand it reached down into +her direful pit of morbid musings, and, clinging to it, she struggled +back into the sunlight. Above all and in spite of everything, she must +not fail the man she loved! + +At first she had to fight with terrors. She feared she knew not what. +The vision of Mary upon the bed, still and ghastly in the golden light +of morning, came back to shake her heart. The memory of Callandar's +face, of the frantic struggle to drag the dead woman back to life, made +many a night hideous. The endless questioning, Could it have been +prevented? Could I have done more? tortured her, but by and by, as she +faced them bravely, these terrors lost their baleful power. Her youth +and common-sense triumphed. + +The school helped. One cannot continue very morbid with a roomful of +happy, noisy children to teach and keep in order. Jane's need of her +helped, for she, dared not give way to brooding when the child was +near. Aunt Amy helped--perhaps most of all. She was a constant wonder +to the girl, so cheerful was she, so thoughtful of others, so forgetful +of herself. Her little fancies seemed to have ceased to fret her, there +was a new peace in her faded eyes. Sometimes as she went about the house +she would sing a little, in a high thready voice, bits from songs that +were popular in her youth. "The Blue Alsatian Mountains" or "When You +and I Were Young, Maggie" or "Darling Nellie Grey." She told Esther that +it was because she felt "safe." "The blackness hardly ever comes now," +she said. "I don't think 'They' will bother me any more." + +"Why?" asked Esther, curious. + +But Aunt Amy did not seem to know why--or if she knew she never told. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXVII + + +A robin hopped upon the window sill of School-house Number Fifteen and +peered cautiously into the room. He had no business there during lesson +hours and the arrival of Mary's little lamb could not have been more +disturbing. The children whispered, fidgeted, shuffled their feet and +banged their slates. + +"Perhaps they do not know it is spring," thought the robin and ruffling +his red breast and swelling his throat he began to tell them. + +"It is spring! It is spring! It is spring!" + +The effect was electrical. Even the tall young teacher turned from her +rows of figures on the blackboard. + +"Come out! come out! come out!" sang the robin. + +The teacher tapped sharply for order and the robin flew away. But the +mischief was done. It was useless to tell them, "Only ten minutes more." +Ten minutes--as well say ten years. The little fat boy in the front seat +began to cry. A long sigh passed over the room. Ten minutes? The teacher +consulted her watch, hesitated, and was lost. + +"Close books," she ordered. "Attention. Ready--March." The jostling +lines scrambled in some kind of order to the door and then broke into +joyous riot. It was spring--and school was out! + +Their teacher followed more slowly, pausing on the steps to breathe +long and deeply the sweet spring air. In a corner by the steps there was +still a tiny heap of shrinking snow, but in the open, the grass was +green as emerald, violets and wind flowers pushed through the tangle of +last year's leaves. The trees seemed shrouded in a fairy mist of green. +Robins were everywhere. + +The girl upon the steps was herself a vision of spring--the embodiment +of youth and beautiful life. Coombe folks admitted that Esther Coombe +had "got back her looks." Had they been less cautious they might have +said much more, for the subtle change which had come to Esther, the +change which marks the birth of womanhood, had left her infinitely +more lovely. + +From the pocket of the light coat she wore she brought forth a handful +of crumbs and scattered them for the saucy robins and then, unwilling to +hasten, sat down upon the steps to watch their cheerful wrangling. +Peeling for more crumbs she drew out a letter--a single sheet covered +with the crabbed handwriting of Professor Willits. At sight of it a soft +flush stole over her face. She forgot the crumbs and the robins for, +although her letter was two days old and she knew exactly what it +contained, the very sight of the written words was joy to her. Like all +Willits' notes it was short and to the point. + +"Our friend has gone," she read. "We wanted to keep him for a month yet, +but the robins called too loudly. He left no word of his destination, +only a strange note saying that at last he was up the hill and over. May +he find happiness, dear lady, on the other side." + +One thing I notice--this recovery of his is different from his former +recovery. If I were not afraid of lapsing into sentiment, I should say +that he has achieved a soul cure. The morbid spot which troubled him so +long is healed. A psychologist might explain it, but you and I must +accept the result and be thankful. It is as if his subconscious self +had removed a barrier and signalled 'Line clear--go ahead.' It is more +than I had ever dared to hope. + + Your friend, + E.P. Willits. + +"P.S.: Are you ready?" + +Esther looked at the postscript and smiled--that slow smile which lifted +the corner of her lips so deliciously. + +"May we wait for you, Teacher?" + +"Not to-day, dears." + +The children moved regretfully away. Presently the school yard was +deserted. The busy robins had finished quarrelling over their crumbs and +were holding a caucus around the red pump. In the quietness could be +heard the gurgle of the spring rivulets on the hill. + +Was there another sound on the hill, too? A far off whistling mingled +with the gurgling water and twittering birds? Esther's hand tightened +upon the letter--she leaned forward, listening intently. How loud the +birds were! How confusing the sound of water! But now she caught the +whistling again-- + + "_From Wimbleton to Wombleton is fifteen miles_"-- + +The familiar words formed themselves upon the girl's lips before the +message of the tune reached her brain and brought her, breathless, to +her feet. He was coming--so soon! + +Panic seized her. Her hand flew to her heart--she would hide in the +school-room, anywhere! Then she remembered Willits' postscript, the +postscript which she had thought so needless. Her hand fell to her side. +The panic died. Next moment, head high and eyes smiling, she walked down +to the gate. + +He was coming along the road under the budding elms--hatless, carrying a +knapsack. His tweeds were splashed with mud from the spring roads, his +face was thin, his hair was almost grey. Yet he came on like a conqueror +and there was nothing old or tired in the bound wherewith he leaped the +gate he would not pause to open. + +"Esther!" + +She looked up into his eyes and found them shadowless. Her own eyes +veiled themselves, + +Neither found anything to say. + +But overhead a robin burst into heavenly song. + + + +***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK UP THE HILL AND OVER*** + + +******* This file should be named 10438.txt or 10438.zip ******* + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +https://www.gutenberg.org/1/0/4/3/10438 + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. 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