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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 <a href = "http://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a></pre> +<p>Title: Marie Gourdon</p> +<p> A Romance of the Lower St. Lawrence</p> +<p>Author: Maud Ogilvy</p> +<p>Release Date: March 18, 2006 [eBook #18010]</p> +<p>Language: English</p> +<p>Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1</p> +<p>***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MARIE GOURDON***</p> +<p> </p> +<h3>E-text prepared by Robert Cicconetti, Mary Meehan,<br /> + and the Project Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team<br /> + (<a href="http://www.pgdp.net/">http://www.pgdp.net/</a>)<br /> + from page images generously made available by<br /> + Early Canadiana Online<br /> + (<a href="http://www.canadiana.org/eco/index.html">http://www.canadiana.org/eco/index.html</a>)</h3> +<p> </p> +<table border="0" cellpadding="10" style="background-color: #ccccff;"> + <tr> + <td valign="top"> + Note: + </td> + <td> + Images of the original pages are available through + Early Canadiana Online. See + <a href="http://www.canadiana.org/ECO/ItemRecord/11502?id=d92f22287adc9fbb"> + http://www.canadiana.org/ECO/ItemRecord/11502?id=d92f22287adc9fbb</a> + </td> + </tr> +</table> +<p> </p> +<hr class="full" /> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> + +<h1><span class="smcap">Marie Gourdon:</span></h1> + +<h3>A ROMANCE OF THE LOWER ST. LAWRENCE.</h3> + +<h2>BY MAUD OGILVY.</h2> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> + + +<h4>Montreal:<br /> +PUBLISHED BY JOHN LOVELL & SON.<br /> +1890</h4> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> + + + + +<h4>TO MY FRIEND<br /> +Lady Helen Munro-Ferguson of Raith,<br /> +THIS LITTLE STORY IS DEDICATED<br /> +IN REMEMBRANCE OF<br /> +<i>Many happy days spent on the banks of the Lower St. Lawrence.</i></h4> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="INTRODUCTION" id="INTRODUCTION"></a>INTRODUCTION</h2> + + +<p>This little story is founded on an episode in Canadian history which +I found an interesting study, namely, the disbanding of a regiment of +Scottish soldiers in the neighborhood of Rimouski and the district +about Father Point. Many of these stalwart sons of old Scotia who were +thus left adrift strangers in a strange land accepted the situation +philosophically, intermarried amongst the French families already in +that part of the country, and settled down as farmers in a small way. +A visit to that part of the country will show what their industry has +effected.</p> + +<p>Before having been in the district, I had always thought that the coasts +of Lower St. Lawrence were almost incapable of any degree of cultivation, +and practically of no agricultural value; but when at Father Point, some +three summers ago, I was delighted to see all along the sandy road-sides +long ridges of ploughed land, with potatoes, cabbages and beans growing +in abundance. Back of these ridges, extending for many miles, are large +tracts of most luxuriant pasture land on which browse cattle in very +excellent condition.</p> + +<p>The manners of the people of this district, who, "far from the madding +crowd's ignoble strife," live in Utopian simplicity, are most gentle and +courteous, and would put to shame those of the dwellers of many a more +civilized spot.</p> + +<p>It is very curious to trace the Scottish names of these people, handed +down as they have been from generation to generation, though their +pronunciation is much altered, and in most instances given a French turn, +as, for example, Gourdon for Gordon, Noël for Nowell, and many others. +However, in a few cases the names are such as even the most ingenious +French tongue finds impossible to alter, and they remain in their +original form, for example, Burns, Fraser and McAllister. It is strange +to hear these names spoken by people who know no language but the French, +and I was much struck by the incongruity.</p> + +<p>M. O.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Montreal</span>, June, 1890.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CONTENTS" id="CONTENTS"></a>CONTENTS.</h2> + +<!-- Autogenerated TOC. Modify or delete as required. --> +<p> +<a href="#INTRODUCTION">INTRODUCTION</a><br /><br /> + +<a href="#CHAPTER_I">CHAPTER I.—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">"Wae's me for Prince Chairlie"</span></a><br /><br /> + +<a href="#CHAPTER_II">CHAPTER II.—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">"Oh! Canada! mon pays, terre adorée,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">Sol si cher à mes amours."</span><br /> +</a><br /> + +<a href="#CHAPTER_III">CHAPTER III.—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">"Il y a longtemps que je t'aime,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">Jamais je ne t'oublierai."</span><br /> +</a><br /> + +<a href="#CHAPTER_IV">CHAPTER IV.—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">"Red o'er the forest peers the setting sun,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">The line of yellow light dies fast away."</span><br /> +</a><br /> + +<a href="#CHAPTER_V">CHAPTER V.—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">"A parish priest was of the pilgrim train;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">An awful, reverend and religious man.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">His eyes diffused a venerable grace,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">And charity itself was in his face.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">Rich was his soul, though his attire was poor</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">(As God hath clothed his own ambassador),</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">For such, on earth, his bless'd Redeemer bore."</span><br /> +</a><br /> + +<a href="#CHAPTER_VI">CHAPTER VI.—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">"The love of money is the root of all evil."</span></a><br /><br /> + +<a href="#CHAPTER_VII">CHAPTER VII.—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">"Oh! world! thy slippery turns! Friends now fast sworn in love +inseparable shall within this hour break out to bitterest enmity."</span></a><br /><br /> + +<a href="#CHAPTER_VIII">CHAPTER VIII.—TEN YEARS AFTER.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">"Oh! wouldst thou set thy rank before thyself?</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">Wouldst thou be honored for thyself or that?</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">Rank that excels the wearer doth degrade,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">Riches impoverish that divide respect."</span><br /> +</a><br /> + +<a href="#CHAPTER_IX">CHAPTER IX.—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">"Alas! Our memories may retrace</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">Each circumstance of time and place;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">Season and scene come back again,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">And outward things unchanged remain:</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">The rest we cannot reinstate:</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">Ourselves we cannot re-create,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">Nor get our souls to the same key</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">Of the remember'd harmony."</span><br /> +</a><br /> + +<a href="#CHAPTER_X">CHAPTER X.—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">"O! primavera gioventù dell' anno!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">O! gioventù primavera della vitæ!!!"</span><br /> +</a><br /> + +<a href="#CHAPTER_XI">CHAPTER XI.—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">"Because thou hast believed the wheels of life</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">Stand never idle, but go always round;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">Hast labor'd, but with purpose; hast become</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">Laborious, persevering, serious, firm—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">For this thy track across the fretful foam</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">Of vehement actions without scope or term,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">Call'd history, keeps a splendor, due to wit,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">Which saw one clue to life and followed it."</span><br /></a><br /> + +<a href="#CHAPTER_XII">CHAPTER XII.—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">"I know, dear heart! that in our lot</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">May mingle tears and sorrow;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">But love's rich rainbow's built from tears</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">To-day, with smiles to-morrow,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">The sunshine from our sky may die,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">The greenness from life's tree,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">But ever 'mid the warring storm</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">Thy nest shall shelter'd be.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">The world may never know, dear heart!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">What I have found in thee;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">But, though nought to the world, dear heart!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">Thou'rt all the world to me."</span><br /></a><br /> + +<a href="#EPILOGUE">EPILOGUE.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">"Our acts our angels are, or good or ill,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">The fatal shadows that walk by us still."</span><br /></a> + +</p> +<!-- End Autogenerated TOC. --> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="MARIE_GOURDON" id="MARIE_GOURDON"></a>MARIE GOURDON.</h2> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_I" id="CHAPTER_I"></a>CHAPTER I.</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i4">"Wae's me for Prince Chairlie."</span></div></div> + +<div class="poem"> +<span class="i4"><span class="smcap">Old Scotch Song.</span></span></div> + + +<p>It was a dark gloomy night in the year 1745. Huge clouds hung in heavy +masses over the sky, ready to discharge their heavy burden at any moment. +The thunder echoed and re-echoed with deafening crashes, as if the whole +artillery of heaven were arrayed in mighty warfare, and shook even the +giant crag on which the castle of Dunmorton was situated.</p> + +<p>Fierce indeed was the tempest without, but within the castle raged one +still fiercer—that of two strong natures fighting a bitter battle. So +loud were their voices raised in altercation that the storm without was +scarce heeded.</p> + +<p>Dunmorton was a fine old castle of the Norman type, with a large moat +surrounding it, and having all the characteristics appertaining to the +feudal state. To the rear of the moat, behind the castle, stretched broad +lands, on which were scattered many cottages, whose occupants had paid +feu-duty to the Lords of Dunmorton for many a generation. To the left of +these cottages stretched a large pinewood, with thickly grown underbrush, +where, in blissful ignorance of their coming fate, luxuriated golden +pheasants and many a fat brace of partridge. That night, the depths of +the pine forest were shaken, for the storm was worse than usual even for +the east coast of Scotland, where storms are so frequent.</p> + +<p>Crossing the drawbridge, and coming to the low Norman arched doorway, one +entered at once into the hall. This was a lofty room some twelve feet +wide. At one end of it was a broad fire-place, where huge resinous pine +logs sent up an odor most grateful to the senses and emitted a pleasant, +fitful blaze, lighting up, ever and anon, the faces of The McAllister and +his second son Ivan.</p> + +<p>On the walls hung huge antlers and heads of deer, the trophies of many a +hard day's sport, for they had been a race of sportsmen for generations, +these McAllisters, a hardy, strong, self-reliant people, like their own +harsh mountain breezes.</p> + +<p>The two representatives of the race now quarrelling in the hall were both +fine looking men, though of somewhat different types. The McAllister was +a tall old man over six feet in height, well and strongly built. His hair +was iron-grey, his eyes blue and piercing, his nose rather inclined to +the Roman type, his mouth large and determined, and his chin firm, square +and somewhat obstinate. His eyebrows were very thick and bushy, thus +lending to his face a sinister and rather forbidding expression. He wore +a rough home-spun shooting suit, and had folded round his shoulders a +tartan of the McAllister plaid, which from time to time he pushed from +him with a hasty impatient gesture, as he addressed his son in angry, +menacing tones,—</p> + +<p>"An' I tell ye, Ivan, though ye be my son, never mair shall I call ye so, +if ye join the rabble that young scamp has got together, and never mair +shall ye darken the doors of Dunmorton if ye gae wi' him. Noo choose +between that young pretender and your ain people."</p> + +<p>"Father," said Ivan, "he is not a pretender, of that I am convinced, and +you will be soon. He is the descendant of our own King James VI. (whose +mother was bonnie Queen Mary), and you paid fealty at Holyrood many years +ago to King James. My bonnie Prince Chairlie should by rights be sitting +on the throne of Scotland, aye, and of England too, and, by the help of +Heaven and our guid Scotch laddies, he will be there ere long."</p> + +<p>"Never," sneered The McAllister, scornfully. "I am not afraid of that."</p> + +<p>"Well, that is comforting to you at any rate, sir; then why care about +my going to join his army, for I am going, nothing can stop me now." And +Ivan McAllister's bonnie face glowed with an enthusiasm almost pathetic +as he thought of his beloved leader, for whom he would stake all his +worldly prospects, aye, and if need be his very life.</p> + +<p>"Ivan McAllister," said his father, "I thought ye had mair common sense, +though it is rare in lads o' your age. Ye can never imagine that a pack +o' young idiots are going to overturn the whole country."</p> + +<p>"No, sir, I do not, but a mighty army is to join us from the south; in +England Prince Chairlie has many friends, and to-morrow I go to join +them. The next day a mighty host will move to the west coast to welcome +our future King. And then——"</p> + +<p>"Do you know, Ivan, that by your mad folly you seriously endanger the +McAllister estates? An' though it is well known at court that I am not +a Jacobite, yet I have many enemies who will soon tell the King my son +is with the rebels. You endanger, too, your brother Nowell's position at +court."</p> + +<p>"Well, father, I have promised to go, and a McAllister never breaks his +word."</p> + +<p>"What! you are determined? You persist in your selfish course of folly? +You will go in spite of all I say?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, father, I must go, my word is pledged."</p> + +<p>The McAllister's ruddy face grew white with anger, he clenched his hands +as if he would strike his son and by main force reduce him to obedience, +then with a great effort he controlled his anger and said in an ominously +calm voice: "Then, Ivan McAllister, I tell ye, never mair shall ye set +foot in this house, at least, when I am above ground; never mair call +yourself son of mine, and may——" raising his right hand solemnly as +if invoking supernatural aid.</p> + +<p>But here he was interrupted by a gentle voice which said:</p> + +<p>"Nay, nay, Nowell, ye shall not curse your son," and a soft hand was laid +on his upraised arm.</p> + +<p>The McAllister paused and turned towards the speaker, a gentler +expression coming over his stern face, for Lady Jean had the greatest +influence over her husband, an influence which was always for good.</p> + +<p>She was a tall, slightly built woman of some fifty-eight years of age. +Her hair was snow-white, contrasting admirably with her clear complexion +and dark eyes, and was combed back high above her forehead, and +surmounted by a mutch (cap) of finest lace. She was dressed in a gown +of pale green silk, which trailed in soft folds behind her and made a +rustling noise as she walked.</p> + +<p>A most distinguished lady was Jean McAllister, for the blood of the +Stuarts ran in her veins.</p> + +<p>Her face was beautiful, though not altogether with the beauty of correct +features, and certainly not with the beauty of youth, but it had in it +that indescribable loveliness, which one sees only in the faces of very +good women. It was what might be called a helpful face, and had upon it +that reflection of a divine light—all sympathetic natures possess, to +some degree.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"No angel, but a dearer being all dipt in angel instincts, +breathing Paradise."</p></div> + +<p>Her voice was of soft and gentle <i>timbre</i>, soothing and tranquillizing +even at this heated moment, as she turned to her son and said:—</p> + +<p>"Oh, me bairn, me bonnie bairn, could ye no' stay wi' us a while longer? +It is sair and lonely wi'out ye here, and Prince Chairlie has many mair +to fight for him. Can ye not stay wi' us?"</p> + +<p>"No, mother dear; much as I should like to be wi' ye all, I fear I +cannot. A promise is a promise, you know. <i>You</i> have always taught +me that. Remember our motto, 'For God and the truth.' You would not wish +me to be the first McAllister who broke his word."</p> + +<p>"Ah! my dear one," sobbed his mother, now fairly breaking down and +weeping piteously, "must ye go, must ye go?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, mother dear; but don't distress yourself about me, I shall be all +right, and when bonnie Prince Chairlie comes into his own, we shall meet +again, and you, my ain bonnie mither, will be one of the first ladies at +the court of Holyrood. Now I must go. Father," he said, turning to The +McAllister, who was watching the scene in grim silence with folded arms +and countenance cold and stern. "Father, do you mean what you said just +now? Do you mean to say you will never forgive me if I go to my prince?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," the old man thundered out. "Yes, by heaven, I do mean it."</p> + +<p>"Then you have driven me for ever from you, and I leave your house +to-night. You are hard, unjust, cruel," and, kissing Lady Jean, hastily, +without more ado, Ivan left the hall. Then he walked swiftly into the +court yard, saddled his favorite horse, and whistling to his collie dog +rode off into the dark tempestuous night to face the unknown.</p> + +<p>The unknown is always terrible, but at three and twenty the heart is +light, care is easily shaken off, and hope springs up eternal. A merciful +gift of the good God this, and more especially so in the case of Ivan +McAllister, for, poor lad, he was doomed to have many disappointments.</p> + +<p>Some weeks after leaving his father's house, he joined the troops of the +young Pretender, Charles Edward; and three days afterwards was fought the +battle of Culloden, a battle fraught with such disastrous results to the +hopes of many gallant and enthusiastic Scotchmen.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_II" id="CHAPTER_II"></a>CHAPTER II.</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i4">"Oh! Canada, mon pays, terre adorée,</span><br /> +<span class="i4">Sol si cher à mes amours"</span> +</div></div> + +<div class="poem"><span class="i4"><span class="smcap">French Canadian Folk Song</span></span></div> + + +<p>It was a bright August afternoon. The sun was shining down with that +intense brilliancy which, I think, is only to be seen in Canada, or +in the sunny climes of those countries bordering on the Mediterranean +sea. The little village of Rimouski seemed this afternoon all asleep, +for the heat made every one drowsy, and the old French Canadian women +at their doorsteps were nodding sleepily over their spinning-wheels. +Spinning-wheels, improbable as it sounds to nineteenth century ears, are +not yet out of date in this part of the country, and many a table-cloth +and fine linen sheet, spun by the women of the district, find their way +to the shops of Quebec and Montreal. A quaint picturesque little village +this; the houses are scattered and at uneven distances from each other. +Nearly all of them have large verandahs projecting far out on the +roadside, which is covered with uneven planks,—pitfalls in many places +to the benighted traveller. There are not many houses of importance here, +but there is a fine convent, where the young women of the district are +sent to be educated. There is also a school for boys, which adjoins the +house of M. le curé. The shops—picture it, ye dwellers in Montreal or +Quebec!—are three in number, and are carried on in the co-operative +style. Everything may be bought in them, from a box of matches or a pound +of tobacco, to the fine black silk to serve for a Sunday gown for Madame +De la Garde, the lady of the Seigneury.</p> + +<p>Then, of course, there is the church, for in what village, however small, +in Lower Canada is there not a church? This particular one is not very +interesting. It is very large, and has the inevitable tin roof common +to most Canadian churches, a glaringly ugly object to behold on a hot +afternoon, taking away by its obtrusiveness the restful feeling one +naturally associates with a sacred edifice. This on the outside; inside, +fortunately, all is different, and more like the Gothic architecture of +Northern France than one would imagine from the exterior.</p> + +<p>Next comes the railway station, a large ugly building painted a neutral +brown. Here everything was very quiet this afternoon, for except at the +seasons of the pilgrimages to the church of the Good Saint Anne of Father +Point, five miles lower down the line, there is as a rule little traffic +going on.</p> + +<p>Between Rimouski and Father Point (called by the French Pointe à Père) is +a long dusty road, very flat, and, except where the gulf comes in to the +coast in frequent little bays, very uninteresting.</p> + +<p>There are few houses on this road, and these are far apart.</p> + +<p>At the doorstep of one of these cottages—a well-kept, clean and neat +little dwelling—sat, this August afternoon, an old woman, spinning +busily. She, although some of her neighbors might be, was not asleep. Oh, +no! Seldom was Madame McAllister caught napping, save at orthodox hours, +between ten p.m. and six a.m. In spite of her seventy-six years, was she +hale and hearty, bright and active. She was a brisk little body, and had +a most intelligent face. Her eyes were dark and bright with animation, +and her coloring was brown and healthy, unlike that of her neighbors of +the same age, for, as a rule, French Canadian women of the lower classes +lead very hard-working lives, often marrying at sixteen or seventeen, and +have scarcely any youth, entering, as they do, on the trials and duties +of womanhood before an English girl of the same age has left the +schoolroom.</p> + +<p>But, as I said before, Madame McAllister was hale and hearty. This +circumstance was due most probably to the admixture of Scottish blood +in her veins, for her grandfather, Peter Fraser, had been one of the +stanchest adherents of the young Pretender. Disappointed in his hopes, +he had come out to Quebec to help in the wars against the French, and, +after his regiment had been disbanded near Rimouski, he remained in the +district. His colonel, a certain Ivan McAllister, persuaded many of his +men to remain in that part of the country with him, cherishing the +quixotic hope that in this new world he might form a kingdom over which +his idol, Prince Chairlie, should reign.</p> + +<p>However, after struggling for some years to make a stronghold for his +rather erratic chieftain, he at length lost heart and gave up his idea.</p> + +<p>Most of his men remained in the district, and intermarried with the +French families already settled there.</p> + +<p>Poor Colonel McAllister never got over the blow to his hopes. For the +sake of the bonnie prince, so unworthy of his true devotion, he had been +estranged from his family, and had spent his small fortune in coming to +Canada. Here he was, perforce, obliged to remain.</p> + +<p>After a while he settled down as a farmer, and managed to make enough to +keep body and soul together. Perhaps one of the most sensible things he +ever did was to marry Eugenie Laforge, the daughter of the mayor of +Rimouski. She was a pretty girl, and had a nice little fortune, for money +went further in those days than it does now; and thus the McAllisters +were fairly well to do.</p> + +<p>Their life for ten years was a happy, uneventful one, most of it spent by +the colonel in writing an account of Prince Charlie's adventures. This +unfortunate young man, I need hardly remind the reader, had long ago, in +the dissipations of various European courts, forgotten that there still +existed such a person as Ivan McAllister.</p> + +<p>True, the colonel did give certain spare hours to the education of his +son, but the Prince was ever first in his mind. One morning,—strangely +enough, the anniversary of the battle of Culloden—Ivan McAllister died +quietly after a few hours' illness. Even at the last he was true to his +idol, for his parting words were not addressed to wife or child, but it +seemed that memory, bridging over the gulf of years, brought him back to +the old days, and there was something very pathetic in his dying words: +"Oh, my Prince, my bonnie Prince, I shall see you soon!"</p> + +<p>He was buried, according to a wish he had expressed some years before, +in the churchyard of Rimouski, and at the head of his grave was placed +a roughly hewn cross, bearing on it this inscription: "Here lies Ivan +McAllister, Colonel, of the 200th Regiment of Highlanders, second son +of The McAllister of Dunmorton Castle Fife, Scotland. R. I. P."</p> + +<p>In his later days Ivan McAllister had, under the influence of the curé of +Rimouski, become a devout Roman Catholic.</p> + +<p>His son inherited his little savings, and lived on at the farm, situated +between Father Point and Rimouski, and the McAllisters continued there +from father to son up to the year 1877, when my story opens.</p> + +<p>Madame McAllister, sitting at the doorstep this summer afternoon was the +widow of a Robert McAllister, who had died two years ago, leaving one +son, a promising young man of three-and-twenty. Just now she was waiting +for the home-coming of her son Noël, who had been absent on a long +fishing expedition to the north shore of the St. Lawrence.</p> + +<p>Suddenly the old lady lifted her head, for her quick ear heard the sound +of an approaching footstep. She rose hurriedly, as her son drew near, and +cried out in her pretty French voice: "Oh, Noël, my son, is that you?—is +it indeed you? How long you have been away! and, oh! how I have missed +you! Noël, my son, it is good to see you again."</p> + +<p>"Yes, my mother, it is I. We landed at Father Point early this morning. +We have had such good sport, and very hard work. I am hungry, though, my +mother, for the walk up to Rimouski gave me an appetite."</p> + +<p>"Yes, my son, you must be. For three days, at this hour I have had a +meal prepared for you, and yet you did not come. I was beginning to get +anxious, though the Gulf is like glass, and the curé said there were no +signs of a storm. To-night also your supper awaits you, so come in."</p> + +<p>The old lady led the way into the house, which was small, but exquisitely +neat and well kept. The first apartment, which opened from a tiny hall, +served as sitting and dining room. Like most other French Canadian +houses, Madame McAllister's was carpeted in all the rooms with a +rag carpet of three colors—red, white and blue. This carpeting is +extensively woven by the good nuns at Rimouski Convent, and is pretty +and effective, besides having the advantage of being cheap.</p> + +<p>On the walls of Madame McAllister's sitting room hung the inevitable +pictures of the Good St. Anne, the mother of the Blessed Virgin, and +of Pope Pius IX. Indeed, it would be difficult to find a house in the +district which did not possess one or more of these engravings.</p> + +<p>Through a half-opened door could be seen a glimpse of madame's bedroom—a +dainty interior. The wooden floor was snowy white, with here and there a +bright-colored mat spread on it; the brown roughly-hewn bedstead was +covered with a quilt of palest pink and blue patchwork, the patient +result of the old lady's years of industrious toil.</p> + +<p>Madame McAllister busied herself getting supper ready, all the while +talking to her son.</p> + +<p>"Well, Noël, my son, what did you get this time? I trust a great +quantity."</p> + +<p>"Yes, my mother, we did very well. The first day we captured a fine +porpoise, and after that six large seals."</p> + +<p>"Ah! that was good," replied madame.</p> + +<p>Both mother and son spoke French in the Lower Canadian <i>patois</i>, rather +puzzling to English ears trained to understand only Parisian French. For, +not only is the pronunciation different, but several Scotch words are +used by the inhabitants of this district, and one puzzles hopelessly over +their derivation, until remembering the origin of the people.</p> + +<p>"Where did you leave your boat?" questioned madame.</p> + +<p>"At Father Point light-house with Jean Gourdon. He is to drive up with the +pilot to-morrow, and by that time will have skinned the seals."</p> + +<p>"Surely the steamer is late this week?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, but she will pass Father Point early to-morrow morning; she was +telegraphed from Matane, where there has been a dense fog."</p> + +<p>"I am glad, Noël, you had such good luck this time."</p> + +<p>"Yes, the porpoise will keep us in oil all winter, and as for the +seal-skins, I can sell them at Quebec for a good round price. So far so +good. But this is the first stroke of luck this year. It has been a poor +season. Have you any news, my mother?"</p> + +<p>"No, nothing much, my son. There is to be a great pilgrimage to the +shrine of the Good St. Anne next week. Hundreds of lame, blind and sick +folk are coming from all parts of the country—from Quebec, and even from +Gaspé. Oh, my son, it is wonderful what the Good St. Anne does for her +children."</p> + +<p>"Yes, yes," said Noël, impatiently, "but I want to hear the news of the +people here. How is Marie Gourdon?"</p> + +<p>"Marie Gourdon? Oh! much as usual—always singing or playing the organ +at the church, and M. Bois-le-Duc encourages her. I call it nonsense +myself," and the old lady shrugged her shoulders deprecatingly.</p> + +<p>"But, my mother, she sings like an angel."</p> + +<p>"Yes, yes, Noël; so Eugène Lacroix says too."</p> + +<p>"Eugène Lacroix!" said Noël, starting; "I thought he was in Montreal."</p> + +<p>"He has been here for the last week. He came down for a holiday, and is +always with Marie Gourdon."</p> + +<p>"Yes, yes, they are old friends. I do not care much for Eugène Lacroix. +He seems to me a dreamy, impractical sort of person, and only thinks of +his books and those absurd pictures he is always making."</p> + +<p>"You think them absurd?" replied madame.</p> + +<p>"M. Bois-le-Duc told me he had great talent. You know that, for a time +the curé sent him to Laval at his own expense, and now talks of sending +him to Paris."</p> + +<p>"To Paris! and for what purpose?"</p> + +<p>"Oh! the curé thinks he will make a great painter. He is always painting +during his holidays. I'm sure I can't see the good of it."</p> + +<p>"Well, my mother, M. Bois-le-Duc is a very clever man, and whatever he +does is good, but I, for one, have no very high opinion of Eugène +Lacroix."</p> + +<p>While this conversation had been going on, Noël McAllister did ample +justice to the good fare his mother set before him. Madame McAllister was +nothing if not practical, and cooking was one of her strong points. Her +<i>bouillon</i>, a sort of hotch-potch, was so good that a hungry Esau might +well have bartered his birthright for it. Her pancakes and <i>galettes</i> +were marvels of culinary skill.</p> + +<p>Noël, having appeased his appetite, sharpened by the salt sea breezes, +and after enjoying a pipe, said, "Now, my mother, I think I shall go out +for a walk and hear the news. I shall not be late."</p> + +<p>"Very well, my son. Come back soon," said the old lady, and, as she heard +the door close on Noël, she smiled grimly to herself and muttered,</p> + +<p>"The news, eh? The news! That is to say in plain words, Marie Gourdon."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_III" id="CHAPTER_III"></a>CHAPTER III.</h2> + + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i4">"Il y a longtemps qui je t'aime,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Jamais je ne t'oublierai."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="poem"><span class="i4"><span class="smcap">French Canadian Song.</span></span></div> + + + +<p>It is a beautiful evening. The tide is rushing in over the crisp yellow +sands of the beach at Father Point. The sun is setting slowly, as if +loath to leave this part of the world, and, as he departs, touches with +his rays the gold and crimson tops of the maple and sumach trees, which +border the road leading into the churchyard of the Good St. Anne.</p> + +<p>The clouds are scudding over the sky in great masses of copper color +and gold, parting every here and there, and showing glimpses of clear +translucent blue beyond.</p> + +<p>And how quickly the whole panorama changes as the sun sinks to his bed in +the sea. Anon everything was golden and amethystine, like a foreshadowing +of the splendor of the New Jerusalem. A moment later and all is a deep +vivid crimson, flooding the scene with its rich radiance and casting into +shade even the tints of yon tall sumach tree in the prime of its early +autumn coloring. The old grey slate boulders on the beach are illumined +by it, and stand out in prominence from the yellow sands.</p> + +<p>All is still to-night, save for the beating of the waves against the +rocks, or ever and anon the sound of a gun fired from the distant +light-house.</p> + +<p>The light-house of Father Point stands out clear and distinct on a long +neck of rocky land running into the St. Lawrence.</p> + +<p>All is still. But hark! A song comes faintly, carried on the evening +breeze, and presently it grows clearer, louder, more distinct.</p> + +<p>The words now can be heard plainly. They are those of that old French +Canadian song so familiar to all dwellers in the Province of Quebec:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"A la claire fontaine,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">M'en allant promener,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">J'ai trouvé l'eau si belle<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Que je me suis baigné.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Il y a longtemps que je t'aime<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Jamais je ne t'oublierai."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>The voice was tuneful, strong, and full and clear, though lacking in +cultivation. It was that of a girl, who was sitting under the shadow of +a large boulder on the beach. She seemed about eighteen, though, in the +uncertain wavering light of the sunset, it was impossible to distinguish +her features clearly.</p> + +<p>Her gown was of simple pink cotton, and on her head she wore a large +peaked straw hat, which gave her a quaint old-world appearance.</p> + +<p>Her brown hair had escaped from beneath this large head-gear, and blew +about in pretty, untidy curls round her neck and shoulders. In her hand +was a roll of music, which she had just brought from the church, where +she had been practising for the morrow's mass.</p> + +<p>The girl was Marie Gourdon, only daughter of old Jean Baptiste Gourdon, +fisherman of Father Point. As far as the educational advantages of Father +Point and Rimouski could take her Marie had gone, but that was not saying +much. Her father was fairly well-to-do for that part of the world, and +had sent her, at an early age, to the convent of Rimouski. There she was +brought up under the careful training of Mother Annette, the superioress, +and received enough musical instruction to enable her to act as organist +at the Father Point church, and to direct the choir at Grand Mass.</p> + +<p>Marie Gourdon was rather a lonely girl, although she had more outside +interests than many of her age. She had few companions, for most of the +young girls of the district obtained situations in Quebec, or some of the +large towns, finding the dullness of Father Point insupportable. Her +father and brother had this summer been on long fishing expeditions, one +taking them even so far as the Island of Anticosti, so that Marie was +left much to her own devices. Noël McAllister, it is true, was often +here, but neither his mother nor M. Bois-le-Duc seemed to like to see him +in Marie Gourdon's society.</p> + +<p>This evening she had been thinking over these things after +choir-practice. Lately she had found time pass very slowly. Her father +and brother had come home early in the evening, but went off directly +after supper to skin the seals, and she would see no more of them that +night. In all probability in a few days they would go on another +expedition.</p> + +<p>A quick footstep crunching the sand and a voice saying, "Good evening, +Marie," made the girl turn round to see Noël McAllister standing beside +her.</p> + +<p>She sprang to her feet and exclaimed, with a certain glad ring in her +voice:</p> + +<p>"Oh! Noël, is that you? I am so pleased you are back."</p> + +<p>"Yes, Marie, it is I, not my ghost, though you look as if you had seen +one. And are you pleased to see me?"</p> + +<p>"Of course I am. I think you need scarcely ask that question."</p> + +<p>"And what have you been doing, my dear one, since I have been away?"</p> + +<p>"Oh! Noël, the time has seemed so long, so wearisome. There has been no +one here to speak to, except for a week or two when Eugène Lacroix came +home for his holidays. I used to watch him paint, and he talked to me +about his work at Laval."</p> + +<p>"Marie, I don't like Eugène Lacroix. He is stupid, conceited, +impractical."</p> + +<p>"Indeed, I think you are mistaken. M. Bois-le-Duc calls him a genius. +Eugène, too, is a most interesting companion, and he has told me many +tales of countries far beyond here."</p> + +<p>"Well, he may be a genius, though I for my part cannot see it. And you, +my dear one, do you long to see those countries beyond the sea? I know +I do. I am tired of this life, this continual struggle for a bare +existence. The same thing day after day, year after year; nothing new +happens. Why did M. Bois-le-Duc teach me of an outer world beyond the +bleak Gulf of St. Lawrence? Why did he teach me to read Virgil and Plato? +He did it for the best, no doubt; but I think he did wrong. He has +stirred up within me a restless evil spirit of discontent. Oh! Marie, +to think I am doomed to be a fisherman here all my life. It is hard."</p> + +<p>"Yes, Noël, it is hard. It has always seemed to me that you with your +talents, your learning, are thrown away here. But why not go to Quebec or +Montreal? You would have a wider sphere there."</p> + +<p>"I would go to-morrow, Marie, if it were not for one thing."</p> + +<p>"What is that, Noël?"</p> + +<p>"Marie, do you not know?"</p> + +<p>"I suppose your reason is that you do not wish to leave your mother," +said the girl hesitatingly.</p> + +<p>"No, Marie, that is not the reason. My mother would let me go to-morrow, +if I wished."</p> + +<p>"Then I cannot understand why you stay. You would do much better in +Quebec, you with your ability."</p> + +<p>"You cannot understand, Marie? You do not know that it is because of +<i>you</i>, and you alone, that I stay on in this place, smothering all my +ambitions, my hopes of advancement. No, Marie, you say you do not +understand. If you spoke more truly you would say you did not care where +I went."</p> + +<p>"Noël," said the girl gently, and looking distressed, "you know, my dear +one, that I do care very much, and I cannot think why you speak to me in +that bitter way."</p> + +<p>"Marie, do you care? You have seemed lately so indifferent to my plans, +and it has made me angry, for, my darling, you must have seen that my +love for you is deep, strong, mighty, like the flow of yonder great +river. Aye, it is stronger, greater, more unchangeable."</p> + +<p>A glad light came into the girl's pale face, but she did not speak, and +Noël went on:</p> + +<p>"It is not as if my love for you were a thing of yesterday, for I can +never remember the time when you were not first in my thoughts. Yes, +Marie—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">'Il y a longtemps que je t'aime,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Jamais je ne t'oublierai.'"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>"What, Noël, never? That is a long, long time. Are you sure, Noël?"</p> + +<p>"Am I sure, Marie? Is yonder great rock, on which countless tides have +beaten, sure? Is the mighty Gulf sure of its ebb and flow? Is anything +sure in this world, Marie?"</p> + +<p>The girl did not answer, and he went on:</p> + +<p>"Tell me, Marie, do you care for me or do you not?"</p> + +<p>Marie hesitated, and Noël impatiently gathered up some loose pebbles and +threw them into the water, walking hurriedly up and down the beach.</p> + +<p>"Marie, you must answer me to-night; I must come to a decision."</p> + +<p>The girl rose slowly from her seat, and, coming towards Noël, put both +her hands in his, and lifting up her great brown eyes, lighted with +happiness and perfect trust, said deliberately,—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"'Il y a longtemps que je t'aime,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Jamais je ne t'oublierai.'"<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IV" id="CHAPTER_IV"></a>CHAPTER IV.</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i4">"Red o'er the forest peers the setting sun,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">The line of yellow light dies fast away."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="poem"><span class="i4"><span class="smcap">Keble.</span></span></div> + + +<p>"Well, I'm afraid, Webster, it's a thankless task. There are plenty of +Scotch names about here, but not the one we want. I'm heartily tired of +going about from churchyard to churchyard, poking around like ghouls or +medical students. We've been to all the graves in the neighborhood, and, +interesting as such a pursuit may be to an antiquary like yourself, I +find it very slow. I'm one of those sensible people who believe in living +in the present, and letting the dead past bury its dead, as the poet +says."</p> + +<p>"Are you, indeed?" retorted his companion drily. "Too lazy, I suppose, to +do anything else."</p> + +<p>"Well, that may be the case; but this I know, that I'm going to cable +Lady McAllister to-morrow, and tell her that I'm going back. You may stay +here if you like, as you appear to find the country so charming."</p> + +<p>"It is very kind, indeed, of you to give me your permission," replied the +other. "But, my gay and festive friend, I doubt very much whether Lady +McAllister will allow you to return. You know, as well as I, how decided +she is. When she has once got an idea into her head, it is hard to get it +out."</p> + +<p>"But, my dear sir," said the younger man, "it is such an utterly +ridiculous idea that she has got into her head now."</p> + +<p>"Not quite so ridiculous as you think. It is a well-known fact that, +about the year 1754, Ivan McAllister, with a regiment of Scottish +soldiers, did embark for Canada, and landed at Quebec. It is just as well +known that a Scottish regiment was disbanded near Rimouski a few years +later, and we have every reason to believe, from our correspondence with +the Quebec Government, that Ivan McAllister settled in this district."</p> + +<p>"I grant you all that, but he is dead long ago."</p> + +<p>"Yes, but in all probability he has descendants living. If not, of course +the McAllister male line is extinct, and Lady McAllister's hopes will +receive a terrible blow."</p> + +<p>"Poor Lady McAllister! she seems to have taken the thing very much to +heart. I hope she won't be disappointed, but I wish I hadn't come on this +wild-goose chase."</p> + +<p>"You have come," said the elder, "so you had better make the best of it."</p> + +<p>"Well, a precious lucky fellow this McAllister will be, if he exists. +Why, Dunmorton Castle with its woods must be worth half a million +sterling."</p> + +<p>"Umph!" said the old man. "There is a condition."</p> + +<p>"Yes, yes, but not a very dreadful one. Still, I'm not sure that I'd like +to marry Lady Janet myself."</p> + +<p>"My young friend, your speculation on the subject is idle, for you will +never get the chance."</p> + +<p>"Well, it doesn't matter," said his young friend philosophically, and +with a sentimental air, "my heart is another's."</p> + +<p>"Ah, indeed! And who may the un—" (he had nearly said unfortunate, but +corrected himself in time) "fortunate damsel be?"</p> + +<p>"Miss Sally Perkins. Yes, she is the girl of my choice. Oh! that I had +never crossed the briny ocean, so far away from Clapham and my Sally. The +Sunday I broke the news of my departure to her I shall never forget. It +was at tea; we were eating shrimps and brown bread and butter. She had +just poured out tea, and had eaten only two shrimps, when I told her I +was going across the broad Atlantic. She could eat no more shrimps that +day. She was overcome."</p> + +<p>"Poor Miss Perkins!" said his companion. "Sure devotion could no further +go. She must be very fond of you."</p> + +<p>"She is; and I must go back to England."</p> + +<p>"You have come, and now I advise you to wait till I return. And, let me +tell you that cabling is very expensive just now. You will only waste +your money for nothing, and besides will be snubbed for your pains by +Lady McAllister."</p> + +<p>The speaker who gave this sage advice was a little old man, with a +wizened face like parchment. His keen blue eyes had a shrewd twinkle in +them, and altogether he gave one the impression that he could see further +into a stone wall than most people. He was the confidential lawyer and +intimate friend of Lady McAllister, of Dunmorton Castle in Fife, and had +served the family for more than forty years.</p> + +<p>His companion was a young Londoner, somewhat of the Cockney stamp, by +name Thomas Brown, a youth chiefly celebrated for his immense estimation +of his own capabilities.</p> + +<p>The two men had arrived a week before by one of the mail steamers, and +had, in accordance with Lady McAllister's commands, visited nearly every +churchyard in the district to discover the name of McAllister.</p> + +<p>Hitherto this had been a thankless task. Now, dispirited and fatigued, +they were leaning upon the rough wooden fence which divided the burying +ground of Father Point church from the road. This church, dedicated to +the Good St. Anne, had been built by the pious efforts of pilots on the +ships plying the River St. Lawrence and the Gulf. It was intended to be a +thankful recognition to their patron saint for their deliverance from the +perils of the deep.</p> + +<p>And the church had become a noted place for pilgrimages. Indeed, it was +said that miraculous cures were effected by the agency of a sacred relic +of St. Anne, and many a sufferer was brought here in the hope that, by +performing his devotions at the shrine of St. Anne, he would be cured of +his maladies.</p> + +<p>There was something very pathetic about the lonely little churchyard of +Father Point, with its borders of overgrown raspberry bushes straggling +in untidy clusters round the graves. At one end of the ground were five +graves, marked each by plain wooden crosses, painted a dull black, with +the Christian names in white of those who slept beneath. These rough +crosses marked the resting-places of the good nuns, who had spent their +lives working in this part of the country. All that is left to serve as +remembrance of their struggles, their trials, their brief glimpses of +happiness, are these wooden crosses, from which the rain of a few autumn +days effaced even the names of those who labored so long and faithfully.</p> + +<p>This evening everything is very calm and still, and the peace of nature +is only disturbed by the tinkling of the bells on the necks of the cattle +as they are driven home by the French Canadian cow-herds. A silence seems +to have settled over the whole face of nature. Presently, however, from +the open windows of the church comes a song, faint at first, but swelling +louder and stronger, on the evening breeze:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Maria, Maria, ora pro nobis,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ora, ora pro nobis, Sancta Maria."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>It is the evening hymn of the curé and his acolytes pealing out on the +still evening air. Higher and higher one treble voice goes like the cry +of a soul in agonized entreaty:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Maria, Maria, Sancta Maria,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ora, ora pro nobis."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>Then it dies away, and all is still except the ever-present swish! swish! +of the rising tide against the great boulders on the beach.</p> + +<p>"Oh! I say, Webster," said young Brown, in his mincing, affected tone, +"why not, after they have finished in there," he pointed to the church, +"go in and ask the priest whether he knows anything of these people? He +ought to know them if anyone does. Good idea, eh?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," said the old lawyer, turning round suddenly and looking rather +annoyed, for in spite of his hard crust of Scotch dryness, his young +clerk's voice has jarred on him at this moment. He had been deeply moved +by the beauty of the scene, and the sweet tones coming from the church +had stirred within him long-forgotten memories.</p> + +<p>"Yes, for once you have hit on a bright idea, and we will act on it. Let +us go in and see the priest. And, my young friend, remember that most of +these priests are gentlemen, so mind your manners."</p> + +<p>"I expect that house next the church is his," replied young Brown. "We +can walk slowly on, and, in the meantime, the priest will come from his +devotions."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_V" id="CHAPTER_V"></a>CHAPTER V.</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i4">"A parish priest was of the pilgrim train;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">An awful reverend and religious man.<br /></span> +<span class="i4">His eyes diffused a venerable grace,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And charity itself was in his face.<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Rich was his soul, though his attire was poor<br /></span> +<span class="i4">(As God hath clothed his own ambassador),<br /></span> +<span class="i4">For such, on earth, his bless'd Redeemer bore."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i4"><span class="smcap">Dryden.</span></span></div></div> + + +<p>Réné Bois-le-Duc, curé of Father Point, had just come home, and was +preparing to take his ease after a hard day's toil, anticipating the +arrival of the pilgrims, who were about to visit the church of the Good +St. Anne.</p> + +<p>The curé was a man of some sixty years of age, though looking older, for +his had been a hard and toilsome life. Though secluded from the busy +world, he had had heavy responsibilities forced upon him, and there was +no one of his own class and education in these parts to cheer and +sympathize with him in his rare moments of leisure.</p> + +<p>Belonging to one of the oldest families in Brittany, Réné Bois-le-Duc +had, in spite of the strong attractions of worldly society, early +conceived a high ideal of what life ought to be.</p> + +<p>This ideal was fostered by the influence of his instructors at college. +His enthusiastic temperament and ascetic leanings led him to think +seriously of entering holy orders when quite young, but this idea met +with strong opposition from his parents; so, for a time, he abandoned it.</p> + +<p>In Paris for one short winter with his elder brother Octave, he was +much sought after for his rare musical talents, as well as his personal +attractiveness, which charmed all with whom he came in contact. Madame +la Marquise was proud of both her sons, but Réné she idolized, and he +returned her affection with a devotion rare even in the best of children.</p> + +<p>Like a sudden clap of thunder, there came on the gay world of Paris one +spring morning the news that Réné Bois-le-Duc had joined the great +Dominican order, and had been hurriedly sent off at a moment's notice on +a mission to America. At first it could not be believed possible; but at +length, after a year when he did not return, the fact could not be +doubted. But what was the reason for this sudden step? Why had he not +told his friends? Why did he leave in this way? There was a mystery about +it, and his former friends were not slow in inventing evil reports about +the absent one. Octave Bois-le-Duc never mentioned his brother, nor was +the mystery ever cleared up.</p> + +<p>All this, of course, happened many years before my story opens; and +though at first Réné Bois-le-Duc found his new life hard, exiled as he +was from all his former associates, he had never returned to France. At +times he had been sorely tempted to do so, but he knew that none could +replace him in his work at Father Point, and he had grown to love his +people—to be, indeed, a father unto them, mindful both of their +spiritual and temporal well-being.</p> + +<p>Nor can it be said that his talents were entirely thrown away, for from +time to time some highly polished poem or literary critique would find +its way from the lonely little house on the banks of the St. Lawrence +to a standard French magazine; and old schoolmates of the curé would +shrug their shoulders and say, "Oh, here is a capital thing by Réné +Bois-le-Duc. I thought he was dead and buried long ago."</p> + +<p>And he was, indeed, so far as men of his own standing and education were +concerned. Except for an annual visit from his bishop, and occasionally +one from a pilot or sea captain, M. Bois le-Duc seldom heard news of the +outer world. On the whole, his life was not an unhappy one, and certainly +not idle. Most of the hours not spent in parish work were occupied in +perfecting the education of several of the young men in whom he was +interested. With Noël McAllister he took special pains. Whether the +results were satisfactory in this particular case may be doubted; still +he did what he considered best, and left the issue to Providence.</p> + +<p>In Marie Gourdon, too, he took a great interest. Her mother had died when +she was scarcely six months old. Her father had never troubled his dull +head about her; and, after she left the convent at Rimouski, she led a +very lonely life for so young a girl.</p> + +<p>There was much to interest even such a cultivated man as M. Bois-le-Duc +in Marie Gourdon. She had inherited from her mother a remarkable talent +for music, such as many of the French Canadians have strongly developed. +Her soprano voice was powerful, clear and flexible, and her ear was very +correct. The good curé judged that, if given proper training, and the +advantages Paris alone could afford, the little Canadian girl might +become an artist of the first rank. But how send her to Paris? The thing +seemed impossible. Where was the money to come from? True, M. le curé had +been well paid for his last review in the Catholic Journal, but he had +exhausted this money in sending Eugène Lacroix, another <i>protégé</i>, to +Laval for a twelvemonth. Alas now his treasury was empty; his cupboard +was bare!</p> + +<p>This evening he was thinking all these matters over, when suddenly he was +roused from his meditations by the voice of Julie, his old housekeeper, +calling out:</p> + +<p>"M. le curé, there is a gentleman asking for you at the door."</p> + +<p>"For me, Julie, at this hour? Who is he?"</p> + +<p>"Not a Frenchman, that is very certain, monsieur; I should think not, +indeed; his accent is execrable;" and the good woman lifted her hands +with a gesture of despair.</p> + +<p>"Could you not understand what he wanted?" asked the priest.</p> + +<p>"No, monsieur; the only word I could make out was '<i>la cooré</i>,' so I +thought that might mean you."</p> + +<p>"Well, well," said M. Bois-le-Duc, laughing, "the best thing is for me to +see him myself."</p> + +<p>He went out into the tiny dark passage where Mr. Webster and his clerk +were standing.</p> + +<p>"Good-evening," he said, in his polished courtly manner. "I must +apologize for having kept you waiting so long. Pray come into my study. +I fear Julie was somewhat brusque and rude to you. She is a good soul, +though. Please be seated, gentlemen."</p> + +<p>"M. <i>la cooré</i>," said Webster, struggling hard with his one French word, +and breaking down lamentably.</p> + +<p>"I can speak English," said the priest, "if that will help you."</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes," replied Webster, drawing a deep sigh of relief; "thank Heaven +for that."</p> + +<p>M. le curé smiled benignly.</p> + +<p>"Well, sir," went on the lawyer, "I've come to ask you whether you knew a +family called McAllister, supposed to be living in these parts."</p> + +<p>"McAllister! Why, of course I do. I have known them for years."</p> + +<p>"Oh, my good sir, you have relieved my mind of a heavy burden. For the +last three weeks my clerk and I have been searching every churchyard +round about here for the name, and have hitherto failed to find it. +To-night the idea entered my head that you might know."</p> + +<p>"My head, if you please," murmured young Brown <i>sotto voce</i>.</p> + +<p>"I shall be most happy to be of any service to you," said M. Bois-le-Duc. +"Madame McAllister, with her son Noël, lives about three miles down the +road. You cannot mistake the cottage. It is a plain white one with a +red-tiled roof—the only red-roofed cottage on the road."</p> + +<p>"Thank you very much, sir," said Webster.</p> + +<p>"You will like Noël McAllister," went on the curé; "he is a fine manly +young fellow, and was my pupil for many years, so I know him well."</p> + +<p>"I am infinitely obliged to you, sir," said Webster, gratefully. "I +suppose we may call at the cottage the first thing in the morning. The +only house on the road with a red-tiled roof you said? Thanks. We shall +not detain you longer. Good-evening, sir, good-evening."</p> + +<p>And Webster, having obtained the desired information, marched off with +his clerk, leaving the curé in wondering perplexity as to his relations +with the McAllisters.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VI" id="CHAPTER_VI"></a>CHAPTER VI.</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i4">"The love of money is the root of all evil."</span></div></div> + + +<p>"Yes, Mr. McAllister, there is no choice. The estates are so left by the +old lord that unless you marry your cousin you can have no part of them. +An empty title you will have, to be sure; much good that is to anyone +nowadays! In case of your refusing the conditions imposed upon you by the +late lord's will, which Lady McAllister is determined to see faithfully +carried out, my advice to you is to stay here and remain a fisherman all +your life. A pleasant prospect that for a young fellow of your talents."</p> + +<p>"I must marry my cousin?" questioned Noël.</p> + +<p>"Yes, that is imperative."</p> + +<p>"What is she like?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, she is like herself, no one else I ever saw. I'm not good at +descriptions, especially of ladies. She has yellow hair, I can tell you +that."</p> + +<p>"Yellow hair—yes, yes; but her disposition, her character? Is she +amiable?"</p> + +<p>"Well, I don't think that amiable is quite the word to apply to Lady +Margaret. She is self-reliant, sensible, a thorough woman of business, +and the very one to help you on in the world."</p> + +<p>"Oh, indeed; but if I ever possess Dunmorton I shall be helped on +enough."</p> + +<p>"What! have you no wish for more? Would you not like to go into +Parliament to make a name for yourself? Your cousin could help you in +that. They say she used to write all her father's speeches, and very good +speeches they were."</p> + +<p>"And Marie Gourdon?" said Noël slowly. "What of her? How can I leave +her?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, nonsense!" said the little lawyer impatiently; "really I wonder at a +man of your sense hesitating in such a matter. This Marie will get over +it; all girls do. It's only a matter of time. She'll forget all about you +in a month."</p> + +<p>Noël's thoughts went back to the scene on the beach two evenings ago, +and he did not consider it at all probable that Marie Gourdon would ever +forget him. At any rate, he did not care to entertain the possibility.</p> + +<p>"Yes," went on Webster, "I don't see that you can have any hesitation. +Here you are, at the opening of your life, offered one of the finest +chances I ever heard of, hesitating because of a little French girl. +Umph! I've no patience with you, but, young man, you've got to decide +before to-morrow's mail goes out. I must write to Lady McAllister. +Good-bye I'm going for a walk to the light-house. The keeper is a most +interesting man, and a great mathematician. Good-bye. I hope next time +I see you you'll have come to your senses."</p> + +<p>And Webster walked off, evidently imagining that there could be no +hesitation about the matter of the inheritance.</p> + +<p>The whole of that day was a miserable failure to Noël McAllister. He had +one of those natures which hate making a decision. He was restless, and +could settle down to nothing, and walked up and down his mother's little +verandah like a caged animal. He could not bear the thought of giving up +Marie, yet, on the other hand, he could not bear the thought of giving up +his inheritance. It was too tempting. To leave forever the monotony of a +life at Father Point, to plunge all at once into luxury and riches, that +was a dazzling prospect, with only Marie Gourdon on the other side to +counter-balance these attractions. And she had been so slow in telling +him she cared for him that even now he half doubted whether she really +did, in spite of the truthfulness in her great brown eyes, when she +repeated the refrain of that old French song. And the lawyer had said she +would forget in a month, like all other girls, and she was not different +from other girls. Yes, it was a difficult question to decide, there was +no doubt about that. He despised himself for thinking of giving up Marie, +the mere thought horrified him, and yet—Dunmorton, ease, riches, luxury!</p> + +<p>To give all these up without a struggle would have been difficult, even +to a more heroic nature than Noël McAllister's.</p> + +<p>There was not long, however, for him to decide the question, and as +evening came on, and he thought that by next morning the die must be cast +one way or the other, his head ached with the effort of anxious thought. +Fresh air he felt he must have, so he went out from the cottage, and +walked hurriedly down the road.</p> + +<p>The moon was shining cold and clear, showing distinctly the delicate +tracery of each branch and leaf overhanging the pathway. The cold, clear +light threw into strong relief each giant maple tree darkly looming +against the silvery evening sky.</p> + +<p>McAllister walked hurriedly on, deeply thinking, for about a quarter of +a mile. His head was bent, and he saw nothing, so absorbed was he in +his own meditations. Presently, however, a figure crossed his path. +He started, and looked up to see a girl in a red cloak standing in the +pathway. She stopped before him. It was Marie Gourdon, the last person in +the world he wished to meet just then.</p> + +<p>"Marie, my dear one," he said, "what are you doing out so far alone, and +at this hour too? Come; let me take you home."</p> + +<p>"Noël, I came to see you. I hoped to have met you. I have something +important to say to you."</p> + +<p>"Indeed, Marie, what can it be? You should have sent for me. You cannot +talk to me here. Let me take you home, and then you can tell me."</p> + +<p>"No, no," said Marie persistently. "Jean and my father are in the house, +and I wish to speak to you alone, and what I am going to tell you I must +say to-night."</p> + +<p>"What is this tremendous secret?"</p> + +<p>She did not answer the question but said abruptly:</p> + +<p>"M. Bois-le-Duc tells me you are going away."</p> + +<p>"Going away? Um—um—I don't know," Noël replied hesitatingly. "I think +not. No no, M. Bois-le-Duc makes a great mistake."</p> + +<p>"You are not going away?" said the girl, a glad light coming into her +eyes. "What, Noël you have not come into this fortune?"</p> + +<p>"Oh! yes, there is no doubt about that; but there are conditions, and I +can't accept them."</p> + +<p>"What are the conditions?"</p> + +<p>"One is that I shall have to leave you, to give you up."</p> + +<p>"Noël, there would be no need of that."</p> + +<p>"Why, what do you mean, Marie?"</p> + +<p>"I give <i>you</i> up," said Marie proudly. "I could never stand in your way +of advancement."</p> + +<p>"Marie, did you not say to me most solemnly only the other night:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">'Il y a longtemps que je t'aime,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Jamais je ne t'oublierai.'"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>"What has that to do with it, Noël? That does not alter the case. It is +just because of that I will not let you stay here. You may think it an +easy thing to decide now, but in after years you would regret remaining +here. With your gifts, your ambition, you would be thrown away. No, Noël, +<i>I</i> bid you go. You must not stay. Good-bye, dear one, for the last time. +You must tell them to-morrow that you will go."</p> + +<p>"It is impossible," said Noël, in an angry tone. "You can never have +cared for me to give me up in a moment like this."</p> + +<p>"You know that is not true, Noël. I can see into the future, and it is +just because I do care so much for you that I do not wish you to waste +your life here." She spoke with an effort, and as if she were repeating +a lesson learned beforehand.</p> + +<p>"No, that is not it," said Noël; "I am perfectly sure you never cared for +me or you could not give me up like this in a moment."</p> + +<p>The girl did not answer for a time, for she was deeply wounded at his +want of understanding, his non-comprehension of her most unselfish +motives. Presently she turned to him, and said in a hurried tone, for she +could scarcely control herself just then, "Noël, believe me it is for the +best. Good-bye."</p> + +<p>Before he had time to answer she had walked swiftly away, and was hid +from his sight by the turn of the road. All had happened so quickly, the +momentous decision had been made so entirely without effort on his part, +that his breath was fairly taken away. But, beneath all his surprise and +wounded pride was a feeling of relief scarce acknowledged to himself, +though his first exclamation was one of distressed self-love, as he +exclaimed angrily, "She has no feeling; she does not care."</p> + +<p>Ah! M. Bois-le-Duc, your training of Noël McAllister was at fault +somewhere. You grounded him thoroughly in Latin and the classics, but you +taught him little of the study of human character, that most profoundly +interesting of all studies. Had your teaching been different, Noël +McAllister might have had a different estimation of the depths of a +nature like Marie Gourdon's, of a woman's true unselfish devotion. He +might have made an effort to keep what he had already won—which was +above all price. Had your teaching not failed in this one essential +point, Noël McAllister's life and career would have been far different. +Well for him had it been so!</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VII" id="CHAPTER_VII"></a>CHAPTER VII.</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i4">"O world! thy slippery turns! Friends, now fast sworn in love</span><br /> +<span class="i4">inseparable, shall within this hour break out to bitterest enmity."</span></div></div> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i4"><span class="smcap">Coriolanus</span>, Act iv., Scene iv.</span></div></div> + + +<p>It was two months later, a chilly October afternoon.</p> + +<p>The glory of the maple and the sumach had departed, and a dingy russet +brown had succeeded the more brilliant tints of early autumn. The tide +was high, and the waves dashed angrily against the long pier at Rimouski.</p> + +<p>On this pier were gathered six persons, awaiting the arrival from Quebec +of the outward-bound steamer. They were Madame McAllister and her son +Noël, Marie Gourdon, Pierre, her father, Jean, her brother, and M. +Bois-le-Duc. What was the matter with M. le curé this afternoon? He +looked anxious and care-worn, and scarcely spoke to anyone. Marie, on +the contrary, was very bright, and tried to keep up Madame McAllister's +spirits, which were at the lowest ebb.</p> + +<p>On the whole, there was not much talking done, for a cloud seemed to hang +over the whole party.</p> + +<p>Presently, some miles out on the gulf, at first like a tiny black speck, +appeared the steamer. Nearer and nearer it came, growing larger and +larger as it approached. The dark waters heaved up in huge waves as her +bow pierced their depths. The foam dashed high, as if in angry protest at +the intruder. And Madame McAllister, glancing at the ship, said in her +quaint, pathetic way: "Ah! Noël, my son, here is the ship like some huge +monster come to swallow you up. I cannot let you go. Oh! my son, my son!"</p> + +<p>At length the steamer "Peruvian"—for Lady McAllister desired that Noël +should travel in every way befitting her heir—reached the pier. Ropes +were thrown out and caught by the fishermen.</p> + +<p>The mails, in great leather bags, were thrown on board, and shouts were +heard of "All passengers aboard!"</p> + +<p>During all this bustle Noël McAllister stepped aside, and said to M. +Bois-le-Duc, in a hurried, anxious tone:</p> + +<p>"And now, my father, are you not going to give me your blessing?"</p> + +<p>M. Bois-le-Duc, strangely enough, had made no advance towards his +favorite pupil; in fact, during the whole of the last month had seemed +to avoid him. Now, when thus directly questioned, he answered:</p> + +<p>"Yes, Noël, I wish you all happiness in your new life, and hope you will +have a safe and pleasant voyage."</p> + +<p>"And is that all you have to say to me, my father?"</p> + +<p>The curé did not reply, but pointed to Madame McAllister, who was gazing +at her son with eager, wistful eyes, jealously counting every moment of +absence from her side. He obeyed the curé's unspoken command, and +returned to his mother, conscience-stricken at the silent rebuke of this +his best and most valued friend.</p> + +<p>No change of plan was possible now. The die was cast for good or evil. +Weakness had triumphed over strength. Blame him—he was worthy of blame; +but, pausing for a moment, may it not be said that nine men out of ten +would have decided as did Noël McAllister?</p> + +<p>"Oh! my mother, you know I shall write every week. Do not distress +yourself. Marie, good-bye. Remember always it was you who bade me go. +Good-bye, Monsieur Gourdon. Good-bye, Jean."</p> + +<p>He was off at last, and the steamer moved out from the pier. How bitter +these partings are and how hard to bear, but the thought crossed M. +Bois-le-Duc's mind just then that there were worse things than partings.</p> + +<p>"Take me home," said Madame McAllister. "I cannot stay here watching my +boy disappear."</p> + +<p>She was terribly distressed, and the curé and Jean Gourdon led her home. +No one seemed to think of Marie. She had disappeared behind a huge pile +of lumber, and had sat down to rest on a great log. There she sat for she +knew not how long; she seemed unconscious, oblivious of all, save that +tiny black speck which was sinking lower and lower on the horizon. +Finally it disappeared down the great waste of interminable ocean.</p> + +<p>The sun set, and the air grew chill; the tide rose high; the curlews +hovered round with their weird cries; the Angelus from the church came +wafted across the waters, faint and sweet in its distant music, and the +laborers in the fields paused a moment in their tasks to do homage to the +Holy Maiden in murmured prayers. But Marie Gourdon heard none of these +sounds, felt not the cold of the evening air. Her senses were benumbed, +and she was only conscious of a dull, aching pain.</p> + +<p>Two hours passed, and during these two hours Marie fought out her battle +with herself. When M. le curé missed her, he went to look for her at her +father's house, and not finding her there, the idea occurred to him that +she might be still on the pier. Returning, he found her. Laying a gentle +hand on her down-bent head, he said:</p> + +<p>"My child, come home with me. You must not give way like this, such grief +is wrong, and—he is not worthy of it."</p> + +<p>"Oh! my father," said Marie, lifting a wan, white face to his, "life is +indeed hard."</p> + +<p>"Yes," said the curé, raising his hat reverently, and looking out towards +the cold, unfathomable waters of the great Gulf. "And, my child, there is +only One who can help us on that rough path."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VIII" id="CHAPTER_VIII"></a>CHAPTER VIII</h2> + +<h3>TEN YEARS AFTER.</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i4">"Oh! wouldst thou set thy rank before thyself?<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Wouldst thou be honored for thyself or that?<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Rank that excels the wearer, doth degrade,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Riches impoverish that divide respect."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i4"><i>Sheridan Knowles</i></span></div></div> + + +<p>The morning-room at Glen McAllister was an ideal room of its kind, in a +rather plain and severe style. The floor was covered with dainty blue and +white straw matting, and huge rugs of musk-ox skin, from the wilds of the +great North-West of Canada, were scattered here and there about the room. +At a large desk, looking as if it might belong to a man with an immense +business connection, sat Lady Margaret McAllister. She was adding +accounts with a methodical accuracy and speed even a bank clerk could not +hope to excel. She was a woman of about forty, though looking younger, +her hair being of that tawny shade of yellow that rarely turns grey, and +her complexion bright and fresh, bearing witness to a healthy outdoor +life.</p> + +<p>That morning she was very busy counting up the week's expenses, and +trying to explain to her husband that the conduct of their bailiff was +most reprehensible. Lady Margaret always used long words in preference to +short ones, which might express exactly the same meaning. This was one of +her peculiarities.</p> + +<p>"Three months' rent for the Mackay's farm is due, Noël. I really think +you might bestir yourself a little to look after the estate. Jones is the +most execrable manager I ever knew. Here you are, with nothing to do all +day except smoke or shoot, letting things go to rack and ruin. We shall +be in the poor-house soon. Umph! I've no patience with you."</p> + +<p>"No, my dear, you never had, and each year you have less. I am, indeed, a +sore trial to you," replied her husband, smiling placidly.</p> + +<p>"You are, there can be no question about that," said Lady Margaret, +bitterly.</p> + +<p>Noël took his cigar out of his mouth, looked at her calmly for a moment, +and said:</p> + +<p>"Then why——"</p> + +<p>"Why—Yes, I know what you are going to say, you have said it so +frequently—why did I marry you?" she interrupted.</p> + +<p>"You have guessed rightly, my dear; that was just what I was about to +remark."</p> + +<p>"I married you because I could not help myself."</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes, you could. You might have refused, and I would have gone back +to Canada—would gladly have done so."</p> + +<p>"No, Noël," said his wife, rising and standing before him, a rather +terrifying figure; "be at least truthful. You would not have given up +the estate even though it was burdened with an incubus like me."</p> + +<p>"Well, well, my dear," said Noël, yawning aggravatingly, "all that is +over. As your poet says, 'Let the dead past bury its dead.'"</p> + +<p>"Inexact in small things as well as great," said Lady Margaret, who had +returned to her accounts. "Your poet, you mean, for your quotation is +from Longfellow, and he lived nearer your country than mine."</p> + +<p>"Oh! I never remember these fellows' names. I take it for granted you are +right. You always are, my dear. But let us return to prose. Are you going +to Lady Severn's to-night to dinner?"</p> + +<p>"Of course I am, and so are you. You know the famous prima donna, +Mademoiselle Laurentia is staying at the Castle, and we shall hear her +sing."</p> + +<p>"Who is she? Another of old Lady Severn's <i>protégées</i>, I suppose. All her +swans turn out geese. I only hope this one will not be a worse failure +than usual."</p> + +<p>"You at least, Noël, ought to be interested in Mademoiselle Laurentia, +for she comes from your part of the world—from the backwoods of Canada."</p> + +<p>"Really?" he questioned, with some show of interest at last.</p> + +<p>"Yes; and Elsie Severn began to tell me some romantic story about her +which I can't remember, for, just as she was at the most exciting part, +Jones came in and related the account of the arrears in the Mackays' +rent, and that put all Elsie's story out of my head."</p> + +<p>"Yes, my dear, you have a faculty of remembering all the disagreeable +things and forgetting all the pleasant ones. This adds much to your +worth as a charming companion. I, who am honored with so much of your +society, fully appreciate this quality."</p> + +<p>Fortunately Lady Margaret did not hear this tender speech, for she was +again deep in the recalcitrant Jones' accounts.</p> + +<p>Let us glance for a moment at Noël McAllister, and see how years and +prosperity have agreed with him. Lazily smoking in a comfortable +arm-chair, this man is very different from the tall and slender youth we +saw last on the pier at Rimouski.</p> + +<p>He certainly had improved in appearance, and was a tall, fine-looking man +of about five-and-thirty. He wore a light-colored tweed shooting suit, +which contrasted well with his dark hair and bronzed complexion. A +remarkably handsome man was The McAllister of Dunmorton, but to a close +observer there was something lacking in his face—the old weakness about +the mouth and chin, which time, instead of eradicating, had only served +to develop. The hard school of adversity would have been a wholesome +experience for Noël McAllister.</p> + +<p>His life was not a busy one by any means: in fact, he spent most of his +time in hunting or shooting, taking little interest in his tenants. +After much persuasion from Lady Margaret, he had been induced to run for +the county, and was returned unopposed, owing to the energetic canvassing +of his wife, and the fact that most of the electors were his own tenants.</p> + +<p>Poor Lady Margaret! she, indeed, had her trials. A woman of unbounded +energy and ambition, she wished above all things that her husband should +make his mark in the world. Vain hope!—a silent member in the House of +Commons he was, and a silent member he would remain.</p> + +<p>When he first arrived from Canada, ten years ago, his cousin anticipated +great things from him. She saw his strong points as well as his +weaknesses, and, being by some years his senior, hoped to mould him to +her will. Alas! it was like beating against a stone wall—a wall of +indifference and apathy.</p> + +<p>McAllister had got his estate and the large revenue it yielded, and that +was all he wanted. Lady Margaret was an appendage, and a very tiresome +one into the bargain. She could not touch his sympathies, for whatever +heart he ever had was far across the sea, where the cold green waters of +the great St. Lawrence beat in unceasing murmur against the rocky beach +at Father Point.</p> + +<p>McAllister heard occasionally from his mother, whom he had often begged +to come over to Scotland to share his prosperity, but the old lady always +refused, saying that she was too old to venture so far from home.</p> + +<p>He had written several times to M. Bois-le-Duc, but never had received +any answer or news of the curé until a year ago, when a friar from Quebec +had come to Scotland on a visit, and had brought a letter of introduction +from the curé of Father Point to McAllister. The letter consisted only of +a few short lines. Noël had often questioned his mother about Marie +Gourdon, but on this subject the old lady was silent,—it is so easy to +leave questions unanswered in letters.</p> + +<p>"Margaret," Noël called out suddenly, rousing himself from his +meditations, "I am going out now, and I shall not be back till five +o'clock. I am going to ride up the Glen."</p> + +<p>"Very well, but remember to be back in time to dress for dinner. Last +time we were invited to the Severn's you were half an hour late, and +Lady Severn has not forgiven you yet."</p> + +<p>"Oh! all right. I shall be strictly on time this evening, and trust to +make my peace with the old lady. Au revoir."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IX" id="CHAPTER_IX"></a>CHAPTER IX.</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i4">"Alas! our memories may retrace<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Each circumstance of time and place;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Season and scene come back again,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And outward things unchanged remain:<br /></span> +<span class="i4">The rest we cannot reinstate;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Ourselves we cannot re-create,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Nor get our souls to the same key<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Of the remember'd harmony."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i4"><span class="smcap">Longfellow.</span></span></div></div> + + +<p>The dinner party at Mount Severn this evening was an undoubted success, +as were most of Lady Severn's entertainments, for she possessed to a +great degree that invaluable gift of a hostess—the art of allowing +people to entertain themselves. And, added to the charm of her manner, +and her undoubted tact in bringing the right people together, Lady +Severn had all the accessories to make a dinner party go off well. The +large dining-room was a long, low, octagonal apartment, with a small +conservatory opening out at the lower end. There were numerous small +alcoves in the wall, and in the recesses of each of these were huge pots +of maidenhair fern.</p> + +<p>All along the oak-panelled walls at short intervals were placed +old-fashioned brass sconces with candles in them, which shed a clear +though subdued light on the dinner table and the faces of the guests, +and brought into prominence the bright hues of the ladies' gowns and +the sparkling crystal and silver on the dinner table.</p> + +<p>At the head of the table sat Lord Severn, a hale, hearty old gentleman +of seventy. He was devoted to fox-hunting, and always ready to get up +at five o'clock in the morning when a good run was in prospect. His wife +sat opposite him. She was a beautiful old lady, her face clear-cut as a +cameo. Her features were regular, and her bright black eyes flashed under +her high intellectual forehead with a brilliancy a girl of sixteen might +have envied. Her hair was snowy white, and rolled back <i>à la pompadour</i>.</p> + +<p>To-night she was dressed in a gown of heliotrope satin, trimmed with +white point lace, and here and there in her hair and gown she wore pins +made of the Severn diamonds. Round her neck glistened a magnificent +necklace of these gems, which were of world-wide fame, having been given +to Lord Severn by an Indian rajah as a recompense for saving him from +drowning.</p> + +<p>Lady Severn had been talking about her celebrated guest, who was not at +dinner this evening.</p> + +<p>"I am sorry you have not met Mademoiselle Laurentia; unfortunately she +has been suffering for the last two days with a very severe nervous +headache, and to-night did not feel inclined to come to dinner. However, +I hope later on she will be better, and able to sing for you. Before +dinner she went out into the garden, thinking the cool air would do her +head good."</p> + +<p>"Yes, I am very anxious to meet her," replied Lady Margaret, "and Noël +is, for him, quite excited about her, coming as she does from Canada."</p> + +<p>"Yes, she comes from Canada, and she has quite a romantic history. +Perhaps she will tell you about that herself some day. She has only been +with us a week, but already we are very fond of her, she is such a +winning little creature, and her French Canadian songs are charming."</p> + +<p>"Oh! Noël will be delighted," said Lady Margaret; "he waxes enthusiastic +on the subject of French Canadian boat-songs. Do you think Mademoiselle +Laurentia would spend a week with us at the Glen?"</p> + +<p>"No, I'm afraid not; she is engaged to sing at Her Majesty's next week, +and goes from here to London. You may have better luck in the autumn, +though, when her London engagement is over."</p> + +<p>"I'm sorry she can't come now, for we should have been delighted to have +her at the Glen."</p> + +<p>"Elsie dear," said Lady Severn to her daughter, a tall, fair girl of +nineteen, who was endeavoring to amuse The McAllister, a difficult +task—"Elsie dear, what part of Canada does Mademoiselle Laurentia come +from?"</p> + +<p>"Oh! somewhere on the banks of the St. Lawrence—some unpronounceable +name."</p> + +<p>"Delightfully vague," said Noël McAllister. "The ideas you English people +have about our country are refreshing. One young lady, whom I supposed to +have been fairly well educated, asked me, in the most matter-of-fact +tone, whether we went down the rapids in toboggans. I can assure you it +required a strong effort of will on my part to refrain from laughing +outright."</p> + +<p>"What did you tell her?" inquired Elsie.</p> + +<p>"Oh! I said if she had ever seen either a rapid or a toboggan; she would +hardly think of associating the two."</p> + +<p>"Some day I wish you and Lady Margaret would make an excursion to Canada, +and take me with you. It would be so exciting——"</p> + +<p>"Come, Elsie," interrupted her mother, "come, we must go. Mademoiselle +Laurentia will be lonely."</p> + +<p>The ladies rose to go, Elsie saying in an undertone to The McAllister:</p> + +<p>"Now, don't spend an hour over those stupid politics. I want you to hear +mademoiselle sing."</p> + +<p>"Politics!" he replied, with a disdainful shrug of his shoulders. "I take +no interest whatever in them. Do not fear, Miss Elsie."</p> + +<p>"I should like to know what you do take an interest in," remarked the +young lady mischievously, as she hurried out of the room.</p> + +<p>On entering the drawing-room they failed to find Mademoiselle Laurentia, +so Lady Severn proposed that they should go into the garden.</p> + +<p>"Elsie, run up to my room and fetch some shawls; the evening is quite +chilly."</p> + +<p>It was a lovely night in the end of April; the moon was full, and +glimmering with sheeny whiteness over the distant hills. The garden at +Mount Severn was an old-fashioned one, laid out in the early Elizabethan +style in stately terraces and winding paths.</p> + +<p>On each terrace were planted beds of luxuriant scarlet geraniums and +early spring flowers. Every once in a while one came across a huge copper +beech, and gloomy close-clipped hedges of yew divided the garden proper +from the adjacent park.</p> + +<p>Somewhere in the distance could be heard the trickling of a tiny rivulet, +which supplied the fountain in the middle of the garden. There were many +roughly-hewn, picturesque-looking rustic chairs scattered about, and near +one of these Lady Margaret paused.</p> + +<p>"May we sit here?" she said, turning to her hostess. "I really think this +is the most delightful garden I ever saw in my life. They talk about +Devonshire; I never saw anything half so lovely there."</p> + +<p>"Yes, certainly it is pretty," assented its proprietress. "But where is +Mademoiselle Laurentia?"</p> + +<p>"In her favorite nook beside the old copper beech. See, you can catch a +glimpse of her if you look round that tree."</p> + +<p>Yes, there was Mademoiselle Laurentia, and a very insignificant little +person she appeared at first sight. Her hands were clasped, and she was +apparently deep in thought. She was clad in a gown of some soft shimmery +white material, which fell in graceful folds about her, and in the clear +beams of the moon looked like a robe of woven silver. Round her throat +was a row of pearls, and in her dark brown hair were two or three diamond +pins.</p> + +<p>As Elsie Severn returned and came towards her, she lifted her head, and +her face could be distinctly seen. A very sweet face it was, too, albeit +not that of a woman in the first freshness of her youth.</p> + +<p>The eyes were dark and bright, the forehead broad and low, with lines of +strong determination marked on it. The mouth, that most characteristic +feature, was somewhat large and expressive. But the successful prima +donna's face wore a not altogether happy expression, though when she +spoke the sad look went out of it; only when in repose it was always +there.</p> + +<p>"Well, Mademoiselle Laurentia, how is your head now? Better, I hope?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, dear, the pain is quite gone now. And how did your dinner-party go +off?"</p> + +<p>"Oh! very well. I sat next The McAllister, and he was a little more +lively than usual. He is most anxious to meet you. You know he comes from +Canada."</p> + +<p>"Yes, I know," said Mademoiselle Laurentia abruptly.</p> + +<p>"Did you ever meet him there?" went on Elsie.</p> + +<p>"I used to know a family called McAllister a long time ago, when I was +quite young."</p> + +<p>"Indeed? But, mademoiselle, don't talk as if you were a hundred. I'm sure +you don't look much older than I."</p> + +<p>"In years, perhaps, I am not so very much older; but in thought, Elsie, a +century."</p> + +<p>"Poor Mademoiselle Laurentia, your life has been a hard one, in spite of +all its success. I don't want to intrude, but I often think you must have +had some great sorrow. Have you?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, my dear, I have. I cannot talk of it to-night, though. No, no, not +to-night at any rate."</p> + +<p>Elsie rather wondered why she laid such particular stress on the present +time, but did not like to pursue the subject.</p> + +<p>"Elsie, would you like me to sing for you now?" asked Mademoiselle +Laurentia suddenly. "This garden is an inspiration."</p> + +<p>"Yes, I should, above all things, if you feel well enough."</p> + +<p>"Then what shall it be? Choose."</p> + +<p>"Oh! if you please, Gounod's Slumber-song. This is just the time and +place for it."</p> + +<p>Accordingly, with only the rippling of the fountain as an accompaniment, +the sweet clear notes rose, and the highly-trained voice of the prima +donna performed the difficult runs and trills of this most beautiful of +slumber-songs with that precision and delicacy attained by years of +practice and hard training.</p> + +<p>The song came to an end, and for a few moments no one spoke, till at +length Elsie Severn, drawing a deep sigh of relief, said in her impulsive +way:</p> + +<p>"Why, Mademoiselle Laurentia, I have never heard you sing like that +before. I thought I had heard you at your best in London, but I never +<i>felt</i> your singing so much as to-night."</p> + +<p>"I am glad you were pleased, my dear. Would you like another?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, above all things. Just wait a moment though; I want to speak to +mamma."</p> + +<p>Elsie crossed over to where Lady Severn sat, and whispered to her saying:</p> + +<p>"If the gentlemen come out while mademoiselle is singing, don't let any +of them come over to us. She can't bear a crowd round her, and I don't +want her to be disturbed."</p> + +<p>"Very well, child; it shall be as you wish. I hope, though, you did not +ask mademoiselle to sing; you must not do that."</p> + +<p>"No, no, indeed I did not, mamma. She offered to sing for me."</p> + +<p>A curious friendship had sprung up last winter in London between Elsie +Severn and the famous prima donna. They had met one afternoon at a +reception, and been mutually pleased with each other. There was something +about the frank outspoken manner of the young girl which appealed to +Mademoiselle Laurentia, wearied as she was with the conventional +adulation, in reality amounting to so little, of the world in which she +moved.</p> + +<p>"Now, mademoiselle," said Elsie, "I am ready. It is so good of you to +sing for me."</p> + +<p>"My child, you know I love to give you pleasure," she replied, stroking +the girl's fair hair caressingly. "Listen! I will sing for you a song I +have not sung for years—ah! so many, many years."</p> + +<p>She began softly, slowly, a Canadian boat-song, heard often on the +raftsman's barge or habitant's canoe, on the Ottawa or great St. +Lawrence—a national song, with its quaint monotonous melody and simple +pathetic words.</p> + +<p>And the voice which rendered so effectively the technical difficulties of +Wagner and Gounod sang this simple air with a pathos and feeling all its +own:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"A la claire fontaine<br /></span> +<span class="i1">M'en allant promener,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">J'ai trouvé l'eau si belle<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Que je me suis baigné.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Il y a longtemps que je t'aime<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Jamais je ne t'oublierai.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Il y a longtemps que je t'aime<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Jamais je ne t'oublierai."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>"Why, McAllister, whatever is the matter with you? Have you seen a ghost? +You are as white as a sheet. Are you ill?"</p> + +<p>"No, no, I'm not ill. Do be quiet, Jack. What a row you're making! I do +feel a little seedy; it's these horrid cigars of yours."</p> + +<p>"Nonsense!" retorted Jack Severn. "You couldn't get better ones; it +isn't that. I believe you've seen the ghost of old Lady Severn, my +great-grandmother, walking with her head in her hands. This is the time +of year she always turns up. It must be the spring house-cleaning that +disturbs her rest. <i>Did</i> you see her? I've sat up night after night to +try and catch sight of the old lady, and I've always missed her. +Where was she? Tell me quickly. I'll run after her."</p> + +<p>"I didn't see your great-grandmother or anybody else, so do stop +chattering, Jack, and for goodness' sake let me hear that song," said +McAllister irritably.</p> + +<p>"Well, well," muttered Jack Severn to himself, "I never saw The +McAllister in such a temper before. As a rule, he is too lazy to be +angry at anything, I really think he must be ill."</p> + +<p>Mademoiselle Laurentia finished singing. The McAllister's thoughts by +this time were far away on the pebbly beach at Father Point, where the +tide was coming in rippling over the stones, and his memory had gone back +to an evening ten years ago. He was again standing beside a huge boulder, +on which sat a girl in a pink cotton frock. She was singing in a sweet +low voice:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Il y a longtemps que je t'aime,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Jamais je ne t'oublierai."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>And he was saying to her:</p> + +<p>"Marie, you know, my dear one—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">'Il y a longtemps que je t'aime.'<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>Yes, for years. My love for you is deep as that great river, and +stronger, mightier." And the girl had answered, looking at him with her +great brown eyes full of unutterable tenderness and faith:</p> + +<p>"Yes, Noël, I believe you will never change;" and their voices joined in +the refrain of that old boat-song, awaking the echoes:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Il y a longtemps que je t'aime,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Jamais je ne t'oublierai."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>"Mr. McAllister, how ill you look," said Elsie Severn, coming towards +him, and noticing his weary, abstracted expression.</p> + +<p>"Yes, that's just what I was saying," put in the irrepressible Jack. "I +think he'd better go home."</p> + +<p>"How rude you are!" said his sister. "Come, Mr. McAllister, come into the +house, and I will give you a cup of tea. That will do you good, and then +I will introduce you to Mademoiselle Laurentia."</p> + +<p>"Oh! Miss Elsie, there's nothing the matter with me. I should like to be +introduced to Mademoiselle Laurentia now."</p> + +<p>"Very well. See, she is coming this way," said Elsie. "Is she not pretty? +Have you ever seen her before?"</p> + +<p>"Seen her before? How could I have seen her before?"</p> + +<p>He told the untruth unblushingly; it was by no means his first.</p> + +<p>Mademoiselle Laurentia was close to them now, and Elsie said, in her +clear, distinct tones:</p> + +<p>"Let me introduce Mr. McAllister to you, mademoiselle. You are +compatriots."</p> + +<p>Just then Lady Severn called Elsie, and Marie Gourdon and Noël McAllister +were left alone for a moment. She was the first to break the awkward +silence, as she said in her quiet voice, without the faintest shade of +embarrassment in it:</p> + +<p>"How do you like this country, Mr. McAllister?"</p> + +<p>"How do I like this country? Is that all you have to say to me after +these years?"</p> + +<p>"What else can I have to say to you? Is not this a fine old garden? How +brightly the moon shines!"</p> + +<p>"Marie Gourdon, do not speak to me in that calm, aggravating way. +Reproach me! Anything but this. I cannot bear your indifference."</p> + +<p>"Reproach you? For what? Do you mean for leaving me? If so, that is an +old story, told long, long ago. I am thankful now you did leave me. And, +Mr. McAllister, I must remind you that only to my most intimate friends +am I known as Marie Gourdon. I must beg you to excuse me now; Lady Severn +is calling me."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_X" id="CHAPTER_X"></a>CHAPTER X.</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i4">"O! primavera gioventù dell' anno!<br /></span> +<span class="i4">O! gioventù primavera della vitæ!!!"<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<p>It was a beautiful afternoon in the middle of June, and the London season +was at its height. Everyone who was anybody of importance was now in +town. Sweet, fresh-looking girls, in the full enjoyment of their first +season, were cantering by, gaily chattering in the Row, their faces +glowing with excitement and pleasure as they caught sight of some +pedestrian acquaintances and nodded their greetings. Stately old dowagers +were enjoying to the full the bright sunshine, as they lay comfortably +back in their well-padded broughams. Here were brilliantly apparelled +men and women, the very butterflies of London society, talking of the +events of yesterday, and speculating on the evening's entertainment, as +they walked leisurely up and down the broad promenade of the Park. But +near, and almost touching the skirts of these favored ones, ran an +undercurrent of poverty, distress and misery. So close allied were the +two streams of human life, that scarce an arm's length divided them.</p> + +<p>Here and there, just outside the Park gates, were pale, emaciated women +and young girls, in whom was left no youth, for in truth their hard lives +had served to age them before their time. With thin, white hands they +stretched out their offerings of flowers to sell the passer-by—bright +spring flowers—crocuses, daffodils and violets, whose freshness and +purity served only to enhance the miserable aspect of their vendors. +In verity it was a scene of velvet and rags, satin and sackcloth, riches +and poverty: Lazarus looking longingly at Dives, and Dives going on his +way unheeding.</p> + +<p>At the marble arch entrance to the Park there stood this afternoon a +tall, rather melancholy looking man, dressed in deep mourning. He was +watching, with apparently little interest, the busy throng about them. +From time to time he lifted his hat in a mechanical manner as he +recognized some acquaintance, but there was nothing enthusiastic in his +greetings. He had been standing at the entrance for about half-an-hour, +when he was roused from his state of abstraction by a tremendous slap on +the back, and a sturdy voice, which said:</p> + +<p>"Hello! McAllister, old boy, how are you? Why are you star-gazing here? +Wake up, old boy, wake up!"</p> + +<p>"Oh! Jack, how are you?" said McAllister, for he it was, turning round +sharply. "I'm glad to see you. I thought you were in France."</p> + +<p>"Well, so I was, but the fellow I went with couldn't speak a word of +French, and you know I can't. We started on this walking tour through the +Pyrenees, where no English is spoken. The consequence was that we were +nearly starved—couldn't make the people understand. I got tired of +making signs, as if I were a deaf mute, so I just turned back and came +home, and here I am."</p> + +<p>"How are Lady Severn and Miss Elsie?"</p> + +<p>"Both very well, thank you. Elsie is enjoying her season thoroughly. I +never saw such a girl before in my life. She is out morning, noon and +night. I declare she tires me out, and I can't begin to keep pace with +her. One ball at nine, another at ten; rush, rush, all the time, it is +terrible. She has the constitution of a horse, I believe."</p> + +<p>"Not very complimentary to Miss Elsie," said Noël laughing.</p> + +<p>"True, nevertheless. I say, McAllister, you look very glum. What is the +matter with you? Oh! ah! I beg your pardon, I—I——What an ass I am, +always putting my foot into it. Pray forgive me."</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Noël, "it was very sad. You know, Lady Margaret always would +drive those ponies; we could not prevent her. She was determined to break +them in, and, when she decided on a thing, she always carried her point. +That morning, she drove to the Glen; the precipice there is very steep, +and something frightened the ponies, and—and you know the rest."</p> + +<p>"Yes, yes," said Jack shuddering, "I heard it all. I am very sorry for +you, old boy. Lady Margaret was very kind to me. She used to scold me +occasionally, but I expect I deserved it. No, no, don't talk about it any +more. You must cheer up, old boy. Come with me to the opera to-night. +Mademoiselle Laurentia is going to sing in 'Aida.'"</p> + +<p>"Mademoiselle Laurentia?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, don't you remember her? She was up at Mount Severn last autumn."</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes! I remember her well enough; but, Jack, I can't go to the opera, +much as I should like it. You see it would not look well," touching the +crape band on his hat.</p> + +<p>"No, no, of course not," said Jack hurriedly; "pray pardon me, how stupid +I am; but I know what we can do. I have tickets for a conversazione at +the Academy to-morrow—there can be no harm in your going to that. I hear +there are some very good things at the Academy this year."</p> + +<p>"Yes, so I heard, I have not been there yet."</p> + +<p>"Every one is in ecstasies over a painting by a man called Lacroix; they +say it's the best thing that has been on view for a long time."</p> + +<p>"What! painted by a man called Eugène Lacroix? Does he come from Father +Point?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. My dear McAllister, you Canadians are having it all your own way in +London this year. Whether it is this Colonial Exhibition, or whether you +are all extremely gifted people, I don't know."</p> + +<p>"What is Eugène Lacroix like?" asked The McAllister. "I used to know him +a long time ago. He was a quiet sort of man then."</p> + +<p>"He is quiet yet. He won't go out anywhere, but works, works all the +time. Sometimes he comes to tea at my mother's on Sunday afternoon, but +that is the only time we see anything of him. Mademoiselle Laurentia +introduced him to us. All the Academy people speak well of him, strange +to say, for he is a foreigner, and they are prejudiced against outsiders, +as a rule. He has had several things hung at the <i>Salon</i> in Paris, and a +head he painted of Mademoiselle Laurentia made a great hit last spring. +But, old boy, I must be going now, I've got to take Elsie to a dinner +party to-night. Fearful bore, but when duty calls me, I always obey. +You'll come with me to-morrow, eh? Then just drive round to the +house at two o'clock sharp. Au revoir."</p> + +<p>"Stop a moment, Jack. Can you give me Mademoiselle Laurentia's address?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, certainly, Number 17, The Grove Highgate. Are you going to see her? +It always struck me that you and she didn't get on very well last autumn +at Mount Severn."</p> + +<p>"Did it strike you in that way?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, it did, and I couldn't help noticing that whenever you came in one +door she seemed to go out of the other; in fact, old boy, I'm sure she +didn't like you much."</p> + +<p>"Are you?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, and Elsie thought just as I do."</p> + +<p>"Indeed, you are wonderfully observant, Jack. I did not credit you with +such powers of perspicacity."</p> + +<p>"I don't know what you mean by that, but I can see through a stone wall +as well as any one else, though I was always very stupid at school."</p> + +<p>"Well, perhaps what you say may be true, Jack, but I'm going to call on +Mademoiselle Laurentia. You know we Canadians are very patriotic."</p> + +<p>"I admire you for your forgiving disposition. If you really want to see +Mademoiselle Laurentia, the only time to catch her in is between five and +six. Good-bye, old fellow, I must be off. Don't forget to-morrow at two +o'clock sharp."</p> + +<p>After Jack went, McAllister hesitated for a moment, then glanced at his +watch, hailed a passing hansom, jumped in, and called out to the driver, +"Go to 17, The Grove, Highgate. A sovereign if you get there before six +o'clock."</p> + +<p>The cabman shook his head doubtfully and said, "I'll try my best, sir, +but I'm afraid I can't do it. It's a long way off, you know."</p> + +<p>He did try his best at any rate, and off they went at break-neck speed, +on! on! on! past rows and rows of houses, past wildernesses of brick and +mortar. Far behind them they left churches, hospitals, buildings +innumerable, the mansions of the rich and the wretched dwellings of the +poor, the squalid habitations of outcast London, on! on! on! Up the great +hill of Highgate, where the tender green foliage of early summer and of +the great oak trees bordered the roadside, and where the almond blossoms +perfumed all the heated air with a subtle delicate fragrance, on! on! on!</p> + +<p>Quickly they dashed past many an historic spot, past the house where +Coleridge lived, past the walls of the great cemetery, which contains the +ashes of hundreds of illustrious dead, past the little church, perched on +the summit of the hill, from whose belfry could be heard the chimes for +evensong, coming faintly on the still air; on! on! on!</p> + +<p>But it is a long lane that has no turning, and at length the hansom drew +up before a little cottage far back from the road. A long porch of +lattice-work led up to the front door, and tall elm trees shaded the +little garden. It was a pleasant enough little abode on the outside at +any rate, sheltered from the noise and bustle of the great city.</p> + +<p>"No. 17, The Grove, sir," called out the cabman, breathless, but +triumphant, "and it's only five minutes to six."</p> + +<p>"Well done," said McAllister, "here's your well-earned sovereign. Now +take your horse to the stables over there and wait for me."</p> + +<p>The cabman departed radiant, wondering over such unwonted generosity, and +musing as to the rank and wealth of his fare.</p> + +<p>McAllister knocked at the door of the cottage, and presently it was +opened by a neat maid-servant, who, in answer to his inquiry, said:</p> + +<p>"I am afraid, sir, Mademoiselle Laurentia will not be able to see you. +What name shall I say, please, sir?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, say I'm a Canadian. I have no cards with me; but I have come on a +matter of the utmost importance, and I must see your mistress."</p> + +<p>"Very well, sir; please walk up this way," and the maid led the way to +Mademoiselle Laurentia's boudoir.</p> + +<p>It was a dainty little room furnished in blue and silver. On the walls +hung numerous water-colors and engravings, showing that the prima donna +had an artistic eye.</p> + +<p>McAllister had not long to wait before the mistress of the house came in. +She was dressed for her part in "Aida," and wore an Egyptian robe of soft +white cashmere, embroidered in dull gold silk with a quaint conventional +pattern. Her gown was slightly open at the throat, round which was a +necklace of dull gold beads. Heavy bracelets of the same material +encircled her arms, and a row of them held back her dark brown hair, +which fell in heavy masses far below her knees.</p> + +<p>She came into the room with her hands stretched out in welcome, but at +the sight of McAllister drew back looking surprised.</p> + +<p>"How do you do, Mr. McAllister," she said, in a formal tone. "This is +indeed an unexpected pleasure. Pray pardon my theatrical dress, but I +have such a long drive into town that I am obliged to dress early."</p> + +<p>"Certainly, Marie; your dress is very becoming; in fact, you look +altogether charming."</p> + +<p>"Mr. McAllister, before you speak again, I think I may tell you that once +before I have had to remind you that only to my most intimate friends am +I known as Marie Gourdon."</p> + +<p>"Am I not your friend? I have known you all your life."</p> + +<p>"I do not wish to continue that subject; and pardon me, Mr. McAllister, +if I seem rude, but it is now past six o'clock, and I must leave here in +twenty minutes. It is a long drive into town, and I must be at the opera +on time."</p> + +<p>"I have something very important to say to you. My wife is dead."</p> + +<p>"What! Lady Margaret dead? I am really very sorry to hear that. She was +always very kind to me. Poor Lady Margaret."</p> + +<p>"And do you know, Marie, what her death means to me?"</p> + +<p>"No, I don't quite follow you, Mr. McAllister. You say your wife is dead, +I suppose you <i>mean</i> she is dead."</p> + +<p>"Yes, yes, of course," replied Noël irritably, "but it means more. It +means that I am free."</p> + +<p>"Free! What do you mean?"</p> + +<p>"Marie, can you ask me that? Can you pretend not to understand? For the +last ten years my life has been a burden to me. The thought of you has +ever been with me. The memories of Father Point, of the happy days spent +there, haunt me always. And now, Marie, I have come to tell you that +Dunmorton is yours, the Glen is yours, all that I have is yours, and +Marie <i>I</i> am yours."</p> + +<p>During this outburst Marie Gourdon's face grew at first crimson, then +very white, and for a moment she did not answer; then she rose from her +chair, and, looking straight at The McAllister, said in a very quiet +tone, without the faintest touch of anger in it:</p> + +<p>"Noël McAllister, you are strangely mistaken in me. Do you think I am +exactly the same person I was ten years ago? Do you think I am the same +little country girl whose heart you won so easily and threw aside when +better prospects offered?"</p> + +<p>"Marie, it was you who bade me go."</p> + +<p>"Yes, I bade you go. What else could I do? I saw you wished to be free. +I saw that my feelings, yes—if you will have the truth—my love for you +weighed as nothing in the scale against your newly-found fortune. I saw +you waver, hesitate. <i>I</i> did not hesitate. And now I am rich, I am +famous, you come to me. You offer me that worthless thing,—your love. +When I was poor, struggling alone, friendless, did you even write to me? +Did you by word or look recognize me? No! The farce is played out. I +wonder at your coming to see me after all."</p> + +<p>"Marie, listen; a word——"</p> + +<p>"No, not one word, Noël McAllister. I have said all I shall ever say to +you. Dunmorton, the Glen, all your possessions are very fine things, but +there are others I value infinitely more. Dear me! is that half-past six +striking? I believe I hear the carriage at the door. I must beg of you to +excuse me. You know my duties are pressing, and managers wait for no one. +Good-evening, Mr. McAllister."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XI" id="CHAPTER_XI"></a>CHAPTER XI.</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i4">"Because thou hast believed the wheels of life<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Stand never idle, but go always round;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Hast labored, but with purpose; hast become<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Laborious, persevering, serious, firm—<br /></span> +<span class="i4">For this thy track across the fretful foam<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Of vehement actions without scope or term,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Call'd history, keeps a splendor, due to wit,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Which saw one clue to life and followed it."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i4"><span class="smcap">Matthew Arnold.</span></span></div></div> + + +<p>The day so long anxiously looked for of the great reception at the Royal +Academy came at last. Fortunately the weather was beautiful, and the sun +shone on the London streets with an unusual brightness even for that time +of year.</p> + +<p>Long rows of carriages lined the streets approaching the entrance to the +Academy. The great staircase leading into the main hall was carpeted with +crimson baize, for Royal visitors were expected, and on each stair were +placed luxuriant pots of hothouse plants which perfumed the heated air +with an almost over-powering fragrance.</p> + +<p>As the lucky possessors of invitation cards passed in, a footman +resplendent in crimson and gold livery handed each a catalogue of the +pictures.</p> + +<p>What a motley throng it was! Bohemia rubbing shoulders with orthodox +conventionality. Duchesses, actors, artists, bishops, newspaper men out +at elbows, deans, girl art students, spruce looking Eton boys in tall +hats and short jackets, all eagerly pushing their way to the envied goal. +A frantic endeavor it was, too. To tell the truth, few of the throng came +to see the pictures; most of them, firmly believing that "the proper +study of mankind is man," assembled to view each other. Of course there +were some conscientious art critics, but these were few and far between.</p> + +<p>The Gallery rapidly filled, and the guests by degrees formed themselves +into little groups.</p> + +<p>Four or five men of the most Bohemian type were gathered in front of +a large canvas hung on the line, an enviable position. They were all +foreigners, and were attracting much attention by their shrill voices and +gesticulations. "Yes," said one, a little Frenchman, "I know he's not an +Englishman, no Englishman ever painted like that. No, I should think not. +The tone, the purity, the—the——"</p> + +<p>"No, he's not an Englishman," said a representative of the British nation +passing just then, and pausing to take up the cudgels for his country. +"He's not an Englishman, but I don't like your prejudice; he's not a +Frenchman either, for that matter, so you can't claim him."</p> + +<p>"What is he, then?" demanded the little Frenchman.</p> + +<p>"He's a Canadian."</p> + +<p>"Canadian, ah! What's his name?"</p> + +<p>"Lacroix."</p> + +<p>"Oh! he's half French at any rate," said the little artist triumphantly, +"and I know he studied in Paris. Well, this is a masterpiece I know, no +matter who painted it."</p> + +<p>The picture which had caused so much discussion was a very large one, +covering some five feet of canvas. In the foreground was a long sandy +road, on which was a procession of all manner of vehicles of different +kinds. Hay-carts, calashes, buck-boards, and rude specimens of cabs were +being driven by French-Canadian habitants along the road. In the middle +distance was a churchyard crowded with people, most of them looking very +ill, and many of them leaning on crutches. The invalids seemed to be +attended by their relatives or friends, whose strongly-knit frames and +sun-burned faces contrasted vividly with those of the pilgrims.</p> + +<p>The wonderful thing about this picture was the distinct manner with which +each of the many faces was brought out on the canvas. In a marvellous +way, too, the interior of the church just beyond the graveyard was +portrayed. Through the door, flung widely open, and crowded with an eager +multitude, could be seen the High Altar, the candles brightly burning in +honor of the Holy Sacrament, and at the rail were lines of pilgrims +awaiting the approach of the officiating priest.</p> + +<p>The priest, an imposing figure clad in the gorgeous vestments of the +Roman Catholic church, was bending down and allowing the worshippers to +touch a relic of the Good St. Anne, in whose miraculous power of healing +they so firmly trusted.</p> + +<p>A well-put together picture, the critics said, and a new scene which in +these days is much to be desired. The manner in which Lacroix had +arranged to show both the exterior and interior of the church was a +clever hit, every one agreed. Outside, with the clear blue sky for +background, the spire of the church was clearly defined, and on a niche +just above the main doorway stood an exquisitely carved statue of the +patron St. Anne, holding by the hand her little daughter, the Blessed +Virgin. And beyond the church and the mass of sorrowing, suffering human +life at its doors was the great River St. Lawrence, a molten silver +stream glimmering with a million iridescent lights, flowing swiftly, +silently on.</p> + +<p>Far across its broad expanse, in the dim distance, like huge clouds, were +the misty blue Laurentian hills, grand, eternal, steadfast, an emblem of +Omnipotence itself.</p> + +<p>"Where is the painter of this masterpiece?" asked one; and a friend of +his, a Royal Academician of some standing, replied:</p> + +<p>"Oh! Lacroix has just come in. The prince admired 'The Pilgrimage' and +inquired for the artist, so the president sent for him. The prince was +most affable to him, and, it is said, has bought the picture. Ah! there +is Lacroix now. Wait a moment and I will bring him over here."</p> + +<p>Presently he returned with Lacroix, who was enthusiastically received by +his fellow artists, and congratulated heartily on his success. Lacroix +was a tall, rather uncouth-looking man of between thirty-five and forty, +and his face wore a stern, care-worn expression. But, to an observer who +cared to study his countenance, over the stern gravity of the artist's +face there was often a gleam of pleasing expression, more particularly +when lighted up by one of his rare smiles. To-day he did not seem very +much elated by his success; rather the contrary. Success had come to +Lacroix too late in life for him to have any very jubilant feeling about +it. It seemed that he had long out-lived his youth, its hopes and +ambitions. Work was what he lived for now, work and his art; if success +followed, well and good; if not, he did not much care.</p> + +<p>"Yes," he said, in a voice with a slight French accent, in reply to some +question they had asked him, "I studied in Paris, then I came to London +last year, and have been here ever since; but, I may say, I received all +my training in France."</p> + +<p>"Ah! I thought so," said the little French artist. "Your style is too +good for the English school. You are a Canadian, I hear. We have a good +many Canadians in London this year. I went to hear one sing last night +at Her Majesty's, Mademoiselle Laurentia. Do you know her? I can assure +you she is superb. She is a Canadian, too."</p> + +<p>"I did know her many, years ago," said Lacroix; "but I have seldom seen +her of late; in fact, I don't think she would remember me now."</p> + +<p>"She is here to-day, I am told," said the little Frenchman, looking round +the gallery. "Ah! there she is talking to Lady D——. See, there, that +little lady in grey!"</p> + +<p>Lacroix glanced in the direction indicated. Was that fashionable little +lady conversing completely at her ease with one of the highest in the +land indeed Marie Gourdon, the daughter of the fisherman at Father Point? +Yes; there was no mistaking her, and he wondered a little whether Marie +had changed mentally as much as her outward circumstances had altered.</p> + +<p>"So, you did know the prima donna before?" went on the little French +artist.</p> + +<p>"Oh! yes; we are both natives of Father Point, on the Lower St. +Lawrence."</p> + +<p>"Indeed, how interesting. Remain here a moment, and I shall ask +Mademoiselle Laurentia to come over and look at your picture;" and the +little man dashed off impulsively, and, detaching the prima donna from +Lady D——, brought her over to the spot where Eugène was standing.</p> + +<p>No; she had not forgotten him, for she held out her hand and shook his +warmly, saying, in the frank, sympathetic voice he remembered so well:</p> + +<p>"I am very glad, indeed, to see you, M. Lacroix. Let me add my +congratulations to the many you have already received. Your picture +is indeed a masterpiece."</p> + +<p>"Thank you. You are, I suppose, the only one here to-day who can say +whether my picture is true to nature."</p> + +<p>"Yes, indeed, I can; it takes me back to the old days at Father Point, +and how real it all is! There is M. Bois-le-Duc, dear M. Bois-le-Duc. +I can almost fancy I am standing on the road watching the pilgrims go +into the church."</p> + +<p>"I am glad you like it. By the way, I heard from M. Bois-le-Duc by +yesterday's mail. He wrote me a long letter this time. Would you like to +read it?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, very much," said the prima donna, eagerly; "very much, indeed."</p> + +<p>"I think I have it here," searching hurriedly through his numerous +pockets. "Ah! no; but I shall send it to you."</p> + +<p>"Why not bring it, M. Lacroix?"</p> + +<p>"May I?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. I shall be very pleased to see you as well as the letter," said +mademoiselle, smiling graciously. "I am always at home at five o'clock. +You know my address, number 17, The Grove, Highgate."</p> + +<p>"Thanks, I will come to-morrow, with your permission. My time in London, +you know, is very short, for I sail for Canada the first week of next +month."</p> + +<p>"Indeed, so soon? How I envy you. I am sorry you are going, though. +Good-bye for the present, I must go back to Lady D——. Remember, five +o'clock to-morrow."</p> + +<p>"Au revoir, mademoiselle. I shall see you to-morrow."</p> + +<p>Mademoiselle Laurentia had not left him many moments before the president +crossed the room to where he was standing, and said in a cordial tone:</p> + +<p>"My dear Lacroix, I am happy to tell you that the prince has bought your +picture."</p> + +<p>"'The Pilgrimage,' do you mean?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, yes; you don't seem very delighted about it."</p> + +<p>"Well," said Lacroix, "the fact is that I shall miss it. It has been part +of my life for the last four years. Oh! yes, I shall miss it."</p> + +<p>"But, my dear Lacroix, do be practical. Just think of the price you will +get. Think, too, of the <i>éclat</i>. What a queer unworldly sort of creature +you are. Any other man would be fairly beside himself with joy at such +success as yours."</p> + +<p>"Yes," replied Lacroix, wearily; "of course I know it is a great thing +for me. I appreciate it, indeed I do."</p> + +<p>"You do not show your appreciation very enthusiastically," said the +president, as he moved off to speak to some other guests who were just +coming into the gallery.</p> + +<p>Next day, early in the afternoon, Lacroix started for his long walk up +Highgate Hill, with M. Bois-le-Duc's letter safely in his pocket this +time. He was a good walker and used to outdoor exercise, and enjoyed the +prospect of the long tramp this bright summer day.</p> + +<p>He did not hurry himself, for there was plenty of time before five +o'clock, and he stopped every few moments to examine some wayside plant, +and to listen with the ardor of a true lover of nature to the merry +voices of the thrush and blackbird singing a gladsome carol.</p> + +<p>And he was often tempted by the fascinating beauty of the quiet +landscape, as he left the grimy smoke of London far behind him and +ascended into the pure fresh country, to take out his sketch-book and dot +down dainty little glimpses, thus laying up a store for future work.</p> + +<p>But at length he reached number 17, The Grove, and the door was opened by +the trim little maid-servant, who replied, in answer to his inquiry—</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir, Mademoiselle Laurentia is at home. Please walk up this way."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XII" id="CHAPTER_XII"></a>CHAPTER XII.</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i4">"I know, dear heart! that in our lot<br /></span> +<span class="i4">May mingle tears and sorrow;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">But love's rich rainbow's built from tears<br /></span> +<span class="i4">To-day, with smiles to [**-?]morrow.<br /></span> +<span class="i4">The sunshine from our sky may die,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">The greenness from life's tree,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">But ever 'mid the warring storm<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Thy nest shall shelter'd be.<br /></span> +<span class="i4">The world may never know, dear heart!<br /></span> +<span class="i4">What I have found in thee;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">But, though naught to the world, dear heart!<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Thou'rt all the world to me."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i4"><span class="smcap">Gerald Massey.</span></span></div></div> + + +<p>Mademoiselle Laurentia was sitting at her five o'clock tea-table, a +dainty little wicker-work affair, covered with delicate china of palest +pink, blue and green tints. The cups and saucers were clustered +invitingly round a huge old-fashioned silver teapot, and, on the nob of +the little fire-place a kettle was singing away merrily. A great rug of +white bear-skin was stretched on the floor, and curled up comfortably +in its warmest corner lay a large Persian cat, which, at the entrance of +the visitor, merely turned languidly to see whether he had a dog, and +then sank into sleep again.</p> + +<p>A very homelike scene it was that Eugène Lacroix was ushered upon that +summer afternoon, and the greeting of his hostess set him at once at his +ease.</p> + +<p>"How do you feel, Mr. Lacroix, to-day, after all your triumphs yesterday? +You received quite an ovation at the reception."</p> + +<p>"Oh, I feel very well, indeed, thank you; this fresh country air puts new +life into one. You were wise, mademoiselle, to choose your home in such a +spot."</p> + +<p>"Yes, I think I did well, though the place has its drawbacks. It is a +long way from London and the opera. Still, I could not bear to live quite +in town; the air there stifles me. After the clear bracing air of Canada, +I find London very oppressive. But, M. Lacroix, you must be tired after +your long walk up the hill. Do take that comfortable arm-chair and let me +give you a cup of tea."</p> + +<p>"Yes, gladly; tea is one of my weaknesses. Oh! how I missed it in Paris. +It is almost impossible to get a good cup of tea there."</p> + +<p>"I always make mine myself, and have it regularly at five o'clock, and, +even now, I still keep the fire lighted here, for the evenings are apt to +be chilly, and I have to take care of my throat. That is <i>my</i> fortune, +you know."</p> + +<p>"Yes, it is indeed, mademoiselle. How strange that all three of the +curé's pupils should have succeeded so well in life, and all so far from +their own land."</p> + +<p>"It is indeed strange. That thought has often occurred to me, too," said +Marie, musingly.</p> + +<p>"But," went on Lacroix, "though, of course, I like London and Paris and +all this excitement for a time, I often pine for our fresh Canadian +breezes, for the dash of the Gulf against the rocks at Father Point! City +life is so trammelled, and I long for the unconventional home life from +which I have been removed so long."</p> + +<p>"Ah! I see you have <i>mal de pays</i>; you see I know the symptoms," said +Marie, smiling.</p> + +<p>"Yes, I suppose it must be that."</p> + +<p>"But how delighted you must be at the success of your picture. I saw by +this morning's paper that it was bought by the prince."</p> + +<p>"Of course, I am glad of my success. True, it has come late in life; but +still it <i>has</i> come. But I shall miss my picture very much."</p> + +<p>"Naturally."</p> + +<p>"However, I shall soon see the reality again. I am going home for a +holiday next month."</p> + +<p>"Indeed? How I envy you."</p> + +<p>"Yes, I am really going, and I am counting the days until it is time to +sail. But, mademoiselle, I am forgetting to show you M. Bois-le-Duc's +letter. I have it with me; shall I leave it here?"</p> + +<p>"No, M. Lacroix. I am very lazy this afternoon, and if you would read it +to me while I just sit in this comfortable arm-chair and do nothing but +listen, I should enjoy that above all things."</p> + +<p>"Certainly, mademoiselle; nothing would please me better. I imagine your +days of laziness, as you call it, are few and far between. Now, I will +begin. The letter is dated Father Point, April 20th, 1887:—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"<span class="smcap">My Dear Eugène</span>,</p> + +<p>"I was very pleased to receive your last letter, and more than pleased +to hear of your success; but the news that delighted me most of all +was to hear that you were coming here this summer.</p> + +<p>"What you tell me about my brother is very satisfactory; I knew he +would be kind to you. I like to think of you as you describe yourself +sitting in the great hall of the Hôtel Bois-le-Duc, in Paris, where I +spent so many happy days. I knew you and the marquise would have many +subjects in common, and, as you say, she is one of the ladies of the +old school, now alas! past, yet she can sympathize with Bohemianism, +provided that talent is allied with it. She is a woman good as +she is charming, and highly cultivated. True, I have not seen my +sister-in-law for years, but her letters to me are as clever and +interesting as those of Madame de Stael, and I know from them how +her mind, instead of being dimmed with advancing years, has developed +with every day.</p> + +<p>"Your description of the old garden, with its rippling fountains and +quaint <i>parterres</i>, reminds me of the days of my youth, when my mother +gave her receptions there. Yes, my dear pupil, the halls of that old +house and the old-fashioned garden have been the scene of many +gay gatherings in the olden time, when France had a true aristocracy. +And not only stately dames and courtiers thronged to the Hôtel +Bois-le-Duc, but the foremost minds of the day lent brilliancy to my +mother's <i>salons</i>. Wits, authors, poets, artists, statesmen, whose +words could change the fate of Europe, were proud to call the marquise +friend. I am an old man now, and you must forgive an old man's +prosiness; but a little sadness comes into my thoughts when I muse on +the past. How many of those illustrious souls, then so full of life +and power, remain? And I, long exiled from all I cherished, how have I +progressed? No, no, Eugène; not even to you would I complain. What has +a faithful follower of the Cross to do with the vanities of this +world?</p> + +<p>"It is one of my temptations, still, to think on what might have been +had I not chosen the hard road, had I not renounced the gay world and +its fascinations, for it had, and <i>has</i> fascinations yet for me. +Eugène, my reward will be hereafter; but, as an old man, and one who +has endeavored to do his duty for many years, I often wonder whether I +mistook my vocation. But away with such doubts, they are a snare of +the arch-enemy himself, a subtle snare.</p> + +<p>"My dear pupil, hard as it was to let you go, I am glad you left me. I +knew those years of labor <i>must</i> tell in the end. I knew so much zeal +could not be thrown away.</p> + +<p>"Of Marie Gourdon, all you tell me is most satisfactory. When first I +sent her to fight her way in the world, I had fears. In her profession +there are so many evil influences to contend with that, in spite of +her undoubted talent, I hesitated before letting her go. But I need +not have feared. Marie Gourdon has one of those pure white souls——"</p></div> + +<p>"Perhaps I had better not go on?" said Eugène, smiling.</p> + +<p>Marie nodded and murmured half to herself—"Dear M. Bois-le-Duc, I am +glad to hear he thinks so well of me. Please continue."</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"—one of those pure white souls that can pass through the fire of any +temptation and come out purer, stronger, holier. She has doubly repaid +me for any pains I took with her education. Long ago she insisted on +returning the money spent on her training, and every year regularly, +she sends me two hundred dollars to be spent on the poor suffering +pilgrims, who come to the church at Father Point. Yes, I am justly +proud of two of my pupils; the disappointment I suffer because of the +conduct of the third only serves to heighten the contrast. I beg of +you never to mention his name again to me. Never allude to Noël +McAllister in your letters in the slightest way. The manner in which +he treated——"</p></div> + +<p>Here Lacroix hesitated, grew very red and lost his place.</p> + +<p>Marie, observing his distress, remarked placidly: "Please go on, I do not +mind; that is all a closed page in my history."</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"The manner in which he treated," continued Lacroix, "that poor girl +was unpardonable. At an age, too, when she should have +been most carefully guarded, when her feelings were most sensitive, +he, for all he knew to the contrary, broke her heart. And, under the +cowardly pretence that it was she who bade him go, he left her to +live, for aught he cared, a dreary, colorless existence at Father +Point.</p> + +<p>"Fortunately Marie was a girl of no ordinary stamp. She could rise +above disappointments—remember, I do not say forget them; and she +threw her whole energies into her art. I am a priest, and know human +nature, its weakness and its strength—and human nature is the same +all the world over—and I can honestly say that the daughter of the +fisherman at Father Point is the noblest woman I have ever met.</p> + +<p>"I can feel no interest in what you tell me of Noël McAllister. As I +said before, I do not wish you to mention him. Madame McAllister died +last week, very calmly and peacefully. We laid her in the churchyard +beside her husband and his ancestors. She had been very frail of late +years, but of course she was a great age, ninety-six.</p> + +<p>"You will scarcely know Father Point when you return. An enterprising +merchant from Montreal has built a large summer hotel on the Point, +and hopes to attract crowds of visitors during the warm weather.</p> + +<p>"Of course you have heard of the honor conferred on our Archbishop. +I went up to Quebec to attend the ceremony when they gave him his +Cardinal's hat, and he is soon to visit my humble parish, and I trust +will approve of our progress, both in things spiritual and temporal.</p> + +<p>"Hoping to see you soon, and with every good wish for your safe voyage,</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Believe me, as ever,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Your very sincere friend,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">"<span class="smcap">Réné Bois-le-Duc</span>,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Curé of Father Point, Province of Quebec, Canada."<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>"Dear M. Bois-le-Duc," repeated Marie, "I am glad he thinks so well of +me. The approval of one true friend like that is worth more than all the +applause I get night after night at the opera. He knows me for myself; +they only recognize my art and the pleasure it affords them."</p> + +<p>"Yes; you were always a first favorite with the curé," said Lacroix.</p> + +<p>"How angry he is with Noël McAllister; needlessly so. <i>I</i> have forgiven +him long ago."</p> + +<p>"Have you, indeed? And have you heard about Lady Margaret?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. Mr. McAllister did me the honor of calling on me the other day."</p> + +<p>"Noël McAllister called on you, Marie?"</p> + +<p>The old name slipped out accidentally, and, in his excitement, he did not +notice the mistake.</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"And he told you about Lady Margaret, about his wife being dead?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"Was that all he told you?"</p> + +<p>Marie looked rather surprised at being cross-questioned in this abrupt +manner; but replied quietly:—</p> + +<p>"No; it was not all. He told me much more."</p> + +<p>"Yes! yes!" said Lacroix, with the persistency of a cross-examining +lawyer, "And you Marie, what did you say?"</p> + +<p>"If you really want to know exactly what I said, my words were to the +effect that I had no time to reopen a closed chapter in my life, and +that my carriage was at the door."</p> + +<p>A strange expression, almost of relief, with surprise mingled, crossed +the artist's grave face, and he did not speak for a moment. Then he +said, slowly, in a tone of half-pitying contempt:</p> + +<p>"Poor McAllister! What with you and M. Bois-le-Duc, he is not a very +enviable person."</p> + +<p>"Then you are sorry for him?"</p> + +<p>"Pardon me, I am not. I have only one feeling towards him, and that would +be wiser to keep to myself. Marie, long ago, at Father Point, I saw it +all, though you imagined I was so taken up with my painting and my own +affairs. I knew McAllister was wholly unworthy of the respect and +affection you and M. Bois-le-Duc lavished on him.</p> + +<p>"I knew him better than either of you, his weakness, his indecision; but +it was not for me to warn you, how could I? Then, Marie, changes came to +all of us. McAllister came into his inheritance; you went to seek your +fortune; I to work hard in a merchant's office in Montreal. For four +years, I labored there at most uncongenial work, but I managed to scrape +enough together to pay for my course of study at the school of one of the +best masters in Paris. These years of drudgery in Montreal and Paris were +only brightened by one hope—a hope I scarcely dared acknowledge to +myself, so vain did it appear."</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Marie. "But you have succeeded, and your hope has been +realized."</p> + +<p>"It has not been realized; it is as far from realization as ever."</p> + +<p>"I am astonished to hear you speak in such a way after your brilliant +success of yesterday."</p> + +<p>"Yes, success is satisfactory, and it is a means to an end in this case. +Marie, my dear one, through all those long years of drudgery I heard of +you only through M. Bois-le-Duc at rare intervals. But, through all that +weary time, I never ceased to think of you, though as one far, far +removed from me. Then you rose to fame and wealth; to me, a poor +struggling artist, further off than ever, and for a time I despaired. You +were fêted by the highest in the land, all London was at your feet—what +had I to do with the brilliant prima donna? What claim had I to remind +her of the old days at Father Point, of my life-long devotion? Oh! Marie, +my darling, to keep silence, to think that I might lose you after all, +was almost unendurable. Now, though, I <i>can</i> speak. I, too, have achieved +success as the world counts it. We may now, on that score, meet as +equals. Were it not so, I should keep silence always. Marie, I have loved +you ever since I knew you. I have watched with interest your whole +career, your failures, your successes. I dare not hope my affection is +returned—that is too much—and I must ask pardon for having spoken to +you to-day."</p> + +<p>The self-possessed prima donna had been very still while Lacroix spoke, +and sat shading her face with one hand, and, strange to say, endeavoring +to hide the tears which would come in spite of her efforts.</p> + +<p>"Marie, speak, my dear one. Have I distressed you? Oh! Marie, I should +not have spoken, only the thought of putting the Atlantic between us +without telling you was too hard, Marie."</p> + +<p>"Eugène, why should you put the Atlantic between us?" said Marie, and +something in the expression of her face gave him courage to ask—</p> + +<p>"Marie, I am going to Father Point next month. Will you come with me?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, Eugène, with you anywhere," placing her hands in his, a look of +perfect rest and peace coming over her sweet, care-worn face.</p> + +<p>"Remember, Marie," he said gravely, "it is no small thing I ask—to give +up your place at the opera, to sacrifice the applause of the world and +the pleasing excitement of your life."</p> + +<p>"I am tired of it all, Eugène, it is such an empty life."</p> + +<p>"And I may be in Canada a whole year—think of it, a year away from +London. You must consider all this, and, my dear one, I am not a rich +man."</p> + +<p>"But I am rich," she said laughing, "very rich, and I never was so glad +of it before. Now, have you any more objections to make, for I am +beginning to think you don't want me to go to Father Point with you after +all."</p> + +<p>That night at the opera Mademoiselle Laurentia, the critics said, +surpassed herself, though, strange occurrence for usually one so +punctual, she kept the audience waiting for a quarter of an hour. Never +before had she sung so well.</p> + +<p>Great was the indignation of Monsieur Scherzo, her manager, when next day +she told him that after this month she would sing no more in public. He +swore, he stormed, he tore his hair, and finding threats were in vain he +wept in his excitable fashion, but neither threats nor entreaties moved +mademoiselle from her decision. "Bah!" he said, "it is the way with them +all, a woman can never be a true artist. Directly she rises to any height +she goes off and gets married, ten to one to some idiot, who interferes +in all her arrangements, and so her career is spoiled. I did think +Mademoiselle Laurentia was above such frivolity. I imagined that, at +last, I had discovered a true artist, one to whom her art was everything. +No, I am again mistaken, and Mademoiselle Laurentia—why, she is not even +going to marry a duke, there might be some sense in that, but only a +beggarly artist. Bah! what folly!"</p> + +<p>Some six weeks later, one sunny afternoon, there came up the Gulf of St. +Lawrence a ship crowded with passengers bound for all quarters of the +great Dominion. It had been a backward season, and even so late as the +beginning of July great icebergs were still floating down the Gulf, huge, +white and glistening in the summer sun, as they floated on to their +destruction in the southern seas. However, the good ship "Vancouver" +passed safely through the perils of storms and icebergs, and after a +fairly prosperous passage of ten days arrived safely at Rimouski. There +she paused for a few hours to let off the mails and two passengers.</p> + +<p>These two passengers had been the cause of a great deal of gossip and +attention on the voyage out, for they were both, in their different +spheres, celebrated personages, and known to fame on both sides of the +Atlantic. It seemed rather strange that they should land at a little +out-of-the-way place like Rimouski.</p> + +<p>"Oh!" exclaimed one of the celebrities, a little lady clad in furs. "Oh, +Eugène, everything is just the same as it used to be in the old days, and +look over there on the pier is M. Bois-le-Duc."</p> + +<p>Yes, there stood the tall, venerable priest, his hair now snowy white, +and his shoulders bent under the weight of years. But the good curé was +energetic as of old, and his eyes gleamed with excitement as the ship +approached. His hands were stretched out in welcome, and a smile of most +intense happiness lighted up his handsome features, and, as the +travellers stepped from the gangway to the pier, he went quickly forward +to greet them, exclaiming, in his bright cheery manner:—</p> + +<p>"Eugène, Marie, my children, welcome home, a thousand times welcome. +Heaven has indeed been good to me. My heart's desire is now fulfilled."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="EPILOGUE" id="EPILOGUE"></a>EPILOGUE.</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i4">"Our acts our angels are, or good or ill,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">The fatal shadows that walk by us still."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i4"><span class="smcap">Beaumont.</span></span></div></div> + + +<p>Far up on the east coast of Scotland, where the huge breakers of the +Atlantic dash in angry tumult against the granite crags of that rugged +shore, stands the castle of Dunmorton, a grim historic pile.</p> + +<p>For generations it has been the home of the McAllisters, and is still +little changed since the days of Bruce and Balliol, when armed men issued +from the low, arched doorway, to work destruction on their enemies of the +South.</p> + +<p>The last of the race dwells there now; a man yet in the prime of life, +though one who takes but little interest in the doings of the busy world. +He leads a melancholy and purposeless existence, and seems, as the years +go on, to grow more morbid. Some say that he never got over the shock of +his wife's sudden death, and that the terrible accident completely +shattered his nerves. Others, chiefly, old wives, who have lived on the +estate for years, and are deeply versed in all matters connected with +their chief's family, shake their heads wisely, and mutter that there +is a curse overhanging this branch of the clan. They say it has been +so since the '45, when The McAllister of that day turned his son Ivan +adrift.</p> + +<p>Be that as it may, the present chief is a most miserable man. He has +wealth, and everything wealth can command. He has broad lands, power, +unbounded influence, for fortune has marked him for one of her favorites. +But in the long winter evenings, when the great hall of Dunmorton, with +its splendid trophies of the chase and grand oak panelling, is lighted up +by the fitful glow of the huge pinewood fire, Noël McAllister sees a +vision, which freezes the blood within his veins.</p> + +<p>From a dim eerie in the great hall there glides with a slow, noiseless +movement a tall, slight lady, clad in a gown of pale green silk. Her +snow-white hair is crowned by a cap of finest lace. Her hands are clasped +together convulsively, and she stretches them out and sobs in agonized +entreaty:</p> + +<p>"Oh, Ivan, me bairn! me bonnie bairn, it is sair and lonely wi'out ye +here. Will ye no stay wi' us a while longer? Oh! Ivan, me bairn!"</p> + +<p>And night after night, so surely as the waves beat against the rocky crag +of Dunmorton does the tall pale lady come, always as the clock strikes +twelve, no matter who the guests may be. Doors may be barred, every +precaution taken, nothing can prevent her entrance.</p> + +<p>It comes to pass that after a time gay visitors from London decline The +McAllister's invitations, even the splendid shooting of the Glen does not +compensate them for the shock to their nerves caused by The McAllister +spectre, as they call it. Noël is left much alone, but he has Dunmorton, +its broad lands and vast revenues. For these he bartered his honor, his +integrity. By his own rule he should be happy, for all his early +ambitions are fulfilled. But in truth he has very little happiness or +real satisfaction in his prosperity, and there are few even of his +poorest neighbors who would care to change places with the "haunted +laird."</p> + +<p>Far away across the sea, removed from the din and bustle of their busy +London lives, for two months in every year, Marie and Eugène Lacroix make +their home at Father Point. Although the famous prima donna has retired +from public life, still, on the occasion of pilgrimages in honor of the +Good St. Anne, she graciously consents to sing for her own people during +the celebration of Grand Mass at the pilots' church. There may be heard +the clear, sweet notes of the favorite pupil of the good curé, who, after +a life spent in good works, has passed to his eternal reward, but the +memory of whose sainted example will ever remain in the minds of two +people, who owe so much to the holy precepts of Réné Bois-le-Duc, curé of +Father Point.</p> + +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<hr class="full" /> +<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MARIE GOURDON***</p> +<p>******* This file should be named 18010-h.txt or 18010-h.zip *******</p> +<p>This and all associated files of various formats will be found in:<br /> +<a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/1/8/0/1/18010">http://www.gutenberg.org/1/8/0/1/18010</a></p> +<p>Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed.</p> + +<p>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. 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