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+Project Gutenberg’s Kilmeny of the Orchard, by Lucy Maud Montgomery
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: Kilmeny of the Orchard
+
+Author: Lucy Maud Montgomery
+
+
+Release Date: March, 2004 [EBook #5341]
+This file was first posted on July 2, 2002
+Last Updated: October 6, 2016
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: UTF-8
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK KILMENY OF THE ORCHARD ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Elizabeth Morton, Mary Mark Ockerbloom, and Ben Crowder
+
+
+
+
+
+
+KILMENY OF THE ORCHARD
+
+By L. M. MONTGOMERY
+
+Author of “Anne’s House of Dreams,” “Rainbow Valley,” “Rilla of
+Ingleside,” etc.
+
+
+______________________________________________________________________
+Transcriber’s Note:
+
+This book has been put on-line as part of the BUILD-A-BOOK Initiative at
+the Celebration of Women Writers through the combined work of Elizabeth
+Morton and Mary Mark Ockerbloom.
+
+http://digital.library.upenn.edu/women/
+
+Reformatted by Ben Crowder
+______________________________________________________________________
+
+
+
+
+TO MY COUSIN
+
+Beatrice A. McIntyre
+
+THIS BOOK
+
+IS AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED
+
+
+        “Kilmeny looked up with a lovely grace,
+        But nae smile was seen on Kilmeny’s face;
+        As still was her look, and as still was her ee,
+        As the stillness that lay on the emerant lea,
+        Or the mist that sleeps on a waveless sea.
+        .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .
+        Such beauty bard may never declare,
+        For there was no pride nor passion there;
+        .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .
+        Her seymar was the lily flower,
+        And her cheek the moss-rose in the shower;
+        And her voice like the distant melodye
+        That floats along the twilight sea.”
+
+                                  -- _The Queen’s Wake_
+                                                 JAMES HOGG
+
+
+
+CONTENTS
+
+     I. The Thoughts of Youth
+    II. A Letter of Destiny
+   III. The Master of Lindsay School
+    IV. A Tea Table Conversation
+     V. A Phantom of Delight
+    VI. The Story of Kilmeny
+   VII. A Rose of Womanhood
+  VIII. At the Gate of Eden
+    IX. The Straight Simplicity of Eve
+     X. A Troubling of the Waters
+    XI. A Lover and His Lass
+   XII. A Prisoner of Love
+  XIII. A Sweeter Woman Ne’er Drew Breath
+   XIV. In Her Selfless Mood
+    XV. An Old, Unhappy, Far-off Thing
+   XVI. David Baker’s Opinion
+  XVII. A Broken Fetter
+ XVIII. Neil Gordon Solves His Own Problem
+   XIX. Victor from Vanquished Issues
+
+
+
+KILMENY OF THE ORCHARD
+
+
+
+CHAPTER I. THE THOUGHTS OF YOUTH
+
+The sunshine of a day in early spring, honey pale and honey sweet, was
+showering over the red brick buildings of Queenslea College and the
+grounds about them, throwing through the bare, budding maples and elms,
+delicate, evasive etchings of gold and brown on the paths, and coaxing
+into life the daffodils that were peering greenly and perkily up under
+the windows of the co-eds’ dressing-room.
+
+A young April wind, as fresh and sweet as if it had been blowing over
+the fields of memory instead of through dingy streets, was purring in
+the tree-tops and whipping the loose tendrils of the ivy network which
+covered the front of the main building. It was a wind that sang of many
+things, but what it sang to each listener was only what was in that
+listener’s heart. To the college students who had just been capped and
+diplomad by “Old Charlie,” the grave president of Queenslea, in the
+presence of an admiring throng of parents and sisters, sweethearts and
+friends, it sang, perchance, of glad hope and shining success and high
+achievement. It sang of the dreams of youth that may never be quite
+fulfilled, but are well worth the dreaming for all that. God help the
+man who has never known such dreams--who, as he leaves his alma mater,
+is not already rich in aerial castles, the proprietor of many a spacious
+estate in Spain. He has missed his birthright.
+
+The crowd streamed out of the entrance hall and scattered over the
+campus, fraying off into the many streets beyond. Eric Marshall and
+David Baker walked away together. The former had graduated in Arts that
+day at the head of his class; the latter had come to see the graduation,
+nearly bursting with pride in Eric’s success.
+
+Between these two was an old and tried and enduring friendship, although
+David was ten years older than Eric, as the mere tale of years goes, and
+a hundred years older in knowledge of the struggles and difficulties of
+life which age a man far more quickly and effectually than the passing
+of time.
+
+Physically the two men bore no resemblance to one another, although
+they were second cousins. Eric Marshall, tall, broad-shouldered, sinewy,
+walking with a free, easy stride, which was somehow suggestive of
+reserve strength and power, was one of those men regarding whom
+less-favoured mortals are tempted seriously to wonder why all the gifts
+of fortune should be showered on one individual. He was not only clever
+and good to look upon, but he possessed that indefinable charm of
+personality which is quite independent of physical beauty or mental
+ability. He had steady, grayish-blue eyes, dark chestnut hair with a
+glint of gold in its waves when the sunlight struck it, and a chin that
+gave the world assurance of a chin. He was a rich man’s son, with a
+clean young manhood behind him and splendid prospects before him. He
+was considered a practical sort of fellow, utterly guiltless of romantic
+dreams and visions of any sort.
+
+“I am afraid Eric Marshall will never do one quixotic thing,” said
+a Queenslea professor, who had a habit of uttering rather mysterious
+epigrams, “but if he ever does it will supply the one thing lacking in
+him.”
+
+David Baker was a short, stocky fellow with an ugly, irregular, charming
+face; his eyes were brown and keen and secretive; his mouth had a
+comical twist which became sarcastic, or teasing, or winning, as he
+willed. His voice was generally as soft and musical as a woman’s; but
+some few who had seen David Baker righteously angry and heard the tones
+which then issued from his lips were in no hurry to have the experience
+repeated.
+
+He was a doctor--a specialist in troubles of the throat and voice--and
+he was beginning to have a national reputation. He was on the staff of
+the Queenslea Medical College and it was whispered that before long he
+would be called to fill an important vacancy at McGill.
+
+He had won his way to success through difficulties and drawbacks which
+would have daunted most men. In the year Eric was born David Baker
+was an errand boy in the big department store of Marshall & Company.
+Thirteen years later he graduated with high honors from Queenslea
+Medical College. Mr. Marshall had given him all the help which David’s
+sturdy pride could be induced to accept, and now he insisted on sending
+the young man abroad for a post-graduate course in London and Germany.
+David Baker had eventually repaid every cent Mr. Marshall had expended
+on him; but he never ceased to cherish a passionate gratitude to
+the kind and generous man; and he loved that man’s son with a love
+surpassing that of brothers.
+
+He had followed Eric’s college course with keen, watchful interest. It
+was his wish that Eric should take up the study of law or medicine now
+that he was through Arts; and he was greatly disappointed that Eric
+should have finally made up his mind to go into business with his
+father.
+
+“It’s a clean waste of your talents,” he grumbled, as they walked home
+from the college. “You’d win fame and distinction in law--that glib
+tongue of yours was meant for a lawyer and it is sheer flying in the
+face of Providence to devote it to commercial uses--a flat crossing of
+the purposes of destiny. Where is your ambition, man?”
+
+“In the right place,” answered Eric, with his ready laugh. “It is not
+your kind, perhaps, but there is room and need for all kinds in this
+lusty young country of ours. Yes, I am going into the business. In the
+first place, it has been father’s cherished desire ever since I was
+born, and it would hurt him pretty badly if I backed out now. He wished
+me to take an Arts course because he believed that every man should have
+as liberal an education as he can afford to get, but now that I have had
+it he wants me in the firm.”
+
+“He wouldn’t oppose you if he thought you really wanted to go in for
+something else.”
+
+“Not he. But I don’t really want to--that’s the point, David, man. You
+hate a business life so much yourself that you can’t get it into your
+blessed noddle that another man might like it. There are many lawyers in
+the world--too many, perhaps--but there are never too many good honest
+men of business, ready to do clean big things for the betterment of
+humanity and the upbuilding of their country, to plan great enterprises
+and carry them through with brain and courage, to manage and control, to
+aim high and strike one’s aim. There, I’m waxing eloquent, so I’d better
+stop. But ambition, man! Why, I’m full of it--it’s bubbling in every
+pore of me. I mean to make the department store of Marshall & Company
+famous from ocean to ocean. Father started in life as a poor boy from
+a Nova Scotian farm. He has built up a business that has a provincial
+reputation. I mean to carry it on. In five years it shall have a
+maritime reputation, in ten, a Canadian. I want to make the firm of
+Marshall & Company stand for something big in the commercial interests
+of Canada. Isn’t that as honourable an ambition as trying to make black
+seem white in a court of law, or discovering some new disease with
+a harrowing name to torment poor creatures who might otherwise die
+peacefully in blissful ignorance of what ailed them?”
+
+“When you begin to make poor jokes it is time to stop arguing with you,”
+ said David, with a shrug of his fat shoulders. “Go your own gait and
+dree your own weird. I’d as soon expect success in trying to storm the
+citadel single-handed as in trying to turn you from any course about
+which you had once made up your mind. Whew, this street takes it out of
+a fellow! What could have possessed our ancestors to run a town up the
+side of a hill? I’m not so slim and active as I was on MY graduation
+day ten years ago. By the way, what a lot of co-eds were in your
+class--twenty, if I counted right. When I graduated there were only
+two ladies in our class and they were the pioneers of their sex at
+Queenslea. They were well past their first youth, very grim and angular
+and serious; and they could never have been on speaking terms with
+a mirror in their best days. But mark you, they were excellent
+females--oh, very excellent. Times have changed with a vengeance,
+judging from the line-up of co-eds to-day. There was one girl there who
+can’t be a day over eighteen--and she looked as if she were made out of
+gold and roseleaves and dewdrops.”
+
+“The oracle speaks in poetry,” laughed Eric. “That was Florence
+Percival, who led the class in mathematics, as I’m a living man. By many
+she is considered the beauty of her class. I can’t say that such is
+my opinion. I don’t greatly care for that blonde, babyish style of
+loveliness--I prefer Agnes Campion. Did you notice her--the tall, dark
+girl with the ropes of hair and a sort of crimson, velvety bloom on her
+face, who took honours in philosophy?”
+
+“I DID notice her,” said David emphatically, darting a keen side glance
+at his friend. “I noticed her most particularly and critically--for
+someone whispered her name behind me and coupled it with the exceedingly
+interesting information that Miss Campion was supposed to be the future
+Mrs. Eric Marshall. Whereupon I stared at her with all my eyes.”
+
+“There is no truth in that report,” said Eric in a tone of annoyance.
+“Agnes and I are the best of friends and nothing more. I like and admire
+her more than any woman I know; but if the future Mrs. Eric Marshall
+exists in the flesh I haven’t met her yet. I haven’t even started out
+to look for her--and don’t intend to for some years to come. I have
+something else to think of,” he concluded, in a tone of contempt, for
+which anyone might have known he would be punished sometime if Cupid
+were not deaf as well as blind.
+
+“You’ll meet the lady of the future some day,” said David dryly. “And in
+spite of your scorn I venture to predict that if fate doesn’t bring
+her before long you’ll very soon start out to look for her. A word of
+advice, oh, son of your mother. When you go courting take your common
+sense with you.”
+
+“Do you think I shall be likely to leave it behind?” asked Eric
+amusedly.
+
+“Well, I mistrust you,” said David, sagely wagging his head. “The
+Lowland Scotch part of you is all right, but there’s a Celtic streak in
+you, from that little Highland grandmother of yours, and when a man has
+that there’s never any knowing where it will break out, or what dance
+it will lead him, especially when it comes to this love-making business.
+You are just as likely as not to lose your head over some little fool or
+shrew for the sake of her outward favour and make yourself miserable for
+life. When you pick you a wife please remember that I shall reserve the
+right to pass a candid opinion on her.”
+
+“Pass all the opinions you like, but it is MY opinion, and mine only,
+which will matter in the long run,” retorted Eric.
+
+“Confound you, yes, you stubborn offshoot of a stubborn breed,” growled
+David, looking at him affectionately. “I know that, and that is why I’ll
+never feel at ease about you until I see you married to the right sort
+of a girl. She’s not hard to find. Nine out of ten girls in this country
+of ours are fit for kings’ palaces. But the tenth always has to be
+reckoned with.”
+
+“You are as bad as _Clever Alice_ in the fairy tale who worried over the
+future of her unborn children,” protested Eric.
+
+“_Clever Alice_ has been very unjustly laughed at,” said David gravely.
+“We doctors know that. Perhaps she overdid the worrying business a
+little, but she was perfectly right in principle. If people worried
+a little more about their unborn children--at least, to the extent of
+providing a proper heritage, physically, mentally, and morally, for
+them--and then stopped worrying about them after they ARE born, this
+world would be a very much pleasanter place to live in, and the human
+race would make more progress in a generation than it has done in
+recorded history.”
+
+“Oh, if you are going to mount your dearly beloved hobby of heredity
+I am not going to argue with you, David, man. But as for the matter
+of urging me to hasten and marry me a wife, why don’t you”--It was on
+Eric’s lips to say, “Why don’t you get married to a girl of the right
+sort yourself and set me a good example?” But he checked himself. He
+knew that there was an old sorrow in David Baker’s life which was not to
+be unduly jarred by the jests even of privileged friendship. He changed
+his question to, “Why don’t you leave this on the knees of the gods
+where it properly belongs? I thought you were a firm believer in
+predestination, David.”
+
+“Well, so I am, to a certain extent,” said David cautiously. “I believe,
+as an excellent old aunt of mine used to say, that what is to be will
+be and what isn’t to be happens sometimes. And it is precisely such
+unchancy happenings that make the scheme of things go wrong. I dare say
+you think me an old fogy, Eric; but I know something more of the world
+than you do, and I believe, with Tennyson’s _Arthur_, that ‘there’s no
+more subtle master under heaven than is the maiden passion for a maid.’
+I want to see you safely anchored to the love of some good woman as soon
+as may be, that’s all. I’m rather sorry Miss Campion isn’t your lady of
+the future. I liked her looks, that I did. She is good and strong and
+true--and has the eyes of a woman who could love in a way that would
+be worth while. Moreover, she’s well-born, well-bred, and
+well-educated--three very indispensable things when it comes to choosing
+a woman to fill your mother’s place, friend of mine!”
+
+“I agree with you,” said Eric carelessly. “I could not marry any woman
+who did not fulfill those conditions. But, as I have said, I am not in
+love with Agnes Campion--and it wouldn’t be of any use if I were. She is
+as good as engaged to Larry West. You remember West?”
+
+“That thin, leggy fellow you chummed with so much your first two years
+in Queenslea? Yes, what has become of him?”
+
+“He had to drop out after his second year for financial reasons. He is
+working his own way through college, you know. For the past two years
+he has been teaching school in some out-of-the-way place over in Prince
+Edward Island. He isn’t any too well, poor fellow--never was very strong
+and has studied remorselessly. I haven’t heard from him since February.
+He said then that he was afraid he wasn’t going to be able to stick it
+out till the end of the school year. I hope Larry won’t break down. He
+is a fine fellow and worthy even of Agnes Campion. Well, here we are.
+Coming in, David?”
+
+“Not this afternoon--haven’t got time. I must mosey up to the North End
+to see a man who has got a lovely throat. Nobody can find out what is
+the matter. He has puzzled all the doctors. He has puzzled me, but I’ll
+find out what is wrong with him if he’ll only live long enough.”
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II. A LETTER OF DESTINY
+
+Eric, finding that his father had not yet returned from the college,
+went into the library and sat down to read a letter he had picked up
+from the hall table. It was from Larry West, and after the first few
+lines Eric’s face lost the absent look it had worn and assumed an
+expression of interest.
+
+“I am writing to ask a favour of you, Marshall,” wrote West. “The fact
+is, I’ve fallen into the hands of the Philistines--that is to say, the
+doctors. I’ve not been feeling very fit all winter but I’ve held on,
+hoping to finish out the year.
+
+“Last week my landlady--who is a saint in spectacles and calico--looked
+at me one morning at the breakfast table and said, VERY gently, ‘You
+must go to town to-morrow, Master, and see a doctor about yourself.’
+
+“I went and did not stand upon the order of my going. Mrs. Williamson
+is She-Who-Must-Be-Obeyed. She has an inconvenient habit of making you
+realize that she is exactly right, and that you would be all kinds of a
+fool if you didn’t take her advice. You feel that what she thinks to-day
+you will think to-morrow.
+
+“In Charlottetown I consulted a doctor. He punched and pounded me, and
+poked things at me and listened at the other end of them; and finally he
+said I must stop work ‘immejutly and to onct’ and hie me straightway
+to a climate not afflicted with the north-east winds of Prince Edward
+Island in the spring. I am not to be allowed to do any work until the
+fall. Such was his dictum and Mrs. Williamson enforces it.
+
+“I shall teach this week out and then the spring vacation of three weeks
+begins. I want you to come over and take my place as pedagogue in the
+Lindsay school for the last week in May and the month of June. The
+school year ends then and there will be plenty of teachers looking for
+the place, but just now I cannot get a suitable substitute. I have a
+couple of pupils who are preparing to try the Queen’s Academy entrance
+examinations, and I don’t like to leave them in the lurch or hand them
+over to the tender mercies of some third-class teacher who knows little
+Latin and less Greek. Come over and take the school till the end of the
+term, you petted son of luxury. It will do you a world of good to learn
+how rich a man feels when he is earning twenty-five dollars a month by
+his own unaided efforts!
+
+“Seriously, Marshall, I hope you can come, for I don’t know any other
+fellow I can ask. The work isn’t hard, though you’ll likely find it
+monotonous. Of course, this little north-shore farming settlement isn’t
+a very lively place. The rising and setting of the sun are the most
+exciting events of the average day. But the people are very kind and
+hospitable; and Prince Edward Island in the month of June is such a
+thing as you don’t often see except in happy dreams. There are some
+trout in the pond and you’ll always find an old salt at the harbour
+ready and willing to take you out cod-fishing or lobstering.
+
+“I’ll bequeath you my boarding house. You’ll find it comfortable and not
+further from the school than a good constitutional. Mrs. Williamson is
+the dearest soul alive; and she is one of those old-fashioned cooks who
+feed you on feasts of fat things and whose price is above rubies.
+
+“Her husband, Robert, or Bob, as he is commonly called despite his sixty
+years, is quite a character in his way. He is an amusing old gossip,
+with a turn for racy comment and a finger in everybody’s pie. He knows
+everything about everybody in Lindsay for three generations back.
+
+“They have no living children, but Old Bob has a black cat which is his
+especial pride and darling. The name of this animal is Timothy and
+as such he must always be called and referred to. Never, as you value
+Robert’s good opinion, let him hear you speaking of his pet as ‘the
+cat,’ or even as ‘Tim.’ You will never be forgiven and he will not
+consider you a fit person to have charge of the school.
+
+“You shall have my room, a little place over the kitchen, with a ceiling
+that follows the slant of the roof down one side, against which you will
+bump your head times innumerable until you learn to remember that it is
+there, and a looking glass which will make one of your eyes as small as
+a pea and the other as big as an orange.
+
+“But to compensate for these disadvantages the supply of towels is
+generous and unexceptionable; and there is a window whence you will
+daily behold an occidental view over Lindsay Harbour and the gulf beyond
+which is an unspeakable miracle of beauty. The sun is setting over it
+as I write and I see such a sea of glass mingled with fire as might have
+figured in the visions of the Patmian seer. A vessel is sailing away
+into the gold and crimson and pearl of the horizon; the big revolving
+light on the tip of the headland beyond the harbour has just been
+lighted and is winking and flashing like a beacon,
+
+                           “‘O’er the foam
+           Of perilous seas in faerie lands forlorn.’”
+
+“Wire me if you can come; and if you can, report for duty on the
+twenty-third of May.”
+
+Mr. Marshall, Senior, came in, just as Eric was thoughtfully folding up
+his letter. The former looked more like a benevolent old clergyman or
+philanthropist than the keen, shrewd, somewhat hard, although just and
+honest, man of business that he really was. He had a round, rosy face,
+fringed with white whiskers, a fine head of long white hair, and a
+pursed-up mouth. Only in his blue eyes was a twinkle that would have
+made any man who designed getting the better of him in a bargain think
+twice before he made the attempt.
+
+It was easily seen that Eric must have inherited his personal beauty and
+distinction of form from his mother, whose picture hung on the dark wall
+between the windows. She had died while still young, when Eric was a boy
+of ten. During her lifetime she had been the object of the passionate
+devotion of both her husband and son; and the fine, strong, sweet face
+of the picture was a testimony that she had been worthy of their love
+and reverence. The same face, cast in a masculine mold, was repeated in
+Eric; the chestnut hair grew off his forehead in the same way; his eyes
+were like hers, and in his grave moods they held a similar expression,
+half brooding, half tender, in their depths.
+
+Mr. Marshall was very proud of his son’s success in college, but he had
+no intention of letting him see it. He loved this boy of his, with the
+dead mother’s eyes, better than anything on earth, and all his hopes and
+ambitions were bound up in him.
+
+“Well, that fuss is over, thank goodness,” he said testily, as he
+dropped into his favourite chair.
+
+“Didn’t you find the programme interesting?” asked Eric absently.
+
+“Most of it was tommyrot,” said his father. “The only things I liked
+were Charlie’s Latin prayer and those pretty little girls trotting up
+to get their diplomas. Latin IS the language for praying in, I do
+believe,--at least, when a man has a voice like Old Charlie’s. There was
+such a sonorous roll to the words that the mere sound of them made me
+feel like getting down on my marrow bones. And then those girls were as
+pretty as pinks, now weren’t they? Agnes was the finest-looking of the
+lot in my opinion. I hope it’s true that you’re courting her, Eric?”
+
+“Confound it, father,” said Eric, half irritably, half laughingly, “have
+you and David Baker entered into a conspiracy to hound me into matrimony
+whether I will or no?”
+
+“I’ve never said a word to David Baker on such a subject,” protested Mr.
+Marshall.
+
+“Well, you are just as bad as he is. He hectored me all the way home
+from the college on the subject. But why are you in such a hurry to have
+me married, dad?”
+
+“Because I want a homemaker in this house as soon as may be. There has
+never been one since your mother died. I am tired of housekeepers. And I
+want to see your children at my knees before I die, Eric, and I’m an old
+man now.”
+
+“Well, your wish is natural, father,” said Eric gently, with a glance at
+his mother’s picture. “But I can’t rush out and marry somebody off-hand,
+can I? And I fear it wouldn’t exactly do to advertise for a wife, even
+in these days of commercial enterprise.”
+
+“Isn’t there ANYBODY you’re fond of?” queried Mr. Marshall, with the
+patient air of a man who overlooks the frivolous jests of youth.
+
+“No. I never yet saw the woman who could make my heart beat any faster.”
+
+“I don’t know what you young men are made of nowadays,” growled his
+father. “I was in love half a dozen times before I was your age.”
+
+“You might have been ‘in love.’ But you never LOVED any woman until you
+met my mother. I know that, father. And it didn’t happen till you were
+pretty well on in life either.”
+
+“You’re too hard to please. That’s what’s the matter, that’s what’s the
+matter!”
+
+“Perhaps I am. When a man has had a mother like mine his standard of
+womanly sweetness is apt to be pitched pretty high. Let’s drop the
+subject, father. Here, I want you to read this letter--it’s from Larry.”
+
+“Humph!” grunted Mr. Marshall, when he had finished with it. “So Larry’s
+knocked out at last--always thought he would be--always expected it.
+Sorry, too. He was a decent fellow. Well, are you going?”
+
+“Yes, I think so, if you don’t object.”
+
+“You’ll have a pretty monotonous time of it, judging from his account of
+Lindsay.”
+
+“Probably. But I am not going over in search of excitement. I’m going to
+oblige Larry and have a look at the Island.”
+
+“Well, it’s worth looking at, some parts of the year,” conceded Mr.
+Marshall. “When I’m on Prince Edward Island in the summer I always
+understand an old Scotch Islander I met once in Winnipeg. He was always
+talking of ‘the Island.’ Somebody once asked him, ‘What island do you
+mean?’ He simply LOOKED at that ignorant man. Then he said, ‘Why, Prince
+Edward Island, mon. WHAT OTHER ISLAND IS THERE?’ Go if you’d like to.
+You need a rest after the grind of examinations before settling down to
+business. And mind you don’t get into any mischief, young sir.”
+
+“Not much likelihood of that in a place like Lindsay, I fancy,” laughed
+Eric.
+
+“Probably the devil finds as much mischief for idle hands in Lindsay as
+anywhere else. The worst tragedy I ever heard of happened on a backwoods
+farm, fifteen miles from a railroad and five from a store. However, I
+expect your mother’s son to behave himself in the fear of God and man.
+In all likelihood the worst thing that will happen to you over there
+will be that some misguided woman will put you to sleep in a spare room
+bed. And if that does happen may the Lord have mercy on your soul!”
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III. THE MASTER OF LINDSAY SCHOOL
+
+One evening, a month later, Eric Marshall came out of the old,
+white-washed schoolhouse at Lindsay, and locked the door--which was
+carved over with initials innumerable, and built of double plank in
+order that it might withstand all the assaults and batteries to which it
+might be subjected.
+
+Eric’s pupils had gone home an hour before, but he had stayed to solve
+some algebra problems, and correct some Latin exercises for his advanced
+students.
+
+The sun was slanting in warm yellow lines through the thick grove of
+maples to the west of the building, and the dim green air beneath them
+burst into golden bloom. A couple of sheep were nibbling the lush grass
+in a far corner of the play-ground; a cow-bell, somewhere in the maple
+woods, tinkled faintly and musically, on the still crystal air, which,
+in spite of its blandness, still retained a touch of the wholesome
+austerity and poignancy of a Canadian spring. The whole world seemed to
+have fallen, for the time being, into a pleasant untroubled dream.
+
+The scene was very peaceful and pastoral--almost too much so, the young
+man thought, with a shrug of his shoulders, as he stood in the worn
+steps and gazed about him. How was he going to put in a whole month
+here, he wondered, with a little smile at his own expense.
+
+“Father would chuckle if he knew I was sick of it already,” he thought,
+as he walked across the play-ground to the long red road that ran past
+the school. “Well, one week is ended, at any rate. I’ve earned my own
+living for five whole days, and that is something I could never say
+before in all my twenty-four years of existence. It is an exhilarating
+thought. But teaching the Lindsay district school is distinctly NOT
+exhilarating--at least in such a well-behaved school as this, where
+the pupils are so painfully good that I haven’t even the traditional
+excitement of thrashing obstreperous bad boys. Everything seems to go by
+clock work in Lindsay educational institution. Larry must certainly have
+possessed a marked gift for organizing and drilling. I feel as if I
+were merely a big cog in an orderly machine that ran itself. However, I
+understand that there are some pupils who haven’t shown up yet, and who,
+according to all reports, have not yet had the old Adam totally drilled
+out of them. They may make things more interesting. Also a few
+more compositions, such as John Reid’s, would furnish some spice to
+professional life.”
+
+Eric’s laughter wakened the echoes as he swung into the road down the
+long sloping hill. He had given his fourth grade pupils their own choice
+of subjects in the composition class that morning, and John Reid, a
+sober, matter-of-fact little urchin, with not the slightest embryonic
+development of a sense of humour, had, acting upon the whispered
+suggestion of a roguish desk-mate, elected to write upon “Courting.” His
+opening sentence made Eric’s face twitch mutinously whenever he recalled
+it during the day. “Courting is a very pleasant thing which a great many
+people go too far with.”
+
+The distant hills and wooded uplands were tremulous and aerial in
+delicate spring-time gauzes of pearl and purple. The young, green-leafed
+maples crowded thickly to the very edge of the road on either side, but
+beyond them were emerald fields basking in sunshine, over which cloud
+shadows rolled, broadened, and vanished. Far below the fields a calm
+ocean slept bluely, and sighed in its sleep, with the murmur that rings
+for ever in the ear of those whose good fortune it is to have been born
+within the sound of it.
+
+Now and then Eric met some callow, check-shirted, bare-legged lad on
+horseback, or a shrewd-faced farmer in a cart, who nodded and called out
+cheerily, “Howdy, Master?” A young girl, with a rosy, oval face, dimpled
+cheeks, and pretty dark eyes filled with shy coquetry, passed him,
+looking as if she would not be at all averse to a better acquaintance
+with the new teacher.
+
+Half way down the hill Eric met a shambling, old gray horse drawing an
+express wagon which had seen better days. The driver was a woman: she
+appeared to be one of those drab-tinted individuals who can never have
+felt a rosy emotion in all their lives. She stopped her horse, and
+beckoned Eric over to her with the knobby handle of a faded and bony
+umbrella.
+
+“Reckon you’re the new Master, ain’t you?” she asked.
+
+Eric admitted that he was.
+
+“Well, I’m glad to see you,” she said, offering him a hand in a much
+darned cotton glove that had once been black.
+
+“I was right sorry to see Mr. West go, for he was a right good teacher,
+and as harmless, inoffensive a creetur as ever lived. But I always told
+him every time I laid eyes on him that he was in consumption, if ever
+a man was. YOU look real healthy--though you can’t aways tell by looks,
+either. I had a brother complected like you, but he was killed in a
+railroad accident out west when he was real young.
+
+“I’ve got a boy I’ll be sending to school to you next week. He’d oughter
+gone this week, but I had to keep him home to help me put the pertaters
+in; for his father won’t work and doesn’t work and can’t be made to
+work.
+
+“Sandy--his full name is Edward Alexander--called after both his
+grandfathers--hates the idee of going to school worse ‘n pisen--always
+did. But go he shall, for I’m determined he’s got to have more larning
+hammered into his head yet. I reckon you’ll have trouble with him,
+Master, for he’s as stupid as an owl, and as stubborn as Solomon’s mule.
+But mind this, Master, I’ll back you up. You just lick Sandy good and
+plenty when he needs it, and send me a scrape of the pen home with him,
+and I’ll give him another dose.
+
+“There’s people that always sides in with their young ones when there’s
+any rumpus kicked up in the school, but I don’t hold to that, and never
+did. You can depend on Rebecca Reid every time, Master.”
+
+“Thank you. I am sure I can,” said Eric, in his most winning tones.
+
+He kept his face straight until it was safe to relax, and Mrs. Reid
+drove on with a soft feeling in her leathery old heart, which had been
+so toughened by long endurance of poverty and toil, and a husband who
+wouldn’t work and couldn’t be made to work, that it was no longer a very
+susceptible organ where members of the opposite sex were concerned.
+
+Mrs. Reid reflected that this young man had a way with him.
+
+Eric already knew most of the Lindsay folks by sight; but at the foot of
+the hill he met two people, a man and a boy, whom he did not know. They
+were sitting in a shabby, old-fashioned wagon, and were watering their
+horse at the brook, which gurgled limpidly under the little plank bridge
+in the hollow.
+
+Eric surveyed them with some curiosity. They did not look in the least
+like the ordinary run of Lindsay people. The boy, in particular, had
+a distinctly foreign appearance, in spite of the gingham shirt and
+homespun trousers, which seemed to be the regulation, work-a-day outfit
+for the Lindsay farmer lads. He had a lithe, supple body, with sloping
+shoulders, and a lean, satiny brown throat above his open shirt collar.
+His head was covered with thick, silky, black curls, and the hand that
+hung down by the side of the wagon was unusually long and slender. His
+face was richly, though somewhat heavily featured, olive tinted, save
+for the cheeks, which had a dusky crimson bloom. His mouth was as red
+and beguiling as a girl’s, and his eyes were large, bold and black. All
+in all, he was a strikingly handsome fellow; but the expression of his
+face was sullen, and he somehow gave Eric the impression of a sinuous,
+feline creature basking in lazy grace, but ever ready for an unexpected
+spring.
+
+The other occupant of the wagon was a man between sixty-five and
+seventy, with iron-gray hair, a long, full, gray beard, a harsh-featured
+face, and deep-set hazel eyes under bushy, bristling brows. He was
+evidently tall, with a spare, ungainly figure, and stooping shoulders.
+His mouth was close-lipped and relentless, and did not look as if it
+had ever smiled. Indeed, the idea of smiling could not be connected with
+this man--it was utterly incongruous. Yet there was nothing repellent
+about his face; and there was something in it that compelled Eric’s
+attention.
+
+He rather prided himself on being a student of physiognomy, and he felt
+quite sure that this man was no ordinary Lindsay farmer of the genial,
+garrulous type with which he was familiar.
+
+Long after the old wagon, with its oddly assorted pair, had gone
+lumbering up the hill, Eric found himself thinking of the stern, heavy
+browed man and the black-eyed, red-lipped boy.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV. A TEA TABLE CONVERSATION
+
+The Williamson place, where Eric boarded, was on the crest of the
+succeeding hill. He liked it as well as Larry West had prophesied that
+he would. The Williamsons, as well as the rest of the Lindsay people,
+took it for granted that he was a poor college student working his way
+through as Larry West had been doing. Eric did not disturb this belief,
+although he said nothing to contribute to it.
+
+The Williamsons were at tea in the kitchen when Eric went in. Mrs.
+Williamson was the “saint in spectacles and calico” which Larry West had
+termed her. Eric liked her greatly. She was a slight, gray-haired woman,
+with a thin, sweet, high-bred face, deeply lined with the records of
+outlived pain. She talked little as a rule; but, in the pungent country
+phrase she never spoke but she said something. The one thing that
+constantly puzzled Eric was how such a woman ever came to marry Robert
+Williamson.
+
+She smiled in a motherly fashion at Eric, as he hung his hat on the
+white-washed wall and took his place at the table. Outside of the
+window behind him was a birch grove which, in the westering sun, was
+a tremulous splendour, with a sea of undergrowth wavered into golden
+billows by every passing wind.
+
+Old Robert Williamson sat opposite him, on a bench. He was a small, lean
+old man, half lost in loose clothes that seemed far too large for him.
+When he spoke his voice was as thin and squeaky as he appeared to be
+himself.
+
+The other end of the bench was occupied by Timothy, sleek and
+complacent, with a snowy breast and white paws. After old Robert had
+taken a mouthful of anything he gave a piece to Timothy, who ate it
+daintily and purred resonant gratitude.
+
+“You see we’re busy waiting for you, Master,” said old Robert. “You’re
+late this evening. Keep any of the youngsters in? That’s a foolish way
+of punishing them, as hard on yourself as on them. One teacher we had
+four years ago used to lock them in and go home. Then he’d go back in
+an hour and let them out--if they were there. They weren’t always. Tom
+Ferguson kicked the panels out of the old door once and got out that
+way. We put a new door of double plank in that they couldn’t kick out.”
+
+“I stayed in the schoolroom to do some work,” said Eric briefly.
+
+“Well, you’ve missed Alexander Tracy. He was here to find out if you
+could play checkers, and, when I told him you could, he left word for
+you to go up and have a game some evening soon. Don’t beat him too
+often, even if you can. You’ll need to stand in with him, I tell you,
+Master, for he’s got a son that may brew trouble for you when he starts
+in to go to school. Seth Tracy’s a young imp, and he’d far sooner be in
+mischief than eat. He tries to run on every new teacher and he’s run
+two clean out of the school. But he met his match in Mr. West. William
+Tracy’s boys now--you won’t have a scrap of bother with THEM. They’re
+always good because their mother tells them every Sunday that they’ll
+go straight to hell if they don’t behave in school. It’s effective. Take
+some preserve, Master. You know we don’t help things here the way Mrs.
+Adam Scott does when she has boarders, ‘I s’pose you don’t want any of
+this--nor you--nor you?’ Mother, Aleck says old George Wright is having
+the time of his life. His wife has gone to Charlottetown to visit her
+sister and he is his own boss for the first time since he was married,
+forty years ago. He’s on a regular orgy, Aleck says. He smokes in the
+parlour and sits up till eleven o’clock reading dime novels.”
+
+“Perhaps I met Mr. Tracy,” said Eric. “Is he a tall man, with gray hair
+and a dark, stern face?”
+
+“No, he’s a round, jolly fellow, is Aleck, and he stopped growing pretty
+much before he’d ever begun. I reckon the man you mean is Thomas Gordon.
+I seen him driving down the road too. HE won’t be troubling you with
+invitations up, small fear of it. The Gordons ain’t sociable, to say the
+least of it. No, sir! Mother, pass the biscuits to the Master.”
+
+“Who was the young fellow he had with him?” asked Eric curiously.
+
+“Neil--Neil Gordon.”
+
+“That is a Scotchy name for such a face and eyes. I should rather have
+expected Guiseppe or Angelo. The boy looks like an Italian.”
+
+“Well, now, you know, Master, I reckon it’s likely he does, seeing
+that that’s exactly what he is. You’ve hit the nail square on the head.
+Italyun, yes, sir! Rather too much so, I’m thinking, for decent folks’
+taste.”
+
+“How has it happened that an Italian boy with a Scotch name is living in
+a place like Lindsay?”
+
+“Well, Master, it was this way. About twenty-two years ago--WAS it
+twenty-two, Mother or twenty-four? Yes, it was twenty-two--‘twas the
+same year our Jim was born and he’d have been twenty-two if he’d lived,
+poor little fellow. Well, Master, twenty-two years ago a couple of
+Italian pack peddlers came along and called at the Gordon place. The
+country was swarming with them then. I useter set the dog on one every
+day on an average.
+
+“Well, these peddlers were man and wife, and the woman took sick up
+there at the Gordon place, and Janet Gordon took her in and nursed her.
+A baby was born the next day, and the woman died. Then the first thing
+anybody knew the father skipped clean out, pack and all, and was never
+seen or heard tell of afterwards. The Gordons were left with the fine
+youngster to their hands. Folks advised them to send him to the Orphan
+Asylum, and ‘twould have been the wisest plan, but the Gordons were
+never fond of taking advice. Old James Gordon was living then, Thomas
+and Janet’s father, and he said he would never turn a child out of his
+door. He was a masterful old man and liked to be boss. Folks used to say
+he had a grudge against the sun ‘cause it rose and set without his
+say so. Anyhow, they kept the baby. They called him Neil and had him
+baptized same as any Christian child. He’s always lived there. They
+did well enough by him. He was sent to school and taken to church and
+treated like one of themselves. Some folks think they made too much of
+him. It doesn’t always do with that kind, for ‘what’s bred in bone
+is mighty apt to come out in flesh,’ if ‘taint kept down pretty well.
+Neil’s smart and a great worker, they tell me. But folks hereabouts
+don’t like him. They say he ain’t to be trusted further’n you can see
+him, if as far. It’s certain he’s awful hot tempered, and one time when
+he was going to school he near about killed a boy he’d took a spite
+to--choked him till he was black in the face and Neil had to be dragged
+off.”
+
+“Well now, father, you know they teased him terrible,” protested Mrs.
+Williamson. “The poor boy had a real hard time when he went to school,
+Master. The other children were always casting things up to him and
+calling him names.”
+
+“Oh, I daresay they tormented him a lot,” admitted her husband. “He’s
+a great hand at the fiddle and likes company. He goes to the harbour a
+good deal. But they say he takes sulky spells when he hasn’t a word
+to throw to a dog. ‘Twouldn’t be any wonder, living with the Gordons.
+They’re all as queer as Dick’s hat-band.”
+
+“Father, you shouldn’t talk so about your neighbours,” said his wife
+rebukingly.
+
+“Well now, Mother, you know they are, if you’d only speak up honest. But
+you’re like old Aunt Nancy Scott, you never say anything uncharitable
+except in the way of business. You know the Gordons ain’t like other
+people and never were and never will be. They’re about the only queer
+folks we have in Lindsay, Master, except old Peter Cook, who keeps
+twenty-five cats. Lord, Master, think of it! What chanct would a poor
+mouse have? None of the rest of us are queer, leastwise, we hain’t found
+it out if we are. But, then, we’re mighty uninteresting, I’m bound to
+admit that.”
+
+“Where do the Gordons live?” asked Eric, who had grown used to holding
+fast to a given point of inquiry through all the bewildering mazes of
+old Robert’s conversation.
+
+“Away up yander, half a mile in from Radnor road, with a thick spruce
+wood atween them and all the rest of the world. They never go away
+anywheres, except to church--they never miss that--and nobody goes
+there. There’s just old Thomas, and his sister Janet, and a niece of
+theirs, and this here Neil we’ve been talking about. They’re a queer,
+dour, cranky lot, and I WILL say it, Mother. There, give your old man a
+cup of tea and never mind the way his tongue runs on. Speaking of tea,
+do you know Mrs. Adam Palmer and Mrs. Jim Martin took tea together at
+Foster Reid’s last Wednesday afternoon?”
+
+“No, why, I thought they were on bad terms,” said Mrs. Williamson,
+betraying a little feminine curiosity.
+
+“So they are, so they are. But they both happened to visit Mrs. Foster
+the same afternoon and neither would leave because that would be
+knuckling down to the other. So they stuck it out, on opposite sides
+of the parlour. Mrs. Foster says she never spent such an uncomfortable
+afternoon in all her life before. She would talk a spell to one and then
+t’other. And they kept talking TO Mrs. Foster and AT each other. Mrs.
+Foster says she really thought she’d have to keep them all night, for
+neither would start to go home afore the other. Finally Jim Martin came
+in to look for his wife, ‘cause he thought she must have got stuck
+in the marsh, and that solved the problem. Master, you ain’t eating
+anything. Don’t mind my stopping; I was at it half an hour afore you
+come, and anyway I’m in a hurry. My hired boy went home to-day. He heard
+the rooster crow at twelve last night and he’s gone home to see which of
+his family is dead. He knows one of ‘em is. He heard a rooster crow in
+the middle of the night onct afore and the next day he got word that his
+second cousin down at Souris was dead. Mother, if the Master don’t want
+any more tea, ain’t there some cream for Timothy?”
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V. A PHANTOM OF DELIGHT
+
+Shortly before sunset that evening Eric went for a walk. When he did not
+go to the shore he liked to indulge in long tramps through the Lindsay
+fields and woods, in the mellowness of “the sweet ‘o the year.” Most of
+the Lindsay houses were built along the main road, which ran parallel to
+the shore, or about the stores at “The Corner.” The farms ran back from
+them into solitudes of woods and pasture lands.
+
+Eric struck southwest from the Williamson homestead, in a direction
+he had not hitherto explored, and walked briskly along, enjoying the
+witchery of the season all about him in earth and air and sky. He felt
+it and loved it and yielded to it, as anyone of clean life and sane
+pulses must do.
+
+The spruce wood in which he presently found himself was smitten through
+with arrows of ruby light from the setting sun. He went through it,
+walking up a long, purple aisle where the wood-floor was brown and
+elastic under his feet, and came out beyond it on a scene which
+surprised him.
+
+No house was in sight, but he found himself looking into an orchard; an
+old orchard, evidently long neglected and forsaken. But an orchard dies
+hard; and this one, which must have been a very delightful spot once,
+was delightful still, none the less so for the air of gentle melancholy
+which seemed to pervade it, the melancholy which invests all places that
+have once been the scenes of joy and pleasure and young life, and are so
+no longer, places where hearts have throbbed, and pulses thrilled, and
+eyes brightened, and merry voices echoed. The ghosts of these things
+seem to linger in their old haunts through many empty years.
+
+The orchard was large and long, enclosed in a tumbledown old fence of
+longers bleached to a silvery gray in the suns of many lost summers. At
+regular intervals along the fence were tall, gnarled fir trees, and an
+evening wind, sweeter than that which blew over the beds of spice from
+Lebanon, was singing in their tops, an earth-old song with power to
+carry the soul back to the dawn of time.
+
+Eastward, a thick fir wood grew, beginning with tiny treelets just
+feathering from the grass, and grading up therefrom to the tall veterans
+of the mid-grove, unbrokenly and evenly, giving the effect of a solid,
+sloping green wall, so beautifully compact that it looked as if it had
+been clipped into its velvet surface by art.
+
+Most of the orchard was grown over lushly with grass; but at the end
+where Eric stood there was a square, treeless place which had evidently
+once served as a homestead garden. Old paths were still visible,
+bordered by stones and large pebbles. There were two clumps of lilac
+trees; one blossoming in royal purple, the other in white. Between
+them was a bed ablow with the starry spikes of June lilies. Their
+penetrating, haunting fragrance distilled on the dewy air in every soft
+puff of wind. Along the fence rosebushes grew, but it was as yet too
+early in the season for roses.
+
+Beyond was the orchard proper, three long rows of trees with green
+avenues between, each tree standing in a wonderful blow of pink and
+white.
+
+The charm of the place took sudden possession of Eric as nothing had
+ever done before. He was not given to romantic fancies; but the orchard
+laid hold of him subtly and drew him to itself, and he was never to be
+quite his own man again. He went into it over one of the broken panels
+of fence, and so, unknowing, went forward to meet all that life held for
+him.
+
+He walked the length of the orchard’s middle avenue between long,
+sinuous boughs picked out with delicate, rose-hearted bloom. When he
+reached its southern boundary he flung himself down in a grassy corner
+of the fence where another lilac bush grew, with ferns and wild blue
+violets at its roots. From where he now was he got a glimpse of a house
+about a quarter of a mile away, its gray gable peering out from a dark
+spruce wood. It seemed a dull, gloomy, remote place, and he did not know
+who lived there.
+
+He had a wide outlook to the west, over far hazy fields and misty blue
+intervales. The sun had just set, and the whole world of green meadows
+beyond swam in golden light. Across a long valley brimmed with shadow
+were uplands of sunset, and great sky lakes of saffron and rose where
+a soul might lose itself in colour. The air was very fragrant with the
+baptism of the dew, and the odours of a bed of wild mint upon which he
+had trampled. Robins were whistling, clear and sweet and sudden, in the
+woods all about him.
+
+“This is a veritable ‘haunt of ancient peace,’” quoted Eric, looking
+around with delighted eyes. “I could fall asleep here, dream dreams
+and see visions. What a sky! Could anything be diviner than that fine
+crystal eastern blue, and those frail white clouds that look like woven
+lace? What a dizzying, intoxicating fragrance lilacs have! I wonder
+if perfume could set a man drunk. Those apple trees now--why, what is
+that?”
+
+Eric started up and listened. Across the mellow stillness, mingled
+with the croon of the wind in the trees and the flute-like calls of the
+robins, came a strain of delicious music, so beautiful and fantastic
+that Eric held his breath in astonishment and delight. Was he dreaming?
+No, it was real music, the music of a violin played by some hand
+inspired with the very spirit of harmony. He had never heard anything
+like it; and, somehow, he felt quite sure that nothing exactly like it
+ever had been heard before; he believed that that wonderful music was
+coming straight from the soul of the unseen violinist, and translating
+itself into those most airy and delicate and exquisite sounds for the
+first time; the very soul of music, with all sense and earthliness
+refined away.
+
+It was an elusive, haunting melody, strangely suited to the time
+and place; it had in it the sigh of the wind in the woods, the eerie
+whispering of the grasses at dewfall, the white thoughts of the June
+lilies, the rejoicing of the apple blossoms; all the soul of all the old
+laughter and song and tears and gladness and sobs the orchard had
+ever known in the lost years; and besides all this, there was in it a
+pitiful, plaintive cry as of some imprisoned thing calling for freedom
+and utterance.
+
+At first Eric listened as a man spellbound, mutely and motionlessly,
+lost in wonderment. Then a very natural curiosity overcame him. Who in
+Lindsay could play a violin like that? And who was playing so here, in
+this deserted old orchard, of all places in the world?
+
+He rose and walked up the long white avenue, going as slowly and
+silently as possible, for he did not wish to interrupt the player.
+When he reached the open space of the garden he stopped short in new
+amazement and was again tempted into thinking he must certainly be
+dreaming.
+
+Under the big branching white lilac tree was an old, sagging, wooden
+bench; and on this bench a girl was sitting, playing on an old brown
+violin. Her eyes were on the faraway horizon and she did not see Eric.
+For a few moments he stood there and looked at her. The pictures she
+made photographed itself on his vision to the finest detail, never to
+be blotted from his book of remembrance. To his latest day Eric Marshall
+will be able to recall vividly that scene as he saw it then--the velvet
+darkness of the spruce woods, the overarching sky of soft brilliance,
+the swaying lilac blossoms, and amid it all the girl on the old bench
+with the violin under her chin.
+
+He had, in his twenty-four years of life, met hundreds of pretty women,
+scores of handsome women, a scant half dozen of really beautiful women.
+But he knew at once, beyond all possibility of question or doubt, that
+he had never seen or imagined anything so exquisite as this girl of the
+orchard. Her loveliness was so perfect that his breath almost went from
+him in his first delight of it.
+
+Her face was oval, marked in every cameo-like line and feature with
+that expression of absolute, flawless purity, found in the angels and
+Madonnas of old paintings, a purity that held in it no faintest strain
+of earthliness. Her head was bare, and her thick, jet-black hair was
+parted above her forehead and hung in two heavy lustrous braids over her
+shoulders. Her eyes were of such a blue as Eric had never seen in eyes
+before, the tint of the sea in the still, calm light that follows after
+a fine sunset; they were as luminous as the stars that came out over
+Lindsay Harbour in the afterglow, and were fringed about with very long,
+soot-black lashes, and arched over by most delicately pencilled dark
+eyebrows. Her skin was as fine and purely tinted as the heart of a white
+rose. The collarless dress of pale blue print she wore revealed her
+smooth, slender throat; her sleeves were rolled up above her elbows
+and the hand which guided the bow of her violin was perhaps the most
+beautiful thing about her, perfect in shape and texture, firm and
+white, with rosy-nailed taper fingers. One long, drooping plume of lilac
+blossom lightly touched her hair and cast a wavering shadow over the
+flower-like face beneath it.
+
+There was something very child-like about her, and yet at least eighteen
+sweet years must have gone to the making of her. She seemed to be
+playing half unconsciously, as if her thoughts were far away in some
+fair dreamland of the skies. But presently she looked away from “the
+bourne of sunset,” and her lovely eyes fell on Eric, standing motionless
+before her in the shadow of the apple tree.
+
+The sudden change that swept over her was startling. She sprang to her
+feet, the music breaking in mid-strain and the bow slipping from her
+hand to the grass. Every hint of colour fled from her face and she
+trembled like one of the wind-stirred June lilies.
+
+“I beg your pardon,” said Eric hastily. “I am sorry that I have alarmed
+you. But your music was so beautiful that I did not remember you were
+not aware of my presence here. Please forgive me.”
+
+He stopped in dismay, for he suddenly realized that the expression on
+the girl’s face was one of terror--not merely the startled alarm of
+a shy, childlike creature who had thought herself alone, but absolute
+terror. It was betrayed in her blanched and quivering lips and in the
+widely distended blue eyes that stared back into his with the expression
+of some trapped wild thing.
+
+It hurt him that any woman should look at him in such a fashion, at him
+who had always held womanhood in such reverence.
+
+“Don’t look so frightened,” he said gently, thinking only of calming her
+fear, and speaking as he would to a child. “I will not hurt you. You are
+safe, quite safe.”
+
+In his eagerness to reassure her he took an unconscious step forward.
+Instantly she turned, and, without a sound, fled across the orchard,
+through a gap in the northern fence and along what seemed to be a lane
+bordering the fir wood beyond and arched over with wild cherry trees
+misty white in the gathering gloom. Before Eric could recover his wits
+she had vanished from his sight among the firs.
+
+He stooped and picked up the violin bow, feeling slightly foolish and
+very much annoyed.
+
+“Well, this is a most mysterious thing,” he said, somewhat impatiently.
+“Am I bewitched? Who was she? WHAT was she? Can it be possible that she
+is a Lindsay girl? And why in the name of all that’s provoking should
+she be so frightened at the mere sight of me? I have never thought I
+was a particularly hideous person, but certainly this adventure has not
+increased my vanity to any perceptible extent. Perhaps I have wandered
+into an enchanted orchard, and been outwardly transformed into an ogre.
+Now that I have come to think of it, there is something quite uncanny
+about the place. Anything might happen here. It is no common orchard for
+the production of marketable apples, that is plain to be seen. No, it’s
+a most unwholesome locality; and the sooner I make my escape from it the
+better.”
+
+He glanced about it with a whimsical smile. The light was fading rapidly
+and the orchard was full of soft, creeping shadows and silences. It
+seemed to wink sleepy eyes of impish enjoyment at his perplexity. He
+laid the violin bow down on the old bench.
+
+“Well, there is no use in my following her, and I have no right to do
+so even if it were of use. But I certainly wish she hadn’t fled in such
+evident terror. Eyes like hers were never meant to express anything
+but tenderness and trust. Why--why--WHY was she so frightened? And
+who--who--WHO--can she be?”
+
+All the way home, over fields and pastures that were beginning to be
+moonlight silvered he pondered the mystery.
+
+“Let me see,” he reflected. “Mr. Williamson was describing the Lindsay
+girls for my benefit the other evening. If I remember rightly he said
+that there were four handsome ones in the district. What were their
+names? Florrie Woods, Melissa Foster--no, Melissa Palmer--Emma Scott,
+and Jennie May Ferguson. Can she be one of them? No, it is a flagrant
+waste of time and gray matter supposing it. That girl couldn’t be a
+Florrie or a Melissa or an Emma, while Jennie May is completely out of
+the question. Well, there is some bewitchment in the affair. Of that I’m
+convinced. So I’d better forget all about it.”
+
+But Eric found that it was impossible to forget all about it. The more
+he tried to forget, the more keenly and insistently he remembered. The
+girl’s exquisite face haunted him and the mystery of her tantalized him.
+
+True, he knew that, in all likelihood, he might easily solve the problem
+by asking the Williamsons about her. But somehow, to his own surprise,
+he found that he shrank from doing this. He felt that it was impossible
+to ask Robert Williamson and probably have the girl’s name overflowed
+in a stream of petty gossip concerning her and all her antecedents and
+collaterals to the third and fourth generation. If he had to ask any one
+it should be Mrs. Williamson; but he meant to find out the secret for
+himself if it were at all possible.
+
+He had planned to go to the harbour the next evening. One of the
+lobstermen had promised to take him out cod-fishing. But instead he
+wandered southwest over the fields again.
+
+He found the orchard easily--he had half expected NOT to find it. It
+was still the same fragrant, grassy, wind-haunted spot. But it had no
+occupant and the violin bow was gone from the old bench.
+
+“Perhaps she tiptoed back here for it by the light o’ the moon,” thought
+Eric, pleasing his fancy by the vision of a lithe, girlish figure
+stealing with a beating heart through mingled shadow and moonshine. “I
+wonder if she will possibly come this evening, or if I have frightened
+her away for ever. I’ll hide me behind this spruce copse and wait.”
+
+Eric waited until dark, but no music sounded through the orchard and no
+one came to it. The keenness of his disappointment surprised him, nay
+more, it vexed him. What nonsense to be so worked up because a little
+girl he had seen for five minutes failed to appear! Where was his
+common sense, his “gumption,” as old Robert Williamson would have said?
+Naturally a man liked to look at a pretty face. But was that any reason
+why he should feel as if life were flat, stale, and unprofitable simply
+because he could not look at it? He called himself a fool and went home
+in a petulant mood. Arriving there, he plunged fiercely into solving
+algebraical equations and working out geometry exercises, determined
+to put out of his head forthwith all vain imaginings of an enchanted
+orchard, white in the moonshine, with lilts of elfin music echoing down
+its long arcades.
+
+The next day was Sunday and Eric went to church twice. The Williamson
+pew was one of the side ones at the top of the church and its occupants
+practically faced the congregation. Eric looked at every girl and woman
+in the audience, but he saw nothing of the face which, setting will
+power and common sense flatly at defiance, haunted his memory like a
+star.
+
+Thomas Gordon was there, sitting alone in his long, empty pew near the
+top of the building; and Neil Gordon sang in the choir which occupied
+the front pew of the gallery. He had a powerful and melodious, though
+untrained voice, which dominated the singing and took the colour out
+of the weaker, more commonplace tones of the other singers. He was
+well-dressed in a suit of dark blue serge, with a white collar and
+tie. But Eric idly thought it did not become him so well as the working
+clothes in which he had first seen him. He was too obviously dressed up,
+and he looked coarser and more out of harmony with his surroundings.
+
+For two days Eric refused to let himself think of the orchard. Monday
+evening he went cod-fishing, and Tuesday evening he went up to play
+checkers with Alexander Tracy. Alexander won all the games so easily
+that he never had any respect for Eric Marshall again.
+
+“Played like a feller whose thoughts were wool gathering,” he complained
+to his wife. “He’ll never make a checker player--never in this world.”
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI. THE STORY OF KILMENY
+
+Wednesday evening Eric went to the orchard again; and again he was
+disappointed. He went home, determined to solve the mystery by open
+inquiry. Fortune favoured him, for he found Mrs. Williamson alone,
+sitting by the west window of her kitchen and knitting at a long gray
+sock. She hummed softly to herself as she knitted, and Timothy slept
+blackly at her feet. She looked at Eric with quiet affection in her
+large, candid eyes. She had liked Mr. West. But Eric had found his way
+into the inner chamber of her heart, by reason that his eyes were so
+like those of the little son she had buried in the Lindsay churchyard
+many years before.
+
+“Mrs. Williamson,” said Eric, with an affectation of carelessness, “I
+chanced on an old deserted orchard back behind the woods over there last
+week, a charming bit of wilderness. Do you know whose it is?”
+
+“I suppose it must be the old Connors orchard,” answered Mrs. Williamson
+after a moment’s reflection. “I had forgotten all about it. It must be
+all of thirty years since Mr. and Mrs. Connors moved away. Their house
+and barns were burned down and they sold the land to Thomas Gordon and
+went to live in town. They’re both dead now. Mr. Connors used to be
+very proud of his orchard. There weren’t many orchards in Lindsay then,
+though almost everybody has one now.”
+
+“There was a young girl in it, playing on a violin,” said Eric, annoyed
+to find that it cost him an effort to speak of her, and that the blood
+mounted to his face as he did so. “She ran away in great alarm as
+soon as she saw me, although I do not think I did or said anything to
+frighten or vex her. I have no idea who she was. Do you know?”
+
+Mrs. Williamson did not make an immediate reply. She laid down her
+knitting and gazed out of the window as if pondering seriously some
+question in her own mind. Finally she said, with an intonation of keen
+interest in her voice,
+
+“I suppose it must have been Kilmeny Gordon, Master.”
+
+“Kilmeny Gordon? Do you mean the niece of Thomas Gordon of whom your
+husband spoke?”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“I can hardly believe that the girl I saw can be a member of Thomas
+Gordon’s family.”
+
+“Well, if it wasn’t Kilmeny Gordon I don’t know who it could have been.
+There is no other house near that orchard and I’ve heard she plays the
+violin. If it was Kilmeny you’ve seen what very few people in Lindsay
+have ever seen, Master. And those few have never seen her close by. I
+have never laid eyes on her myself. It’s no wonder she ran away, poor
+girl. She isn’t used to seeing strangers.”
+
+“I’m rather glad if that was the sole reason of her flight,” said
+Eric. “I admit I didn’t like to see any girl so frightened of me as she
+appeared to be. She was as white as paper, and so terrified that she
+never uttered a word, but fled like a deer to cover.”
+
+“Well, she couldn’t have spoken a word in any case,” said Mrs.
+Williamson quietly. “Kilmeny Gordon is dumb.”
+
+Eric sat in dismayed silence for a moment. That beautiful creature
+afflicted in such a fashion--why, it was horrible! Mingled with his
+dismay was a strange pang of personal regret and disappointment.
+
+“It couldn’t have been Kilmeny Gordon, then,” he protested at last,
+remembering. “The girl I saw played on the violin exquisitely. I never
+heard anything like it. It is impossible that a deaf mute could play
+like that.”
+
+“Oh, she isn’t deaf, Master,” responded Mrs. Williamson, looking at Eric
+keenly through her spectacles. She picked up her knitting and fell to
+work again. “That is the strange part of it, if anything about her
+can be stranger than another. She can hear as well as anybody and
+understands everything that is said to her. But she can’t speak a word
+and never could, at least, so they say. The truth is, nobody knows much
+about her. Janet and Thomas never speak of her, and Neil won’t either.
+He has been well questioned, too, you can depend on that; but he won’t
+ever say a word about Kilmeny and he gets mad if folks persist.”
+
+“Why isn’t she to be spoken of?” queried Eric impatiently. “What is the
+mystery about her?”
+
+“It’s a sad story, Master. I suppose the Gordons look on her existence
+as a sort of disgrace. For my own part, I think it’s terrible, the way
+she’s been brought up. But the Gordons are very strange people, Mr.
+Marshall. I kind of reproved father for saying so, you remember, but it
+is true. They have very strange ways. And you’ve really seen Kilmeny?
+What does she look like? I’ve heard that she was handsome. Is it true?”
+
+“I thought her very beautiful,” said Eric rather curtly. “But HOW has
+she been brought up, Mrs. Williamson? And why?”
+
+“Well, I might as well tell you the whole story, Master. Kilmeny is the
+niece of Thomas and Janet Gordon. Her mother was Margaret Gordon, their
+younger sister. Old James Gordon came out from Scotland. Janet and
+Thomas were born in the Old Country and were small children when they
+came here. They were never very sociable folks, but still they used to
+visit out some then, and people used to go there. They were kind and
+honest people, even if they were a little peculiar.
+
+“Mrs. Gordon died a few years after they came out, and four years later
+James Gordon went home to Scotland and brought a new wife back with him.
+She was a great deal younger than he was and a very pretty woman, as my
+mother often told me. She was friendly and gay and liked social life.
+The Gordon place was a very different sort of place after she came
+there, and even Janet and Thomas got thawed out and softened down a
+good bit. They were real fond of their stepmother, I’ve heard. Then, six
+years after she was married, the second Mrs. Gordon died too. She died
+when Margaret was born. They say James Gordon almost broke his heart
+over it.
+
+“Janet brought Margaret up. She and Thomas just worshipped the child and
+so did their father. I knew Margaret Gordon well once. We were just
+the same age and we set together in school. We were always good friends
+until she turned against all the world.
+
+“She was a strange girl in some ways even then, but I always liked her,
+though a great many people didn’t. She had some bitter enemies, but she
+had some devoted friends too. That was her way. She made folks either
+hate or love her. Those who did love her would have gone through fire
+and water for her.
+
+“When she grew up she was very pretty--tall and splendid, like a queen,
+with great thick braids of black hair and red, red cheeks and lips.
+Everybody who saw her looked at her a second time. She was a little
+vain of her beauty, I think, Master. And she was proud, oh, she was very
+proud. She liked to be first in everything, and she couldn’t bear not to
+show to good advantage. She was dreadful determined, too. You couldn’t
+budge her an inch, Master, when she once had made up her mind on any
+point. But she was warm-hearted and generous. She could sing like an
+angel and she was very clever. She could learn anything with just one
+look at it and she was terrible fond of reading.
+
+“When I’m talking about her like this it all comes back to me, just what
+she was like and how she looked and spoke and acted, and little ways she
+had of moving her hands and head. I declare it almost seems as if
+she was right here in this room instead of being over there in the
+churchyard. I wish you’d light the lamp, Master. I feel kind of
+nervous.”
+
+Eric rose and lighted the lamp, rather wondering at Mrs. Williamson’s
+unusual exhibition of nerves. She was generally so calm and composed.
+
+“Thank you, Master. That’s better. I won’t be fancying now that Margaret
+Gordon’s here listening to what I’m saying. I had the feeling so strong
+a moment ago.
+
+“I suppose you think I’m a long while getting to Kilmeny, but I’m coming
+to that. I didn’t mean to talk so much about Margaret, but somehow my
+thoughts got taken up with her.
+
+“Well, Margaret passed the Board and went to Queen’s Academy and got
+a teacher’s license. She passed pretty well up when she came out, but
+Janet told me she cried all night after the pass list came out because
+there were some ahead of her.
+
+“She went to teach school over at Radnor. It was there she met a man
+named Ronald Fraser. Margaret had never had a beau before. She could
+have had any young man in Lindsay if she had wanted him, but she
+wouldn’t look at one of them. They said it was because she thought
+nobody was good enough for her, but that wasn’t the way of it at all,
+Master. I knew, because Margaret and I used to talk of those matters,
+as girls do. She didn’t believe in going with anybody unless it was
+somebody she thought everything of. And there was nobody in Lindsay she
+cared that much for.
+
+“This Ronald Fraser was a stranger from Nova Scotia and nobody knew much
+about him. He was a widower, although he was only a young man. He had
+set up store-keeping in Radnor and was doing well. He was real handsome
+and had taking ways women like. It was said that all the Radnor girls
+were in love with him, but I don’t think his worst enemy could have said
+he flirted with them. He never took any notice of them; but the very
+first time he saw Margaret Gordon he fell in love with her and she with
+him.
+
+“They came over to church in Lindsay together the next Sunday and
+everybody said it would be a match. Margaret looked lovely that day, so
+gentle and womanly. She had been used to hold her head pretty high, but
+that day she held it drooping a little and her black eyes cast down.
+Ronald Fraser was very tall and fair, with blue eyes. They made as
+handsome a couple as I ever saw.
+
+“But old James Gordon and Thomas and Janet didn’t much approve of him. I
+saw that plain enough one time I was there and he brought Margaret home
+from Radnor Friday night. I guess they wouldn’t have liked anybody,
+though, who come after Margaret. They thought nobody was good enough for
+her.
+
+“But Margaret coaxed them all round in time. She could do pretty near
+anything with them, they were so fond and proud of her. Her father held
+out the longest, but finally he give in and consented for her to marry
+Ronald Fraser.
+
+“They had a big wedding, too--all the neighbours were asked. Margaret
+always liked to make a display. I was her bridesmaid, Master. I helped
+her dress and nothing would please her; she wanted to look that nice
+for Ronald’s sake. She was a handsome bride; dressed in white, with red
+roses in her hair and at her breast. She wouldn’t wear white flowers;
+she said they looked too much like funeral flowers. She looked like a
+picture. I can see her this minute, as plain as plain, just as she was
+that night, blushing and turning pale by turns, and looking at Ronald
+with her eyes of love. If ever a girl loved a man with all her heart
+Margaret Gordon did. It almost made me feel frightened. She gave him the
+worship it isn’t right to give anybody but God, Master, and I think that
+is always punished.
+
+“They went to live at Radnor and for a little while everything went
+well. Margaret had a nice house, and was gay and happy. She dressed
+beautiful and entertained a good deal. Then--well, Ronald Fraser’s first
+wife turned up looking for him! She wasn’t dead after all.
+
+“Oh, there was terrible scandal, Master. The talk and gossip was
+something dreadful. Every one you met had a different story, and it was
+hard to get at the truth. Some said Ronald Fraser had known all the time
+that his wife wasn’t dead, and had deceived Margaret. But I don’t think
+he did. He swore he didn’t. They hadn’t been very happy together, it
+seems. Her mother made trouble between them. Then she went to visit her
+mother in Montreal, and died in the hospital there, so the word came
+to Ronald. Perhaps he believed it a little too readily, but that he DID
+believe it I never had a doubt. Her story was that it was another woman
+of the same name. When she found out Ronald thought her dead she and her
+mother agreed to let him think so. But when she heard he had got married
+again she thought she’d better let him know the truth.
+
+“It all sounded like a queer story and I suppose you couldn’t blame
+people for not believing it too readily. But I’ve always felt it was
+true. Margaret didn’t think so, though. She believed that Ronald Fraser
+had deceived her, knowing all the time that he couldn’t make her his
+lawful wife. She turned against him and hated him just as much as she
+had loved him before.
+
+“Ronald Fraser went away with his real wife, and in less than a year
+word came of his death. They said he just died of a broken heart,
+nothing more nor less.
+
+“Margaret came home to her father’s house. From the day that she went
+over its threshold, she never came out until she was carried out in her
+coffin three years ago. Not a soul outside of her own family ever saw
+her again. I went to see her, but Janet told me she wouldn’t see me. It
+was foolish of Margaret to act so. She hadn’t done anything real wrong;
+and everybody was sorry for her and would have helped her all they
+could. But I reckon pity cut her as deep as blame could have done, and
+deeper, because you see, Master, she was so proud she couldn’t bear it.
+
+“They say her father was hard on her, too; and that was unjust if it was
+true. Janet and Thomas felt the disgrace, too. The people that had been
+in the habit of going to the Gordon place soon stopped going, for they
+could see they were not welcome.
+
+“Old James Gordon died that winter. He never held his head up again
+after the scandal. He had been an elder in the church, but he handed in
+his resignation right away and nobody could persuade him to withdraw it.
+
+“Kilmeny was born in the spring, but nobody ever saw her, except the
+minister who baptized her. She was never taken to church or sent to
+school. Of course, I suppose there wouldn’t have been any use in her
+going to school when she couldn’t speak, and it’s likely Margaret taught
+her all she could be taught herself. But it was dreadful that she was
+never taken to church, or let go among the children and young folks.
+And it was a real shame that nothing was ever done to find out why she
+couldn’t talk, or if she could be cured.
+
+“Margaret Gordon died three years ago, and everybody in Lindsay went to
+the funeral. But they didn’t see her. The coffin lid was screwed down.
+And they didn’t see Kilmeny either. I would have loved to see HER for
+Margaret’s sake, but I didn’t want to see poor Margaret. I had never
+seen her since the night she was a bride, for I had left Lindsay on a
+visit just after that, and what I came home the scandal had just broken
+out. I remembered Margaret in all her pride and beauty, and I couldn’t
+have borne to look at her dead face and see the awful changes I knew
+must be there.
+
+“It was thought perhaps Janet and Thomas would take Kilmeny out after
+her mother was gone, but they never did, so I suppose they must have
+agreed with Margaret about the way she had been brought up. I’ve often
+felt sorry for the poor girl, and I don’t think her people did right by
+her, even if she was mysteriously afflicted. She must have had a very
+sad, lonely life.
+
+“That is the story, Master, and I’ve been a long time telling it, as I
+dare say you think. But the past just seemed to be living again for
+me as I talked. If you don’t want to be pestered with questions about
+Kilmeny Gordon, Master, you’d better not let on you’ve seen her.”
+
+Eric was not likely to. He had heard all he wanted to know and more.
+
+“So this girl is at the core of a tragedy,” he reflected, as he went to
+his room. “And she is dumb! The pity of it! Kilmeny! The name suits her.
+She is as lovely and innocent as the heroine of the old ballad. ‘And
+oh, Kilmeny was fair to see.’ But the next line is certainly not so
+appropriate, for her eyes were anything but ‘still and steadfast’--after
+she had seen me, at all events.”
+
+He tried to put her out of his thoughts, but he could not. The memory of
+her beautiful face drew him with a power he could not resist. The next
+evening he went again to the orchard.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII. A ROSE OF WOMANHOOD
+
+When he emerged from the spruce wood and entered the orchard his heart
+gave a sudden leap, and he felt that the blood rushed madly to his face.
+She was there, bending over the bed of June lilies in the centre of the
+garden plot. He could only see her profile, virginal and white.
+
+He stopped, not wishing to startle her again. When she lifted her head
+he expected to see her shrink and flee, but she did not do so; she only
+grew a little paler and stood motionless, watching him intently.
+
+Seeing this, he walked slowly towards her, and when he was so close
+to her that he could hear the nervous flutter of her breath over her
+parted, trembling lips, he said very gently,
+
+“Do not be afraid of me. I am a friend, and I do not wish to disturb or
+annoy you in any way.”
+
+She seemed to hesitate a moment. Then she lifted a little slate that
+hung at her belt, wrote something on it rapidly, and held it out to him.
+He read, in a small distinctive handwriting,
+
+“I am not afraid of you now. Mother told me that all strange men were
+very wicked and dangerous, but I do not think you can be. I have thought
+a great deal about you, and I am sorry I ran away the other night.”
+
+He realized her entire innocence and simplicity. Looking earnestly into
+her still troubled eyes he said,
+
+“I would not do you any harm for the world. All men are not wicked,
+although it is too true that some are so. My name is Eric Marshall and
+I am teaching in the Lindsay school. You, I think, are Kilmeny Gordon.
+I thought your music so very lovely the other evening that I have been
+wishing ever since that I might hear it again. Won’t you play for me?”
+
+The vague fear had all gone from her eyes by this time, and suddenly she
+smiled--a merry, girlish, wholly irresistible smile, which broke through
+the calm of her face like a gleam of sunlight rippling over a placid
+sea. Then she wrote, “I am very sorry that I cannot play this evening.
+I did not bring my violin with me. But I will bring it to-morrow evening
+and play for you if you would like to hear me. I should like to please
+you.”
+
+Again that note of innocent frankness! What a child she was--what a
+beautiful, ignorant child, utterly unskilled in the art of hiding her
+feelings! But why should she hide them? They were as pure and beautiful
+as herself. Eric smiled back at her with equal frankness.
+
+“I should like it more than I can say, and I shall be sure to come
+to-morrow evening if it is fine. But if it is at all damp or unpleasant
+you must not come. In that case another evening will do. And now won’t
+you give me some flowers?”
+
+She nodded, with another little smile, and began to pick some of the
+June lilies, carefully selecting the most perfect among them. He watched
+her lithe, graceful motions with delight; every movement seemed poetry
+itself. She looked like a very incarnation of Spring--as if all the
+shimmer of young leaves and glow of young mornings and evanescent
+sweetness of young blossoms in a thousand springs had been embodied in
+her.
+
+When she came to him, radiant, her hands full of the lilies, a couplet
+from a favourite poem darted into his head--
+
+    “A blossom vermeil white
+    That lightly breaks a faded flower sheath,
+    Here, by God’s rood, is the one maid for me.”
+
+The next moment he was angry with himself for his folly. She was,
+after all, nothing but a child--and a child set apart from her fellow
+creatures by her sad defect. He must not let himself think nonsense.
+
+“Thank you. These June lilies are the sweetest flowers the spring brings
+us. Do you know that their real name is the white narcissus?” She looked
+pleased and interested.
+
+“No, I did not know,” she wrote. “I have often read of the white
+narcissus and wondered what it was like. I never thought of it being the
+same as my dear June lilies. I am glad you told me. I love flowers very
+much. They are my very good friends.”
+
+“You couldn’t help being friends with the lilies. Like always takes to
+like,” said Eric. “Come and sit down on the old bench--here, where you
+were sitting that night I frightened you so badly. I could not imagine
+who or what you were. Sometimes I thought I had dreamed you--only,” he
+added under his breath and unheard by her, “I could never have dreamed
+anything half so lovely.”
+
+She sat down beside him on the old bench and looked unshrinkingly in his
+face. There was no boldness in her glance--nothing but the most perfect,
+childlike trust and confidence. If there had been any evil in his
+heart--any skulking thought, he was afraid to acknowledge--those
+eyes must have searched it out and shamed it. But he could meet them
+unafraid. Then she wrote,
+
+“I was very much frightened. You must have thought me very silly, but I
+had never seen any man except Uncle Thomas and Neil and the egg peddler.
+And you are different from them--oh, very, very different. I was afraid
+to come back here the next evening. And yet, somehow, I wanted to come.
+I did not want you to think I did not know how to behave. I sent Neil
+back for my bow in the morning. I could not do without it. I cannot
+speak, you know. Are you sorry?”
+
+“I am very sorry for your sake.”
+
+“Yes, but what I mean is, would you like me better if I could speak like
+other people?”
+
+“No, it does not make any difference in that way, Kilmeny. By the way,
+do you mind my calling you Kilmeny?”
+
+She looked puzzled and wrote, “What else should you call me? That is my
+name. Everybody calls me that.”
+
+“But I am such a stranger to you that perhaps you would wish me to call
+you Miss Gordon.”
+
+“Oh, no, I would not like that,” she wrote quickly, with a distressed
+look on her face. “Nobody ever calls me that. It would make me feel
+as if I were not myself but somebody else. And you do not seem like a
+stranger to me. Is there any reason why you should not call me Kilmeny?”
+
+“No reason whatever, if you will allow me the privilege. You have a very
+lovely name--the very name you ought to have.”
+
+“I am glad you like it. Do you know that I was called after my
+grandmother and she was called after a girl in a poem? Aunt Janet has
+never liked my name, although she liked my grandmother. But I am glad
+you like both my name and me. I was afraid you would not like me because
+I cannot speak.”
+
+“You can speak through your music, Kilmeny.”
+
+She looked pleased. “How well you understand,” she wrote. “Yes, I cannot
+speak or sing as other people can, but I can make my violin say things
+for me.”
+
+“Do you compose your own music?” he asked. But he saw she did not
+understand him. “I mean, did any one ever teach you the music you played
+here that evening?”
+
+“Oh, no. It just came as I thought. It has always been that way. When I
+was very little Neil taught me to hold the violin and the bow, and the
+rest all came of itself. My violin once belonged to Neil, but he gave it
+to me. Neil is very good and kind to me, but I like you better. Tell me
+about yourself.”
+
+The wonder of her grew upon him with every passing moment. How lovely
+she was! What dear little ways and gestures she had--ways and gestures
+as artless and unstudied as they were effective. And how strangely
+little her dumbness seemed to matter after all! She wrote so quickly and
+easily, her eyes and smile gave such expression to her mobile face, that
+voice was hardly missed.
+
+They lingered in the orchard until the long, languid shadows of the
+trees crept to their feet. It was just after sunset and the distant
+hills were purple against the melting saffron of the sky in the west and
+the crystalline blue of the sky in the south. Eastward, just over the
+fir woods, were clouds, white and high heaped like snow mountains, and
+the westernmost of them shone with a rosy glow as of sunset on an Alpine
+height.
+
+The higher worlds of air were still full of light--perfect, stainless
+light, unmarred of earth shadow; but down in the orchard and under the
+spruces the light had almost gone, giving place to a green, dewy dusk,
+made passionately sweet with the breath of the apple blossoms and mint,
+and the balsamic odours that rained down upon them from the firs.
+
+Eric told her of his life, and the life in the great outer world, in
+which she was girlishly and eagerly interested. She asked him many
+questions about it--direct and incisive questions which showed that she
+had already formed decided opinions and views about it. Yet it was plain
+to be seen that she did not regard it as anything she might ever share
+herself. Hers was the dispassionate interest with which she might have
+listened to a tale of the land of fairy or of some great empire long
+passed away from earth.
+
+Eric discovered that she had read a great deal of poetry and history,
+and a few books of biography and travel. She did not know what a
+novel meant and had never heard of one. Curiously enough, she was well
+informed regarding politics and current events, from the weekly paper
+for which her uncle subscribed.
+
+“I never read the newspaper while mother was alive,” she wrote, “nor any
+poetry either. She taught me to read and write and I read the Bible all
+through many times and some of the histories. After mother died Aunt
+Janet gave me all her books. She had a great many. Most of them had been
+given to her as prizes when she was a girl at school, and some of them
+had been given to her by my father. Do you know the story of my father
+and mother?”
+
+Eric nodded.
+
+“Yes, Mrs. Williamson told me all about it. She was a friend of your
+mother.”
+
+“I am glad you have heard it. It is so sad that I would not like to tell
+it, but you will understand everything better because you know. I never
+heard it until just before mother died. Then she told me all. I think
+she had thought father was to blame for the trouble; but before she died
+she told me she believed that she had been unjust to him and that he
+had not known. She said that when people were dying they saw things more
+clearly and she saw she had made a mistake about father. She said she
+had many more things she wanted to tell me, but she did not have time to
+tell them because she died that night. It was a long while before I had
+the heart to read her books. But when I did I thought them so beautiful.
+They were poetry and it was like music put into words.”
+
+“I will bring you some books to read, if you would like them,” said
+Eric.
+
+Her great blue eyes gleamed with interest and delight.
+
+“Oh, thank you, I would like it very much. I have read mine over so
+often that I know them nearly all by heart. One cannot get tired of
+really beautiful things, but sometimes I feel that I would like some new
+books.”
+
+“Are you never lonely, Kilmeny?”
+
+“Oh, no, how could I be? There is always plenty for me to do, helping
+Aunt Janet about the house. I can do a great many things”--she glanced
+up at him with a pretty pride as her flying pencil traced the words. “I
+can cook and sew. Aunt Janet says I am a very good housekeeper, and she
+does not praise people very often or very much. And then, when I am
+not helping her, I have my dear, dear violin. That is all the company I
+want. But I like to read and hear of the big world so far away and the
+people who live there and the things that are done. It must be a very
+wonderful place.”
+
+“Wouldn’t you like to go out into it and see its wonders and meet those
+people yourself?” he asked, smiling at her.
+
+At once he saw that, in some way he could not understand, he had hurt
+her. She snatched her pencil and wrote, with such swiftness of
+motion and energy of expression that it almost seemed as if she had
+passionately exclaimed the words aloud,
+
+“No, no, no. I do not want to go anywhere away from home. I do not want
+ever to see strangers or have them see me. I could not bear it.”
+
+He thought that possibly the consciousness of her defect accounted
+for this. Yet she did not seem sensitive about her dumbness and made
+frequent casual references to it in her written remarks. Or perhaps
+it was the shadow on her birth. Yet she was so innocent that it seemed
+unlikely she could realize or understand the existence of such a shadow.
+Eric finally decided that it was merely the rather morbid shrinking of a
+sensitive child who had been brought up in an unwholesome and unnatural
+way. At last the lengthening shadows warned him that it was time to go.
+
+“You won’t forget to come to-morrow evening and play for me,” he said,
+rising reluctantly. She answered by a quick little shake of her sleek,
+dark head, and a smile that was eloquent. He watched her as she walked
+across the orchard,
+
+    “With the moon’s beauty and the moon’s soft pace,”
+
+and along the wild cherry lane. At the corner of the firs she paused and
+waved her hand to him before turning it.
+
+When Eric reached home old Robert Williamson was having a lunch of bread
+and milk in the kitchen. He looked up, with a friendly grin, as Eric
+strode in, whistling.
+
+“Been having a walk, Master?” he queried.
+
+“Yes,” said Eric.
+
+Unconsciously and involuntarily he infused so much triumph into the
+simple monosyllable that even old Robert felt it. Mrs. Williamson, who
+was cutting bread at the end of the table, laid down her knife and loaf,
+and looked at the young man with a softly troubled expression in her
+eyes. She wondered if he had been back to the Connors orchard--and if he
+could have seen Kilmeny Gordon again.
+
+“You didn’t discover a gold mine, I s’pose?” said old Robert dryly. “You
+look as if you might have.”
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII. AT THE GATE OF EDEN
+
+When Eric went to the old Connors orchard the next evening he found
+Kilmeny waiting for him on the bench under the white lilac tree, with
+the violin in her lap. As soon as she saw him she caught it up and began
+to play an airy delicate little melody that sounded like the laughter of
+daisies.
+
+When it was finished she dropped her bow, and looked up at him with
+flushed cheeks and questioning eyes.
+
+“What did that say to you?” she wrote.
+
+“It said something like this,” answered Eric, falling into her humour
+smilingly. “Welcome, my friend. It is a very beautiful evening. The sky
+is so blue and the apple blossoms so sweet. The wind and I have been
+here alone together and the wind is a good companion, but still I am
+glad to see you. It is an evening on which it is good to be alive and to
+wander in an orchard that is fine and white. Welcome, my friend.”
+
+She clapped her hands, looking like a pleased child.
+
+“You are very quick to understand,” she wrote. “That was just what I
+meant. Of course I did not think it in just those words, but that was
+the FEELING of it. I felt that I was so glad I was alive, and that the
+apple blossoms and the white lilacs and the trees and I were all pleased
+together to see you come. You are quicker than Neil. He is almost always
+puzzled to understand my music, and I am puzzled to understand his.
+Sometimes it frightens me. It seems as if there were something in it
+trying to take hold of me--something I do not like and want to run away
+from.”
+
+Somehow Eric did not like her references to Neil. The idea of that
+handsome, low-born boy seeing Kilmeny every day, talking to her, sitting
+at the same table with her, dwelling under the same roof, meeting her in
+the hundred intimacies of daily life, was distasteful to him. He put the
+thought away from him, and flung himself down on the long grass at her
+feet.
+
+“Now play for me, please,” he said. “I want to lie here and listen to
+you.”
+
+“And look at you,” he might have added. He could not tell which was
+the greater pleasure. Her beauty, more wonderful than any pictured
+loveliness he had ever seen, delighted him. Every tint and curve and
+outline of her face was flawless. Her music enthralled him. This child,
+he told himself as he listened, had genius. But it was being wholly
+wasted. He found himself thinking resentfully of the people who were her
+guardians, and who were responsible for her strange life. They had done
+her a great and irremediable wrong. How dared they doom her to such an
+existence? If her defect of utterance had been attended to in time, who
+knew but that it might have been cured? Now it was probably too late.
+Nature had given her a royal birthright of beauty and talent, but their
+selfish and unpardonable neglect had made it of no account.
+
+What divine music she lured out of the old violin--merry and sad, gay
+and sorrowful by turns, music such as the stars of morning might have
+made singing together, music that the fairies might have danced to in
+their revels among the green hills or on yellow sands, music that might
+have mourned over the grave of a dead hope. Then she drifted into a
+still sweeter strain. As he listened to it he realized that the whole
+soul and nature of the girl were revealing themselves to him through her
+music--the beauty and purity of her thoughts, her childhood dreams and
+her maiden reveries. There was no thought of concealment about her; she
+could not help the revelation she was unconscious of making.
+
+At last she laid her violin aside and wrote,
+
+“I have done my best to give you pleasure. It is your turn now. Do you
+remember a promise you made me last night? Have you kept it?”
+
+He gave her the two books he had brought for her--a modern novel and
+a volume of poetry unknown to her. He had hesitated a little over the
+former; but the book was so fine and full of beauty that he thought it
+could not bruise the bloom of her innocence ever so slightly. He had
+no doubts about the poetry. It was the utterance of one of those great
+inspired souls whose passing tread has made the kingdom of their birth
+and labour a veritable Holy Land.
+
+He read her some of the poems. Then he talked to her of his college days
+and friends. The minutes passed very swiftly. There was just then no
+world for him outside of that old orchard with its falling blossoms and
+its shadows and its crooning winds.
+
+Once, when he told her the story of some college pranks wherein the
+endless feuds of freshmen and sophomores figured, she clapped her hands
+together according to her habit, and laughed aloud--a clear, musical,
+silvery peal. It fell on Eric’s ear with a shock of surprise. He thought
+it strange that she could laugh like that when she could not speak.
+Wherein lay the defect that closed for her the gates of speech? Was it
+possible that it could be removed?
+
+“Kilmeny,” he said gravely after a moment’s reflection, during which
+he had looked up as she sat with the ruddy sunlight falling through the
+lilac branches on her bare, silky head like a shower of red jewels, “do
+you mind if I ask you something about your inability to speak? Will it
+hurt you to talk of the matter with me?”
+
+She shook her head.
+
+“Oh, no,” she wrote, “I do not mind at all. Of course I am sorry I
+cannot speak, but I am quite used to the thought and it never hurts me
+at all.”
+
+“Then, Kilmeny, tell me this. Do you know why it is that you are unable
+to speak, when all your other faculties are so perfect?”
+
+“No, I do not know at all why I cannot speak. I asked mother once and
+she told me it was a judgment on her for a great sin she had committed,
+and she looked so strangely that I was frightened, and I never spoke of
+it to her or anyone else again.”
+
+“Were you ever taken to a doctor to have your tongue and organs of
+speech examined?”
+
+“No. I remember when I was a very little girl that Uncle Thomas wanted
+to take me to a doctor in Charlottetown and see if anything could be
+done for me, but mother would not let him. She said it would be no use.
+And I do not think Uncle Thomas thought it would be, either.”
+
+“You can laugh very naturally. Can you make any other sound?”
+
+“Yes, sometimes. When I am pleased or frightened I have made little
+cries. But it is only when I am not thinking of it at all that I can do
+that. If I TRY to make a sound I cannot do it at all.”
+
+This seemed to Eric more mysterious than ever.
+
+“Do you ever try to speak--to utter words?” he persisted.
+
+“Oh yes, very often. All the time I am saying the words in my head, just
+as I hear other people saying them, but I never can make my tongue say
+them. Do not look so sorry, my friend. I am very happy and I do not mind
+so very much not being able to speak--only sometimes when I have so many
+thoughts and it seems so slow to write them out, some of them get away
+from me. I must play to you again. You look too sober.”
+
+She laughed again, picked up her violin, and played a tinkling, roguish
+little melody as if she were trying to tease him, looking at Eric over
+her violin with luminous eyes that dared him to be merry.
+
+Eric smiled; but the puzzled look returned to his face many times that
+evening. He walked home in a brown study. Kilmeny’s case certainly
+seemed a strange one, and the more he thought of it the stranger it
+seemed.
+
+“It strikes me as something very peculiar that she should be able to
+make sounds only when she is not thinking about it,” he reflected. “I
+wish David Baker could examine her. But I suppose that is out of the
+question. That grim pair who have charge of her would never consent.”
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX. THE STRAIGHT SIMPLICITY OF EVE
+
+For the next three weeks Eric Marshall seemed to himself to be living
+two lives, as distinct from each other as if he possessed a double
+personality. In one, he taught the Lindsay district school diligently
+and painstakingly; solved problems; argued on theology with Robert
+Williamson; called at the homes of his pupils and took tea in state
+with their parents; went to a rustic dance or two and played havoc, all
+unwittingly, with the hearts of the Lindsay maidens.
+
+But this life was a dream of workaday. He only LIVED in the other, which
+was spent in an old orchard, grassy and overgrown, where the minutes
+seemed to lag for sheer love of the spot and the June winds made wild
+harping in the old spruces.
+
+Here every evening he met Kilmeny; in that old orchard they garnered
+hours of quiet happiness together; together they went wandering in the
+fair fields of old romance; together they read many books and talked of
+many things; and, when they were tired of all else, Kilmeny played to
+him and the old orchard echoed with her lovely, fantastic melodies.
+
+At every meeting her beauty came home afresh to him with the old thrill
+of glad surprise. In the intervals of absence it seemed to him that she
+could not possibly be as beautiful as he remembered her; and then
+when they met she seemed even more so. He learned to watch for the
+undisguised light of welcome that always leaped into her eyes at the
+sound of his footsteps. She was nearly always there before him and she
+always showed that she was glad to see him with the frank delight of a
+child watching for a dear comrade.
+
+She was never in the same mood twice. Now she was grave, now gay, now
+stately, now pensive. But she was always charming. Thrawn and twisted
+the old Gordon stock might be, but it had at least this one offshoot of
+perfect grace and symmetry. Her mind and heart, utterly unspoiled of the
+world, were as beautiful as her face. All the ugliness of existence
+had passed her by, shrined in her double solitude of upbringing and
+muteness.
+
+She was naturally quick and clever. Delightful little flashes of wit
+and humour sparkled out occasionally. She could be whimsical--even
+charmingly capricious. Sometimes innocent mischief glimmered out in the
+unfathomable deeps of her blue eyes. Sarcasm, even, was not unknown to
+her. Now and then she punctured some harmless bubble of a young man’s
+conceit or masculine superiority with a biting little line of daintily
+written script.
+
+She assimilated the ideas in the books they read, speedily, eagerly,
+and thoroughly, always seizing on the best and truest, and rejecting the
+false and spurious and weak with an unfailing intuition at which Eric
+marvelled. Hers was the spear of Ithuriel, trying out the dross of
+everything and leaving only the pure gold.
+
+In manner and outlook she was still a child. Yet now and again she was
+as old as Eve. An expression would leap into her laughing face, a subtle
+meaning reveal itself in her smile, that held all the lore of womanhood
+and all the wisdom of the ages.
+
+Her way of smiling enchanted him. The smile always began far down in her
+eyes and flowed outward to her face like a sparkling brook stealing out
+of shadow into sunshine.
+
+He knew everything about her life. She told him her simple history
+freely. She often mentioned her uncle and aunt and seemed to regard them
+with deep affection. She rarely spoke of her mother. Eric came somehow
+to understand, less from what she said than from what she did not say,
+that Kilmeny, though she had loved her mother, had always been rather
+afraid of her. There had not been between them the natural beautiful
+confidence of mother and child.
+
+Of Neil, she wrote frequently at first, and seemed very fond of him.
+Later she ceased to mention him. Perhaps--for she was marvellously quick
+to catch and interpret every fleeting change of expression in his voice
+and face--she discerned what Eric did not know himself--that his eyes
+clouded and grew moody at the mention of Neil’s name.
+
+Once she asked him naively,
+
+“Are there many people like you out in the world?”
+
+“Thousands of them,” said Eric, laughing.
+
+She looked gravely at him. Then she gave her head a quick decided little
+shake.
+
+“I do not think so,” she wrote. “I do not know much of the world, but I
+do not think there are many people like you in it.”
+
+One evening, when the far-away hills and fields were scarfed in gauzy
+purples, and the intervales were brimming with golden mists, Eric
+carried to the old orchard a little limp, worn volume that held a love
+story. It was the first thing of the kind he had ever read to her,
+for in the first novel he had lent her the love interest had been
+very slight and subordinate. This was a beautiful, passionate idyl
+exquisitely told.
+
+He read it to her, lying in the grass at her feet; she listened with her
+hands clasped over her knee and her eyes cast down. It was not a long
+story; and when he had finished it he shut the book and looked up at her
+questioningly.
+
+“Do you like it, Kilmeny?” he asked.
+
+Very slowly she took her slate and wrote,
+
+“Yes, I like it. But it hurt me, too. I did not know that a person could
+like anything that hurt her. I do not know why it hurt me. I felt as if
+I had lost something that I never had. That was a very silly feeling,
+was it not? But I did not understand the book very well, you see. It is
+about love and I do not know anything about love. Mother told me once
+that love is a curse, and that I must pray that it would never enter
+into my life. She said it very earnestly, and so I believed her. But
+your book teaches that it is a blessing. It says that it is the most
+splendid and wonderful thing in life. Which am I to believe?”
+
+“Love--real love--is never a curse, Kilmeny,” said Eric gravely. “There
+is a false love which IS a curse. Perhaps your mother believed it was
+that which had entered her life and ruined it; and so she made the
+mistake. There is nothing in the world--or in heaven either, as I
+believe--so truly beautiful and wonderful and blessed as love.”
+
+“Have you ever loved?” asked Kilmeny, with the directness of phrasing
+necessitated by her mode of communication which was sometimes a little
+terrible. She asked the question simply and without embarrassment. She
+knew of no reason why love might not be discussed with Eric as other
+matters--music and books and travel--might be.
+
+“No,” said Eric--honestly, as he thought, “but every one has an ideal of
+love whom he hopes to meet some day--‘the ideal woman of a young man’s
+dream.’ I suppose I have mine, in some sealed, secret chamber of my
+heart.”
+
+“I suppose your ideal woman would be beautiful, like the woman in your
+book?”
+
+“Oh, yes, I am sure I could never care for an ugly woman,” said Eric,
+laughing a little as he sat up. “Our ideals are always beautiful,
+whether they so translate themselves into realities or not. But the
+sun is going down. Time does certainly fly in this enchanted orchard. I
+believe you bewitch the moments away, Kilmeny. Your namesake of the
+poem was a somewhat uncanny maid, if I recollect aright, and thought as
+little of seven years in elfland as ordinary folk do of half an hour
+on upper earth. Some day I shall waken from a supposed hour’s lingering
+here and find myself an old man with white hair and ragged coat, as in
+that fairy tale we read the other night. Will you let me give you this
+book? I should never commit the sacrilege of reading it in any other
+place than this. It is an old book, Kilmeny. A new book, savouring of
+the shop and market-place, however beautiful it might be, would not do
+for you. This was one of my mother’s books. She read it and loved it.
+See--the faded rose leaves she placed in it one day are there still.
+I’ll write your name in it--that quaint, pretty name of yours which
+always sounds as if it had been specially invented for you--‘Kilmeny of
+the Orchard’--and the date of this perfect June day on which we read it
+together. Then when you look at it you will always remember me, and the
+white buds opening on that rosebush beside you, and the rush and murmur
+of the wind in the tops of those old spruces.”
+
+He held out the book to her, but, to his surprise, she shook her head,
+with a deeper flush on her face.
+
+“Won’t you take the book, Kilmeny? Why not?”
+
+She took her pencil and wrote slowly, unlike her usual quick movement.
+
+“Do not be offended with me. I shall not need anything to make me
+remember you because I can never forget you. But I would rather not take
+the book. I do not want to read it again. It is about love, and there is
+no use in my learning about love, even if it is all you say. Nobody will
+ever love me. I am too ugly.”
+
+“You! Ugly!” exclaimed Eric. He was on the point of going off into a
+peal of laughter at the idea when a glimpse of her half averted face
+sobered him. On it was a hurt, bitter look, such as he remembered seeing
+once before, when he had asked her if she would not like to see the
+world for herself.
+
+“Kilmeny,” he said in astonishment, “you don’t really think yourself
+ugly, do you?”
+
+She nodded, without looking at him, and then wrote,
+
+“Oh, yes, I know that I am. I have known it for a long time. Mother told
+me that I was very ugly and that nobody would ever like to look at me. I
+am sorry. It hurts me much worse to know I am ugly than it does to know
+I cannot speak. I suppose you will think that is very foolish of me, but
+it is true. That was why I did not come back to the orchard for such a
+long time, even after I had got over my fright. I hated to think that
+YOU would think me ugly. And that is why I do not want to go out into
+the world and meet people. They would look at me as the egg peddler did
+one day when I went out with Aunt Janet to his wagon the spring after
+mother died. He stared at me so. I knew it was because he thought me so
+ugly, and I have always hidden when he came ever since.”
+
+Eric’s lips twitched. In spite of his pity for the real suffering
+displayed in her eyes, he could not help feeling amused over the absurd
+idea of this beautiful girl believing herself in all seriousness to be
+ugly.
+
+“But, Kilmeny, do you think yourself ugly when you look in a mirror?” he
+asked smiling.
+
+“I have never looked in a mirror,” she wrote. “I never knew there was
+such a thing until after mother died, and I read about it in a book.
+Then I asked Aunt Janet and she said mother had broken all the looking
+glasses in the house when I was a baby. But I have seen my face
+reflected in the spoons, and in a little silver sugar bowl Aunt Janet
+has. And it IS ugly--very ugly.”
+
+Eric’s face went down into the grass. For his life he could not help
+laughing; and for his life he would not let Kilmeny see him laughing.
+A certain little whimsical wish took possession of him and he did not
+hasten to tell her the truth, as had been his first impulse. Instead,
+when he dared to look up he said slowly,
+
+“I don’t think you are ugly, Kilmeny.”
+
+“Oh, but I am sure you must,” she wrote protestingly. “Even Neil does.
+He tells me I am kind and nice, but one day I asked him if he thought
+me very ugly, and he looked away and would not speak, so I knew what he
+thought about it, too. Do not let us speak of this again. It makes me
+feel sorry and spoils everything. I forget it at other times. Let me
+play you some good-bye music, and do not feel vexed because I would not
+take your book. It would only make me unhappy to read it.”
+
+“I am not vexed,” said Eric, “and I think you will take it some day
+yet--after I have shown you something I want you to see. Never mind
+about your looks, Kilmeny. Beauty isn’t everything.”
+
+“Oh, it is a great deal,” she wrote naively. “But you do like me, even
+though I am so ugly, don’t you? You like me because of my beautiful
+music, don’t you?”
+
+“I like you very much, Kilmeny,” answered Eric, laughing a little;
+but there was in his voice a tender note of which he was unconscious.
+Kilmeny was aware of it, however, and she picked up her violin with a
+pleased smile.
+
+He left her playing there, and all the way through the dim resinous
+spruce wood her music followed him like an invisible guardian spirit.
+
+“Kilmeny the Beautiful!” he murmured, “and yet, good heavens, the child
+thinks she is ugly--she with a face more lovely than ever an artist
+dreamed of! A girl of eighteen who has never looked in a mirror! I
+wonder if there is another such in any civilized country in the world.
+What could have possessed her mother to tell her such a falsehood? I
+wonder if Margaret Gordon could have been quite sane. It is strange that
+Neil has never told her the truth. Perhaps he doesn’t want her to find
+out.”
+
+Eric had met Neil Gordon a few evenings before this, at a country
+dance where Neil had played the violin for the dancers. Influenced by
+curiosity he had sought the lad’s acquaintance. Neil was friendly and
+talkative at first; but at the first hint concerning the Gordons
+which Eric threw out skilfully his face and manner changed. He looked
+secretive and suspicious, almost sinister. A sullen look crept into
+his big black eyes and he drew his bow across the violin strings with a
+discordant screech, as if to terminate the conversation. Plainly nothing
+was to be found out from him about Kilmeny and her grim guardians.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X. A TROUBLING OF THE WATERS
+
+One evening in late June Mrs. Williamson was sitting by her kitchen
+window. Her knitting lay unheeded in her lap, and Timothy, though he
+nestled ingratiatingly against her foot as he lay on the rug and purred
+his loudest, was unregarded. She rested her face on her hand and looked
+out of the window, across the distant harbour, with troubled eyes.
+
+“I guess I must speak,” she thought wistfully. “I hate to do it. I
+always did hate meddling. My mother always used to say that ninety-nine
+times out of a hundred the last state of a meddler and them she
+meddled with was worse than the first. But I guess it’s my duty. I was
+Margaret’s friend, and it is my duty to protect her child any way I can.
+If the Master does go back across there to meet her I must tell him what
+I think about it.”
+
+Overhead in his room, Eric was walking about whistling. Presently he
+came downstairs, thinking of the orchard, and the girl who would be
+waiting for him there.
+
+As he crossed the little front entry he heard Mrs. Williamson’s voice
+calling to him.
+
+“Mr. Marshall, will you please come here a moment?”
+
+He went out to the kitchen. Mrs. Williamson looked at him deprecatingly.
+There was a flush on her faded cheek and her voice trembled.
+
+“Mr. Marshall, I want to ask you a question. Perhaps you will think it
+isn’t any of my business. But it isn’t because I want to meddle. No, no.
+It is only because I think I ought to speak. I have thought it over for
+a long time, and it seems to me that I ought to speak. I hope you won’t
+be angry, but even if you are I must say what I have to say. Are you
+going back to the old Connors orchard to meet Kilmeny Gordon?”
+
+For a moment an angry flush burned in Eric’s face. It was more Mrs.
+Williamson’s tone than her words which startled and annoyed him.
+
+“Yes, I am, Mrs. Williamson,” he said coldly. “What of it?”
+
+“Then, sir,” said Mrs. Williamson with more firmness, “I have got to
+tell you that I don’t think you are doing right. I have been suspecting
+all along that that was where you went every evening, but I haven’t said
+a word to any one about it. Even my husband doesn’t know. But tell me
+this, Master. Do Kilmeny’s uncle and aunt know that you are meeting her
+there?”
+
+“Why,” said Eric, in some confusion, “I--I do not know whether they do
+or not. But Mrs. Williamson, surely you do not suspect me of meaning any
+harm or wrong to Kilmeny Gordon?”
+
+“No, I don’t, Master. I might think it of some men, but never of you. I
+don’t for a minute think that you would do her or any woman any wilful
+wrong. But you may do her great harm for all that. I want you to stop
+and think about it. I guess you haven’t thought. Kilmeny can’t know
+anything about the world or about men, and she may get to thinking too
+much of you. That might break her heart, because you couldn’t ever marry
+a dumb girl like her. So I don’t think you ought to be meeting her so
+often in this fashion. It isn’t right, Master. Don’t go to the orchard
+again.”
+
+Without a word Eric turned away, and went upstairs to his room. Mrs.
+Williamson picked up her knitting with a sigh.
+
+“That’s done, Timothy, and I’m real thankful,” she said. “I guess
+there’ll be no need of saying anything more. Mr. Marshall is a fine
+young man, only a little thoughtless. Now that he’s got his eyes opened
+I’m sure he’ll do what is right. I don’t want Margaret’s child made
+unhappy.”
+
+Her husband came to the kitchen door and sat down on the steps to enjoy
+his evening smoke, talking between whiffs to his wife of Elder Tracy’s
+church row, and Mary Alice Martin’s beau, the price Jake Crosby was
+giving for eggs, the quantity of hay yielded by the hill meadow, the
+trouble he was having with old Molly’s calf, and the respective merits
+of Plymouth Rock and Brahma roosters. Mrs. Williamson answered at
+random, and heard not one word in ten.
+
+“What’s got the Master, Mother?” inquired old Robert, presently. “I hear
+him striding up and down in his room ‘sif he was caged. Sure you didn’t
+lock him in by mistake?”
+
+“Maybe he’s worried over the way Seth Tracy’s acting in school,”
+ suggested Mrs. Williamson, who did not choose that her gossipy husband
+should suspect the truth about Eric and Kilmeny Gordon.
+
+“Shucks, he needn’t worry a morsel over that. Seth’ll quiet down as soon
+as he finds he can’t run the Master. He’s a rare good teacher--better’n
+Mr. West was even, and that’s saying something. The trustees are hoping
+he’ll stay for another term. They’re going to ask him at the school
+meeting to-morrow, and offer him a raise of supplement.”
+
+Upstairs, in his little room under the eaves, Eric Marshall was in
+the grip of the most intense and overwhelming emotion he had ever
+experienced.
+
+Up and down, to and fro, he walked, with set lips and clenched hands.
+When he was wearied out he flung himself on a chair by the window and
+wrestled with the flood of feeling.
+
+Mrs. Williamson’s words had torn away the delusive veil with which he
+had bound his eyes. He was face to face with the knowledge that he loved
+Kilmeny Gordon with the love that comes but once, and is for all time.
+He wondered how he could have been so long blind to it. He knew that he
+must have loved her ever since their first meeting that May evening in
+the old orchard.
+
+And he knew that he must choose between two alternatives--either he must
+never go to the orchard again, or he must go as an avowed lover to woo
+him a wife.
+
+Worldly prudence, his inheritance from a long line of thrifty,
+cool-headed ancestors, was strong in Eric, and he did not yield easily
+or speedily to the dictates of his passion. All night he struggled
+against the new emotions that threatened to sweep away the “common
+sense” which David Baker had bade him take with him when he went
+a-wooing. Would not a marriage with Kilmeny Gordon be an unwise thing
+from any standpoint?
+
+Then something stronger and greater and more vital than wisdom or
+unwisdom rose up in him and mastered him. Kilmeny, beautiful, dumb
+Kilmeny was, as he had once involuntarily thought, “the one maid” for
+him. Nothing should part them. The mere idea of never seeing her again
+was so unbearable that he laughed at himself for having counted it a
+possible alternative.
+
+“If I can win Kilmeny’s love I shall ask her to be my wife,” he said,
+looking out of the window to the dark, southwestern hill beyond which
+lay his orchard.
+
+The velvet sky over it was still starry; but the water of the harbour
+was beginning to grow silvery in the reflection of the dawn that was
+breaking in the east.
+
+“Her misfortune will only make her dearer to me. I cannot realize that a
+month ago I did not know her. It seems to me that she has been a part of
+my life for ever. I wonder if she was grieved that I did not go to the
+orchard last night--if she waited for me. If she does, she does not know
+it herself yet. It will be my sweet task to teach her what love means,
+and no man has ever had a lovelier, purer, pupil.”
+
+At the annual school meeting, the next afternoon, the trustees asked
+Eric to take the Lindsay school for the following year. He consented
+unhesitatingly.
+
+That evening he went to Mrs. Williamson, as she washed her tea dishes in
+the kitchen.
+
+“Mrs. Williamson, I am going back to the old Connors orchard to see
+Kilmeny again to-night.”
+
+She looked at him reproachfully.
+
+“Well, Master, I have no more to say. I suppose it wouldn’t be of any
+use if I had. But you know what I think of it.”
+
+“I intend to marry Kilmeny Gordon if I can win her.”
+
+An expression of amazement came into the good woman’s face. She looked
+scrutinizingly at the firm mouth and steady gray eyes for a moment. Then
+she said in a troubled voice,
+
+“Do you think that is wise, Master? I suppose Kilmeny is pretty; the egg
+peddler told me she was; and no doubt she is a good, nice girl. But she
+wouldn’t be a suitable wife for you--a girl that can’t speak.”
+
+“That doesn’t make any difference to me.”
+
+“But what will your people say?”
+
+“I have no ‘people’ except my father. When he sees Kilmeny he will
+understand. She is all the world to me, Mrs. Williamson.”
+
+“As long as you believe that there is nothing more to be said,” was
+the quiet answer, “I’d be a little bit afraid if I was you, though. But
+young people never think of those things.”
+
+“My only fear is that she won’t care for me,” said Eric soberly.
+
+Mrs. Williamson surveyed the handsome, broad-shouldered young man
+shrewdly.
+
+“I don’t think there are many women would say you ‘no’, Master. I wish
+you well in your wooing, though I can’t help thinking you’re doing
+a daft-like thing. I hope you won’t have any trouble with Thomas and
+Janet. They are so different from other folks there is no knowing. But
+take my advice, Master, and go and see them about it right off. Don’t go
+on meeting Kilmeny unbeknownst to them.”
+
+“I shall certainly take your advice,” said Eric, gravely. “I should have
+gone to them before. It was merely thoughtlessness on my part. Possibly
+they do know already. Kilmeny may have told them.”
+
+Mrs. Williamson shook her head decidedly.
+
+“No, no, Master, she hasn’t. They’d never have let her go on meeting
+you there if they had known. I know them too well to think of that for a
+moment. Go you straight to them and say to them just what you have said
+to me. That is your best plan, Master. And take care of Neil. People say
+he has a notion of Kilmeny himself. He’ll do you a bad turn if he can,
+I’ve no doubt. Them foreigners can’t be trusted--and he’s just as much
+a foreigner as his parents before him--though he HAS been brought up on
+oatmeal and the shorter catechism, as the old saying has it. I feel that
+somehow--I always feel it when I look at him singing in the choir.”
+
+“Oh, I am not afraid of Neil,” said Eric carelessly. “He couldn’t help
+loving Kilmeny--nobody could.”
+
+“I suppose every young man thinks that about his girl--if he’s the right
+sort of young man,” said Mrs. Williamson with a little sigh.
+
+She watched Eric out of sight anxiously.
+
+“I hope it’ll all come out right,” she thought. “I hope he ain’t making
+an awful mistake--but--I’m afraid. Kilmeny must be very pretty to have
+bewitched him so. Well, I suppose there is no use in my worrying over
+it. But I do wish he had never gone back to that old orchard and seen
+her.”
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI. A LOVER AND HIS LASS
+
+Kilmeny was in the orchard when Eric reached it, and he lingered for a
+moment in the shadow of the spruce wood to dream over her beauty.
+
+The orchard had lately overflowed in waves of old-fashioned caraway, and
+she was standing in the midst of its sea of bloom, with the lace-like
+blossoms swaying around her in the wind. She wore the simple dress of
+pale blue print in which he had first seen her; silk attire could not
+better have become her loveliness. She had woven herself a chaplet
+of half open white rosebuds and placed it on her dark hair, where the
+delicate blossoms seemed less wonderful than her face.
+
+When Eric stepped through the gap she ran to meet him with outstretched
+hands, smiling. He took her hands and looked into her eyes with an
+expression before which hers for the first time faltered. She looked
+down, and a warm blush strained the ivory curves of her cheek and
+throat. His heart bounded, for in that blush he recognized the banner of
+love’s vanguard.
+
+“Are you glad to see me, Kilmeny?” he asked, in a low significant tone.
+
+She nodded, and wrote in a somewhat embarrassed fashion,
+
+“Yes. Why do you ask? You know I am always glad to see you. I was afraid
+you would not come. You did not come last night and I was so sorry.
+Nothing in the orchard seemed nice any longer. I couldn’t even play. I
+tried to, and my violin only cried. I waited until it was dark and then
+I went home.”
+
+“I am sorry you were disappointed, Kilmeny. I couldn’t come last night.
+Some day I shall tell you why. I stayed home to learn a new lesson. I am
+sorry you missed me--no, I am glad. Can you understand how a person may
+be glad and sorry for the same thing?”
+
+She nodded again, with a return of her usual sweet composure.
+
+“Yes, I could not have understood once, but I can now. Did you learn
+your new lesson?”
+
+“Yes, very thoroughly. It was a delightful lesson when I once understood
+it. I must try to teach it to you some day. Come over to the old bench,
+Kilmeny. There is something I want to say to you. But first, will you
+give me a rose?”
+
+She ran to the bush, and, after careful deliberation, selected a perfect
+half-open bud and brought it to him--a white bud with a faint, sunrise
+flush about its golden heart.
+
+“Thank you. It is as beautiful as--as a woman I know,” Eric said.
+
+A wistful look came into her face at his words, and she walked with a
+drooping head across the orchard to the bench.
+
+“Kilmeny,” he said, seriously, “I am going to ask you to do something
+for me. I want you to take me home with you and introduce me to your
+uncle and aunt.”
+
+She lifted her head and stared at him incredulously, as if he had asked
+her to do something wildly impossible. Understanding from his grave face
+that he meant what he said, a look of dismay dawned in her eyes. She
+shook her head almost violently and seemed to be making a passionate,
+instinctive effort to speak. Then she caught up her pencil and wrote
+with feverish haste:
+
+“I cannot do that. Do not ask me to. You do not understand. They would
+be very angry. They do not want to see any one coming to the house. And
+they would never let me come here again. Oh, you do not mean it?”
+
+He pitied her for the pain and bewilderment in her eyes; but he took her
+slender hands in his and said firmly,
+
+“Yes, Kilmeny, I do mean it. It is not quite right for us to be meeting
+each other here as we have been doing, without the knowledge and consent
+of your friends. You cannot now understand this, but--believe me--it is
+so.”
+
+She looked questioningly, pityingly into his eyes. What she read there
+seemed to convince her, for she turned very pale and an expression of
+hopelessness came into her face. Releasing her hands, she wrote slowly,
+
+“If you say it is wrong I must believe it. I did not know anything so
+pleasant could be wrong. But if it is wrong we must not meet here any
+more. Mother told me I must never do anything that was wrong. But I did
+not know this was wrong.”
+
+“It was not wrong for you, Kilmeny. But it was a little wrong for me,
+because I knew better--or rather, should have known better. I didn’t
+stop to think, as the children say. Some day you will understand fully.
+Now, you will take me to your uncle and aunt, and after I have said
+to them what I want to say it will be all right for us to meet here or
+anywhere.”
+
+She shook her head.
+
+“No,” she wrote, “Uncle Thomas and Aunt Janet will tell you to go away
+and never come back. And they will never let me come here any more.
+Since it is not right to meet you I will not come, but it is no use to
+think of going to them. I did not tell them about you because I knew
+that they would forbid me to see you, but I am sorry, since it is so
+wrong.”
+
+“You must take me to them,” said Eric firmly. “I am quite sure that
+things will not be as you fear when they hear what I have to say.”
+
+Uncomforted, she wrote forlornly,
+
+“I must do it, since you insist, but I am sure it will be no use. I
+cannot take you to-night because they are away. They went to the store
+at Radnor. But I will take you to-morrow night; and after that I shall
+not see you any more.”
+
+Two great tears brimmed over in her big blue eyes and splashed down
+on her slate. Her lips quivered like a hurt child’s. Eric put his arm
+impulsively about her and drew her head down upon his shoulder. As she
+cried there, softly, miserably, he pressed his lips to the silky black
+hair with its coronal of rosebuds. He did not see two burning eyes which
+were looking at him over the old fence behind him with hatred and mad
+passion blazing in their depths. Neil Gordon was crouched there, with
+clenched hands and heaving breast, watching them.
+
+“Kilmeny, dear, don’t cry,” said Eric tenderly. “You shall see me again.
+I promise you that, whatever happens. I do not think your uncle and aunt
+will be as unreasonable as you fear, but even if they are they shall not
+prevent me from meeting you somehow.”
+
+Kilmeny lifted her head, and wiped the tears from her eyes.
+
+“You do not know what they are like,” she wrote. “They will lock me into
+my room. That is the way they always punished me when I was a little
+girl. And once, not so very long ago, when I was a big girl, they did
+it.”
+
+“If they do I’ll get you out somehow,” said Eric, laughing a little.
+
+She allowed herself to smile, but it was a rather forlorn little effort.
+She did not cry any more, but her spirits did not come back to her. Eric
+talked gaily, but she only listened in a pensive, absent way, as if she
+scarcely heard him. When he asked her to play she shook her head.
+
+“I cannot think any music to-night,” she wrote, “I must go home, for my
+head aches and I feel very stupid.”
+
+“Very well, Kilmeny. Now, don’t worry, little girl. It will all come out
+all right.”
+
+Evidently she did not share his confidence, for her head drooped again
+as they walked together across the orchard. At the entrance of the wild
+cherry lane she paused and looked at him half reproachfully, her eyes
+filling again. She seemed to be bidding him a mute farewell. With an
+impulse of tenderness which he could not control, Eric put his arm about
+her and kissed her red, trembling mouth. She started back with a little
+cry. A burning colour swept over her face, and the next moment she fled
+swiftly up the darkening lane.
+
+The sweetness of that involuntary kiss clung to Eric’s lips as he went
+homeward, half-intoxicating him. He knew that it had opened the gates of
+womanhood to Kilmeny. Never again, he felt, would her eyes meet his with
+their old unclouded frankness. When next he looked into them he knew
+that he should see there the consciousness of his kiss. Behind her in
+the orchard that night Kilmeny had left her childhood.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XII. A PRISONER OF LOVE
+
+When Eric betook himself to the orchard the next evening he had to
+admit that he felt rather nervous. He did not know how the Gordons would
+receive him and certainly the reports he had heard of them were not
+encouraging, to say the least of it. Even Mrs. Williamson, when he had
+told her where he was going, seemed to look upon him as one bent on
+bearding a lion in his den.
+
+“I do hope they won’t be very uncivil to you, Master,” was the best she
+could say.
+
+He expected Kilmeny to be in the orchard before him, for he had been
+delayed by a call from one of the trustees; but she was nowhere to be
+seen. He walked across it to the wild cherry lane; but at its entrance
+he stopped short in sudden dismay.
+
+Neil Gordon had stepped from behind the trees and stood confronting him,
+with blazing eyes, and lips which writhed in emotion so great that at
+first it prevented him from speaking.
+
+With a thrill of dismay Eric instantly understood what must have taken
+place. Neil had discovered that he and Kilmeny had been meeting in the
+orchard, and beyond doubt had carried that tale to Janet and Thomas
+Gordon. He realized how unfortunate it was that this should have
+happened before he had had time to make his own explanation. It would
+probably prejudice Kilmeny’s guardians still further against him. At
+this point in his thoughts Neil’s pent up passion suddenly found vent in
+a burst of wild words.
+
+“So you’ve come to meet her again. But she isn’t here--you’ll never see
+her again! I hate you--I hate you--I hate you!”
+
+His voice rose to a shrill scream. He took a furious step nearer Eric
+as if he would attack him. Eric looked steadily in his eyes with a calm
+defiance, before which his wild passion broke like foam on a rock.
+
+“So you have been making trouble for Kilmeny, Neil, have you?” said Eric
+contemptuously. “I suppose you have been playing the spy. And I suppose
+that you have told her uncle and aunt that she has been meeting me here.
+Well, you have saved me the trouble of doing it, that is all. I was
+going to tell them myself, tonight. I don’t know what your motive in
+doing this has been. Was it jealousy of me? Or have you done it out of
+malice to Kilmeny?”
+
+His contempt cowed Neil more effectually than any display of anger could
+have done.
+
+“Never you mind why I did it,” he muttered sullenly. “What I did or
+why I did it is no business of yours. And you have no business to come
+sneaking around here either. Kilmeny won’t meet you here again.”
+
+“She will meet me in her own home then,” said Eric sternly. “Neil, in
+behaving as you have done you have shown yourself to be a very foolish,
+undisciplined boy. I am going straightway to Kilmeny’s uncle and aunt to
+explain everything.”
+
+Neil sprang forward in his path.
+
+“No--no--go away,” he implored wildly. “Oh, sir--oh, Mr. Marshall,
+please go away. I’ll do anything for you if you will. I love Kilmeny.
+I’ve loved her all my life. I’d give my life for her. I can’t have you
+coming here to steal her from me. If you do--I’ll kill you! I wanted to
+kill you last night when I saw you kiss her. Oh, yes, I saw you. I was
+watching--spying, if you like. I don’t care what you call it. I had
+followed her--I suspected something. She was so different--so changed.
+She never would wear the flowers I picked for her any more. She seemed
+to forget I was there. I knew something had come between us. And it was
+you, curse you! Oh, I’ll make you sorry for it.”
+
+He was working himself up into a fury again--the untamed fury of the
+Italian peasant thwarted in his heart’s desire. It overrode all the
+restraint of his training and environment. Eric, amid all his anger and
+annoyance, felt a thrill of pity for him. Neil Gordon was only a boy
+still; and he was miserable and beside himself.
+
+“Neil, listen to me,” he said quietly. “You are talking very foolishly.
+It is not for you to say who shall or shall not be Kilmeny’s friend.
+Now, you may just as well control yourself and go home like a decent
+fellow. I am not at all frightened by your threats, and I shall know how
+to deal with you if you persist in interfering with me or persecuting
+Kilmeny. I am not the sort of person to put up with that, my lad.”
+
+The restrained power in his tone and look cowed Neil. The latter turned
+sullenly away, with another muttered curse, and plunged into the shadow
+of the firs.
+
+Eric, not a little ruffled under all his external composure by this
+most unexpected and unpleasant encounter, pursued his way along the lane
+which wound on by the belt of woodland in twist and curve to the Gordon
+homestead. His heart beat as he thought of Kilmeny. What might she not
+be suffering? Doubtless Neil had given a very exaggerated and distorted
+account of what he had seen, and probably her dour relations were very
+angry with her, poor child. Anxious to avert their wrath as soon as
+might be, he hurried on, almost forgetting his meeting with Neil. The
+threats of the latter did not trouble him at all. He thought the angry
+outburst of a jealous boy mattered but little. What did matter was that
+Kilmeny was in trouble which his heedlessness had brought upon her.
+
+Presently he found himself before the Gordon house. It was an old
+building with sharp eaves and dormer windows, its shingles stained a
+dark gray by long exposure to wind and weather. Faded green shutters
+hung on the windows of the lower story. Behind it grew a thick wood
+of spruces. The little yard in front of it was grassy and prim and
+flowerless; but over the low front door a luxuriant early-flowering
+rose vine clambered, in a riot of blood-red blossom which contrasted
+strangely with the general bareness of its surroundings. It seemed to
+fling itself over the grim old house as if intent on bombarding it with
+an alien life and joyousness.
+
+Eric knocked at the door, wondering if it might be possible that Kilmeny
+should come to it. But a moment later it was opened by an elderly
+woman--a woman of rigid lines from the hem of her lank, dark print dress
+to the crown of her head, covered with black hair which, despite its few
+gray threads, was still thick and luxuriant. She had a long, pale face
+somewhat worn and wrinkled, but possessing a certain harsh comeliness
+of feature which neither age nor wrinkles had quite destroyed; and
+her deep-set, light gray eyes were not devoid of suggested kindliness,
+although they now surveyed Eric with an unconcealed hostility. Her
+figure, in its merciless dress, was very angular; yet there was about
+her a dignity of carriage and manner which Eric liked. In any case, he
+preferred her unsmiling dourness to vulgar garrulity.
+
+He lifted his hat.
+
+“Have I the honour of speaking to Miss Gordon?” he asked.
+
+“I am Janet Gordon,” said the woman stiffly.
+
+“Then I wish to talk with you and your brother.”
+
+“Come in.”
+
+She stepped aside and motioned him to a low brown door opening on the
+right.
+
+“Go in and sit down. I’ll call Thomas,” she said coldly, as she walked
+out through the hall.
+
+Eric walked into the parlour and sat down as bidden. He found himself
+in the most old-fashioned room he had ever seen. The solidly made chairs
+and tables, of some wood grown dark and polished with age, made even
+Mrs. Williamson’s “parlour set” of horsehair seem extravagantly modern
+by contrast. The painted floor was covered with round braided rugs.
+On the centre table was a lamp, a Bible and some theological volumes
+contemporary with the square-runged furniture. The walls,
+wainscoted half way up in wood and covered for the rest with a dark,
+diamond-patterned paper, were hung with faded engravings, mostly of
+clerical-looking, bewigged personages in gowns and bands.
+
+But over the high, undecorated black mantel-piece, in a ruddy glow of
+sunset light striking through the window, hung one which caught and
+held Eric’s attention to the exclusion of everything else. It was the
+enlarged “crayon” photograph of a young girl, and, in spite of the
+crudity of execution, it was easily the center of interest in the room.
+
+Eric at once guessed that this must be the picture of Margaret Gordon,
+for, although quite unlike Kilmeny’s sensitive, spirited face in
+general, there was a subtle, unmistakable resemblance about brow and
+chin.
+
+The pictured face was a very handsome one, suggestive of velvety dark
+eyes and vivid colouring; but it was its expression rather than its
+beauty which fascinated Eric. Never had he seen a countenance indicative
+of more intense and stubborn will power. Margaret Gordon was dead
+and buried; the picture was a cheap and inartistic production in an
+impossible frame of gilt and plush; yet the vitality in that face
+dominated its surroundings still. What then must have been the power of
+such a personality in life?
+
+Eric realized that this woman could and would have done whatsoever she
+willed, unflinchingly and unrelentingly. She could stamp her desire on
+everything and everybody about her, moulding them to her wish and will,
+in their own despite and in defiance of all the resistance they might
+make. Many things in Kilmeny’s upbringing and temperament became clear
+to him.
+
+“If that woman had told me I was ugly I should have believed her,” he
+thought. “Ay, even though I had a mirror to contradict her. I should
+never have dreamed of disputing or questioning anything she might have
+said. The strange power in her face is almost uncanny, peering out as it
+does from a mask of beauty and youthful curves. Pride and stubbornness
+are its salient characteristics. Well, Kilmeny does not at all resemble
+her mother in expression and only very slightly in feature.”
+
+His reflections were interrupted by the entrance of Thomas and Janet
+Gordon. The former had evidently been called from his work. He nodded
+without speaking, and the two sat gravely down before Eric.
+
+“I have come to see you with regard to your niece, Mr. Gordon,” he said
+abruptly, realizing that there would be small use in beating about the
+bush with this grim pair. “I met your--I met Neil Gordon in the Connors
+orchard, and I found that he has told you that I have been meeting
+Kilmeny there.”
+
+He paused. Thomas Gordon nodded again; but he did not speak, and he
+did not remove his steady, piercing eyes from the young man’s flushed
+countenance. Janet still sat in a sort of expectant immovability.
+
+“I fear that you have formed an unfavourable opinion of me on this
+account, Mr. Gordon,” Eric went on. “But I hardly think I deserve it.
+I can explain the matter if you will allow me. I met your niece
+accidentally in the orchard three weeks ago and heard her play. I
+thought her music very wonderful and I fell into the habit of coming to
+the orchard in the evenings to hear it. I had no thought of harming her
+in any way, Mr. Gordon. I thought of her as a mere child, and a child
+who was doubly sacred because of her affliction. But recently I--I--it
+occurred to me that I was not behaving quite honourably in encouraging
+her to meet me thus. Yesterday evening I asked her to bring me here and
+introduce me to you and her aunt. We would have come then if you had
+been at home. As you were not we arranged to come tonight.”
+
+“I hope you will not refuse me the privilege of seeing your niece, Mr.
+Gordon,” said Eric eagerly. “I ask you to allow me to visit her here.
+But I do not ask you to receive me as a friend on my own recommendations
+only. I will give you references--men of standing in Charlottetown and
+Queenslea. If you refer to them--”
+
+“I don’t need to do that,” said Thomas Gordon, quietly. “I know more of
+you than you think, Master. I know your father well by reputation and
+I have seen him. I know you are a rich man’s son, whatever your whim in
+teaching a country school may be. Since you have kept your own counsel
+about your affairs I supposed you didn’t want your true position
+generally known, and so I have held my tongue about you. I know no
+ill of you, Master, and I think none, now that I believe you were not
+beguiling Kilmeny to meet you unknown to her friends of set purpose. But
+all this doesn’t make you a suitable friend for her, sir--it makes you
+all the more unsuitable. The less she sees of you the better.”
+
+Eric almost started to his feet in an indignant protest; but he swiftly
+remembered that his only hope of winning Kilmeny lay in bringing Thomas
+Gordon to another way of thinking. He had got on better than he had
+expected so far; he must not now jeopardize what he had gained by
+rashness or impatience.
+
+“Why do you think so, Mr. Gordon?” he asked, regaining his self-control
+with an effort.
+
+“Well, plain speaking is best, Master. If you were to come here and
+see Kilmeny often she’d most likely come to think too much of you. I
+mistrust there’s some mischief done in that direction already. Then when
+you went away she might break her heart--for she is one of those who
+feel things deeply. She has been happy enough. I know folks condemn us
+for the way she has been brought up, but they don’t know everything. It
+was the best way for her, all things considered. And we don’t want her
+made unhappy, Master.”
+
+“But I love your niece and I want to marry her if I can win her love,”
+ said Eric steadily.
+
+He surprised them out of their self possession at last. Both started,
+and looked at him as if they could not believe the evidence of their
+ears.
+
+“Marry her! Marry Kilmeny!” exclaimed Thomas Gordon incredulously. “You
+can’t mean it, sir. Why, she is dumb--Kilmeny is dumb.”
+
+“That makes no difference in my love for her, although I deeply regret
+it for her own sake,” answered Eric. “I can only repeat what I have
+already said, Mr. Gordon. I want Kilmeny for my wife.”
+
+The older man leaned forward and looked at the floor in a troubled
+fashion, drawing his bushy eyebrows down and tapping the calloused
+tips of his fingers together uneasily. He was evidently puzzled by this
+unexpected turn of the conversation, and in grave doubt what to say.
+
+“What would your father say to all this, Master?” he queried at last.
+
+“I have often heard my father say that a man must marry to please
+himself,” said Eric, with a smile. “If he felt tempted to go back on
+that opinion I think the sight of Kilmeny would convert him. But, after
+all, it is what I say that matters in this case, isn’t it, Mr. Gordon?
+I am well educated and not afraid of work. I can make a home for Kilmeny
+in a few years even if I have to depend entirely on my own resources.
+Only give me the chance to win her--that is all I ask.”
+
+“I don’t think it would do, Master,” said Thomas Gordon, shaking his
+head. “Of course, I dare say you--you”--he tried to say “love,” but
+Scotch reserve balked stubbornly at the terrible word--“you think you
+like Kilmeny now, but you are only a lad--and lads’ fancies change.”
+
+“Mine will not,” Eric broke in vehemently. “It is not a fancy, Mr.
+Gordon. It is the love that comes once in a lifetime and once only. I
+may be but a lad, but I know that Kilmeny is the one woman in the world
+for me. There can never be any other. Oh, I’m not speaking rashly or
+inconsiderately. I have weighed the matter well and looked at it from
+every aspect. And it all comes to this--I love Kilmeny and I want what
+any decent man who loves a woman truly has the right to have--the chance
+to win her love in return.”
+
+“Well!” Thomas Gordon drew a long breath that was almost a sigh.
+“Maybe--if you feel like that, Master--I don’t know--there are some
+things it isn’t right to cross. Perhaps we oughtn’t--Janet, woman, what
+shall we say to him?”
+
+Janet Gordon had hitherto spoken no word. She had sat rigidly upright
+on one of the old chairs under Margaret Gordon’s insistent picture, with
+her knotted, toil-worn hands grasping the carved arms tightly, and her
+eyes fastened on Eric’s face. At first their expression had been guarded
+and hostile, but as the conversation proceeded they lost this gradually
+and became almost kindly. Now, when her brother appealed to her, she
+leaned forward and said eagerly,
+
+“Do you know that there is a stain on Kilmeny’s birth, Master?”
+
+“I know that her mother was the innocent victim of a very sad mistake,
+Miss Gordon. I admit no real stain where there was no conscious wrong
+doing. Though, for that matter, even if there were, it would be no
+fault of Kilmeny’s and would make no difference to me as far as she is
+concerned.”
+
+A sudden change swept over Janet Gordon’s face, quite marvelous in
+the transformation it wrought. Her grim mouth softened and a flood of
+repressed tenderness glorified her cold gray eyes.
+
+“Well, then.” she said almost triumphantly, “since neither that nor
+her dumbness seems to be any drawback in your eyes I don’t see why you
+should not have the chance you want. Perhaps your world will say she is
+not good enough for you, but she is--she is”--this half defiantly.
+“She is a sweet and innocent and true-hearted lassie. She is bright and
+clever and she is not ill looking. Thomas, I say let the young man have
+his will.”
+
+Thomas Gordon stood up, as if he considered the responsibility off his
+shoulders and the interview at an end.
+
+“Very well, Janet, woman, since you think it is wise. And may God deal
+with him as he deals with her. Good evening, Master. I’ll see you again,
+and you are free to come and go as suits you. But I must go to my work
+now. I left my horses standing in the field.”
+
+“I will go up and send Kilmeny down,” said Janet quietly.
+
+She lighted the lamp on the table and left the room. A few minutes later
+Kilmeny came down. Eric rose and went to meet her eagerly, but she only
+put out her right hand with a pretty dignity and, while she looked into
+his face, she did not look into his eyes.
+
+“You see I was right after all, Kilmeny,” he said, smiling. “Your uncle
+and aunt haven’t driven me away. On the contrary they have been very
+kind to me, and they say I may see you whenever and wherever I like.”
+
+She smiled, and went over to the table to write on her slate.
+
+“But they were very angry last night, and said dreadful things to me.
+I felt very frightened and unhappy. They seemed to think I had done
+something terribly wrong. Uncle Thomas said he would never trust me out
+of his sight again. I could hardly believe it when Aunt Janet came up
+and told me you were here and that I might come down. She looked at me
+very strangely as she spoke, but I could see that all the anger had gone
+out of her face. She seemed pleased and yet sad. But I am glad they have
+forgiven us.”
+
+She did not tell him how glad she was, and how unhappy she had been over
+the thought that she was never to see him again. Yesterday she would
+have told him all frankly and fully; but for her yesterday was a
+lifetime away--a lifetime in which she had come into her heritage of
+womanly dignity and reserve. The kiss which Eric had left on her lips,
+the words her uncle and aunt had said to her, the tears she had shed for
+the first time on a sleepless pillow--all had conspired to reveal her to
+herself. She did not yet dream that she loved Eric Marshall, or that he
+loved her. But she was no longer the child to be made a dear comrade
+of. She was, though quite unconsciously, the woman to be wooed and won,
+exacting, with sweet, innate pride, her dues of allegiance.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIII. A SWEETER WOMAN NE’ER DREW BREATH
+
+Thenceforward Eric Marshall was a constant visitor at the Gordon
+homestead. He soon became a favourite with Thomas and Janet, especially
+the latter. He liked them both, discovering under all their outward
+peculiarities sterling worth and fitness of character. Thomas Gordon was
+surprisingly well read and could floor Eric any time in argument, once
+he became sufficiently warmed up to attain fluency of words. Eric hardly
+recognized him the first time he saw him thus animated. His bent form
+straightened, his sunken eyes flashed, his face flushed, his voice
+rang like a trumpet, and he poured out a flood of eloquence which swept
+Eric’s smart, up-to-date arguments away like straws in the rush of a
+mountain torrent. Eric enjoyed his own defeat enormously, but Thomas
+Gordon was ashamed of being thus drawn out of himself, and for a week
+afterwards confined his remarks to “Yes” and “No,” or, at the outside,
+to a brief statement that a change in the weather was brewing.
+
+Janet never talked on matters of church and state; such she plainly
+considered to be far beyond a woman’s province. But she listened with
+lurking interest in her eyes while Thomas and Eric pelted on each other
+with facts and statistics and opinions, and on the rare occasions when
+Eric scored a point she permitted herself a sly little smile at her
+brother’s expense.
+
+Of Neil, Eric saw but little. The Italian boy avoided him, or if they
+chanced to meet passed him by with sullen, downcast eyes. Eric did not
+trouble himself greatly about Neil; but Thomas Gordon, understanding the
+motive which had led Neil to betray his discovery of the orchard trysts,
+bluntly told Kilmeny that she must not make such an equal of Neil as she
+had done.
+
+“You have been too kind to the lad, lassie, and he’s got presumptuous.
+He must be taught his place. I mistrust we have all made more of him
+than we should.”
+
+But most of the idyllic hours of Eric’s wooing were spent in the old
+orchard; the garden end of it was now a wilderness of roses--roses red
+as the heart of a sunset, roses pink as the early flush of dawn, roses
+white as the snows on mountain peaks, roses full blown, and roses in
+buds that were sweeter than anything on earth except Kilmeny’s face.
+Their petals fell in silken heaps along the old paths or clung to the
+lush grasses among which Eric lay and dreamed, while Kilmeny played to
+him on her violin.
+
+Eric promised himself that when she was his wife her wonderful gift
+for music should be cultivated to the utmost. Her powers of expression
+seemed to deepen and develop every day, growing as her soul grew, taking
+on new colour and richness from her ripening heart.
+
+To Eric, the days were all pages in an inspired idyl. He had never
+dreamed that love could be so mighty or the world so beautiful. He
+wondered if the universe were big enough to hold his joy or eternity
+long enough to live it out. His whole existence was, for the time
+being, bounded by that orchard where he wooed his sweetheart. All other
+ambitions and plans and hopes were set aside in the pursuit of this one
+aim, the attainment of which would enhance all others a thousand-fold,
+the loss of which would rob all others of their reason for existence.
+His own world seemed very far away and the things of that world
+forgotten.
+
+His father, on hearing that he had taken the Lindsay school for a year,
+had written him a testy, amazed letter, asking him if he were demented.
+
+“Or is there a girl in the case?” he wrote. “There must be, to tie you
+down to a place like Lindsay for a year. Take care, master Eric; you’ve
+been too sensible all your life. A man is bound to make a fool of
+himself at least once, and when you didn’t get through with that in your
+teens it may be attacking you now.”
+
+David also wrote, expostulating more gravely; but he did not express the
+suspicions Eric knew he must entertain.
+
+“Good old David! He is quaking with fear that I am up to something he
+can’t approve of, but he won’t say a word by way of attempting to force
+my confidence.”
+
+It could not long remain a secret in Lindsay that “the Master” was going
+to the Gordon place on courting thoughts intent. Mrs. Williamson kept
+her own and Eric’s counsel; the Gordons said nothing; but the secret
+leaked out and great was the surprise and gossip and wonder. One or
+two incautious people ventured to express their opinion of the Master’s
+wisdom to the Master himself; but they never repeated the experiment.
+Curiosity was rife. A hundred stories were circulated about Kilmeny, all
+greatly exaggerated in the circulation. Wise heads were shaken and the
+majority opined that it was a great pity. The Master was a likely young
+fellow; he could have his pick of almost anybody, you might think; it
+was too bad that he should go and take up with that queer, dumb niece of
+the Gordons who had been brought up in such a heathenish way. But then
+you never could guess what way a man’s fancy would jump when he set out
+to pick him a wife. They guessed Neil Gordon didn’t like it much. He
+seemed to have got dreadful moody and sulky of late and wouldn’t sing in
+the choir any more. Thus the buzz of comment and gossip ran.
+
+To those two in the old orchard it mattered not a whit. Kilmeny knew
+nothing of gossip. To her, Lindsay was as much of an unknown world as
+the city of Eric’s home. Her thoughts strayed far and wide in the realm
+of her fancy, but they never wandered out to the little realities that
+hedged her strange life around. In that life she had blossomed out, a
+fair, unique thing. There were times when Eric almost regretted that one
+day he must take her out of her white solitude to a world that, in the
+last analysis, was only Lindsay on a larger scale, with just the same
+pettiness of thought and feeling and opinion at the bottom of it. He
+wished he might keep her to himself for ever, in that old, spruce-hidden
+orchard where the roses fell.
+
+One day he indulged himself in the fulfillment of the whim he had formed
+when Kilmeny had told him she thought herself ugly. He went to Janet and
+asked her permission to bring a mirror to the house that he might
+have the privilege of being the first to reveal Kilmeny to herself
+exteriorly. Janet was somewhat dubious at first.
+
+“There hasn’t been such a thing in the house for sixteen years, Master.
+There never was but three--one in the spare room, and a little one in
+the kitchen, and Margaret’s own. She broke them all the day it first
+struck her that Kilmeny was going to be bonny. I might have got one
+after she died maybe. But I didn’t think of it; and there’s no need of
+lasses to be always prinking at their looking glasses.”
+
+But Eric pleaded and argued skilfully, and finally Janet said,
+
+“Well, well, have your own way. You’d have it anyway I think, lad. You
+are one of those men who always get their own way. But that is different
+from the men who TAKE their own way--and that’s a mercy,” she added
+under her breath.
+
+Eric went to town the next Saturday and picked out a mirror that pleased
+him. He had it shipped to Radnor and Thomas Gordon brought it home, not
+knowing what it was, for Janet had thought it just as well he should not
+know.
+
+“It’s a present the Master is making Kilmeny,” she told him.
+
+She sent Kilmeny off to the orchard after tea, and Eric slipped around
+to the house by way of the main road and lane. He and Janet together
+unpacked the mirror and hung it on the parlour wall.
+
+“I never saw such a big one, Master,” said Janet rather doubtfully,
+as if, after all, she distrusted its gleaming, pearly depth and richly
+ornamented frame. “I hope it won’t make her vain. She is very bonny, but
+it may not do her any good to know it.”
+
+“It won’t harm her,” said Eric confidently. “When a belief in her
+ugliness hasn’t spoiled a girl a belief in her beauty won’t.”
+
+But Janet did not understand epigrams. She carefully removed a little
+dust from the polished surface, and frowned meditatively at the by no
+means beautiful reflection she saw therein.
+
+“I cannot think what made Kilmeny suppose she was ugly, Master.”
+
+“Her mother told her she was,” said Eric, rather bitterly.
+
+“Ah!” Janet shot a quick glance at the picture of her sister. “Was that
+it? Margaret was a strange woman, Master. I suppose she thought her own
+beauty had been a snare to her. She WAS bonny. That picture doesn’t do
+her justice. I never liked it. It was taken before she was--before she
+met Ronald Fraser. We none of us thought it very like her at the time.
+But, Master, three years later it was like her--oh, it was like her
+then! That very look came in her face.”
+
+“Kilmeny doesn’t resemble her mother,” remarked Eric, glancing at the
+picture with the same feeling of mingled fascination and distaste with
+which he always regarded it. “Does she look like her father?”
+
+“No, not a great deal, though some of her ways are very like his. She
+looks like her grandmother--Margaret’s mother, Master. Her name was
+Kilmeny too, and she was a handsome, sweet woman. I was very fond of my
+stepmother, Master. When she died she gave her baby to me, and asked me
+to be a mother to it. Ah well, I tried; but I couldn’t fence the sorrow
+out of Margaret’s life, and it sometimes comes to my mind that maybe
+I’ll not be able to fence it out of Kilmeny’s either.”
+
+“That will be my task,” said Eric.
+
+“You’ll do your best, I do not doubt. But maybe it will be through you
+that sorrow will come to her after all.”
+
+“Not through any fault of mine, Aunt Janet.”
+
+“No, no, I’m not saying it will be your fault. But my heart misgives me
+at times. Oh, I dare say I am only a foolish old woman, Master. Go your
+ways and bring your lass here to look at your plaything when you like.
+I’ll not make or meddle with it.”
+
+Janet betook herself to the kitchen and Eric went to look for Kilmeny.
+She was not in the orchard and it was not until he had searched for some
+time that he found her. She was standing under a beech tree in a field
+beyond the orchard, leaning on the longer fence, with her hands clasped
+against her cheek. In them she held a white Mary-lily from the orchard.
+She did not run to meet him while he was crossing the pasture, as she
+would once have done. She waited motionless until he was close to her.
+Eric began, half laughingly, half tenderly, to quote some lines from her
+namesake ballad:
+
+    “‘Kilmeny, Kilmeny, where have you been?
+    Long hae we sought baith holt and den,--
+    By linn, by ford, and greenwood tree!
+    Yet you are halesome and fair to see.
+    Where got you that joup o’ the lily sheen?
+    That bonny snood o’ the birk sae green,
+    And those roses, the fairest that ever was seen?
+    Kilmeny, Kilmeny, where have you been?’
+
+“Only it’s a lily and not a rose you are carrying. I might go on and
+quote the next couplet too--
+
+    “‘Kilmeny looked up with a lovely grace,
+    But there was nae smile on Kilmeny’s face.’
+
+“Why are you looking so sober?”
+
+Kilmeny did not have her slate with her and could not answer; but Eric
+guessed from something in her eyes that she was bitterly contrasting the
+beauty of the ballad’s heroine with her own supposed ugliness.
+
+“Come down to the house, Kilmeny. I have something there to show
+you--something lovelier than you have ever seen before,” he said, with
+boyish pleasure shining in his eyes. “I want you to go and put on that
+muslin dress you wore last Sunday evening, and pin up your hair the same
+way you did then. Run along--don’t wait for me. But you are not to go
+into the parlour until I come. I want to pick some of those Mary-lilies
+up in the orchard.”
+
+When Eric returned to the house with an armful of the long stemmed,
+white Madonna lilies that bloomed in the orchard Kilmeny was just coming
+down the steep, narrow staircase with its striped carpeting of homespun
+drugget. Her marvelous loveliness was brought out into brilliant relief
+by the dark wood work and shadows of the dim old hall.
+
+She wore a trailing, clinging dress of some creamy tinted fabric that
+had been her mother’s. It had not been altered in any respect, for
+fashion held no sway at the Gordon homestead, and Kilmeny thought
+that the dress left nothing to be desired. Its quaint style suited
+her admirably; the neck was slightly cut away to show the round white
+throat, and the sleeves were long, full “bishops,” out of which her
+beautiful, slender hands slipped like flowers from their sheaths. She
+had crossed her long braids at the back and pinned them about her head
+like a coronet; a late white rose was fastened low down on the left
+side.
+
+    “‘A man had given all other bliss
+    And all his worldly wealth for this--
+    To waste his whole heart in one kiss
+    Upon her perfect lips,’”
+
+quoted Eric in a whisper as he watched her descend. Aloud he said,
+
+“Take these lilies on your arm, letting their bloom fall against your
+shoulder--so. Now, give me your hand and shut your eyes. Don’t open them
+until I say you may.”
+
+He led her into the parlour and up to the mirror.
+
+“Look,” he cried, gaily.
+
+Kilmeny opened her eyes and looked straight into the mirror where, like
+a lovely picture in a golden frame, she saw herself reflected. For a
+moment she was bewildered. Then she realized what it meant. The lilies
+fell from her arm to the floor and she turned pale. With a little low,
+involuntary cry she put her hands over her face.
+
+Eric pulled them boyishly away.
+
+“Kilmeny, do you think you are ugly now? This is a truer mirror than
+Aunt Janet’s silver sugar bowl! Look--look--look! Did you ever imagine
+anything fairer than yourself, dainty Kilmeny?”
+
+She was blushing now, and stealing shy radiant glances at the mirror.
+With a smile she took her slate and wrote naively,
+
+“I think I am pleasant to look upon. I cannot tell you how glad I am.
+It is so dreadful to believe one is ugly. You can get used to everything
+else, but you never get used to that. It hurts just the same every time
+you remember it. But why did mother tell me I was ugly? Could she really
+have thought so? Perhaps I have become better looking since I grew up.”
+
+“I think perhaps your mother had found that beauty is not always
+a blessing, Kilmeny, and thought it wiser not to let you know you
+possessed it. Come, let us go back to the orchard now. We mustn’t waste
+this rare evening in the house. There is going to be a sunset that we
+shall remember all our lives. The mirror will hang here. It is yours.
+Don’t look into it too often, though, or Aunt Janet will disapprove. She
+is afraid it will make you vain.”
+
+Kilmeny gave one of her rare, musical laughs, which Eric never heard
+without a recurrence of the old wonder that she could laugh so when she
+could not speak. She blew an airy little kiss at her mirrored face and
+turned from it, smiling happily.
+
+On their way to the orchard they met Neil. He went by them with an
+averted face, but Kilmeny shivered and involuntarily drew nearer to
+Eric.
+
+“I don’t understand Neil at all now,” she wrote nervously. “He is not
+nice, as he used to be, and sometimes he will not answer when I speak
+to him. And he looks so strangely at me, too. Besides, he is surly and
+impertinent to Uncle and Aunt.”
+
+“Don’t mind Neil,” said Eric lightly. “He is probably sulky because of
+some things I said to him when I found he had spied on us.”
+
+That night before she went up stairs Kilmeny stole into the parlour for
+another glimpse of herself in that wonderful mirror by the light of a
+dim little candle she carried. She was still lingering there dreamily
+when Aunt Janet’s grim face appeared in the shadows of the doorway.
+
+“Are you thinking about your own good looks, lassie? Ay, but
+remember that handsome is as handsome does,” she said, with grudging
+admiration--for the girl with her flushed cheeks and shining eyes was
+something that even dour Janet Gordon could not look upon unmoved.
+
+Kilmeny smiled softly.
+
+“I’ll try to remember,” she wrote, “but oh, Aunt Janet, I am so glad I
+am not ugly. It is not wrong to be glad of that, is it?”
+
+The older woman’s face softened.
+
+“No, I don’t suppose it is, lassie,” she conceded. “A comely face is
+something to be thankful for--as none know better than those who have
+never possessed it. I remember well when I was a girl--but that is
+neither here nor there. The Master thinks you are wonderful bonny,
+Kilmeny,” she added, looking keenly at the girl.
+
+Kilmeny started and a scarlet blush scorched her face. That, and the
+expression that flashed into her eyes, told Janet Gordon all she wished
+to know. With a stifled sigh she bade her niece good night and went
+away.
+
+Kilmeny ran fleetly up the stairs to her dim little room, that looked
+out into the spruces, and flung herself on her bed, burying her burning
+face in the pillow. Her aunt’s words had revealed to her the hidden
+secret of her heart. She knew that she loved Eric Marshall--and the
+knowledge brought with it a strange anguish. For was she not dumb? All
+night she lay staring wide-eyed through the darkness till the dawn.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIV. IN HER SELFLESS MOOD
+
+Eric noticed a change in Kilmeny at their next meeting--a change that
+troubled him. She seemed aloof, abstracted, almost ill at ease. When he
+proposed an excursion to the orchard he thought she was reluctant to go.
+The days that followed convinced him of the change. Something had come
+between them. Kilmeny seemed as far away from him as if she had in
+truth, like her namesake of the ballad, sojourned for seven years in the
+land “where the rain never fell and the wind never blew,” and had come
+back washed clean from all the affections of earth.
+
+Eric had a bad week of it; but he determined to put an end to it by
+plain speaking. One evening in the orchard he told her of his love.
+
+It was an evening in August, with wheat fields ripening to their
+harvestry--a soft violet night made for love, with the distant murmur of
+an unquiet sea on a rocky shore sounding through it. Kilmeny was sitting
+on the old bench where he had first seen her. She had been playing for
+him, but her music did not please her and she laid aside the violin with
+a little frown.
+
+It might be that she was afraid to play--afraid that her new emotions
+might escape her and reveal themselves in music. It was difficult
+to prevent this, so long had she been accustomed to pour out all her
+feelings in harmony. The necessity for restraint irked her and made of
+her bow a clumsy thing which no longer obeyed her wishes. More than ever
+at that instant did she long for speech--speech that would conceal and
+protect where dangerous silence might betray.
+
+In a low voice that trembled with earnestness Eric told her that he
+loved her--that he had loved her from the first time he had seen her
+in that old orchard. He spoke humbly but not fearfully, for he believed
+that she loved him, and he had little expectation of any rebuff.
+
+“Kilmeny, will you be my wife?” he asked finally, taking her hands in
+his.
+
+Kilmeny had listened with averted face. At first she had blushed
+painfully but now she had grown very pale. When he had finished speaking
+and was waiting for her answer, she suddenly pulled her hands away, and,
+putting them over her face, burst into tears and noiseless sobs.
+
+“Kilmeny, dearest, have I alarmed you? Surely you knew before that I
+loved you. Don’t you care for me?” Eric said, putting his arm about her
+and trying to draw her to him. But she shook her head sorrowfully, and
+wrote with compressed lips,
+
+“Yes, I do love you, but I will never marry you, because I cannot
+speak.”
+
+“Oh, Kilmeny,” said Eric smiling, for he believed his victory won, “that
+doesn’t make any difference to me--you know it doesn’t, sweetest. If you
+love me that is enough.”
+
+But Kilmeny only shook her head again. There was a very determined look
+on her pale face. She wrote,
+
+“No, it is not enough. It would be doing you a great wrong to marry you
+when I cannot speak, and I will not do it because I love you too much to
+do anything that would harm you. Your world would think you had done
+a very foolish thing and it would be right. I have thought it all over
+many times since something Aunt Janet said made me understand, and I
+know I am doing right. I am sorry I did not understand sooner, before
+you had learned to care so much.”
+
+“Kilmeny, darling, you have taken a very absurd fancy into that dear
+black head of yours. Don’t you know that you will make me miserably
+unhappy all my life if you will not be my wife?”
+
+“No, you think so now; and I know you will feel very badly for a time.
+Then you will go away and after awhile you will forget me; and then you
+will see that I was right. I shall be very unhappy, too, but that is
+better than spoiling your life. Do not plead or coax because I shall not
+change my mind.”
+
+Eric did plead and coax, however--at first patiently and smilingly,
+as one might argue with a dear foolish child; then with vehement and
+distracted earnestness, as he began to realize that Kilmeny meant what
+she said. It was all in vain. Kilmeny grew paler and paler, and her eyes
+revealed how keenly she was suffering. She did not even try to argue
+with him, but only listened patiently and sadly, and shook her head. Say
+what he would, entreat and implore as he might, he could not move her
+resolution a hairs-breadth.
+
+Yet he did not despair; he could not believe that she would adhere to
+such a resolution; he felt sure that her love for him would eventually
+conquer, and he went home not unhappily after all. He did not understand
+that it was the very intensity of her love which gave her the strength
+to resist his pleading, where a more shallow affection might have
+yielded. It held her back unflinchingly from doing him what she believed
+to be a wrong.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XV. AN OLD, UNHAPPY, FAR-OFF THING
+
+The next day Eric sought Kilmeny again and renewed his pleadings, but
+again in vain. Nothing he could say, no argument which he could advance,
+was of any avail against her sad determination. When he was finally
+compelled to realize that her resolution was not to be shaken, he went
+in his despair to Janet Gordon. Janet listened to his story with concern
+and disappointment plainly visible on her face. When he had finished she
+shook her head.
+
+“I’m sorry, Master. I can’t tell you how sorry I am. I had hoped for
+something very different. HOPED! I have PRAYED for it. Thomas and I are
+getting old and it has weighed on my mind for years--what was to become
+of Kilmeny when we would be gone. Since you came I had hoped she would
+have a protector in you. But if Kilmeny says she will not marry you I am
+afraid she’ll stick to it.”
+
+“But she loves me,” cried the young man, “and if you and her uncle speak
+to her--urge her--perhaps you can influence her--”
+
+“No, Master, it wouldn’t be any use. Oh, we will, of course, but it will
+not be any use. Kilmeny is as determined as her mother when once she
+makes up her mind. She has always been good and obedient for the most
+part, but once or twice we have found out that there is no moving her if
+she does resolve upon anything. When her mother died Thomas and I wanted
+to take her to church. We could not prevail on her to go. We did not
+know why then, but now I suppose it was because she believed she was
+so very ugly. It is because she thinks so much of you that she will not
+marry you. She is afraid you would come to repent having married a dumb
+girl. Maybe she is right--maybe she is right.”
+
+“I cannot give her up,” said Eric stubbornly. “Something must be done.
+Perhaps her defect can be remedied even yet. Have you ever thought of
+that? You have never had her examined by a doctor qualified to pronounce
+on her case, have you?”
+
+“No, Master, we never took her to anyone. When we first began to
+fear that she was never going to talk Thomas wanted to take her to
+Charlottetown and have her looked to. He thought so much of the child
+and he felt terrible about it. But her mother wouldn’t hear of it being
+done. There was no use trying to argue with her. She said that it would
+be no use--that it was her sin that was visited on her child and it
+could never be taken away.”
+
+“And did you give in meekly to a morbid whim like that?” asked Eric
+impatiently.
+
+“Master, you didn’t know my sister. We HAD to give in--nobody could hold
+out against her. She was a strange woman--and a terrible woman in many
+ways--after her trouble. We were afraid to cross her for fear she would
+go out of her mind.”
+
+“But, could you not have taken Kilmeny to a doctor unknown to her
+mother?”
+
+“No, that was not possible. Margaret never let her out of her sight,
+not even when she was grown up. Besides, to tell you the whole truth,
+Master, we didn’t think ourselves that it would be much use to try to
+cure Kilmeny. It WAS a sin that made her as she is.”
+
+“Aunt Janet, how can you talk such nonsense? Where was there any sin?
+Your sister thought herself a lawful wife. If Ronald Fraser thought
+otherwise--and there is no proof that he did--HE committed a sin, but
+you surely do not believe that it was visited in this fashion on his
+innocent child!”
+
+“No, I am not meaning that, Master. That wasn’t where Margaret did
+wrong; and though I never liked Ronald Fraser over much, I must say this
+in his defence--I believe he thought himself a free man when he married
+Margaret. No, it’s something else--something far worse. It gives me a
+shiver whenever I think of it. Oh, Master, the Good Book is right when
+it says the sins of the parents are visited on the children. There isn’t
+a truer word in it than that from cover to cover.”
+
+“What, in heaven’s name, is the meaning of all this?” exclaimed Eric.
+“Tell me what it is. I must know the whole truth about Kilmeny. Do not
+torment me.”
+
+“I am going to tell you the story, Master, though it will be like
+opening an old wound. No living person knows it but Thomas and me. When
+you hear it you will understand why Kilmeny can’t speak, and why it
+isn’t likely that there can ever be anything done for her. She doesn’t
+know the truth and you must never tell her. It isn’t a fit story for her
+ears, especially when it is about her mother. Promise me that you will
+never tell her, no matter what may happen.”
+
+“I promise. Go on--go on,” said the young man feverishly.
+
+Janet Gordon locked her hands together in her lap, like a woman who
+nerves herself to some hateful task. She looked very old; the lines on
+her face seemed doubly deep and harsh.
+
+“My sister Margaret was a very proud, high-spirited girl, Master. But I
+would not have you think she was unlovable. No, no, that would be doing
+a great injustice to her memory. She had her faults as we all have; but
+she was bright and merry and warm-hearted. We all loved her. She was the
+light and life of this house. Yes, Master, before the trouble that came
+on her Margaret was a winsome lass, singing like a lark from morning
+till night. Maybe we spoiled her a little--maybe we gave her too much of
+her own way.
+
+“Well, Master, you have heard the story of her marriage to Ronald Fraser
+and what came after, so I need not go into that. I know, or used to know
+Elizabeth Williamson well, and I know that whatever she told you would
+be the truth and nothing more or less than the truth.
+
+“Our father was a very proud man. Oh, Master, if Margaret was too proud
+she got it from no stranger. And her misfortune cut him to the heart. He
+never spoke a word to us here for more than three days after he heard of
+it. He sat in the corner there with bowed head and would not touch bite
+or sup. He had not been very willing for her to marry Ronald Fraser; and
+when she came home in disgrace she had not set foot over the threshold
+before he broke out railing at her. Oh, I can see her there at the door
+this very minute, Master, pale and trembling, clinging to Thomas’s arm,
+her great eyes changing from sorrow and shame to wrath. It was just at
+sunset and a red ray came in at the window and fell right across her
+breast like a stain of blood.
+
+“Father called her a hard name, Master. Oh, he was too hard--even though
+he was my father I must say he was too hard on her, broken-hearted as
+she was, and guilty of nothing more after all than a little willfulness
+in the matter of her marriage.
+
+“And father was sorry for it--Oh, Master, the word wasn’t out of his
+mouth before he was sorry for it. But the mischief was done. Oh, I’ll
+never forget Margaret’s face, Master! It haunts me yet in the black
+of the night. It was full of anger and rebellion and defiance. But she
+never answered him back. She clenched her hands and went up to her old
+room without saying a word, all those mad feelings surging in her
+soul, and being held back from speech by her sheer, stubborn will. And,
+Master, never a word did Margaret say from that day until after Kilmeny
+was born--not one word, Master. Nothing we could do for her softened
+her. And we were kind to her, Master, and gentle with her, and never
+reproached her by so much as a look. But she would not speak to anyone.
+She just sat in her room most of the time and stared at the wall with
+such awful eyes. Father implored her to speak and forgive him, but she
+never gave any sign that she heard him.
+
+“I haven’t come to the worst yet, Master. Father sickened and took to
+his bed. Margaret would not go in to see him. Then one night Thomas
+and I were watching by him; it was about eleven o’clock. All at once he
+said,
+
+“‘Janet, go up and tell the lass’--he always called Margaret that--it
+was a kind of pet name he had for her--‘that I’m deein’ and ask her to
+come down and speak to me afore I’m gone.’
+
+“Master, I went. Margaret was sitting in her room all alone in the cold
+and dark, staring at the wall. I told her what our father had said. She
+never let on she heard me. I pleaded and wept, Master. I did what I had
+never done to any human creature--I kneeled to her and begged her, as
+she hoped for mercy herself, to come down and see our dying father.
+Master, she wouldn’t! She never moved or looked at me. I had to get up
+and go downstairs and tell that old man she would not come.”
+
+Janet Gordon lifted her hands and struck them together in her agony of
+remembrance.
+
+“When I told father he only said, oh, so gently,
+
+“‘Poor lass, I was too hard on her. She isna to blame. But I canna go
+to meet her mother till our little lass has forgie’n me for the name I
+called her. Thomas, help me up. Since she winna come to me I must e’en
+go to her.’
+
+“There was no crossing him--we saw that. He got up from his deathbed and
+Thomas helped him out into the hall and up the stair. I walked behind
+with the candle. Oh, Master, I’ll never forget it--the awful shadows and
+the storm wind wailing outside, and father’s gasping breath. But we
+got him to Margaret’s room and he stood before her, trembling, with his
+white hairs falling about his sunken face. And he prayed Margaret to
+forgive him--to forgive him and speak just one word to him before
+he went to meet her mother. Master”--Janet’s voice rose almost to
+a shriek--“she would not--she would not! And yet she WANTED to
+speak--afterwards she confessed to me that she wanted to speak. But
+her stubbornness wouldn’t let her. It was like some evil power that
+had gripped hold of her and wouldn’t let go. Father might as well have
+pleaded with a graven image. Oh, it was hard and dreadful! She saw her
+father die and she never spoke the word he prayed for to him. THAT was
+her sin, Master,--and for that sin the curse fell on her unborn child.
+When father understood that she would not speak he closed his eyes and
+was like to have fallen if Thomas had not caught him.
+
+“‘Oh, lass, you’re a hard woman,’ was all he said. And they were his
+last words. Thomas and I carried him back to his room, but the breath
+was gone from him before we ever got him there.
+
+“Well, Master, Kilmeny was born a month afterwards, and when Margaret
+felt her baby at her breast the evil thing that had held her soul in its
+bondage lost its power. She spoke and wept and was herself again. Oh,
+how she wept! She implored us to forgive her and we did freely and
+fully. But the one against whom she had sinned most grievously was gone,
+and no word of forgiveness could come to her from the grave. My poor
+sister never knew peace of conscience again, Master. But she was gentle
+and kind and humble until--until she began to fear that Kilmeny was
+never going to speak. We thought then that she would go out of her mind.
+Indeed, Master, she never was quite right again.
+
+“But that is the story and it’s a thankful woman I am that the telling
+of it is done. Kilmeny can’t speak because her mother wouldn’t.”
+
+Eric had listened with a gray horror on his face to the gruesome tale.
+The black tragedy of it appalled him--the tragedy of that merciless law,
+the most cruel and mysterious thing in God’s universe, which ordains
+that the sin of the guilty shall be visited on the innocent. Fight
+against it as he would, the miserable conviction stole into his heart
+that Kilmeny’s case was indeed beyond the reach of any human skill.
+
+“It is a dreadful tale,” he said moodily, getting up and walking
+restlessly to and fro in the dim spruce-shadowed old kitchen where
+they were. “And if it is true that her mother’s willful silence caused
+Kilmeny’s dumbness, I fear, as you say, that we cannot help her. But
+you may be mistaken. It may have been nothing more than a strange
+coincidence. Possibly something may be done for her. At all events, we
+must try. I have a friend in Queenslea who is a physician. His name is
+David Baker, and he is a very skilful specialist in regard to the throat
+and voice. I shall have him come here and see Kilmeny.”
+
+“Have your way,” assented Janet in the hopeless tone which she might
+have used in giving him permission to attempt any impossible thing.
+
+“It will be necessary to tell Dr. Baker why Kilmeny cannot speak--or why
+you think she cannot.”
+
+Janet’s face twitched.
+
+“Must that be, Master? Oh, it’s a bitter tale to tell a stranger.”
+
+“Don’t be afraid. I shall tell him nothing that is not strictly
+necessary to his proper understanding of the case. It will be quite
+enough to say that Kilmeny may be dumb because for several months before
+her birth her mother’s mind was in a very morbid condition, and she
+preserved a stubborn and unbroken silence because of a certain bitter
+personal resentment.”
+
+“Well, do as you think best, Master.”
+
+Janet plainly had no faith in the possibility of anything being done for
+Kilmeny. But a rosy glow of hope flashed over Kilmeny’s face when Eric
+told her what he meant to do.
+
+“Oh, do you think he can make me speak?” she wrote eagerly.
+
+“I don’t know, Kilmeny. I hope that he can, and I know he will do all
+that mortal skill can do. If he can remove your defect will you promise
+to marry me, dearest?”
+
+She nodded. The grave little motion had the solemnity of a sacred
+promise.
+
+“Yes,” she wrote, “when I can speak like other women I will marry you.”
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVI. DAVID BAKER’S OPINION
+
+The next week David Baker came to Lindsay. He arrived in the afternoon
+when Eric was in school. When the latter came home he found that David
+had, in the space of an hour, captured Mrs. Williamson’s heart, wormed
+himself into the good graces of Timothy, and become hail-fellow-well-met
+with old Robert. But he looked curiously at Eric when the two young men
+found themselves alone in the upstairs room.
+
+“Now, Eric, I want to know what all this is about. What scrape have you
+got into? You write me a letter, entreating me in the name of friendship
+to come to you at once. Accordingly I come post haste. You seem to be in
+excellent health yourself. Explain why you have inveigled me hither.”
+
+“I want you to do me a service which only you can do, David,” said Eric
+quietly. “I didn’t care to go into the details by letter. I have met in
+Lindsay a young girl whom I have learned to love. I have asked her to
+marry me, but, although she cares for me, she refuses to do so because
+she is dumb. I wish you to examine her and find out the cause of her
+defect, and if it can be cured. She can hear perfectly and all her other
+faculties are entirely normal. In order that you may better understand
+the case I must tell you the main facts of her history.”
+
+This Eric proceeded to do. David Baker listened with grave attention,
+his eyes fastened on his friend’s face. He did not betray the surprise
+and dismay he felt at learning that Eric had fallen in love with a
+dumb girl of doubtful antecedents; and the strange case enlisted his
+professional interest. When he had heard the whole story he thrust his
+hands into his pockets and strode up and down the room several times in
+silence. Finally he halted before Eric.
+
+“So you have done what I foreboded all along you would do--left your
+common sense behind you when you went courting.”
+
+“If I did,” said Eric quietly, “I took with me something better and
+nobler than common sense.”
+
+David shrugged his shoulders.
+
+“You’ll have hard work to convince me of that, Eric.”
+
+“No, it will not be difficult at all. I have one argument that will
+convince you speedily--and that is Kilmeny Gordon herself. But we will
+not discuss the matter of my wisdom or lack of it just now. What I want
+to know is this--what do you think of the case as I have stated it to
+you?”
+
+David frowned thoughtfully.
+
+“I hardly know what to think. It is very curious and unusual, but it
+is not totally unprecedented. There have been cases on record where
+pre-natal influences have produced a like result. I cannot just now
+remember whether any were ever cured. Well, I’ll see if anything can be
+done for this girl. I cannot express any further opinion until I have
+examined her.”
+
+The next morning Eric took David up to the Gordon homestead. As they
+approached the old orchard a strain of music came floating through
+the resinous morning arcades of the spruce wood--a wild, sorrowful,
+appealing cry, full of indescribable pathos, yet marvelously sweet.
+
+“What is that?” exclaimed David, starting.
+
+“That is Kilmeny playing on her violin,” answered Eric. “She has great
+talent in that respect and improvises wonderful melodies.”
+
+When they reached the orchard Kilmeny rose from the old bench to meet
+them, her lovely luminous eyes distended, her face flushed with the
+excitement of mingled hope and fear.
+
+“Oh, ye gods!” muttered David helplessly.
+
+He could not hide his amazement and Eric smiled to see it. The latter
+had not failed to perceive that his friend had until now considered him
+as little better than a lunatic.
+
+“Kilmeny, this is my friend, Dr. Baker,” he said.
+
+Kilmeny held out her hand with a smile. Her beauty, as she stood there
+in the fresh morning sunshine beside a clump of her sister lilies,
+was something to take away a man’s breath. David, who was by no means
+lacking in confidence and generally had a ready tongue where women were
+concerned, found himself as mute and awkward as a school boy, as he
+bowed over her hand.
+
+But Kilmeny was charmingly at ease. There was not a trace of
+embarrassment in her manner, though there was a pretty shyness. Eric
+smiled as he recalled HIS first meeting with her. He suddenly realized
+how far Kilmeny had come since then and how much she had developed.
+
+With a little gesture of invitation Kilmeny led the way through the
+orchard to the wild cherry lane, and the two men followed.
+
+“Eric, she is simply unutterable!” said David in an undertone. “Last
+night, to tell you the truth, I had a rather poor opinion of your
+sanity. But now I am consumed with a fierce envy. She is the loveliest
+creature I ever saw.”
+
+Eric introduced David to the Gordons and then hurried away to his
+school. On his way down the Gordon lane he met Neil and was half
+startled by the glare of hatred in the Italian boy’s eyes. Pity
+succeeded the momentary alarm. Neil’s face had grown thin and haggard;
+his eyes were sunken and feverishly bright; he looked years older than
+on the day when Eric had first seen him in the brook hollow.
+
+Prompted by sudden compassionate impulse Eric stopped and held out his
+hand.
+
+“Neil, can’t we be friends?” he said. “I am sorry if I have been the
+cause of inflicting pain on you.”
+
+“Friends! Never!” said Neil passionately. “You have taken Kilmeny from
+me. I shall hate you always. And I’ll be even with you yet.”
+
+He strode fiercely up the lane, and Eric, with a shrug of his shoulders,
+went on his way, dismissing the meeting from his mind.
+
+The day seemed interminably long to him. David had not returned when
+he went home to dinner; but when he went to his room in the evening he
+found his friend there, staring out of the window.
+
+“Well,” he said, impatiently, as David wheeled around but still kept
+silence, “What have you to say to me? Don’t keep me in suspense any
+longer, David. I have endured all I can. To-day has seemed like a
+thousand years. Have you discovered what is the matter with Kilmeny?”
+
+“There is nothing the matter with her,” answered David slowly, flinging
+himself into a chair by the window.
+
+“What do you mean?”
+
+“Just exactly what I say. Her vocal organs are all perfect. As far as
+they are concerned, there is absolutely no reason why she should not
+speak.”
+
+“Then why can’t she speak? Do you think--do you think--”
+
+“I think that I cannot express my conclusion in any better words than
+Janet Gordon used when she said that Kilmeny cannot speak because
+her mother wouldn’t. That is all there is to it. The trouble is
+psychological, not physical. Medical skill is helpless before it. There
+are greater men than I in my profession; but it is my honest belief,
+Eric, that if you were to consult them they would tell you just what I
+have told you, neither more nor less.”
+
+“Then there is no hope,” said Eric in a tone of despair. “You can do
+nothing for her?”
+
+David took from the back of his chair a crochet antimacassar with a lion
+rampant in the center and spread it over his knee.
+
+“I can do nothing for her,” he said, scowling at that work of art. “I
+do not believe any living man can do anything for her. But I do not
+say--exactly--that there is no hope.”
+
+“Come, David, I am in no mood for guessing riddles. Speak plainly, man,
+and don’t torment me.”
+
+David frowned dubiously and poked his finger through the hole which
+represented the eye of the king of beasts.
+
+“I don’t know that I can make it plain to you. It isn’t very plain
+to myself. And it is only a vague theory of mine, of course. I cannot
+substantiate it by any facts. In short, Eric, I think it is possible
+that Kilmeny may speak sometime--if she ever wants it badly enough.”
+
+“Wants to! Why, man, she wants to as badly as it is possible for any one
+to want anything. She loves me with all her heart and she won’t marry
+me because she can’t speak. Don’t you suppose that a girl under such
+circumstances would ‘want’ to speak as much as any one could?”
+
+“Yes, but I do not mean that sort of wanting, no matter how strong the
+wish may be. What I do mean is--a sudden, vehement, passionate inrush of
+desire, physical, psychical, mental, all in one, mighty enough to rend
+asunder the invisible fetters that hold her speech in bondage. If any
+occasion should arise to evoke such a desire I believe that Kilmeny
+would speak--and having once spoken would thenceforth be normal in that
+respect--ay, if she spoke but the one word.”
+
+“All this sounds like great nonsense to me,” said Eric restlessly. “I
+suppose you have an idea what you are talking about, but I haven’t. And,
+in any case, it practically means that there is no hope for her--or me.
+Even if your theory is correct it is not likely such an occasion as you
+speak of will ever arise. And Kilmeny will never marry me.”
+
+“Don’t give up so easily, old fellow. There HAVE been cases on record
+where women have changed their minds.”
+
+“Not women like Kilmeny,” said Eric miserably. “I tell you she has all
+her mother’s unfaltering will and tenacity of purpose, although she
+is free from any taint of pride or selfishness. I thank you for your
+sympathy and interest, David. You have done all you could--but, heavens,
+what it would have meant to me if you could have helped her!”
+
+With a groan Eric flung himself on a chair and buried his face in his
+hands. It was a moment which held for him all the bitterness of death.
+He had thought that he was prepared for disappointment; he had not known
+how strong his hope had really been until that hope was utterly taken
+from him.
+
+David, with a sigh, returned the crochet antimacassar carefully to its
+place on the chair back.
+
+“Eric, last night, to be honest, I thought that, if I found I could not
+help this girl, it would be the best thing that could happen, as far
+as you were concerned. But since I have seen her--well, I would give my
+right hand if I could do anything for her. She is the wife for you, if
+we could make her speak; yes, and by the memory of your mother”--David
+brought his fist down on the window sill with a force that shook the
+casement,--“she is the wife for you, speech or no speech, if we could
+only convince her of it.”
+
+“She cannot be convinced of that. No, David, I have lost her. Did you
+tell her what you have told me?”
+
+“I told her I could not help her. I did not say anything to her of my
+theory--that would have done no good.”
+
+“How did she take it?”
+
+“Very bravely and quietly--‘like a winsome lady’. But the look in her
+eyes--Eric, I felt as if I had murdered something. She bade me good-bye
+with a pitiful smile and went upstairs. I did not see her again,
+although I stayed to dinner as her uncle’s request. Those old
+Gordons are a queer pair. I liked them, though. They are strong and
+staunch--good friends, bitter enemies. They were sorry that I could not
+help Kilmeny, but I saw plainly that old Thomas Gordon thought that I
+had been meddling with predestination in attempting it.”
+
+Eric smiled mechanically.
+
+“I must go up and see Kilmeny. You’ll excuse me, won’t you, David? My
+books are there--help yourself.”
+
+But when Eric reached the Gordon house he saw only old Janet, who told
+him that Kilmeny was in her room and refused to see him.
+
+“She thought you would come up, and she left this with me to give you,
+Master.”
+
+Janet handed him a little note. It was very brief and blotted with
+tears.
+
+“Do not come any more, Eric,” it ran. “I must not see you, because it
+would only make it harder for us both. You must go away and forget me.
+You will be thankful for this some day. I shall always love and pray for
+you.”
+
+                                                      “KILMENY.”
+
+“I MUST see her,” said Eric desperately. “Aunt Janet, be my friend. Tell
+her she must see me for a little while at least.”
+
+Janet shook her head but went upstairs. She soon returned.
+
+“She says she cannot come down. You know she means it, Master, and it
+is of no use to coax her. And I must say I think she is right. Since she
+will not marry you it is better for her not to see you.”
+
+Eric was compelled to go home with no better comfort than this. In the
+morning, as it was Sunday, he drove David Baker to the station. He
+had not slept and he looked so miserable and reckless that David felt
+anxious about him. David would have stayed in Lindsay for a few days,
+but a certain critical case in Queenslea demanded his speedy return. He
+shook hands with Eric on the station platform.
+
+“Eric, give up that school and come home at once. You can do no good in
+Lindsay now, and you’ll only eat your heart out here.”
+
+“I must see Kilmeny once more before I leave,” was all Eric’s answer.
+
+That afternoon he went again to the Gordon homestead. But the result was
+the same; Kilmeny refused to see him, and Thomas Gordon said gravely,
+
+“Master, you know I like you and I am sorry Kilmeny thinks as she does,
+though maybe she is right. I would be glad to see you often for your own
+sake and I’ll miss you much; but as things are I tell you plainly you’d
+better not come here any more. It will do no good, and the sooner you
+and she get over thinking about each other the better for you both. Go
+now, lad, and God bless you.”
+
+“Do you know what it is you are asking of me?” said Eric hoarsely.
+
+“I know I am asking a hard thing for your own good, Master. It is not as
+if Kilmeny would ever change her mind. We have had some experience with
+a woman’s will ere this. Tush, Janet, woman, don’t be weeping. You women
+are foolish creatures. Do you think tears can wash such things away? No,
+they cannot blot out sin, or the consequences of sin. It’s awful how
+one sin can spread out and broaden, till it eats into innocent lives,
+sometimes long after the sinner has gone to his own accounting. Master,
+if you take my advice, you’ll give up the Lindsay school and go back to
+your own world as soon as may be.”
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVII. A BROKEN FETTER
+
+Eric went home with a white, haggard face. He had never thought it was
+possible for a man to suffer as he suffered then. What was he to do?
+It seemed impossible to go on with life--there was NO life apart from
+Kilmeny. Anguish wrung his soul until his strength went from him and
+youth and hope turned to gall and bitterness in his heart.
+
+He never afterwards could tell how he lived through the following Sunday
+or how he taught school as usual on Monday. He found out how much a man
+may suffer and yet go on living and working. His body seemed to him an
+automaton that moved and spoke mechanically, while his tortured spirit,
+pent-up within, endured pain that left its impress on him for ever. Out
+of that fiery furnace of agony Eric Marshall was to go forth a man who
+had put boyhood behind him for ever and looked out on life with eyes
+that saw into it and beyond.
+
+On Tuesday afternoon there was a funeral in the district and, according
+to custom, the school was closed. Eric went again to the old orchard.
+He had no expectation of seeing Kilmeny there, for he thought she would
+avoid the spot lest she might meet him. But he could not keep away from
+it, although the thought of it was an added torment, and he vibrated
+between a wild wish that he might never see it again, and a sick wonder
+how he could possibly go away and leave it--that strange old orchard
+where he had met and wooed his sweetheart, watching her develop and
+blossom under his eyes, like some rare flower, until in the space of
+three short months she had passed from exquisite childhood into still
+more exquisite womanhood.
+
+As he crossed the pasture field before the spruce wood he came upon Neil
+Gordon, building a longer fence. Neil did not look up as Eric passed,
+but sullenly went on driving poles. Before this Eric had pitied Neil;
+now he was conscious of feeling sympathy with him. Had Neil suffered
+as he was suffering? Eric had entered into a new fellowship whereof the
+passport was pain.
+
+The orchard was very silent and dreamy in the thick, deep tinted
+sunshine of the September afternoon, a sunshine which seemed to possess
+the power of extracting the very essence of all the odours which summer
+has stored up in wood and field. There were few flowers now; most of
+the lilies, which had queened it so bravely along the central path a
+few days before, were withered. The grass had become ragged and sere and
+unkempt. But in the corners the torches of the goldenrod were kindling
+and a few misty purple asters nodded here and there. The orchard kept
+its own strange attractiveness, as some women with youth long
+passed still preserve an atmosphere of remembered beauty and innate,
+indestructible charm.
+
+Eric walked drearily and carelessly about it, and finally sat down on a
+half fallen fence panel in the shadow of the overhanging spruce boughs.
+There he gave himself up to a reverie, poignant and bitter sweet, in
+which he lived over again everything that had passed in the orchard
+since his first meeting there with Kilmeny.
+
+So deep was his abstraction that he was conscious of nothing around him.
+He did not hear stealthy footsteps behind him in the dim spruce wood. He
+did not even see Kilmeny as she came slowly around the curve of the wild
+cherry lane.
+
+Kilmeny had sought the old orchard for the healing of her heartbreak,
+if healing were possible for her. She had no fear of encountering Eric
+there at that time of day, for she did not know that it was the district
+custom to close the school for a funeral. She would never have gone
+to it in the evening, but she longed for it continually; it, and her
+memories, were all that was left her now.
+
+Years seemed to have passed over the girl in those few days. She had
+drunk of pain and broken bread with sorrow. Her face was pale and
+strained, with bluish, transparent shadows under her large wistful eyes,
+out of which the dream and laughter of girlhood had gone, but into
+which had come the potent charm of grief and patience. Thomas Gordon had
+shaken his head bodingly when he had looked at her that morning at the
+breakfast table.
+
+“She won’t stand it,” he thought. “She isn’t long for this world. Maybe
+it is all for the best, poor lass. But I wish that young Master had
+never set foot in the Connors orchard, or in this house. Margaret,
+Margaret, it’s hard that your child should have to be paying the
+reckoning of a sin that was sinned before her birth.”
+
+Kilmeny walked through the lane slowly and absently like a woman in a
+dream. When she came to the gap in the fence where the lane ran into the
+orchard she lifted her wan, drooping face and saw Eric, sitting in the
+shadow of the wood at the other side of the orchard with his bowed head
+in his hands. She stopped quickly and the blood rushed wildly over her
+face.
+
+The next moment it ebbed, leaving her white as marble. Horror filled her
+eyes,--blank, deadly horror, as the livid shadow of a cloud might fill
+two blue pools.
+
+Behind Eric Neil Gordon was standing tense, crouched, murderous. Even at
+that distance Kilmeny saw the look on his face, saw what he held in his
+hand, and realized in one agonized flash of comprehension what it meant.
+
+All this photographed itself in her brain in an instant. She knew that
+by the time she could run across the orchard to warn Eric by a touch it
+would be too late. Yet she must warn him--she MUST--she MUST! A mighty
+surge of desire seemed to rise up within her and overwhelm her like
+a wave of the sea,--a surge that swept everything before it in an
+irresistible flood. As Neil Gordon swiftly and vindictively, with the
+face of a demon, lifted the axe he held in his hand, Kilmeny sprang
+forward through the gap.
+
+“ERIC, ERIC, LOOK BEHIND YOU--LOOK BEHIND YOU!”
+
+Eric started up, confused, bewildered, as the voice came shrieking
+across the orchard. He did not in the least realize that it was Kilmeny
+who had called to him, but he instinctively obeyed the command.
+
+He wheeled around and saw Neil Gordon, who was looking, not at him, but
+past him at Kilmeny. The Italian boy’s face was ashen and his eyes were
+filled with terror and incredulity, as if he had been checked in his
+murderous purpose by some supernatural interposition. The axe, lying
+at his feet where he had dropped it in his unutterable consternation on
+hearing Kilmeny’s cry told the whole tale. But before Eric could utter
+a word Neil turned, with a cry more like that of an animal than a human
+being, and fled like a hunted creature into the shadow of the spruce
+wood.
+
+A moment later Kilmeny, her lovely face dewed with tears and sunned over
+with smiles, flung herself on Eric’s breast.
+
+“Oh, Eric, I can speak,--I can speak! Oh, it is so wonderful! Eric, I
+love you--I love you!”
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVIII. NEIL GORDON SOLVES HIS OWN PROBLEM
+
+“It is a miracle!” said Thomas Gordon in an awed tone.
+
+It was the first time he had spoken since Eric and Kilmeny had rushed
+in, hand in hand, like two children intoxicated with joy and wonder, and
+gasped out their story together to him and Janet.
+
+“Oh, no, it is very wonderful, but it is not a miracle,” said Eric.
+“David told me it might happen. I had no hope that it would. He could
+explain it all to you if he were here.”
+
+Thomas Gordon shook his head. “I doubt if he could, Master--he, or
+any one else. It is near enough to a miracle for me. Let us thank God
+reverently and humbly that he has seen fit to remove his curse from
+the innocent. Your doctors may explain it as they like, lad, but I’m
+thinking they won’t get much nearer to it than that. It is awesome, that
+is what it is. Janet, woman, I feel as if I were in a dream. Can Kilmeny
+really speak?”
+
+“Indeed I can, Uncle,” said Kilmeny, with a rapturous glance at Eric.
+“Oh, I don’t know how it came to me--I felt that I MUST speak--and I
+did. And it is so easy now--it seems to me as if I could always have
+done it.”
+
+She spoke naturally and easily. The only difficulty which she seemed to
+experience was in the proper modulation of her voice. Occasionally she
+pitched it too high--again, too low. But it was evident that she would
+soon acquire perfect control of it. It was a beautiful voice--very clear
+and soft and musical.
+
+“Oh, I am so glad that the first word I said was your name, dearest,”
+ she murmured to Eric.
+
+“What about Neil?” asked Thomas Gordon gravely, rousing himself with an
+effort from his abstraction of wonder. “What are we to do with him when
+he returns? In one way this is a sad business.”
+
+Eric had almost forgotten about Neil in his overwhelming amazement and
+joy. The realization of his escape from sudden and violent death had not
+yet had any opportunity to take possession of his thoughts.
+
+“We must forgive him, Mr. Gordon. I know how I should feel towards a man
+who took Kilmeny from me. It was an evil impulse to which he gave way in
+his suffering--and think of the good which has resulted from it.”
+
+“That is true, Master, but it does not alter the terrible fact that
+the boy had murder in his heart,--that he would have killed you. An
+over-ruling Providence has saved him from the actual commission of the
+crime and brought good out of evil; but he is guilty in thought and
+purpose. And we have cared for him and instructed him as our own--with
+all his faults we have loved him! It is a hard thing, and I do not see
+what we are to do. We cannot act as if nothing had happened. We can
+never trust him again.”
+
+But Neil Gordon solved the problem himself. When Eric returned that
+night he found old Robert Williamson in the pantry regaling himself with
+a lunch of bread and cheese after a trip to the station. Timothy sat on
+the dresser in black velvet state and gravely addressed himself to the
+disposal of various tid-bits that came his way.
+
+“Good night, Master. Glad to see you’re looking more like yourself.
+I told the wife it was only a lover’s quarrel most like. She’s been
+worrying about you; but she didn’t like to ask you what was the trouble.
+She ain’t one of them unfortunate folks who can’t be happy athout
+they’re everlasting poking their noses into other people’s business.
+But what kind of a rumpus was kicked up at the Gordon place, to-night,
+Master?”
+
+Eric looked amazed. What could Robert Williamson have heard so soon?
+
+“What do you mean?” he asked.
+
+“Why, us folks at the station knew there must have been a to-do of some
+kind when Neil Gordon went off on the harvest excursion the way he did.”
+
+“Neil gone! On the harvest excursion!” exclaimed Eric.
+
+“Yes, sir. You know this was the night the excursion train left. They
+cross on the boat to-night--special trip. There was a dozen or so
+fellows from hereabouts went. We was all standing around chatting when
+Lincoln Frame drove up full speed and Neil jumped out of his rig. Just
+bolted into the office, got his ticket and out again, and on to the
+train without a word to any one, and as black looking as the Old Scratch
+himself. We was all too surprised to speak till he was gone. Lincoln
+couldn’t give us much information. He said Neil had rushed up to their
+place about dark, looking as if the constable was after him, and offered
+to sell that black filly of his to Lincoln for sixty dollars if Lincoln
+would drive him to the station in time to catch the excursion train. The
+filly was Neil’s own, and Lincoln had been wanting to buy her but Neil
+would never hear to it afore. Lincoln jumped at the chance. Neil had
+brought the filly with him, and Lincoln hitched right up and took him
+to the station. Neil hadn’t no luggage of any kind and wouldn’t open his
+mouth the whole way up, Lincoln says. We concluded him and old Thomas
+must have had a row. D’ye know anything about it? Or was you so wrapped
+up in sweethearting that you didn’t hear or see nothing else?”
+
+Eric reflected rapidly. He was greatly relieved to find that Neil had
+gone. He would never return and this was best for all concerned. Old
+Robert must be told a part of the truth at least, since it would soon
+become known that Kilmeny could speak.
+
+“There was some trouble at the Gordon place to-night, Mr. Williamson,”
+ he said quietly. “Neil Gordon behaved rather badly and frightened
+Kilmeny terribly,--so terribly that a very surprising thing has
+happened. She has found herself able to speak, and can speak perfectly.”
+
+Old Robert laid down the piece of cheese he was conveying to his mouth
+on the point of a knife and stared at Eric in blank amazement.
+
+“God bless my soul, Master, what an extraordinary thing!” he ejaculated.
+“Are you in earnest? Or are you trying to see how much of a fool you can
+make of the old man?”
+
+“No, Mr. Williamson, I assure you it is no more than the simple truth.
+Dr. Baker told me that a shock might cure her,--and it has. As for Neil,
+he has gone, no doubt for good, and I think it well that he has.”
+
+Not caring to discuss the matter further, Eric left the kitchen. But as
+he mounted the stairs to his room he heard old Robert muttering, like a
+man in hopeless bewilderment,
+
+“Well, I never heard anything like this in all my born
+days--never--never. Timothy, did YOU ever hear the like? Them Gordons
+are an unaccountable lot and no mistake. They couldn’t act like other
+people if they tried. I must wake mother up and tell her about this, or
+I’ll never be able to sleep.”
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIX. VICTOR FROM VANQUISHED ISSUES
+
+Now that everything was settled Eric wished to give up teaching and go
+back to his own place. True, he had “signed papers” to teach the school
+for a year; but he knew that the trustees would let him off if he
+procured a suitable substitute. He resolved to teach until the fall
+vacation, which came in October, and then go. Kilmeny had promised
+that their marriage should take place in the following spring. Eric
+had pleaded for an earlier date, but Kilmeny was sweetly resolute, and
+Thomas and Janet agreed with her.
+
+“There are so many things that I must learn yet before I shall be ready
+to be married,” Kilmeny had said. “And I want to get accustomed to
+seeing people. I feel a little frightened yet whenever I see any one I
+don’t know, although I don’t think I show it. I am going to church with
+Uncle and Aunt after this, and to the Missionary Society meetings. And
+Uncle Thomas says that he will send me to a boarding school in town this
+winter if you think it advisable.”
+
+Eric vetoed this promptly. The idea of Kilmeny in a boarding school was
+something that could not be thought about without laughter.
+
+“I can’t see why she can’t learn all she needs to learn after she is
+married to me, just as well as before,” he grumbled to her uncle and
+aunt.
+
+“But we want to keep her with us for another winter yet,” explained
+Thomas Gordon patiently. “We are going to miss her terrible when she
+does go, Master. She has never been away from us for a day--she is all
+the brightness there is in our lives. It is very kind of you to say
+that she can come home whenever she likes, but there will be a great
+difference. She will belong to your world and not to ours. That is for
+the best--and we wouldn’t have it otherwise. But let us keep her as our
+own for this one winter yet.”
+
+Eric yielded with the best grace he could muster. After all, he
+reflected, Lindsay was not so far from Queenslea, and there were such
+things as boats and trains.
+
+“Have you told your father about all this yet?” asked Janet anxiously.
+
+No, he had not. But he went home and wrote a full account of his summer
+to old Mr. Marshall that night.
+
+Mr. Marshall, Senior, answered the letter in person. A few days
+later, Eric, coming home from school, found his father sitting in Mrs.
+Williamson’s prim, fleckless parlour. Nothing was said about Eric’s
+letter, however, until after tea. When they found themselves alone, Mr.
+Marshall said abruptly,
+
+“Eric, what about this girl? I hope you haven’t gone and made a fool of
+yourself. It sounds remarkably like it. A girl that has been dumb all
+her life--a girl with no right to her father’s name--a country girl
+brought up in a place like Lindsay! Your wife will have to fill your
+mother’s place,--and your mother was a pearl among women. Do you think
+this girl is worthy of it? It isn’t possible! You’ve been led away by
+a pretty face and dairy maid freshness. I expected some trouble out of
+this freak of yours coming over here to teach school.”
+
+“Wait until you see Kilmeny, father,” said Eric, smiling.
+
+“Humph! That’s just exactly what David Baker said. I went straight to
+him when I got your letter, for I knew that there was some connection
+between it and that mysterious visit of his over here, concerning which
+I never could drag a word out of him by hook or crook. And all HE said
+was, ‘Wait until you see Kilmeny Gordon, sir.’ Well, I WILL wait till I
+see her, but I shall look at her with the eyes of sixty-five, mind you,
+not the eyes of twenty-four. And if she isn’t what your wife ought to
+be, sir, you give her up or paddle your own canoe. I shall not aid or
+abet you in making a fool of yourself and spoiling your life.”
+
+Eric bit his lip, but only said quietly,
+
+“Come with me, father. We will go to see her now.”
+
+They went around by way of the main road and the Gordon lane. Kilmeny
+was not in when they reached the house.
+
+“She is up in the old orchard, Master,” said Janet. “She loves that
+place so much she spends all her spare time there. She likes to go there
+to study.”
+
+They sat down and talked awhile with Thomas and Janet. When they left,
+Mr. Marshall said,
+
+“I like those people. If Thomas Gordon had been a man like Robert
+Williamson I shouldn’t have waited to see your Kilmeny. But they are all
+right--rugged and grim, but of good stock and pith--native refinement
+and strong character. But I must say candidly that I hope your young
+lady hasn’t got her aunt’s mouth.”
+
+“Kilmeny’s mouth is like a love-song made incarnate in sweet flesh,”
+ said Eric enthusiastically.
+
+“Humph!” said Mr. Marshall. “Well,” he added more tolerantly, a moment
+later, “I was a poet, too, for six months in my life when I was courting
+your mother.”
+
+Kilmeny was reading on the bench under the lilac trees when they reached
+the orchard. She stood up and came shyly forward to meet them, guessing
+who the tall, white-haired old gentleman with Eric must be. As she
+approached Eric saw with a thrill of exultation that she had never
+looked lovelier. She wore a dress of her favourite blue, simply and
+quaintly made, as all her gowns were, revealing the perfect lines of her
+lithe, slender figure. Her glossy black hair was wound about her head in
+a braided coronet, against which a spray of wild asters shone like
+pale purple stars. Her face was flushed delicately with excitement. She
+looked like a young princess, crowned with a ruddy splash of sunlight
+that fell through the old trees.
+
+“Father, this is Kilmeny,” said Eric proudly.
+
+Kilmeny held out her hand with a shyly murmured greeting. Mr. Marshall
+took it and held it in his, looking so steadily and piercingly into her
+face that even her frank gaze wavered before the intensity of his keen
+old eyes. Then he drew her to him and kissed her gravely and gently on
+her white forehead.
+
+“My dear,” he said, “I am glad and proud that you have consented to be
+my son’s wife--and my very dear and honoured daughter.”
+
+Eric turned abruptly away to hide his emotion and on his face was a
+light as of one who sees a great glory widening and deepening down the
+vista of his future.
+
+
+THE END.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+End of Project Gutenberg’s Kilmeny of the Orchard, by Lucy Maud Montgomery
+
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+<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8"?>
+
+<!DOCTYPE html
+   PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN"
+   "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" >
+
+<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en">
+  <head>
+    <title>
+      Kilmeny of the Orchard, by L. M. Montgomery
+    </title>
+    <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve">
+
+    body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify}
+    P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; }
+    H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; }
+    hr  { width: 50%; text-align: center;}
+    .foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; }
+    blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;}
+    .mynote    {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;}
+    .toc       { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;}
+    .toc2      { margin-left: 20%;}
+    div.fig    { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; }
+    div.middle { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; }
+    .figleft   {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;}
+    .figright  {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;}
+    .pagenum   {display:inline; font-size: 70%; font-style:normal;
+               margin: 0; padding: 0; position: absolute; right: 1%;
+               text-align: right;}
+    pre        { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;}
+
+</style>
+  </head>
+  <body>
+
+
+<pre>
+
+Project Gutenberg's Kilmeny of the Orchard, by Lucy Maud Montgomery
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: Kilmeny of the Orchard
+
+Author: Lucy Maud Montgomery
+
+
+Release Date: March, 2004 [EBook #5341]
+This file was first posted on July 2, 2002
+Last Updated: October 6, 2016
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: UTF-8
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK KILMENY OF THE ORCHARD ***
+
+
+
+
+Text file produced by Elizabeth Morton, Mary Mark Ockerbloom, and Ben Crowder
+
+HTML file produced by David Widger
+
+
+
+</pre>
+
+    <div style="height: 8em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h1>
+      KILMENY OF THE ORCHARD
+    </h1>
+    <h2>
+      By L. M. MONTGOMERY
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      <br />
+    </p>
+    <h5>
+      Author of &ldquo;Anne&rsquo;s House of Dreams,&rdquo; &ldquo;Rainbow Valley,"<br /> &ldquo;Rilla of
+      Ingleside,&rdquo; etc.
+    </h5>
+    <p>
+      <br /> <br />
+    </p>
+    <hr />
+    <blockquote>
+      <p>
+        <b>Transcriber&rsquo;s Note:</b> <br /> <br /> This book has been put on-line as
+        part of the BUILD-A-BOOK Initiative at the Celebration of Women Writers
+        through the combined work of Elizabeth Morton and Mary Mark Ockerbloom.
+        <br /> <br /> http://digital.library.upenn.edu/women/ <br /> <br />
+        Reformatted by Ben Crowder
+      </p>
+    </blockquote>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      <br /> <br />
+    </p>
+    <h4>
+      TO MY COUSIN <br /> <br /> Beatrice A. McIntyre <br /> <br /> THIS BOOK <br />
+      <br /> IS AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED
+    </h4>
+    <p>
+      <br />
+    </p>
+<pre xml:space="preserve">
+
+                    &ldquo;Kilmeny looked up with a lovely grace,
+                    But nae smile was seen on Kilmeny&rsquo;s face;
+                    As still was her look, and as still was her ee,
+                    As the stillness that lay on the emerant lea,
+                    Or the mist that sleeps on a waveless sea.
+                    .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .
+                    Such beauty bard may never declare,
+                    For there was no pride nor passion there;
+                    .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .
+                    Her seymar was the lily flower,
+                    And her cheek the moss-rose in the shower;
+                    And her voice like the distant melodye
+                    That floats along the twilight sea.&rdquo;
+ 
+                                              &mdash; <i>The Queen&rsquo;s Wake</i>
+                                                             JAMES HOGG
+
+</pre>
+    <p>
+      <br /> <br />
+    </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      <br /> <br />
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <b>CONTENTS</b>
+    </p>
+    <p class="toc">
+      <a href="#link2HCH0001"> CHAPTER I. THE THOUGHTS OF YOUTH </a>
+    </p>
+    <p class="toc">
+      <a href="#link2HCH0002"> CHAPTER II. A LETTER OF DESTINY </a>
+    </p>
+    <p class="toc">
+      <a href="#link2HCH0003"> CHAPTER III. THE MASTER OF LINDSAY SCHOOL </a>
+    </p>
+    <p class="toc">
+      <a href="#link2HCH0004"> CHAPTER IV. A TEA TABLE CONVERSATION </a>
+    </p>
+    <p class="toc">
+      <a href="#link2HCH0005"> CHAPTER V. A PHANTOM OF DELIGHT </a>
+    </p>
+    <p class="toc">
+      <a href="#link2HCH0006"> CHAPTER VI. THE STORY OF KILMENY </a>
+    </p>
+    <p class="toc">
+      <a href="#link2HCH0007"> CHAPTER VII. A ROSE OF WOMANHOOD </a>
+    </p>
+    <p class="toc">
+      <a href="#link2HCH0008"> CHAPTER VIII. AT THE GATE OF EDEN </a>
+    </p>
+    <p class="toc">
+      <a href="#link2HCH0009"> CHAPTER IX. THE STRAIGHT SIMPLICITY OF EVE </a>
+    </p>
+    <p class="toc">
+      <a href="#link2HCH0010"> CHAPTER X. A TROUBLING OF THE WATERS </a>
+    </p>
+    <p class="toc">
+      <a href="#link2HCH0011"> CHAPTER XI. A LOVER AND HIS LASS </a>
+    </p>
+    <p class="toc">
+      <a href="#link2HCH0012"> CHAPTER XII. A PRISONER OF LOVE </a>
+    </p>
+    <p class="toc">
+      <a href="#link2HCH0013"> CHAPTER XIII. A SWEETER WOMAN NE&rsquo;ER DREW BREATH
+      </a>
+    </p>
+    <p class="toc">
+      <a href="#link2HCH0014"> CHAPTER XIV. IN HER SELFLESS MOOD </a>
+    </p>
+    <p class="toc">
+      <a href="#link2HCH0015"> CHAPTER XV. AN OLD, UNHAPPY, FAR-OFF THING </a>
+    </p>
+    <p class="toc">
+      <a href="#link2HCH0016"> CHAPTER XVI. DAVID BAKER&rsquo;S OPINION </a>
+    </p>
+    <p class="toc">
+      <a href="#link2HCH0017"> CHAPTER XVII. A BROKEN FETTER </a>
+    </p>
+    <p class="toc">
+      <a href="#link2HCH0018"> CHAPTER XVIII. NEIL GORDON SOLVES HIS OWN PROBLEM
+      </a>
+    </p>
+    <p class="toc">
+      <a href="#link2HCH0019"> CHAPTER XIX. VICTOR FROM VANQUISHED ISSUES </a>
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <br /> <br />
+    </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      <br /> <br />
+    </p>
+    <h1>
+      KILMENY OF THE ORCHARD
+    </h1>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0001" id="link2HCH0001">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER I. THE THOUGHTS OF YOUTH
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      The sunshine of a day in early spring, honey pale and honey sweet, was
+      showering over the red brick buildings of Queenslea College and the
+      grounds about them, throwing through the bare, budding maples and elms,
+      delicate, evasive etchings of gold and brown on the paths, and coaxing
+      into life the daffodils that were peering greenly and perkily up under the
+      windows of the co-eds&rsquo; dressing-room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A young April wind, as fresh and sweet as if it had been blowing over the
+      fields of memory instead of through dingy streets, was purring in the
+      tree-tops and whipping the loose tendrils of the ivy network which covered
+      the front of the main building. It was a wind that sang of many things,
+      but what it sang to each listener was only what was in that listener&rsquo;s
+      heart. To the college students who had just been capped and diplomad by
+      &ldquo;Old Charlie,&rdquo; the grave president of Queenslea, in the presence of an
+      admiring throng of parents and sisters, sweethearts and friends, it sang,
+      perchance, of glad hope and shining success and high achievement. It sang
+      of the dreams of youth that may never be quite fulfilled, but are well
+      worth the dreaming for all that. God help the man who has never known such
+      dreams&mdash;who, as he leaves his alma mater, is not already rich in
+      aerial castles, the proprietor of many a spacious estate in Spain. He has
+      missed his birthright.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The crowd streamed out of the entrance hall and scattered over the campus,
+      fraying off into the many streets beyond. Eric Marshall and David Baker
+      walked away together. The former had graduated in Arts that day at the
+      head of his class; the latter had come to see the graduation, nearly
+      bursting with pride in Eric&rsquo;s success.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Between these two was an old and tried and enduring friendship, although
+      David was ten years older than Eric, as the mere tale of years goes, and a
+      hundred years older in knowledge of the struggles and difficulties of life
+      which age a man far more quickly and effectually than the passing of time.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Physically the two men bore no resemblance to one another, although they
+      were second cousins. Eric Marshall, tall, broad-shouldered, sinewy,
+      walking with a free, easy stride, which was somehow suggestive of reserve
+      strength and power, was one of those men regarding whom less-favoured
+      mortals are tempted seriously to wonder why all the gifts of fortune
+      should be showered on one individual. He was not only clever and good to
+      look upon, but he possessed that indefinable charm of personality which is
+      quite independent of physical beauty or mental ability. He had steady,
+      grayish-blue eyes, dark chestnut hair with a glint of gold in its waves
+      when the sunlight struck it, and a chin that gave the world assurance of a
+      chin. He was a rich man&rsquo;s son, with a clean young manhood behind him and
+      splendid prospects before him. He was considered a practical sort of
+      fellow, utterly guiltless of romantic dreams and visions of any sort.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am afraid Eric Marshall will never do one quixotic thing,&rdquo; said a
+      Queenslea professor, who had a habit of uttering rather mysterious
+      epigrams, &ldquo;but if he ever does it will supply the one thing lacking in
+      him.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      David Baker was a short, stocky fellow with an ugly, irregular, charming
+      face; his eyes were brown and keen and secretive; his mouth had a comical
+      twist which became sarcastic, or teasing, or winning, as he willed. His
+      voice was generally as soft and musical as a woman&rsquo;s; but some few who had
+      seen David Baker righteously angry and heard the tones which then issued
+      from his lips were in no hurry to have the experience repeated.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He was a doctor&mdash;a specialist in troubles of the throat and voice&mdash;and
+      he was beginning to have a national reputation. He was on the staff of the
+      Queenslea Medical College and it was whispered that before long he would
+      be called to fill an important vacancy at McGill.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He had won his way to success through difficulties and drawbacks which
+      would have daunted most men. In the year Eric was born David Baker was an
+      errand boy in the big department store of Marshall &amp; Company. Thirteen
+      years later he graduated with high honors from Queenslea Medical College.
+      Mr. Marshall had given him all the help which David&rsquo;s sturdy pride could
+      be induced to accept, and now he insisted on sending the young man abroad
+      for a post-graduate course in London and Germany. David Baker had
+      eventually repaid every cent Mr. Marshall had expended on him; but he
+      never ceased to cherish a passionate gratitude to the kind and generous
+      man; and he loved that man&rsquo;s son with a love surpassing that of brothers.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He had followed Eric&rsquo;s college course with keen, watchful interest. It was
+      his wish that Eric should take up the study of law or medicine now that he
+      was through Arts; and he was greatly disappointed that Eric should have
+      finally made up his mind to go into business with his father.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It&rsquo;s a clean waste of your talents,&rdquo; he grumbled, as they walked home
+      from the college. &ldquo;You&rsquo;d win fame and distinction in law&mdash;that glib
+      tongue of yours was meant for a lawyer and it is sheer flying in the face
+      of Providence to devote it to commercial uses&mdash;a flat crossing of the
+      purposes of destiny. Where is your ambition, man?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;In the right place,&rdquo; answered Eric, with his ready laugh. &ldquo;It is not your
+      kind, perhaps, but there is room and need for all kinds in this lusty
+      young country of ours. Yes, I am going into the business. In the first
+      place, it has been father&rsquo;s cherished desire ever since I was born, and it
+      would hurt him pretty badly if I backed out now. He wished me to take an
+      Arts course because he believed that every man should have as liberal an
+      education as he can afford to get, but now that I have had it he wants me
+      in the firm.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He wouldn&rsquo;t oppose you if he thought you really wanted to go in for
+      something else.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not he. But I don&rsquo;t really want to&mdash;that&rsquo;s the point, David, man.
+      You hate a business life so much yourself that you can&rsquo;t get it into your
+      blessed noddle that another man might like it. There are many lawyers in
+      the world&mdash;too many, perhaps&mdash;but there are never too many good
+      honest men of business, ready to do clean big things for the betterment of
+      humanity and the upbuilding of their country, to plan great enterprises
+      and carry them through with brain and courage, to manage and control, to
+      aim high and strike one&rsquo;s aim. There, I&rsquo;m waxing eloquent, so I&rsquo;d better
+      stop. But ambition, man! Why, I&rsquo;m full of it&mdash;it&rsquo;s bubbling in every
+      pore of me. I mean to make the department store of Marshall &amp; Company
+      famous from ocean to ocean. Father started in life as a poor boy from a
+      Nova Scotian farm. He has built up a business that has a provincial
+      reputation. I mean to carry it on. In five years it shall have a maritime
+      reputation, in ten, a Canadian. I want to make the firm of Marshall &amp;
+      Company stand for something big in the commercial interests of Canada.
+      Isn&rsquo;t that as honourable an ambition as trying to make black seem white in
+      a court of law, or discovering some new disease with a harrowing name to
+      torment poor creatures who might otherwise die peacefully in blissful
+      ignorance of what ailed them?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;When you begin to make poor jokes it is time to stop arguing with you,&rdquo;
+       said David, with a shrug of his fat shoulders. &ldquo;Go your own gait and dree
+      your own weird. I&rsquo;d as soon expect success in trying to storm the citadel
+      single-handed as in trying to turn you from any course about which you had
+      once made up your mind. Whew, this street takes it out of a fellow! What
+      could have possessed our ancestors to run a town up the side of a hill?
+      I&rsquo;m not so slim and active as I was on MY graduation day ten years ago. By
+      the way, what a lot of co-eds were in your class&mdash;twenty, if I
+      counted right. When I graduated there were only two ladies in our class
+      and they were the pioneers of their sex at Queenslea. They were well past
+      their first youth, very grim and angular and serious; and they could never
+      have been on speaking terms with a mirror in their best days. But mark
+      you, they were excellent females&mdash;oh, very excellent. Times have
+      changed with a vengeance, judging from the line-up of co-eds to-day. There
+      was one girl there who can&rsquo;t be a day over eighteen&mdash;and she looked
+      as if she were made out of gold and roseleaves and dewdrops.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The oracle speaks in poetry,&rdquo; laughed Eric. &ldquo;That was Florence Percival,
+      who led the class in mathematics, as I&rsquo;m a living man. By many she is
+      considered the beauty of her class. I can&rsquo;t say that such is my opinion. I
+      don&rsquo;t greatly care for that blonde, babyish style of loveliness&mdash;I
+      prefer Agnes Campion. Did you notice her&mdash;the tall, dark girl with
+      the ropes of hair and a sort of crimson, velvety bloom on her face, who
+      took honours in philosophy?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I DID notice her,&rdquo; said David emphatically, darting a keen side glance at
+      his friend. &ldquo;I noticed her most particularly and critically&mdash;for
+      someone whispered her name behind me and coupled it with the exceedingly
+      interesting information that Miss Campion was supposed to be the future
+      Mrs. Eric Marshall. Whereupon I stared at her with all my eyes.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There is no truth in that report,&rdquo; said Eric in a tone of annoyance.
+      &ldquo;Agnes and I are the best of friends and nothing more. I like and admire
+      her more than any woman I know; but if the future Mrs. Eric Marshall
+      exists in the flesh I haven&rsquo;t met her yet. I haven&rsquo;t even started out to
+      look for her&mdash;and don&rsquo;t intend to for some years to come. I have
+      something else to think of,&rdquo; he concluded, in a tone of contempt, for
+      which anyone might have known he would be punished sometime if Cupid were
+      not deaf as well as blind.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You&rsquo;ll meet the lady of the future some day,&rdquo; said David dryly. &ldquo;And in
+      spite of your scorn I venture to predict that if fate doesn&rsquo;t bring her
+      before long you&rsquo;ll very soon start out to look for her. A word of advice,
+      oh, son of your mother. When you go courting take your common sense with
+      you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do you think I shall be likely to leave it behind?&rdquo; asked Eric amusedly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, I mistrust you,&rdquo; said David, sagely wagging his head. &ldquo;The Lowland
+      Scotch part of you is all right, but there&rsquo;s a Celtic streak in you, from
+      that little Highland grandmother of yours, and when a man has that there&rsquo;s
+      never any knowing where it will break out, or what dance it will lead him,
+      especially when it comes to this love-making business. You are just as
+      likely as not to lose your head over some little fool or shrew for the
+      sake of her outward favour and make yourself miserable for life. When you
+      pick you a wife please remember that I shall reserve the right to pass a
+      candid opinion on her.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Pass all the opinions you like, but it is MY opinion, and mine only,
+      which will matter in the long run,&rdquo; retorted Eric.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Confound you, yes, you stubborn offshoot of a stubborn breed,&rdquo; growled
+      David, looking at him affectionately. &ldquo;I know that, and that is why I&rsquo;ll
+      never feel at ease about you until I see you married to the right sort of
+      a girl. She&rsquo;s not hard to find. Nine out of ten girls in this country of
+      ours are fit for kings&rsquo; palaces. But the tenth always has to be reckoned
+      with.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You are as bad as <i>Clever Alice</i> in the fairy tale who worried over
+      the future of her unborn children,&rdquo; protested Eric.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;<i>Clever Alice</i> has been very unjustly laughed at,&rdquo; said David
+      gravely. &ldquo;We doctors know that. Perhaps she overdid the worrying business
+      a little, but she was perfectly right in principle. If people worried a
+      little more about their unborn children&mdash;at least, to the extent of
+      providing a proper heritage, physically, mentally, and morally, for them&mdash;and
+      then stopped worrying about them after they ARE born, this world would be
+      a very much pleasanter place to live in, and the human race would make
+      more progress in a generation than it has done in recorded history.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, if you are going to mount your dearly beloved hobby of heredity I am
+      not going to argue with you, David, man. But as for the matter of urging
+      me to hasten and marry me a wife, why don&rsquo;t you&rdquo;&mdash;It was on Eric&rsquo;s
+      lips to say, &ldquo;Why don&rsquo;t you get married to a girl of the right sort
+      yourself and set me a good example?&rdquo; But he checked himself. He knew that
+      there was an old sorrow in David Baker&rsquo;s life which was not to be unduly
+      jarred by the jests even of privileged friendship. He changed his question
+      to, &ldquo;Why don&rsquo;t you leave this on the knees of the gods where it properly
+      belongs? I thought you were a firm believer in predestination, David.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, so I am, to a certain extent,&rdquo; said David cautiously. &ldquo;I believe,
+      as an excellent old aunt of mine used to say, that what is to be will be
+      and what isn&rsquo;t to be happens sometimes. And it is precisely such unchancy
+      happenings that make the scheme of things go wrong. I dare say you think
+      me an old fogy, Eric; but I know something more of the world than you do,
+      and I believe, with Tennyson&rsquo;s <i>Arthur</i>, that &lsquo;there&rsquo;s no more subtle
+      master under heaven than is the maiden passion for a maid.&rsquo; I want to see
+      you safely anchored to the love of some good woman as soon as may be,
+      that&rsquo;s all. I&rsquo;m rather sorry Miss Campion isn&rsquo;t your lady of the future. I
+      liked her looks, that I did. She is good and strong and true&mdash;and has
+      the eyes of a woman who could love in a way that would be worth while.
+      Moreover, she&rsquo;s well-born, well-bred, and well-educated&mdash;three very
+      indispensable things when it comes to choosing a woman to fill your
+      mother&rsquo;s place, friend of mine!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I agree with you,&rdquo; said Eric carelessly. &ldquo;I could not marry any woman who
+      did not fulfill those conditions. But, as I have said, I am not in love
+      with Agnes Campion&mdash;and it wouldn&rsquo;t be of any use if I were. She is
+      as good as engaged to Larry West. You remember West?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That thin, leggy fellow you chummed with so much your first two years in
+      Queenslea? Yes, what has become of him?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He had to drop out after his second year for financial reasons. He is
+      working his own way through college, you know. For the past two years he
+      has been teaching school in some out-of-the-way place over in Prince
+      Edward Island. He isn&rsquo;t any too well, poor fellow&mdash;never was very
+      strong and has studied remorselessly. I haven&rsquo;t heard from him since
+      February. He said then that he was afraid he wasn&rsquo;t going to be able to
+      stick it out till the end of the school year. I hope Larry won&rsquo;t break
+      down. He is a fine fellow and worthy even of Agnes Campion. Well, here we
+      are. Coming in, David?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not this afternoon&mdash;haven&rsquo;t got time. I must mosey up to the North
+      End to see a man who has got a lovely throat. Nobody can find out what is
+      the matter. He has puzzled all the doctors. He has puzzled me, but I&rsquo;ll
+      find out what is wrong with him if he&rsquo;ll only live long enough.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0002" id="link2HCH0002">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER II. A LETTER OF DESTINY
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      Eric, finding that his father had not yet returned from the college, went
+      into the library and sat down to read a letter he had picked up from the
+      hall table. It was from Larry West, and after the first few lines Eric&rsquo;s
+      face lost the absent look it had worn and assumed an expression of
+      interest.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am writing to ask a favour of you, Marshall,&rdquo; wrote West. &ldquo;The fact is,
+      I&rsquo;ve fallen into the hands of the Philistines&mdash;that is to say, the
+      doctors. I&rsquo;ve not been feeling very fit all winter but I&rsquo;ve held on,
+      hoping to finish out the year.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Last week my landlady&mdash;who is a saint in spectacles and calico&mdash;looked
+      at me one morning at the breakfast table and said, VERY gently, &lsquo;You must
+      go to town to-morrow, Master, and see a doctor about yourself.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I went and did not stand upon the order of my going. Mrs. Williamson is
+      She-Who-Must-Be-Obeyed. She has an inconvenient habit of making you
+      realize that she is exactly right, and that you would be all kinds of a
+      fool if you didn&rsquo;t take her advice. You feel that what she thinks to-day
+      you will think to-morrow.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;In Charlottetown I consulted a doctor. He punched and pounded me, and
+      poked things at me and listened at the other end of them; and finally he
+      said I must stop work &lsquo;immejutly and to onct&rsquo; and hie me straightway to a
+      climate not afflicted with the north-east winds of Prince Edward Island in
+      the spring. I am not to be allowed to do any work until the fall. Such was
+      his dictum and Mrs. Williamson enforces it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I shall teach this week out and then the spring vacation of three weeks
+      begins. I want you to come over and take my place as pedagogue in the
+      Lindsay school for the last week in May and the month of June. The school
+      year ends then and there will be plenty of teachers looking for the place,
+      but just now I cannot get a suitable substitute. I have a couple of pupils
+      who are preparing to try the Queen&rsquo;s Academy entrance examinations, and I
+      don&rsquo;t like to leave them in the lurch or hand them over to the tender
+      mercies of some third-class teacher who knows little Latin and less Greek.
+      Come over and take the school till the end of the term, you petted son of
+      luxury. It will do you a world of good to learn how rich a man feels when
+      he is earning twenty-five dollars a month by his own unaided efforts!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Seriously, Marshall, I hope you can come, for I don&rsquo;t know any other
+      fellow I can ask. The work isn&rsquo;t hard, though you&rsquo;ll likely find it
+      monotonous. Of course, this little north-shore farming settlement isn&rsquo;t a
+      very lively place. The rising and setting of the sun are the most exciting
+      events of the average day. But the people are very kind and hospitable;
+      and Prince Edward Island in the month of June is such a thing as you don&rsquo;t
+      often see except in happy dreams. There are some trout in the pond and
+      you&rsquo;ll always find an old salt at the harbour ready and willing to take
+      you out cod-fishing or lobstering.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I&rsquo;ll bequeath you my boarding house. You&rsquo;ll find it comfortable and not
+      further from the school than a good constitutional. Mrs. Williamson is the
+      dearest soul alive; and she is one of those old-fashioned cooks who feed
+      you on feasts of fat things and whose price is above rubies.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Her husband, Robert, or Bob, as he is commonly called despite his sixty
+      years, is quite a character in his way. He is an amusing old gossip, with
+      a turn for racy comment and a finger in everybody&rsquo;s pie. He knows
+      everything about everybody in Lindsay for three generations back.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;They have no living children, but Old Bob has a black cat which is his
+      especial pride and darling. The name of this animal is Timothy and as such
+      he must always be called and referred to. Never, as you value Robert&rsquo;s
+      good opinion, let him hear you speaking of his pet as &lsquo;the cat,&rsquo; or even
+      as &lsquo;Tim.&rsquo; You will never be forgiven and he will not consider you a fit
+      person to have charge of the school.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You shall have my room, a little place over the kitchen, with a ceiling
+      that follows the slant of the roof down one side, against which you will
+      bump your head times innumerable until you learn to remember that it is
+      there, and a looking glass which will make one of your eyes as small as a
+      pea and the other as big as an orange.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But to compensate for these disadvantages the supply of towels is
+      generous and unexceptionable; and there is a window whence you will daily
+      behold an occidental view over Lindsay Harbour and the gulf beyond which
+      is an unspeakable miracle of beauty. The sun is setting over it as I write
+      and I see such a sea of glass mingled with fire as might have figured in
+      the visions of the Patmian seer. A vessel is sailing away into the gold
+      and crimson and pearl of the horizon; the big revolving light on the tip
+      of the headland beyond the harbour has just been lighted and is winking
+      and flashing like a beacon,
+    </p>
+<pre xml:space="preserve">
+                           &ldquo;&lsquo;O&rsquo;er the foam
+           Of perilous seas in faerie lands forlorn.&rsquo;&rdquo;
+ </pre>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wire me if you can come; and if you can, report for duty on the
+      twenty-third of May.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mr. Marshall, Senior, came in, just as Eric was thoughtfully folding up
+      his letter. The former looked more like a benevolent old clergyman or
+      philanthropist than the keen, shrewd, somewhat hard, although just and
+      honest, man of business that he really was. He had a round, rosy face,
+      fringed with white whiskers, a fine head of long white hair, and a
+      pursed-up mouth. Only in his blue eyes was a twinkle that would have made
+      any man who designed getting the better of him in a bargain think twice
+      before he made the attempt.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was easily seen that Eric must have inherited his personal beauty and
+      distinction of form from his mother, whose picture hung on the dark wall
+      between the windows. She had died while still young, when Eric was a boy
+      of ten. During her lifetime she had been the object of the passionate
+      devotion of both her husband and son; and the fine, strong, sweet face of
+      the picture was a testimony that she had been worthy of their love and
+      reverence. The same face, cast in a masculine mold, was repeated in Eric;
+      the chestnut hair grew off his forehead in the same way; his eyes were
+      like hers, and in his grave moods they held a similar expression, half
+      brooding, half tender, in their depths.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mr. Marshall was very proud of his son&rsquo;s success in college, but he had no
+      intention of letting him see it. He loved this boy of his, with the dead
+      mother&rsquo;s eyes, better than anything on earth, and all his hopes and
+      ambitions were bound up in him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, that fuss is over, thank goodness,&rdquo; he said testily, as he dropped
+      into his favourite chair.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Didn&rsquo;t you find the programme interesting?&rdquo; asked Eric absently.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Most of it was tommyrot,&rdquo; said his father. &ldquo;The only things I liked were
+      Charlie&rsquo;s Latin prayer and those pretty little girls trotting up to get
+      their diplomas. Latin IS the language for praying in, I do believe,&mdash;at
+      least, when a man has a voice like Old Charlie&rsquo;s. There was such a
+      sonorous roll to the words that the mere sound of them made me feel like
+      getting down on my marrow bones. And then those girls were as pretty as
+      pinks, now weren&rsquo;t they? Agnes was the finest-looking of the lot in my
+      opinion. I hope it&rsquo;s true that you&rsquo;re courting her, Eric?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Confound it, father,&rdquo; said Eric, half irritably, half laughingly, &ldquo;have
+      you and David Baker entered into a conspiracy to hound me into matrimony
+      whether I will or no?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I&rsquo;ve never said a word to David Baker on such a subject,&rdquo; protested Mr.
+      Marshall.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, you are just as bad as he is. He hectored me all the way home from
+      the college on the subject. But why are you in such a hurry to have me
+      married, dad?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Because I want a homemaker in this house as soon as may be. There has
+      never been one since your mother died. I am tired of housekeepers. And I
+      want to see your children at my knees before I die, Eric, and I&rsquo;m an old
+      man now.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, your wish is natural, father,&rdquo; said Eric gently, with a glance at
+      his mother&rsquo;s picture. &ldquo;But I can&rsquo;t rush out and marry somebody off-hand,
+      can I? And I fear it wouldn&rsquo;t exactly do to advertise for a wife, even in
+      these days of commercial enterprise.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Isn&rsquo;t there ANYBODY you&rsquo;re fond of?&rdquo; queried Mr. Marshall, with the
+      patient air of a man who overlooks the frivolous jests of youth.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No. I never yet saw the woman who could make my heart beat any faster.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don&rsquo;t know what you young men are made of nowadays,&rdquo; growled his
+      father. &ldquo;I was in love half a dozen times before I was your age.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You might have been &lsquo;in love.&rsquo; But you never LOVED any woman until you
+      met my mother. I know that, father. And it didn&rsquo;t happen till you were
+      pretty well on in life either.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You&rsquo;re too hard to please. That&rsquo;s what&rsquo;s the matter, that&rsquo;s what&rsquo;s the
+      matter!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Perhaps I am. When a man has had a mother like mine his standard of
+      womanly sweetness is apt to be pitched pretty high. Let&rsquo;s drop the
+      subject, father. Here, I want you to read this letter&mdash;it&rsquo;s from
+      Larry.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Humph!&rdquo; grunted Mr. Marshall, when he had finished with it. &ldquo;So Larry&rsquo;s
+      knocked out at last&mdash;always thought he would be&mdash;always expected
+      it. Sorry, too. He was a decent fellow. Well, are you going?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, I think so, if you don&rsquo;t object.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You&rsquo;ll have a pretty monotonous time of it, judging from his account of
+      Lindsay.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Probably. But I am not going over in search of excitement. I&rsquo;m going to
+      oblige Larry and have a look at the Island.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, it&rsquo;s worth looking at, some parts of the year,&rdquo; conceded Mr.
+      Marshall. &ldquo;When I&rsquo;m on Prince Edward Island in the summer I always
+      understand an old Scotch Islander I met once in Winnipeg. He was always
+      talking of &lsquo;the Island.&rsquo; Somebody once asked him, &lsquo;What island do you
+      mean?&rsquo; He simply LOOKED at that ignorant man. Then he said, &lsquo;Why, Prince
+      Edward Island, mon. WHAT OTHER ISLAND IS THERE?&rsquo; Go if you&rsquo;d like to. You
+      need a rest after the grind of examinations before settling down to
+      business. And mind you don&rsquo;t get into any mischief, young sir.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not much likelihood of that in a place like Lindsay, I fancy,&rdquo; laughed
+      Eric.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Probably the devil finds as much mischief for idle hands in Lindsay as
+      anywhere else. The worst tragedy I ever heard of happened on a backwoods
+      farm, fifteen miles from a railroad and five from a store. However, I
+      expect your mother&rsquo;s son to behave himself in the fear of God and man. In
+      all likelihood the worst thing that will happen to you over there will be
+      that some misguided woman will put you to sleep in a spare room bed. And
+      if that does happen may the Lord have mercy on your soul!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0003" id="link2HCH0003">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER III. THE MASTER OF LINDSAY SCHOOL
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      One evening, a month later, Eric Marshall came out of the old,
+      white-washed schoolhouse at Lindsay, and locked the door&mdash;which was
+      carved over with initials innumerable, and built of double plank in order
+      that it might withstand all the assaults and batteries to which it might
+      be subjected.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Eric&rsquo;s pupils had gone home an hour before, but he had stayed to solve
+      some algebra problems, and correct some Latin exercises for his advanced
+      students.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The sun was slanting in warm yellow lines through the thick grove of
+      maples to the west of the building, and the dim green air beneath them
+      burst into golden bloom. A couple of sheep were nibbling the lush grass in
+      a far corner of the play-ground; a cow-bell, somewhere in the maple woods,
+      tinkled faintly and musically, on the still crystal air, which, in spite
+      of its blandness, still retained a touch of the wholesome austerity and
+      poignancy of a Canadian spring. The whole world seemed to have fallen, for
+      the time being, into a pleasant untroubled dream.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The scene was very peaceful and pastoral&mdash;almost too much so, the
+      young man thought, with a shrug of his shoulders, as he stood in the worn
+      steps and gazed about him. How was he going to put in a whole month here,
+      he wondered, with a little smile at his own expense.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Father would chuckle if he knew I was sick of it already,&rdquo; he thought, as
+      he walked across the play-ground to the long red road that ran past the
+      school. &ldquo;Well, one week is ended, at any rate. I&rsquo;ve earned my own living
+      for five whole days, and that is something I could never say before in all
+      my twenty-four years of existence. It is an exhilarating thought. But
+      teaching the Lindsay district school is distinctly NOT exhilarating&mdash;at
+      least in such a well-behaved school as this, where the pupils are so
+      painfully good that I haven&rsquo;t even the traditional excitement of thrashing
+      obstreperous bad boys. Everything seems to go by clock work in Lindsay
+      educational institution. Larry must certainly have possessed a marked gift
+      for organizing and drilling. I feel as if I were merely a big cog in an
+      orderly machine that ran itself. However, I understand that there are some
+      pupils who haven&rsquo;t shown up yet, and who, according to all reports, have
+      not yet had the old Adam totally drilled out of them. They may make things
+      more interesting. Also a few more compositions, such as John Reid&rsquo;s, would
+      furnish some spice to professional life.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Eric&rsquo;s laughter wakened the echoes as he swung into the road down the long
+      sloping hill. He had given his fourth grade pupils their own choice of
+      subjects in the composition class that morning, and John Reid, a sober,
+      matter-of-fact little urchin, with not the slightest embryonic development
+      of a sense of humour, had, acting upon the whispered suggestion of a
+      roguish desk-mate, elected to write upon &ldquo;Courting.&rdquo; His opening sentence
+      made Eric&rsquo;s face twitch mutinously whenever he recalled it during the day.
+      &ldquo;Courting is a very pleasant thing which a great many people go too far
+      with.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The distant hills and wooded uplands were tremulous and aerial in delicate
+      spring-time gauzes of pearl and purple. The young, green-leafed maples
+      crowded thickly to the very edge of the road on either side, but beyond
+      them were emerald fields basking in sunshine, over which cloud shadows
+      rolled, broadened, and vanished. Far below the fields a calm ocean slept
+      bluely, and sighed in its sleep, with the murmur that rings for ever in
+      the ear of those whose good fortune it is to have been born within the
+      sound of it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Now and then Eric met some callow, check-shirted, bare-legged lad on
+      horseback, or a shrewd-faced farmer in a cart, who nodded and called out
+      cheerily, &ldquo;Howdy, Master?&rdquo; A young girl, with a rosy, oval face, dimpled
+      cheeks, and pretty dark eyes filled with shy coquetry, passed him, looking
+      as if she would not be at all averse to a better acquaintance with the new
+      teacher.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Half way down the hill Eric met a shambling, old gray horse drawing an
+      express wagon which had seen better days. The driver was a woman: she
+      appeared to be one of those drab-tinted individuals who can never have
+      felt a rosy emotion in all their lives. She stopped her horse, and
+      beckoned Eric over to her with the knobby handle of a faded and bony
+      umbrella.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Reckon you&rsquo;re the new Master, ain&rsquo;t you?&rdquo; she asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Eric admitted that he was.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, I&rsquo;m glad to see you,&rdquo; she said, offering him a hand in a much
+      darned cotton glove that had once been black.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I was right sorry to see Mr. West go, for he was a right good teacher,
+      and as harmless, inoffensive a creetur as ever lived. But I always told
+      him every time I laid eyes on him that he was in consumption, if ever a
+      man was. YOU look real healthy&mdash;though you can&rsquo;t aways tell by looks,
+      either. I had a brother complected like you, but he was killed in a
+      railroad accident out west when he was real young.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I&rsquo;ve got a boy I&rsquo;ll be sending to school to you next week. He&rsquo;d oughter
+      gone this week, but I had to keep him home to help me put the pertaters
+      in; for his father won&rsquo;t work and doesn&rsquo;t work and can&rsquo;t be made to work.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sandy&mdash;his full name is Edward Alexander&mdash;called after both his
+      grandfathers&mdash;hates the idee of going to school worse &lsquo;n pisen&mdash;always
+      did. But go he shall, for I&rsquo;m determined he&rsquo;s got to have more larning
+      hammered into his head yet. I reckon you&rsquo;ll have trouble with him, Master,
+      for he&rsquo;s as stupid as an owl, and as stubborn as Solomon&rsquo;s mule. But mind
+      this, Master, I&rsquo;ll back you up. You just lick Sandy good and plenty when
+      he needs it, and send me a scrape of the pen home with him, and I&rsquo;ll give
+      him another dose.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There&rsquo;s people that always sides in with their young ones when there&rsquo;s
+      any rumpus kicked up in the school, but I don&rsquo;t hold to that, and never
+      did. You can depend on Rebecca Reid every time, Master.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thank you. I am sure I can,&rdquo; said Eric, in his most winning tones.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He kept his face straight until it was safe to relax, and Mrs. Reid drove
+      on with a soft feeling in her leathery old heart, which had been so
+      toughened by long endurance of poverty and toil, and a husband who
+      wouldn&rsquo;t work and couldn&rsquo;t be made to work, that it was no longer a very
+      susceptible organ where members of the opposite sex were concerned.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mrs. Reid reflected that this young man had a way with him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Eric already knew most of the Lindsay folks by sight; but at the foot of
+      the hill he met two people, a man and a boy, whom he did not know. They
+      were sitting in a shabby, old-fashioned wagon, and were watering their
+      horse at the brook, which gurgled limpidly under the little plank bridge
+      in the hollow.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Eric surveyed them with some curiosity. They did not look in the least
+      like the ordinary run of Lindsay people. The boy, in particular, had a
+      distinctly foreign appearance, in spite of the gingham shirt and homespun
+      trousers, which seemed to be the regulation, work-a-day outfit for the
+      Lindsay farmer lads. He had a lithe, supple body, with sloping shoulders,
+      and a lean, satiny brown throat above his open shirt collar. His head was
+      covered with thick, silky, black curls, and the hand that hung down by the
+      side of the wagon was unusually long and slender. His face was richly,
+      though somewhat heavily featured, olive tinted, save for the cheeks, which
+      had a dusky crimson bloom. His mouth was as red and beguiling as a girl&rsquo;s,
+      and his eyes were large, bold and black. All in all, he was a strikingly
+      handsome fellow; but the expression of his face was sullen, and he somehow
+      gave Eric the impression of a sinuous, feline creature basking in lazy
+      grace, but ever ready for an unexpected spring.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The other occupant of the wagon was a man between sixty-five and seventy,
+      with iron-gray hair, a long, full, gray beard, a harsh-featured face, and
+      deep-set hazel eyes under bushy, bristling brows. He was evidently tall,
+      with a spare, ungainly figure, and stooping shoulders. His mouth was
+      close-lipped and relentless, and did not look as if it had ever smiled.
+      Indeed, the idea of smiling could not be connected with this man&mdash;it
+      was utterly incongruous. Yet there was nothing repellent about his face;
+      and there was something in it that compelled Eric&rsquo;s attention.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He rather prided himself on being a student of physiognomy, and he felt
+      quite sure that this man was no ordinary Lindsay farmer of the genial,
+      garrulous type with which he was familiar.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Long after the old wagon, with its oddly assorted pair, had gone lumbering
+      up the hill, Eric found himself thinking of the stern, heavy browed man
+      and the black-eyed, red-lipped boy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0004" id="link2HCH0004">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER IV. A TEA TABLE CONVERSATION
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      The Williamson place, where Eric boarded, was on the crest of the
+      succeeding hill. He liked it as well as Larry West had prophesied that he
+      would. The Williamsons, as well as the rest of the Lindsay people, took it
+      for granted that he was a poor college student working his way through as
+      Larry West had been doing. Eric did not disturb this belief, although he
+      said nothing to contribute to it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The Williamsons were at tea in the kitchen when Eric went in. Mrs.
+      Williamson was the &ldquo;saint in spectacles and calico&rdquo; which Larry West had
+      termed her. Eric liked her greatly. She was a slight, gray-haired woman,
+      with a thin, sweet, high-bred face, deeply lined with the records of
+      outlived pain. She talked little as a rule; but, in the pungent country
+      phrase she never spoke but she said something. The one thing that
+      constantly puzzled Eric was how such a woman ever came to marry Robert
+      Williamson.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She smiled in a motherly fashion at Eric, as he hung his hat on the
+      white-washed wall and took his place at the table. Outside of the window
+      behind him was a birch grove which, in the westering sun, was a tremulous
+      splendour, with a sea of undergrowth wavered into golden billows by every
+      passing wind.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Old Robert Williamson sat opposite him, on a bench. He was a small, lean
+      old man, half lost in loose clothes that seemed far too large for him.
+      When he spoke his voice was as thin and squeaky as he appeared to be
+      himself.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The other end of the bench was occupied by Timothy, sleek and complacent,
+      with a snowy breast and white paws. After old Robert had taken a mouthful
+      of anything he gave a piece to Timothy, who ate it daintily and purred
+      resonant gratitude.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You see we&rsquo;re busy waiting for you, Master,&rdquo; said old Robert. &ldquo;You&rsquo;re
+      late this evening. Keep any of the youngsters in? That&rsquo;s a foolish way of
+      punishing them, as hard on yourself as on them. One teacher we had four
+      years ago used to lock them in and go home. Then he&rsquo;d go back in an hour
+      and let them out&mdash;if they were there. They weren&rsquo;t always. Tom
+      Ferguson kicked the panels out of the old door once and got out that way.
+      We put a new door of double plank in that they couldn&rsquo;t kick out.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I stayed in the schoolroom to do some work,&rdquo; said Eric briefly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, you&rsquo;ve missed Alexander Tracy. He was here to find out if you could
+      play checkers, and, when I told him you could, he left word for you to go
+      up and have a game some evening soon. Don&rsquo;t beat him too often, even if
+      you can. You&rsquo;ll need to stand in with him, I tell you, Master, for he&rsquo;s
+      got a son that may brew trouble for you when he starts in to go to school.
+      Seth Tracy&rsquo;s a young imp, and he&rsquo;d far sooner be in mischief than eat. He
+      tries to run on every new teacher and he&rsquo;s run two clean out of the
+      school. But he met his match in Mr. West. William Tracy&rsquo;s boys now&mdash;you
+      won&rsquo;t have a scrap of bother with THEM. They&rsquo;re always good because their
+      mother tells them every Sunday that they&rsquo;ll go straight to hell if they
+      don&rsquo;t behave in school. It&rsquo;s effective. Take some preserve, Master. You
+      know we don&rsquo;t help things here the way Mrs. Adam Scott does when she has
+      boarders, &lsquo;I s&rsquo;pose you don&rsquo;t want any of this&mdash;nor you&mdash;nor
+      you?&rsquo; Mother, Aleck says old George Wright is having the time of his life.
+      His wife has gone to Charlottetown to visit her sister and he is his own
+      boss for the first time since he was married, forty years ago. He&rsquo;s on a
+      regular orgy, Aleck says. He smokes in the parlour and sits up till eleven
+      o&rsquo;clock reading dime novels.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Perhaps I met Mr. Tracy,&rdquo; said Eric. &ldquo;Is he a tall man, with gray hair
+      and a dark, stern face?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, he&rsquo;s a round, jolly fellow, is Aleck, and he stopped growing pretty
+      much before he&rsquo;d ever begun. I reckon the man you mean is Thomas Gordon. I
+      seen him driving down the road too. HE won&rsquo;t be troubling you with
+      invitations up, small fear of it. The Gordons ain&rsquo;t sociable, to say the
+      least of it. No, sir! Mother, pass the biscuits to the Master.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Who was the young fellow he had with him?&rdquo; asked Eric curiously.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Neil&mdash;Neil Gordon.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That is a Scotchy name for such a face and eyes. I should rather have
+      expected Guiseppe or Angelo. The boy looks like an Italian.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, now, you know, Master, I reckon it&rsquo;s likely he does, seeing that
+      that&rsquo;s exactly what he is. You&rsquo;ve hit the nail square on the head.
+      Italyun, yes, sir! Rather too much so, I&rsquo;m thinking, for decent folks&rsquo; 
+      taste.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How has it happened that an Italian boy with a Scotch name is living in a
+      place like Lindsay?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, Master, it was this way. About twenty-two years ago&mdash;WAS it
+      twenty-two, Mother or twenty-four? Yes, it was twenty-two&mdash;&lsquo;twas the
+      same year our Jim was born and he&rsquo;d have been twenty-two if he&rsquo;d lived,
+      poor little fellow. Well, Master, twenty-two years ago a couple of Italian
+      pack peddlers came along and called at the Gordon place. The country was
+      swarming with them then. I useter set the dog on one every day on an
+      average.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, these peddlers were man and wife, and the woman took sick up there
+      at the Gordon place, and Janet Gordon took her in and nursed her. A baby
+      was born the next day, and the woman died. Then the first thing anybody
+      knew the father skipped clean out, pack and all, and was never seen or
+      heard tell of afterwards. The Gordons were left with the fine youngster to
+      their hands. Folks advised them to send him to the Orphan Asylum, and
+      &lsquo;twould have been the wisest plan, but the Gordons were never fond of
+      taking advice. Old James Gordon was living then, Thomas and Janet&rsquo;s
+      father, and he said he would never turn a child out of his door. He was a
+      masterful old man and liked to be boss. Folks used to say he had a grudge
+      against the sun &lsquo;cause it rose and set without his say so. Anyhow, they
+      kept the baby. They called him Neil and had him baptized same as any
+      Christian child. He&rsquo;s always lived there. They did well enough by him. He
+      was sent to school and taken to church and treated like one of themselves.
+      Some folks think they made too much of him. It doesn&rsquo;t always do with that
+      kind, for &lsquo;what&rsquo;s bred in bone is mighty apt to come out in flesh,&rsquo; if
+      &lsquo;taint kept down pretty well. Neil&rsquo;s smart and a great worker, they tell
+      me. But folks hereabouts don&rsquo;t like him. They say he ain&rsquo;t to be trusted
+      further&rsquo;n you can see him, if as far. It&rsquo;s certain he&rsquo;s awful hot
+      tempered, and one time when he was going to school he near about killed a
+      boy he&rsquo;d took a spite to&mdash;choked him till he was black in the face
+      and Neil had to be dragged off.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well now, father, you know they teased him terrible,&rdquo; protested Mrs.
+      Williamson. &ldquo;The poor boy had a real hard time when he went to school,
+      Master. The other children were always casting things up to him and
+      calling him names.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, I daresay they tormented him a lot,&rdquo; admitted her husband. &ldquo;He&rsquo;s a
+      great hand at the fiddle and likes company. He goes to the harbour a good
+      deal. But they say he takes sulky spells when he hasn&rsquo;t a word to throw to
+      a dog. &lsquo;Twouldn&rsquo;t be any wonder, living with the Gordons. They&rsquo;re all as
+      queer as Dick&rsquo;s hat-band.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Father, you shouldn&rsquo;t talk so about your neighbours,&rdquo; said his wife
+      rebukingly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well now, Mother, you know they are, if you&rsquo;d only speak up honest. But
+      you&rsquo;re like old Aunt Nancy Scott, you never say anything uncharitable
+      except in the way of business. You know the Gordons ain&rsquo;t like other
+      people and never were and never will be. They&rsquo;re about the only queer
+      folks we have in Lindsay, Master, except old Peter Cook, who keeps
+      twenty-five cats. Lord, Master, think of it! What chanct would a poor
+      mouse have? None of the rest of us are queer, leastwise, we hain&rsquo;t found
+      it out if we are. But, then, we&rsquo;re mighty uninteresting, I&rsquo;m bound to
+      admit that.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Where do the Gordons live?&rdquo; asked Eric, who had grown used to holding
+      fast to a given point of inquiry through all the bewildering mazes of old
+      Robert&rsquo;s conversation.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Away up yander, half a mile in from Radnor road, with a thick spruce wood
+      atween them and all the rest of the world. They never go away anywheres,
+      except to church&mdash;they never miss that&mdash;and nobody goes there.
+      There&rsquo;s just old Thomas, and his sister Janet, and a niece of theirs, and
+      this here Neil we&rsquo;ve been talking about. They&rsquo;re a queer, dour, cranky
+      lot, and I WILL say it, Mother. There, give your old man a cup of tea and
+      never mind the way his tongue runs on. Speaking of tea, do you know Mrs.
+      Adam Palmer and Mrs. Jim Martin took tea together at Foster Reid&rsquo;s last
+      Wednesday afternoon?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, why, I thought they were on bad terms,&rdquo; said Mrs. Williamson,
+      betraying a little feminine curiosity.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;So they are, so they are. But they both happened to visit Mrs. Foster the
+      same afternoon and neither would leave because that would be knuckling
+      down to the other. So they stuck it out, on opposite sides of the parlour.
+      Mrs. Foster says she never spent such an uncomfortable afternoon in all
+      her life before. She would talk a spell to one and then t&rsquo;other. And they
+      kept talking TO Mrs. Foster and AT each other. Mrs. Foster says she really
+      thought she&rsquo;d have to keep them all night, for neither would start to go
+      home afore the other. Finally Jim Martin came in to look for his wife,
+      &lsquo;cause he thought she must have got stuck in the marsh, and that solved
+      the problem. Master, you ain&rsquo;t eating anything. Don&rsquo;t mind my stopping; I
+      was at it half an hour afore you come, and anyway I&rsquo;m in a hurry. My hired
+      boy went home to-day. He heard the rooster crow at twelve last night and
+      he&rsquo;s gone home to see which of his family is dead. He knows one of &lsquo;em is.
+      He heard a rooster crow in the middle of the night onct afore and the next
+      day he got word that his second cousin down at Souris was dead. Mother, if
+      the Master don&rsquo;t want any more tea, ain&rsquo;t there some cream for Timothy?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0005" id="link2HCH0005">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER V. A PHANTOM OF DELIGHT
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      Shortly before sunset that evening Eric went for a walk. When he did not
+      go to the shore he liked to indulge in long tramps through the Lindsay
+      fields and woods, in the mellowness of &ldquo;the sweet &lsquo;o the year.&rdquo; Most of
+      the Lindsay houses were built along the main road, which ran parallel to
+      the shore, or about the stores at &ldquo;The Corner.&rdquo; The farms ran back from
+      them into solitudes of woods and pasture lands.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Eric struck southwest from the Williamson homestead, in a direction he had
+      not hitherto explored, and walked briskly along, enjoying the witchery of
+      the season all about him in earth and air and sky. He felt it and loved it
+      and yielded to it, as anyone of clean life and sane pulses must do.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The spruce wood in which he presently found himself was smitten through
+      with arrows of ruby light from the setting sun. He went through it,
+      walking up a long, purple aisle where the wood-floor was brown and elastic
+      under his feet, and came out beyond it on a scene which surprised him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      No house was in sight, but he found himself looking into an orchard; an
+      old orchard, evidently long neglected and forsaken. But an orchard dies
+      hard; and this one, which must have been a very delightful spot once, was
+      delightful still, none the less so for the air of gentle melancholy which
+      seemed to pervade it, the melancholy which invests all places that have
+      once been the scenes of joy and pleasure and young life, and are so no
+      longer, places where hearts have throbbed, and pulses thrilled, and eyes
+      brightened, and merry voices echoed. The ghosts of these things seem to
+      linger in their old haunts through many empty years.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The orchard was large and long, enclosed in a tumbledown old fence of
+      longers bleached to a silvery gray in the suns of many lost summers. At
+      regular intervals along the fence were tall, gnarled fir trees, and an
+      evening wind, sweeter than that which blew over the beds of spice from
+      Lebanon, was singing in their tops, an earth-old song with power to carry
+      the soul back to the dawn of time.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Eastward, a thick fir wood grew, beginning with tiny treelets just
+      feathering from the grass, and grading up therefrom to the tall veterans
+      of the mid-grove, unbrokenly and evenly, giving the effect of a solid,
+      sloping green wall, so beautifully compact that it looked as if it had
+      been clipped into its velvet surface by art.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Most of the orchard was grown over lushly with grass; but at the end where
+      Eric stood there was a square, treeless place which had evidently once
+      served as a homestead garden. Old paths were still visible, bordered by
+      stones and large pebbles. There were two clumps of lilac trees; one
+      blossoming in royal purple, the other in white. Between them was a bed
+      ablow with the starry spikes of June lilies. Their penetrating, haunting
+      fragrance distilled on the dewy air in every soft puff of wind. Along the
+      fence rosebushes grew, but it was as yet too early in the season for
+      roses.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Beyond was the orchard proper, three long rows of trees with green avenues
+      between, each tree standing in a wonderful blow of pink and white.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The charm of the place took sudden possession of Eric as nothing had ever
+      done before. He was not given to romantic fancies; but the orchard laid
+      hold of him subtly and drew him to itself, and he was never to be quite
+      his own man again. He went into it over one of the broken panels of fence,
+      and so, unknowing, went forward to meet all that life held for him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He walked the length of the orchard&rsquo;s middle avenue between long, sinuous
+      boughs picked out with delicate, rose-hearted bloom. When he reached its
+      southern boundary he flung himself down in a grassy corner of the fence
+      where another lilac bush grew, with ferns and wild blue violets at its
+      roots. From where he now was he got a glimpse of a house about a quarter
+      of a mile away, its gray gable peering out from a dark spruce wood. It
+      seemed a dull, gloomy, remote place, and he did not know who lived there.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He had a wide outlook to the west, over far hazy fields and misty blue
+      intervales. The sun had just set, and the whole world of green meadows
+      beyond swam in golden light. Across a long valley brimmed with shadow were
+      uplands of sunset, and great sky lakes of saffron and rose where a soul
+      might lose itself in colour. The air was very fragrant with the baptism of
+      the dew, and the odours of a bed of wild mint upon which he had trampled.
+      Robins were whistling, clear and sweet and sudden, in the woods all about
+      him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;This is a veritable &lsquo;haunt of ancient peace,&rsquo;&rdquo; quoted Eric, looking
+      around with delighted eyes. &ldquo;I could fall asleep here, dream dreams and
+      see visions. What a sky! Could anything be diviner than that fine crystal
+      eastern blue, and those frail white clouds that look like woven lace? What
+      a dizzying, intoxicating fragrance lilacs have! I wonder if perfume could
+      set a man drunk. Those apple trees now&mdash;why, what is that?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Eric started up and listened. Across the mellow stillness, mingled with
+      the croon of the wind in the trees and the flute-like calls of the robins,
+      came a strain of delicious music, so beautiful and fantastic that Eric
+      held his breath in astonishment and delight. Was he dreaming? No, it was
+      real music, the music of a violin played by some hand inspired with the
+      very spirit of harmony. He had never heard anything like it; and, somehow,
+      he felt quite sure that nothing exactly like it ever had been heard
+      before; he believed that that wonderful music was coming straight from the
+      soul of the unseen violinist, and translating itself into those most airy
+      and delicate and exquisite sounds for the first time; the very soul of
+      music, with all sense and earthliness refined away.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was an elusive, haunting melody, strangely suited to the time and
+      place; it had in it the sigh of the wind in the woods, the eerie
+      whispering of the grasses at dewfall, the white thoughts of the June
+      lilies, the rejoicing of the apple blossoms; all the soul of all the old
+      laughter and song and tears and gladness and sobs the orchard had ever
+      known in the lost years; and besides all this, there was in it a pitiful,
+      plaintive cry as of some imprisoned thing calling for freedom and
+      utterance.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At first Eric listened as a man spellbound, mutely and motionlessly, lost
+      in wonderment. Then a very natural curiosity overcame him. Who in Lindsay
+      could play a violin like that? And who was playing so here, in this
+      deserted old orchard, of all places in the world?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He rose and walked up the long white avenue, going as slowly and silently
+      as possible, for he did not wish to interrupt the player. When he reached
+      the open space of the garden he stopped short in new amazement and was
+      again tempted into thinking he must certainly be dreaming.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Under the big branching white lilac tree was an old, sagging, wooden
+      bench; and on this bench a girl was sitting, playing on an old brown
+      violin. Her eyes were on the faraway horizon and she did not see Eric. For
+      a few moments he stood there and looked at her. The pictures she made
+      photographed itself on his vision to the finest detail, never to be
+      blotted from his book of remembrance. To his latest day Eric Marshall will
+      be able to recall vividly that scene as he saw it then&mdash;the velvet
+      darkness of the spruce woods, the overarching sky of soft brilliance, the
+      swaying lilac blossoms, and amid it all the girl on the old bench with the
+      violin under her chin.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He had, in his twenty-four years of life, met hundreds of pretty women,
+      scores of handsome women, a scant half dozen of really beautiful women.
+      But he knew at once, beyond all possibility of question or doubt, that he
+      had never seen or imagined anything so exquisite as this girl of the
+      orchard. Her loveliness was so perfect that his breath almost went from
+      him in his first delight of it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Her face was oval, marked in every cameo-like line and feature with that
+      expression of absolute, flawless purity, found in the angels and Madonnas
+      of old paintings, a purity that held in it no faintest strain of
+      earthliness. Her head was bare, and her thick, jet-black hair was parted
+      above her forehead and hung in two heavy lustrous braids over her
+      shoulders. Her eyes were of such a blue as Eric had never seen in eyes
+      before, the tint of the sea in the still, calm light that follows after a
+      fine sunset; they were as luminous as the stars that came out over Lindsay
+      Harbour in the afterglow, and were fringed about with very long,
+      soot-black lashes, and arched over by most delicately pencilled dark
+      eyebrows. Her skin was as fine and purely tinted as the heart of a white
+      rose. The collarless dress of pale blue print she wore revealed her
+      smooth, slender throat; her sleeves were rolled up above her elbows and
+      the hand which guided the bow of her violin was perhaps the most beautiful
+      thing about her, perfect in shape and texture, firm and white, with
+      rosy-nailed taper fingers. One long, drooping plume of lilac blossom
+      lightly touched her hair and cast a wavering shadow over the flower-like
+      face beneath it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There was something very child-like about her, and yet at least eighteen
+      sweet years must have gone to the making of her. She seemed to be playing
+      half unconsciously, as if her thoughts were far away in some fair
+      dreamland of the skies. But presently she looked away from &ldquo;the bourne of
+      sunset,&rdquo; and her lovely eyes fell on Eric, standing motionless before her
+      in the shadow of the apple tree.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The sudden change that swept over her was startling. She sprang to her
+      feet, the music breaking in mid-strain and the bow slipping from her hand
+      to the grass. Every hint of colour fled from her face and she trembled
+      like one of the wind-stirred June lilies.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I beg your pardon,&rdquo; said Eric hastily. &ldquo;I am sorry that I have alarmed
+      you. But your music was so beautiful that I did not remember you were not
+      aware of my presence here. Please forgive me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He stopped in dismay, for he suddenly realized that the expression on the
+      girl&rsquo;s face was one of terror&mdash;not merely the startled alarm of a
+      shy, childlike creature who had thought herself alone, but absolute
+      terror. It was betrayed in her blanched and quivering lips and in the
+      widely distended blue eyes that stared back into his with the expression
+      of some trapped wild thing.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It hurt him that any woman should look at him in such a fashion, at him
+      who had always held womanhood in such reverence.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don&rsquo;t look so frightened,&rdquo; he said gently, thinking only of calming her
+      fear, and speaking as he would to a child. &ldquo;I will not hurt you. You are
+      safe, quite safe.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      In his eagerness to reassure her he took an unconscious step forward.
+      Instantly she turned, and, without a sound, fled across the orchard,
+      through a gap in the northern fence and along what seemed to be a lane
+      bordering the fir wood beyond and arched over with wild cherry trees misty
+      white in the gathering gloom. Before Eric could recover his wits she had
+      vanished from his sight among the firs.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He stooped and picked up the violin bow, feeling slightly foolish and very
+      much annoyed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, this is a most mysterious thing,&rdquo; he said, somewhat impatiently.
+      &ldquo;Am I bewitched? Who was she? WHAT was she? Can it be possible that she is
+      a Lindsay girl? And why in the name of all that&rsquo;s provoking should she be
+      so frightened at the mere sight of me? I have never thought I was a
+      particularly hideous person, but certainly this adventure has not
+      increased my vanity to any perceptible extent. Perhaps I have wandered
+      into an enchanted orchard, and been outwardly transformed into an ogre.
+      Now that I have come to think of it, there is something quite uncanny
+      about the place. Anything might happen here. It is no common orchard for
+      the production of marketable apples, that is plain to be seen. No, it&rsquo;s a
+      most unwholesome locality; and the sooner I make my escape from it the
+      better.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He glanced about it with a whimsical smile. The light was fading rapidly
+      and the orchard was full of soft, creeping shadows and silences. It seemed
+      to wink sleepy eyes of impish enjoyment at his perplexity. He laid the
+      violin bow down on the old bench.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, there is no use in my following her, and I have no right to do so
+      even if it were of use. But I certainly wish she hadn&rsquo;t fled in such
+      evident terror. Eyes like hers were never meant to express anything but
+      tenderness and trust. Why&mdash;why&mdash;WHY was she so frightened? And
+      who&mdash;who&mdash;WHO&mdash;can she be?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      All the way home, over fields and pastures that were beginning to be
+      moonlight silvered he pondered the mystery.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Let me see,&rdquo; he reflected. &ldquo;Mr. Williamson was describing the Lindsay
+      girls for my benefit the other evening. If I remember rightly he said that
+      there were four handsome ones in the district. What were their names?
+      Florrie Woods, Melissa Foster&mdash;no, Melissa Palmer&mdash;Emma Scott,
+      and Jennie May Ferguson. Can she be one of them? No, it is a flagrant
+      waste of time and gray matter supposing it. That girl couldn&rsquo;t be a
+      Florrie or a Melissa or an Emma, while Jennie May is completely out of the
+      question. Well, there is some bewitchment in the affair. Of that I&rsquo;m
+      convinced. So I&rsquo;d better forget all about it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      But Eric found that it was impossible to forget all about it. The more he
+      tried to forget, the more keenly and insistently he remembered. The girl&rsquo;s
+      exquisite face haunted him and the mystery of her tantalized him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      True, he knew that, in all likelihood, he might easily solve the problem
+      by asking the Williamsons about her. But somehow, to his own surprise, he
+      found that he shrank from doing this. He felt that it was impossible to
+      ask Robert Williamson and probably have the girl&rsquo;s name overflowed in a
+      stream of petty gossip concerning her and all her antecedents and
+      collaterals to the third and fourth generation. If he had to ask any one
+      it should be Mrs. Williamson; but he meant to find out the secret for
+      himself if it were at all possible.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He had planned to go to the harbour the next evening. One of the
+      lobstermen had promised to take him out cod-fishing. But instead he
+      wandered southwest over the fields again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He found the orchard easily&mdash;he had half expected NOT to find it. It
+      was still the same fragrant, grassy, wind-haunted spot. But it had no
+      occupant and the violin bow was gone from the old bench.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Perhaps she tiptoed back here for it by the light o&rsquo; the moon,&rdquo; thought
+      Eric, pleasing his fancy by the vision of a lithe, girlish figure stealing
+      with a beating heart through mingled shadow and moonshine. &ldquo;I wonder if
+      she will possibly come this evening, or if I have frightened her away for
+      ever. I&rsquo;ll hide me behind this spruce copse and wait.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Eric waited until dark, but no music sounded through the orchard and no
+      one came to it. The keenness of his disappointment surprised him, nay
+      more, it vexed him. What nonsense to be so worked up because a little girl
+      he had seen for five minutes failed to appear! Where was his common sense,
+      his &ldquo;gumption,&rdquo; as old Robert Williamson would have said? Naturally a man
+      liked to look at a pretty face. But was that any reason why he should feel
+      as if life were flat, stale, and unprofitable simply because he could not
+      look at it? He called himself a fool and went home in a petulant mood.
+      Arriving there, he plunged fiercely into solving algebraical equations and
+      working out geometry exercises, determined to put out of his head
+      forthwith all vain imaginings of an enchanted orchard, white in the
+      moonshine, with lilts of elfin music echoing down its long arcades.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The next day was Sunday and Eric went to church twice. The Williamson pew
+      was one of the side ones at the top of the church and its occupants
+      practically faced the congregation. Eric looked at every girl and woman in
+      the audience, but he saw nothing of the face which, setting will power and
+      common sense flatly at defiance, haunted his memory like a star.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thomas Gordon was there, sitting alone in his long, empty pew near the top
+      of the building; and Neil Gordon sang in the choir which occupied the
+      front pew of the gallery. He had a powerful and melodious, though
+      untrained voice, which dominated the singing and took the colour out of
+      the weaker, more commonplace tones of the other singers. He was
+      well-dressed in a suit of dark blue serge, with a white collar and tie.
+      But Eric idly thought it did not become him so well as the working clothes
+      in which he had first seen him. He was too obviously dressed up, and he
+      looked coarser and more out of harmony with his surroundings.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      For two days Eric refused to let himself think of the orchard. Monday
+      evening he went cod-fishing, and Tuesday evening he went up to play
+      checkers with Alexander Tracy. Alexander won all the games so easily that
+      he never had any respect for Eric Marshall again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Played like a feller whose thoughts were wool gathering,&rdquo; he complained
+      to his wife. &ldquo;He&rsquo;ll never make a checker player&mdash;never in this
+      world.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0006" id="link2HCH0006">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER VI. THE STORY OF KILMENY
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      Wednesday evening Eric went to the orchard again; and again he was
+      disappointed. He went home, determined to solve the mystery by open
+      inquiry. Fortune favoured him, for he found Mrs. Williamson alone, sitting
+      by the west window of her kitchen and knitting at a long gray sock. She
+      hummed softly to herself as she knitted, and Timothy slept blackly at her
+      feet. She looked at Eric with quiet affection in her large, candid eyes.
+      She had liked Mr. West. But Eric had found his way into the inner chamber
+      of her heart, by reason that his eyes were so like those of the little son
+      she had buried in the Lindsay churchyard many years before.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mrs. Williamson,&rdquo; said Eric, with an affectation of carelessness, &ldquo;I
+      chanced on an old deserted orchard back behind the woods over there last
+      week, a charming bit of wilderness. Do you know whose it is?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I suppose it must be the old Connors orchard,&rdquo; answered Mrs. Williamson
+      after a moment&rsquo;s reflection. &ldquo;I had forgotten all about it. It must be all
+      of thirty years since Mr. and Mrs. Connors moved away. Their house and
+      barns were burned down and they sold the land to Thomas Gordon and went to
+      live in town. They&rsquo;re both dead now. Mr. Connors used to be very proud of
+      his orchard. There weren&rsquo;t many orchards in Lindsay then, though almost
+      everybody has one now.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There was a young girl in it, playing on a violin,&rdquo; said Eric, annoyed to
+      find that it cost him an effort to speak of her, and that the blood
+      mounted to his face as he did so. &ldquo;She ran away in great alarm as soon as
+      she saw me, although I do not think I did or said anything to frighten or
+      vex her. I have no idea who she was. Do you know?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mrs. Williamson did not make an immediate reply. She laid down her
+      knitting and gazed out of the window as if pondering seriously some
+      question in her own mind. Finally she said, with an intonation of keen
+      interest in her voice,
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I suppose it must have been Kilmeny Gordon, Master.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Kilmeny Gordon? Do you mean the niece of Thomas Gordon of whom your
+      husband spoke?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I can hardly believe that the girl I saw can be a member of Thomas
+      Gordon&rsquo;s family.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, if it wasn&rsquo;t Kilmeny Gordon I don&rsquo;t know who it could have been.
+      There is no other house near that orchard and I&rsquo;ve heard she plays the
+      violin. If it was Kilmeny you&rsquo;ve seen what very few people in Lindsay have
+      ever seen, Master. And those few have never seen her close by. I have
+      never laid eyes on her myself. It&rsquo;s no wonder she ran away, poor girl. She
+      isn&rsquo;t used to seeing strangers.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I&rsquo;m rather glad if that was the sole reason of her flight,&rdquo; said Eric. &ldquo;I
+      admit I didn&rsquo;t like to see any girl so frightened of me as she appeared to
+      be. She was as white as paper, and so terrified that she never uttered a
+      word, but fled like a deer to cover.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, she couldn&rsquo;t have spoken a word in any case,&rdquo; said Mrs. Williamson
+      quietly. &ldquo;Kilmeny Gordon is dumb.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Eric sat in dismayed silence for a moment. That beautiful creature
+      afflicted in such a fashion&mdash;why, it was horrible! Mingled with his
+      dismay was a strange pang of personal regret and disappointment.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It couldn&rsquo;t have been Kilmeny Gordon, then,&rdquo; he protested at last,
+      remembering. &ldquo;The girl I saw played on the violin exquisitely. I never
+      heard anything like it. It is impossible that a deaf mute could play like
+      that.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, she isn&rsquo;t deaf, Master,&rdquo; responded Mrs. Williamson, looking at Eric
+      keenly through her spectacles. She picked up her knitting and fell to work
+      again. &ldquo;That is the strange part of it, if anything about her can be
+      stranger than another. She can hear as well as anybody and understands
+      everything that is said to her. But she can&rsquo;t speak a word and never
+      could, at least, so they say. The truth is, nobody knows much about her.
+      Janet and Thomas never speak of her, and Neil won&rsquo;t either. He has been
+      well questioned, too, you can depend on that; but he won&rsquo;t ever say a word
+      about Kilmeny and he gets mad if folks persist.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why isn&rsquo;t she to be spoken of?&rdquo; queried Eric impatiently. &ldquo;What is the
+      mystery about her?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It&rsquo;s a sad story, Master. I suppose the Gordons look on her existence as
+      a sort of disgrace. For my own part, I think it&rsquo;s terrible, the way she&rsquo;s
+      been brought up. But the Gordons are very strange people, Mr. Marshall. I
+      kind of reproved father for saying so, you remember, but it is true. They
+      have very strange ways. And you&rsquo;ve really seen Kilmeny? What does she look
+      like? I&rsquo;ve heard that she was handsome. Is it true?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I thought her very beautiful,&rdquo; said Eric rather curtly. &ldquo;But HOW has she
+      been brought up, Mrs. Williamson? And why?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, I might as well tell you the whole story, Master. Kilmeny is the
+      niece of Thomas and Janet Gordon. Her mother was Margaret Gordon, their
+      younger sister. Old James Gordon came out from Scotland. Janet and Thomas
+      were born in the Old Country and were small children when they came here.
+      They were never very sociable folks, but still they used to visit out some
+      then, and people used to go there. They were kind and honest people, even
+      if they were a little peculiar.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mrs. Gordon died a few years after they came out, and four years later
+      James Gordon went home to Scotland and brought a new wife back with him.
+      She was a great deal younger than he was and a very pretty woman, as my
+      mother often told me. She was friendly and gay and liked social life. The
+      Gordon place was a very different sort of place after she came there, and
+      even Janet and Thomas got thawed out and softened down a good bit. They
+      were real fond of their stepmother, I&rsquo;ve heard. Then, six years after she
+      was married, the second Mrs. Gordon died too. She died when Margaret was
+      born. They say James Gordon almost broke his heart over it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Janet brought Margaret up. She and Thomas just worshipped the child and
+      so did their father. I knew Margaret Gordon well once. We were just the
+      same age and we set together in school. We were always good friends until
+      she turned against all the world.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;She was a strange girl in some ways even then, but I always liked her,
+      though a great many people didn&rsquo;t. She had some bitter enemies, but she
+      had some devoted friends too. That was her way. She made folks either hate
+      or love her. Those who did love her would have gone through fire and water
+      for her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;When she grew up she was very pretty&mdash;tall and splendid, like a
+      queen, with great thick braids of black hair and red, red cheeks and lips.
+      Everybody who saw her looked at her a second time. She was a little vain
+      of her beauty, I think, Master. And she was proud, oh, she was very proud.
+      She liked to be first in everything, and she couldn&rsquo;t bear not to show to
+      good advantage. She was dreadful determined, too. You couldn&rsquo;t budge her
+      an inch, Master, when she once had made up her mind on any point. But she
+      was warm-hearted and generous. She could sing like an angel and she was
+      very clever. She could learn anything with just one look at it and she was
+      terrible fond of reading.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;When I&rsquo;m talking about her like this it all comes back to me, just what
+      she was like and how she looked and spoke and acted, and little ways she
+      had of moving her hands and head. I declare it almost seems as if she was
+      right here in this room instead of being over there in the churchyard. I
+      wish you&rsquo;d light the lamp, Master. I feel kind of nervous.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Eric rose and lighted the lamp, rather wondering at Mrs. Williamson&rsquo;s
+      unusual exhibition of nerves. She was generally so calm and composed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thank you, Master. That&rsquo;s better. I won&rsquo;t be fancying now that Margaret
+      Gordon&rsquo;s here listening to what I&rsquo;m saying. I had the feeling so strong a
+      moment ago.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I suppose you think I&rsquo;m a long while getting to Kilmeny, but I&rsquo;m coming
+      to that. I didn&rsquo;t mean to talk so much about Margaret, but somehow my
+      thoughts got taken up with her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, Margaret passed the Board and went to Queen&rsquo;s Academy and got a
+      teacher&rsquo;s license. She passed pretty well up when she came out, but Janet
+      told me she cried all night after the pass list came out because there
+      were some ahead of her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;She went to teach school over at Radnor. It was there she met a man named
+      Ronald Fraser. Margaret had never had a beau before. She could have had
+      any young man in Lindsay if she had wanted him, but she wouldn&rsquo;t look at
+      one of them. They said it was because she thought nobody was good enough
+      for her, but that wasn&rsquo;t the way of it at all, Master. I knew, because
+      Margaret and I used to talk of those matters, as girls do. She didn&rsquo;t
+      believe in going with anybody unless it was somebody she thought
+      everything of. And there was nobody in Lindsay she cared that much for.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;This Ronald Fraser was a stranger from Nova Scotia and nobody knew much
+      about him. He was a widower, although he was only a young man. He had set
+      up store-keeping in Radnor and was doing well. He was real handsome and
+      had taking ways women like. It was said that all the Radnor girls were in
+      love with him, but I don&rsquo;t think his worst enemy could have said he
+      flirted with them. He never took any notice of them; but the very first
+      time he saw Margaret Gordon he fell in love with her and she with him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;They came over to church in Lindsay together the next Sunday and
+      everybody said it would be a match. Margaret looked lovely that day, so
+      gentle and womanly. She had been used to hold her head pretty high, but
+      that day she held it drooping a little and her black eyes cast down.
+      Ronald Fraser was very tall and fair, with blue eyes. They made as
+      handsome a couple as I ever saw.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But old James Gordon and Thomas and Janet didn&rsquo;t much approve of him. I
+      saw that plain enough one time I was there and he brought Margaret home
+      from Radnor Friday night. I guess they wouldn&rsquo;t have liked anybody,
+      though, who come after Margaret. They thought nobody was good enough for
+      her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But Margaret coaxed them all round in time. She could do pretty near
+      anything with them, they were so fond and proud of her. Her father held
+      out the longest, but finally he give in and consented for her to marry
+      Ronald Fraser.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;They had a big wedding, too&mdash;all the neighbours were asked. Margaret
+      always liked to make a display. I was her bridesmaid, Master. I helped her
+      dress and nothing would please her; she wanted to look that nice for
+      Ronald&rsquo;s sake. She was a handsome bride; dressed in white, with red roses
+      in her hair and at her breast. She wouldn&rsquo;t wear white flowers; she said
+      they looked too much like funeral flowers. She looked like a picture. I
+      can see her this minute, as plain as plain, just as she was that night,
+      blushing and turning pale by turns, and looking at Ronald with her eyes of
+      love. If ever a girl loved a man with all her heart Margaret Gordon did.
+      It almost made me feel frightened. She gave him the worship it isn&rsquo;t right
+      to give anybody but God, Master, and I think that is always punished.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;They went to live at Radnor and for a little while everything went well.
+      Margaret had a nice house, and was gay and happy. She dressed beautiful
+      and entertained a good deal. Then&mdash;well, Ronald Fraser&rsquo;s first wife
+      turned up looking for him! She wasn&rsquo;t dead after all.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, there was terrible scandal, Master. The talk and gossip was something
+      dreadful. Every one you met had a different story, and it was hard to get
+      at the truth. Some said Ronald Fraser had known all the time that his wife
+      wasn&rsquo;t dead, and had deceived Margaret. But I don&rsquo;t think he did. He swore
+      he didn&rsquo;t. They hadn&rsquo;t been very happy together, it seems. Her mother made
+      trouble between them. Then she went to visit her mother in Montreal, and
+      died in the hospital there, so the word came to Ronald. Perhaps he
+      believed it a little too readily, but that he DID believe it I never had a
+      doubt. Her story was that it was another woman of the same name. When she
+      found out Ronald thought her dead she and her mother agreed to let him
+      think so. But when she heard he had got married again she thought she&rsquo;d
+      better let him know the truth.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It all sounded like a queer story and I suppose you couldn&rsquo;t blame people
+      for not believing it too readily. But I&rsquo;ve always felt it was true.
+      Margaret didn&rsquo;t think so, though. She believed that Ronald Fraser had
+      deceived her, knowing all the time that he couldn&rsquo;t make her his lawful
+      wife. She turned against him and hated him just as much as she had loved
+      him before.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ronald Fraser went away with his real wife, and in less than a year word
+      came of his death. They said he just died of a broken heart, nothing more
+      nor less.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Margaret came home to her father&rsquo;s house. From the day that she went over
+      its threshold, she never came out until she was carried out in her coffin
+      three years ago. Not a soul outside of her own family ever saw her again.
+      I went to see her, but Janet told me she wouldn&rsquo;t see me. It was foolish
+      of Margaret to act so. She hadn&rsquo;t done anything real wrong; and everybody
+      was sorry for her and would have helped her all they could. But I reckon
+      pity cut her as deep as blame could have done, and deeper, because you
+      see, Master, she was so proud she couldn&rsquo;t bear it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;They say her father was hard on her, too; and that was unjust if it was
+      true. Janet and Thomas felt the disgrace, too. The people that had been in
+      the habit of going to the Gordon place soon stopped going, for they could
+      see they were not welcome.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Old James Gordon died that winter. He never held his head up again after
+      the scandal. He had been an elder in the church, but he handed in his
+      resignation right away and nobody could persuade him to withdraw it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Kilmeny was born in the spring, but nobody ever saw her, except the
+      minister who baptized her. She was never taken to church or sent to
+      school. Of course, I suppose there wouldn&rsquo;t have been any use in her going
+      to school when she couldn&rsquo;t speak, and it&rsquo;s likely Margaret taught her all
+      she could be taught herself. But it was dreadful that she was never taken
+      to church, or let go among the children and young folks. And it was a real
+      shame that nothing was ever done to find out why she couldn&rsquo;t talk, or if
+      she could be cured.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Margaret Gordon died three years ago, and everybody in Lindsay went to
+      the funeral. But they didn&rsquo;t see her. The coffin lid was screwed down. And
+      they didn&rsquo;t see Kilmeny either. I would have loved to see HER for
+      Margaret&rsquo;s sake, but I didn&rsquo;t want to see poor Margaret. I had never seen
+      her since the night she was a bride, for I had left Lindsay on a visit
+      just after that, and what I came home the scandal had just broken out. I
+      remembered Margaret in all her pride and beauty, and I couldn&rsquo;t have borne
+      to look at her dead face and see the awful changes I knew must be there.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It was thought perhaps Janet and Thomas would take Kilmeny out after her
+      mother was gone, but they never did, so I suppose they must have agreed
+      with Margaret about the way she had been brought up. I&rsquo;ve often felt sorry
+      for the poor girl, and I don&rsquo;t think her people did right by her, even if
+      she was mysteriously afflicted. She must have had a very sad, lonely life.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That is the story, Master, and I&rsquo;ve been a long time telling it, as I
+      dare say you think. But the past just seemed to be living again for me as
+      I talked. If you don&rsquo;t want to be pestered with questions about Kilmeny
+      Gordon, Master, you&rsquo;d better not let on you&rsquo;ve seen her.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Eric was not likely to. He had heard all he wanted to know and more.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;So this girl is at the core of a tragedy,&rdquo; he reflected, as he went to
+      his room. &ldquo;And she is dumb! The pity of it! Kilmeny! The name suits her.
+      She is as lovely and innocent as the heroine of the old ballad. &lsquo;And oh,
+      Kilmeny was fair to see.&rsquo; But the next line is certainly not so
+      appropriate, for her eyes were anything but &lsquo;still and steadfast&rsquo;&mdash;after
+      she had seen me, at all events.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He tried to put her out of his thoughts, but he could not. The memory of
+      her beautiful face drew him with a power he could not resist. The next
+      evening he went again to the orchard.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0007" id="link2HCH0007">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER VII. A ROSE OF WOMANHOOD
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      When he emerged from the spruce wood and entered the orchard his heart
+      gave a sudden leap, and he felt that the blood rushed madly to his face.
+      She was there, bending over the bed of June lilies in the centre of the
+      garden plot. He could only see her profile, virginal and white.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He stopped, not wishing to startle her again. When she lifted her head he
+      expected to see her shrink and flee, but she did not do so; she only grew
+      a little paler and stood motionless, watching him intently.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Seeing this, he walked slowly towards her, and when he was so close to her
+      that he could hear the nervous flutter of her breath over her parted,
+      trembling lips, he said very gently,
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do not be afraid of me. I am a friend, and I do not wish to disturb or
+      annoy you in any way.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She seemed to hesitate a moment. Then she lifted a little slate that hung
+      at her belt, wrote something on it rapidly, and held it out to him. He
+      read, in a small distinctive handwriting,
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am not afraid of you now. Mother told me that all strange men were very
+      wicked and dangerous, but I do not think you can be. I have thought a
+      great deal about you, and I am sorry I ran away the other night.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He realized her entire innocence and simplicity. Looking earnestly into
+      her still troubled eyes he said,
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I would not do you any harm for the world. All men are not wicked,
+      although it is too true that some are so. My name is Eric Marshall and I
+      am teaching in the Lindsay school. You, I think, are Kilmeny Gordon. I
+      thought your music so very lovely the other evening that I have been
+      wishing ever since that I might hear it again. Won&rsquo;t you play for me?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The vague fear had all gone from her eyes by this time, and suddenly she
+      smiled&mdash;a merry, girlish, wholly irresistible smile, which broke
+      through the calm of her face like a gleam of sunlight rippling over a
+      placid sea. Then she wrote, &ldquo;I am very sorry that I cannot play this
+      evening. I did not bring my violin with me. But I will bring it to-morrow
+      evening and play for you if you would like to hear me. I should like to
+      please you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Again that note of innocent frankness! What a child she was&mdash;what a
+      beautiful, ignorant child, utterly unskilled in the art of hiding her
+      feelings! But why should she hide them? They were as pure and beautiful as
+      herself. Eric smiled back at her with equal frankness.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I should like it more than I can say, and I shall be sure to come
+      to-morrow evening if it is fine. But if it is at all damp or unpleasant
+      you must not come. In that case another evening will do. And now won&rsquo;t you
+      give me some flowers?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She nodded, with another little smile, and began to pick some of the June
+      lilies, carefully selecting the most perfect among them. He watched her
+      lithe, graceful motions with delight; every movement seemed poetry itself.
+      She looked like a very incarnation of Spring&mdash;as if all the shimmer
+      of young leaves and glow of young mornings and evanescent sweetness of
+      young blossoms in a thousand springs had been embodied in her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When she came to him, radiant, her hands full of the lilies, a couplet
+      from a favourite poem darted into his head&mdash;
+    </p>
+<pre xml:space="preserve">
+    &ldquo;A blossom vermeil white
+    That lightly breaks a faded flower sheath,
+    Here, by God&rsquo;s rood, is the one maid for me.&rdquo;
+ </pre>
+    <p>
+      The next moment he was angry with himself for his folly. She was, after
+      all, nothing but a child&mdash;and a child set apart from her fellow
+      creatures by her sad defect. He must not let himself think nonsense.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thank you. These June lilies are the sweetest flowers the spring brings
+      us. Do you know that their real name is the white narcissus?&rdquo; She looked
+      pleased and interested.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, I did not know,&rdquo; she wrote. &ldquo;I have often read of the white narcissus
+      and wondered what it was like. I never thought of it being the same as my
+      dear June lilies. I am glad you told me. I love flowers very much. They
+      are my very good friends.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You couldn&rsquo;t help being friends with the lilies. Like always takes to
+      like,&rdquo; said Eric. &ldquo;Come and sit down on the old bench&mdash;here, where
+      you were sitting that night I frightened you so badly. I could not imagine
+      who or what you were. Sometimes I thought I had dreamed you&mdash;only,&rdquo;
+       he added under his breath and unheard by her, &ldquo;I could never have dreamed
+      anything half so lovely.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She sat down beside him on the old bench and looked unshrinkingly in his
+      face. There was no boldness in her glance&mdash;nothing but the most
+      perfect, childlike trust and confidence. If there had been any evil in his
+      heart&mdash;any skulking thought, he was afraid to acknowledge&mdash;those
+      eyes must have searched it out and shamed it. But he could meet them
+      unafraid. Then she wrote,
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I was very much frightened. You must have thought me very silly, but I
+      had never seen any man except Uncle Thomas and Neil and the egg peddler.
+      And you are different from them&mdash;oh, very, very different. I was
+      afraid to come back here the next evening. And yet, somehow, I wanted to
+      come. I did not want you to think I did not know how to behave. I sent
+      Neil back for my bow in the morning. I could not do without it. I cannot
+      speak, you know. Are you sorry?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am very sorry for your sake.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, but what I mean is, would you like me better if I could speak like
+      other people?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, it does not make any difference in that way, Kilmeny. By the way, do
+      you mind my calling you Kilmeny?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She looked puzzled and wrote, &ldquo;What else should you call me? That is my
+      name. Everybody calls me that.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But I am such a stranger to you that perhaps you would wish me to call
+      you Miss Gordon.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, no, I would not like that,&rdquo; she wrote quickly, with a distressed look
+      on her face. &ldquo;Nobody ever calls me that. It would make me feel as if I
+      were not myself but somebody else. And you do not seem like a stranger to
+      me. Is there any reason why you should not call me Kilmeny?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No reason whatever, if you will allow me the privilege. You have a very
+      lovely name&mdash;the very name you ought to have.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am glad you like it. Do you know that I was called after my grandmother
+      and she was called after a girl in a poem? Aunt Janet has never liked my
+      name, although she liked my grandmother. But I am glad you like both my
+      name and me. I was afraid you would not like me because I cannot speak.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You can speak through your music, Kilmeny.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She looked pleased. &ldquo;How well you understand,&rdquo; she wrote. &ldquo;Yes, I cannot
+      speak or sing as other people can, but I can make my violin say things for
+      me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do you compose your own music?&rdquo; he asked. But he saw she did not
+      understand him. &ldquo;I mean, did any one ever teach you the music you played
+      here that evening?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, no. It just came as I thought. It has always been that way. When I
+      was very little Neil taught me to hold the violin and the bow, and the
+      rest all came of itself. My violin once belonged to Neil, but he gave it
+      to me. Neil is very good and kind to me, but I like you better. Tell me
+      about yourself.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The wonder of her grew upon him with every passing moment. How lovely she
+      was! What dear little ways and gestures she had&mdash;ways and gestures as
+      artless and unstudied as they were effective. And how strangely little her
+      dumbness seemed to matter after all! She wrote so quickly and easily, her
+      eyes and smile gave such expression to her mobile face, that voice was
+      hardly missed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      They lingered in the orchard until the long, languid shadows of the trees
+      crept to their feet. It was just after sunset and the distant hills were
+      purple against the melting saffron of the sky in the west and the
+      crystalline blue of the sky in the south. Eastward, just over the fir
+      woods, were clouds, white and high heaped like snow mountains, and the
+      westernmost of them shone with a rosy glow as of sunset on an Alpine
+      height.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The higher worlds of air were still full of light&mdash;perfect, stainless
+      light, unmarred of earth shadow; but down in the orchard and under the
+      spruces the light had almost gone, giving place to a green, dewy dusk,
+      made passionately sweet with the breath of the apple blossoms and mint,
+      and the balsamic odours that rained down upon them from the firs.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Eric told her of his life, and the life in the great outer world, in which
+      she was girlishly and eagerly interested. She asked him many questions
+      about it&mdash;direct and incisive questions which showed that she had
+      already formed decided opinions and views about it. Yet it was plain to be
+      seen that she did not regard it as anything she might ever share herself.
+      Hers was the dispassionate interest with which she might have listened to
+      a tale of the land of fairy or of some great empire long passed away from
+      earth.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Eric discovered that she had read a great deal of poetry and history, and
+      a few books of biography and travel. She did not know what a novel meant
+      and had never heard of one. Curiously enough, she was well informed
+      regarding politics and current events, from the weekly paper for which her
+      uncle subscribed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I never read the newspaper while mother was alive,&rdquo; she wrote, &ldquo;nor any
+      poetry either. She taught me to read and write and I read the Bible all
+      through many times and some of the histories. After mother died Aunt Janet
+      gave me all her books. She had a great many. Most of them had been given
+      to her as prizes when she was a girl at school, and some of them had been
+      given to her by my father. Do you know the story of my father and mother?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Eric nodded.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, Mrs. Williamson told me all about it. She was a friend of your
+      mother.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am glad you have heard it. It is so sad that I would not like to tell
+      it, but you will understand everything better because you know. I never
+      heard it until just before mother died. Then she told me all. I think she
+      had thought father was to blame for the trouble; but before she died she
+      told me she believed that she had been unjust to him and that he had not
+      known. She said that when people were dying they saw things more clearly
+      and she saw she had made a mistake about father. She said she had many
+      more things she wanted to tell me, but she did not have time to tell them
+      because she died that night. It was a long while before I had the heart to
+      read her books. But when I did I thought them so beautiful. They were
+      poetry and it was like music put into words.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I will bring you some books to read, if you would like them,&rdquo; said Eric.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Her great blue eyes gleamed with interest and delight.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, thank you, I would like it very much. I have read mine over so often
+      that I know them nearly all by heart. One cannot get tired of really
+      beautiful things, but sometimes I feel that I would like some new books.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Are you never lonely, Kilmeny?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, no, how could I be? There is always plenty for me to do, helping Aunt
+      Janet about the house. I can do a great many things&rdquo;&mdash;she glanced up
+      at him with a pretty pride as her flying pencil traced the words. &ldquo;I can
+      cook and sew. Aunt Janet says I am a very good housekeeper, and she does
+      not praise people very often or very much. And then, when I am not helping
+      her, I have my dear, dear violin. That is all the company I want. But I
+      like to read and hear of the big world so far away and the people who live
+      there and the things that are done. It must be a very wonderful place.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wouldn&rsquo;t you like to go out into it and see its wonders and meet those
+      people yourself?&rdquo; he asked, smiling at her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At once he saw that, in some way he could not understand, he had hurt her.
+      She snatched her pencil and wrote, with such swiftness of motion and
+      energy of expression that it almost seemed as if she had passionately
+      exclaimed the words aloud,
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, no, no. I do not want to go anywhere away from home. I do not want
+      ever to see strangers or have them see me. I could not bear it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He thought that possibly the consciousness of her defect accounted for
+      this. Yet she did not seem sensitive about her dumbness and made frequent
+      casual references to it in her written remarks. Or perhaps it was the
+      shadow on her birth. Yet she was so innocent that it seemed unlikely she
+      could realize or understand the existence of such a shadow. Eric finally
+      decided that it was merely the rather morbid shrinking of a sensitive
+      child who had been brought up in an unwholesome and unnatural way. At last
+      the lengthening shadows warned him that it was time to go.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You won&rsquo;t forget to come to-morrow evening and play for me,&rdquo; he said,
+      rising reluctantly. She answered by a quick little shake of her sleek,
+      dark head, and a smile that was eloquent. He watched her as she walked
+      across the orchard,
+    </p>
+<pre xml:space="preserve">
+    &ldquo;With the moon&rsquo;s beauty and the moon&rsquo;s soft pace,&rdquo;
+ </pre>
+    <p>
+      and along the wild cherry lane. At the corner of the firs she paused and
+      waved her hand to him before turning it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When Eric reached home old Robert Williamson was having a lunch of bread
+      and milk in the kitchen. He looked up, with a friendly grin, as Eric
+      strode in, whistling.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Been having a walk, Master?&rdquo; he queried.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; said Eric.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Unconsciously and involuntarily he infused so much triumph into the simple
+      monosyllable that even old Robert felt it. Mrs. Williamson, who was
+      cutting bread at the end of the table, laid down her knife and loaf, and
+      looked at the young man with a softly troubled expression in her eyes. She
+      wondered if he had been back to the Connors orchard&mdash;and if he could
+      have seen Kilmeny Gordon again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You didn&rsquo;t discover a gold mine, I s&rsquo;pose?&rdquo; said old Robert dryly. &ldquo;You
+      look as if you might have.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0008" id="link2HCH0008">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER VIII. AT THE GATE OF EDEN
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      When Eric went to the old Connors orchard the next evening he found
+      Kilmeny waiting for him on the bench under the white lilac tree, with the
+      violin in her lap. As soon as she saw him she caught it up and began to
+      play an airy delicate little melody that sounded like the laughter of
+      daisies.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When it was finished she dropped her bow, and looked up at him with
+      flushed cheeks and questioning eyes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What did that say to you?&rdquo; she wrote.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It said something like this,&rdquo; answered Eric, falling into her humour
+      smilingly. &ldquo;Welcome, my friend. It is a very beautiful evening. The sky is
+      so blue and the apple blossoms so sweet. The wind and I have been here
+      alone together and the wind is a good companion, but still I am glad to
+      see you. It is an evening on which it is good to be alive and to wander in
+      an orchard that is fine and white. Welcome, my friend.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She clapped her hands, looking like a pleased child.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You are very quick to understand,&rdquo; she wrote. &ldquo;That was just what I
+      meant. Of course I did not think it in just those words, but that was the
+      FEELING of it. I felt that I was so glad I was alive, and that the apple
+      blossoms and the white lilacs and the trees and I were all pleased
+      together to see you come. You are quicker than Neil. He is almost always
+      puzzled to understand my music, and I am puzzled to understand his.
+      Sometimes it frightens me. It seems as if there were something in it
+      trying to take hold of me&mdash;something I do not like and want to run
+      away from.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Somehow Eric did not like her references to Neil. The idea of that
+      handsome, low-born boy seeing Kilmeny every day, talking to her, sitting
+      at the same table with her, dwelling under the same roof, meeting her in
+      the hundred intimacies of daily life, was distasteful to him. He put the
+      thought away from him, and flung himself down on the long grass at her
+      feet.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Now play for me, please,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;I want to lie here and listen to
+      you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And look at you,&rdquo; he might have added. He could not tell which was the
+      greater pleasure. Her beauty, more wonderful than any pictured loveliness
+      he had ever seen, delighted him. Every tint and curve and outline of her
+      face was flawless. Her music enthralled him. This child, he told himself
+      as he listened, had genius. But it was being wholly wasted. He found
+      himself thinking resentfully of the people who were her guardians, and who
+      were responsible for her strange life. They had done her a great and
+      irremediable wrong. How dared they doom her to such an existence? If her
+      defect of utterance had been attended to in time, who knew but that it
+      might have been cured? Now it was probably too late. Nature had given her
+      a royal birthright of beauty and talent, but their selfish and
+      unpardonable neglect had made it of no account.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      What divine music she lured out of the old violin&mdash;merry and sad, gay
+      and sorrowful by turns, music such as the stars of morning might have made
+      singing together, music that the fairies might have danced to in their
+      revels among the green hills or on yellow sands, music that might have
+      mourned over the grave of a dead hope. Then she drifted into a still
+      sweeter strain. As he listened to it he realized that the whole soul and
+      nature of the girl were revealing themselves to him through her music&mdash;the
+      beauty and purity of her thoughts, her childhood dreams and her maiden
+      reveries. There was no thought of concealment about her; she could not
+      help the revelation she was unconscious of making.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At last she laid her violin aside and wrote,
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I have done my best to give you pleasure. It is your turn now. Do you
+      remember a promise you made me last night? Have you kept it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He gave her the two books he had brought for her&mdash;a modern novel and
+      a volume of poetry unknown to her. He had hesitated a little over the
+      former; but the book was so fine and full of beauty that he thought it
+      could not bruise the bloom of her innocence ever so slightly. He had no
+      doubts about the poetry. It was the utterance of one of those great
+      inspired souls whose passing tread has made the kingdom of their birth and
+      labour a veritable Holy Land.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He read her some of the poems. Then he talked to her of his college days
+      and friends. The minutes passed very swiftly. There was just then no world
+      for him outside of that old orchard with its falling blossoms and its
+      shadows and its crooning winds.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Once, when he told her the story of some college pranks wherein the
+      endless feuds of freshmen and sophomores figured, she clapped her hands
+      together according to her habit, and laughed aloud&mdash;a clear, musical,
+      silvery peal. It fell on Eric&rsquo;s ear with a shock of surprise. He thought
+      it strange that she could laugh like that when she could not speak.
+      Wherein lay the defect that closed for her the gates of speech? Was it
+      possible that it could be removed?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Kilmeny,&rdquo; he said gravely after a moment&rsquo;s reflection, during which he
+      had looked up as she sat with the ruddy sunlight falling through the lilac
+      branches on her bare, silky head like a shower of red jewels, &ldquo;do you mind
+      if I ask you something about your inability to speak? Will it hurt you to
+      talk of the matter with me?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She shook her head.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, no,&rdquo; she wrote, &ldquo;I do not mind at all. Of course I am sorry I cannot
+      speak, but I am quite used to the thought and it never hurts me at all.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then, Kilmeny, tell me this. Do you know why it is that you are unable to
+      speak, when all your other faculties are so perfect?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, I do not know at all why I cannot speak. I asked mother once and she
+      told me it was a judgment on her for a great sin she had committed, and
+      she looked so strangely that I was frightened, and I never spoke of it to
+      her or anyone else again.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Were you ever taken to a doctor to have your tongue and organs of speech
+      examined?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No. I remember when I was a very little girl that Uncle Thomas wanted to
+      take me to a doctor in Charlottetown and see if anything could be done for
+      me, but mother would not let him. She said it would be no use. And I do
+      not think Uncle Thomas thought it would be, either.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You can laugh very naturally. Can you make any other sound?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, sometimes. When I am pleased or frightened I have made little cries.
+      But it is only when I am not thinking of it at all that I can do that. If
+      I TRY to make a sound I cannot do it at all.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      This seemed to Eric more mysterious than ever.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do you ever try to speak&mdash;to utter words?&rdquo; he persisted.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh yes, very often. All the time I am saying the words in my head, just
+      as I hear other people saying them, but I never can make my tongue say
+      them. Do not look so sorry, my friend. I am very happy and I do not mind
+      so very much not being able to speak&mdash;only sometimes when I have so
+      many thoughts and it seems so slow to write them out, some of them get
+      away from me. I must play to you again. You look too sober.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She laughed again, picked up her violin, and played a tinkling, roguish
+      little melody as if she were trying to tease him, looking at Eric over her
+      violin with luminous eyes that dared him to be merry.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Eric smiled; but the puzzled look returned to his face many times that
+      evening. He walked home in a brown study. Kilmeny&rsquo;s case certainly seemed
+      a strange one, and the more he thought of it the stranger it seemed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It strikes me as something very peculiar that she should be able to make
+      sounds only when she is not thinking about it,&rdquo; he reflected. &ldquo;I wish
+      David Baker could examine her. But I suppose that is out of the question.
+      That grim pair who have charge of her would never consent.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0009" id="link2HCH0009">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER IX. THE STRAIGHT SIMPLICITY OF EVE
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      For the next three weeks Eric Marshall seemed to himself to be living two
+      lives, as distinct from each other as if he possessed a double
+      personality. In one, he taught the Lindsay district school diligently and
+      painstakingly; solved problems; argued on theology with Robert Williamson;
+      called at the homes of his pupils and took tea in state with their
+      parents; went to a rustic dance or two and played havoc, all unwittingly,
+      with the hearts of the Lindsay maidens.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But this life was a dream of workaday. He only LIVED in the other, which
+      was spent in an old orchard, grassy and overgrown, where the minutes
+      seemed to lag for sheer love of the spot and the June winds made wild
+      harping in the old spruces.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Here every evening he met Kilmeny; in that old orchard they garnered hours
+      of quiet happiness together; together they went wandering in the fair
+      fields of old romance; together they read many books and talked of many
+      things; and, when they were tired of all else, Kilmeny played to him and
+      the old orchard echoed with her lovely, fantastic melodies.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At every meeting her beauty came home afresh to him with the old thrill of
+      glad surprise. In the intervals of absence it seemed to him that she could
+      not possibly be as beautiful as he remembered her; and then when they met
+      she seemed even more so. He learned to watch for the undisguised light of
+      welcome that always leaped into her eyes at the sound of his footsteps.
+      She was nearly always there before him and she always showed that she was
+      glad to see him with the frank delight of a child watching for a dear
+      comrade.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She was never in the same mood twice. Now she was grave, now gay, now
+      stately, now pensive. But she was always charming. Thrawn and twisted the
+      old Gordon stock might be, but it had at least this one offshoot of
+      perfect grace and symmetry. Her mind and heart, utterly unspoiled of the
+      world, were as beautiful as her face. All the ugliness of existence had
+      passed her by, shrined in her double solitude of upbringing and muteness.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She was naturally quick and clever. Delightful little flashes of wit and
+      humour sparkled out occasionally. She could be whimsical&mdash;even
+      charmingly capricious. Sometimes innocent mischief glimmered out in the
+      unfathomable deeps of her blue eyes. Sarcasm, even, was not unknown to
+      her. Now and then she punctured some harmless bubble of a young man&rsquo;s
+      conceit or masculine superiority with a biting little line of daintily
+      written script.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She assimilated the ideas in the books they read, speedily, eagerly, and
+      thoroughly, always seizing on the best and truest, and rejecting the false
+      and spurious and weak with an unfailing intuition at which Eric marvelled.
+      Hers was the spear of Ithuriel, trying out the dross of everything and
+      leaving only the pure gold.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In manner and outlook she was still a child. Yet now and again she was as
+      old as Eve. An expression would leap into her laughing face, a subtle
+      meaning reveal itself in her smile, that held all the lore of womanhood
+      and all the wisdom of the ages.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Her way of smiling enchanted him. The smile always began far down in her
+      eyes and flowed outward to her face like a sparkling brook stealing out of
+      shadow into sunshine.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He knew everything about her life. She told him her simple history freely.
+      She often mentioned her uncle and aunt and seemed to regard them with deep
+      affection. She rarely spoke of her mother. Eric came somehow to
+      understand, less from what she said than from what she did not say, that
+      Kilmeny, though she had loved her mother, had always been rather afraid of
+      her. There had not been between them the natural beautiful confidence of
+      mother and child.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Of Neil, she wrote frequently at first, and seemed very fond of him. Later
+      she ceased to mention him. Perhaps&mdash;for she was marvellously quick to
+      catch and interpret every fleeting change of expression in his voice and
+      face&mdash;she discerned what Eric did not know himself&mdash;that his
+      eyes clouded and grew moody at the mention of Neil&rsquo;s name.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Once she asked him naively,
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Are there many people like you out in the world?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thousands of them,&rdquo; said Eric, laughing.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She looked gravely at him. Then she gave her head a quick decided little
+      shake.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I do not think so,&rdquo; she wrote. &ldquo;I do not know much of the world, but I do
+      not think there are many people like you in it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      One evening, when the far-away hills and fields were scarfed in gauzy
+      purples, and the intervales were brimming with golden mists, Eric carried
+      to the old orchard a little limp, worn volume that held a love story. It
+      was the first thing of the kind he had ever read to her, for in the first
+      novel he had lent her the love interest had been very slight and
+      subordinate. This was a beautiful, passionate idyl exquisitely told.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He read it to her, lying in the grass at her feet; she listened with her
+      hands clasped over her knee and her eyes cast down. It was not a long
+      story; and when he had finished it he shut the book and looked up at her
+      questioningly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do you like it, Kilmeny?&rdquo; he asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Very slowly she took her slate and wrote,
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, I like it. But it hurt me, too. I did not know that a person could
+      like anything that hurt her. I do not know why it hurt me. I felt as if I
+      had lost something that I never had. That was a very silly feeling, was it
+      not? But I did not understand the book very well, you see. It is about
+      love and I do not know anything about love. Mother told me once that love
+      is a curse, and that I must pray that it would never enter into my life.
+      She said it very earnestly, and so I believed her. But your book teaches
+      that it is a blessing. It says that it is the most splendid and wonderful
+      thing in life. Which am I to believe?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Love&mdash;real love&mdash;is never a curse, Kilmeny,&rdquo; said Eric gravely.
+      &ldquo;There is a false love which IS a curse. Perhaps your mother believed it
+      was that which had entered her life and ruined it; and so she made the
+      mistake. There is nothing in the world&mdash;or in heaven either, as I
+      believe&mdash;so truly beautiful and wonderful and blessed as love.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Have you ever loved?&rdquo; asked Kilmeny, with the directness of phrasing
+      necessitated by her mode of communication which was sometimes a little
+      terrible. She asked the question simply and without embarrassment. She
+      knew of no reason why love might not be discussed with Eric as other
+      matters&mdash;music and books and travel&mdash;might be.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No,&rdquo; said Eric&mdash;honestly, as he thought, &ldquo;but every one has an ideal
+      of love whom he hopes to meet some day&mdash;&lsquo;the ideal woman of a young
+      man&rsquo;s dream.&rsquo; I suppose I have mine, in some sealed, secret chamber of my
+      heart.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I suppose your ideal woman would be beautiful, like the woman in your
+      book?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, yes, I am sure I could never care for an ugly woman,&rdquo; said Eric,
+      laughing a little as he sat up. &ldquo;Our ideals are always beautiful, whether
+      they so translate themselves into realities or not. But the sun is going
+      down. Time does certainly fly in this enchanted orchard. I believe you
+      bewitch the moments away, Kilmeny. Your namesake of the poem was a
+      somewhat uncanny maid, if I recollect aright, and thought as little of
+      seven years in elfland as ordinary folk do of half an hour on upper earth.
+      Some day I shall waken from a supposed hour&rsquo;s lingering here and find
+      myself an old man with white hair and ragged coat, as in that fairy tale
+      we read the other night. Will you let me give you this book? I should
+      never commit the sacrilege of reading it in any other place than this. It
+      is an old book, Kilmeny. A new book, savouring of the shop and
+      market-place, however beautiful it might be, would not do for you. This
+      was one of my mother&rsquo;s books. She read it and loved it. See&mdash;the
+      faded rose leaves she placed in it one day are there still. I&rsquo;ll write
+      your name in it&mdash;that quaint, pretty name of yours which always
+      sounds as if it had been specially invented for you&mdash;&lsquo;Kilmeny of the
+      Orchard&rsquo;&mdash;and the date of this perfect June day on which we read it
+      together. Then when you look at it you will always remember me, and the
+      white buds opening on that rosebush beside you, and the rush and murmur of
+      the wind in the tops of those old spruces.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He held out the book to her, but, to his surprise, she shook her head,
+      with a deeper flush on her face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Won&rsquo;t you take the book, Kilmeny? Why not?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She took her pencil and wrote slowly, unlike her usual quick movement.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do not be offended with me. I shall not need anything to make me remember
+      you because I can never forget you. But I would rather not take the book.
+      I do not want to read it again. It is about love, and there is no use in
+      my learning about love, even if it is all you say. Nobody will ever love
+      me. I am too ugly.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You! Ugly!&rdquo; exclaimed Eric. He was on the point of going off into a peal
+      of laughter at the idea when a glimpse of her half averted face sobered
+      him. On it was a hurt, bitter look, such as he remembered seeing once
+      before, when he had asked her if she would not like to see the world for
+      herself.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Kilmeny,&rdquo; he said in astonishment, &ldquo;you don&rsquo;t really think yourself ugly,
+      do you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She nodded, without looking at him, and then wrote,
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, yes, I know that I am. I have known it for a long time. Mother told
+      me that I was very ugly and that nobody would ever like to look at me. I
+      am sorry. It hurts me much worse to know I am ugly than it does to know I
+      cannot speak. I suppose you will think that is very foolish of me, but it
+      is true. That was why I did not come back to the orchard for such a long
+      time, even after I had got over my fright. I hated to think that YOU would
+      think me ugly. And that is why I do not want to go out into the world and
+      meet people. They would look at me as the egg peddler did one day when I
+      went out with Aunt Janet to his wagon the spring after mother died. He
+      stared at me so. I knew it was because he thought me so ugly, and I have
+      always hidden when he came ever since.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Eric&rsquo;s lips twitched. In spite of his pity for the real suffering
+      displayed in her eyes, he could not help feeling amused over the absurd
+      idea of this beautiful girl believing herself in all seriousness to be
+      ugly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But, Kilmeny, do you think yourself ugly when you look in a mirror?&rdquo; he
+      asked smiling.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I have never looked in a mirror,&rdquo; she wrote. &ldquo;I never knew there was such
+      a thing until after mother died, and I read about it in a book. Then I
+      asked Aunt Janet and she said mother had broken all the looking glasses in
+      the house when I was a baby. But I have seen my face reflected in the
+      spoons, and in a little silver sugar bowl Aunt Janet has. And it IS ugly&mdash;very
+      ugly.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Eric&rsquo;s face went down into the grass. For his life he could not help
+      laughing; and for his life he would not let Kilmeny see him laughing. A
+      certain little whimsical wish took possession of him and he did not hasten
+      to tell her the truth, as had been his first impulse. Instead, when he
+      dared to look up he said slowly,
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don&rsquo;t think you are ugly, Kilmeny.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, but I am sure you must,&rdquo; she wrote protestingly. &ldquo;Even Neil does. He
+      tells me I am kind and nice, but one day I asked him if he thought me very
+      ugly, and he looked away and would not speak, so I knew what he thought
+      about it, too. Do not let us speak of this again. It makes me feel sorry
+      and spoils everything. I forget it at other times. Let me play you some
+      good-bye music, and do not feel vexed because I would not take your book.
+      It would only make me unhappy to read it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am not vexed,&rdquo; said Eric, &ldquo;and I think you will take it some day yet&mdash;after
+      I have shown you something I want you to see. Never mind about your looks,
+      Kilmeny. Beauty isn&rsquo;t everything.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, it is a great deal,&rdquo; she wrote naively. &ldquo;But you do like me, even
+      though I am so ugly, don&rsquo;t you? You like me because of my beautiful music,
+      don&rsquo;t you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I like you very much, Kilmeny,&rdquo; answered Eric, laughing a little; but
+      there was in his voice a tender note of which he was unconscious. Kilmeny
+      was aware of it, however, and she picked up her violin with a pleased
+      smile.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He left her playing there, and all the way through the dim resinous spruce
+      wood her music followed him like an invisible guardian spirit.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Kilmeny the Beautiful!&rdquo; he murmured, &ldquo;and yet, good heavens, the child
+      thinks she is ugly&mdash;she with a face more lovely than ever an artist
+      dreamed of! A girl of eighteen who has never looked in a mirror! I wonder
+      if there is another such in any civilized country in the world. What could
+      have possessed her mother to tell her such a falsehood? I wonder if
+      Margaret Gordon could have been quite sane. It is strange that Neil has
+      never told her the truth. Perhaps he doesn&rsquo;t want her to find out.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Eric had met Neil Gordon a few evenings before this, at a country dance
+      where Neil had played the violin for the dancers. Influenced by curiosity
+      he had sought the lad&rsquo;s acquaintance. Neil was friendly and talkative at
+      first; but at the first hint concerning the Gordons which Eric threw out
+      skilfully his face and manner changed. He looked secretive and suspicious,
+      almost sinister. A sullen look crept into his big black eyes and he drew
+      his bow across the violin strings with a discordant screech, as if to
+      terminate the conversation. Plainly nothing was to be found out from him
+      about Kilmeny and her grim guardians.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0010" id="link2HCH0010">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER X. A TROUBLING OF THE WATERS
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      One evening in late June Mrs. Williamson was sitting by her kitchen
+      window. Her knitting lay unheeded in her lap, and Timothy, though he
+      nestled ingratiatingly against her foot as he lay on the rug and purred
+      his loudest, was unregarded. She rested her face on her hand and looked
+      out of the window, across the distant harbour, with troubled eyes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I guess I must speak,&rdquo; she thought wistfully. &ldquo;I hate to do it. I always
+      did hate meddling. My mother always used to say that ninety-nine times out
+      of a hundred the last state of a meddler and them she meddled with was
+      worse than the first. But I guess it&rsquo;s my duty. I was Margaret&rsquo;s friend,
+      and it is my duty to protect her child any way I can. If the Master does
+      go back across there to meet her I must tell him what I think about it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Overhead in his room, Eric was walking about whistling. Presently he came
+      downstairs, thinking of the orchard, and the girl who would be waiting for
+      him there.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      As he crossed the little front entry he heard Mrs. Williamson&rsquo;s voice
+      calling to him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mr. Marshall, will you please come here a moment?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He went out to the kitchen. Mrs. Williamson looked at him deprecatingly.
+      There was a flush on her faded cheek and her voice trembled.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mr. Marshall, I want to ask you a question. Perhaps you will think it
+      isn&rsquo;t any of my business. But it isn&rsquo;t because I want to meddle. No, no.
+      It is only because I think I ought to speak. I have thought it over for a
+      long time, and it seems to me that I ought to speak. I hope you won&rsquo;t be
+      angry, but even if you are I must say what I have to say. Are you going
+      back to the old Connors orchard to meet Kilmeny Gordon?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      For a moment an angry flush burned in Eric&rsquo;s face. It was more Mrs.
+      Williamson&rsquo;s tone than her words which startled and annoyed him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, I am, Mrs. Williamson,&rdquo; he said coldly. &ldquo;What of it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then, sir,&rdquo; said Mrs. Williamson with more firmness, &ldquo;I have got to tell
+      you that I don&rsquo;t think you are doing right. I have been suspecting all
+      along that that was where you went every evening, but I haven&rsquo;t said a
+      word to any one about it. Even my husband doesn&rsquo;t know. But tell me this,
+      Master. Do Kilmeny&rsquo;s uncle and aunt know that you are meeting her there?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why,&rdquo; said Eric, in some confusion, &ldquo;I&mdash;I do not know whether they
+      do or not. But Mrs. Williamson, surely you do not suspect me of meaning
+      any harm or wrong to Kilmeny Gordon?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, I don&rsquo;t, Master. I might think it of some men, but never of you. I
+      don&rsquo;t for a minute think that you would do her or any woman any wilful
+      wrong. But you may do her great harm for all that. I want you to stop and
+      think about it. I guess you haven&rsquo;t thought. Kilmeny can&rsquo;t know anything
+      about the world or about men, and she may get to thinking too much of you.
+      That might break her heart, because you couldn&rsquo;t ever marry a dumb girl
+      like her. So I don&rsquo;t think you ought to be meeting her so often in this
+      fashion. It isn&rsquo;t right, Master. Don&rsquo;t go to the orchard again.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Without a word Eric turned away, and went upstairs to his room. Mrs.
+      Williamson picked up her knitting with a sigh.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That&rsquo;s done, Timothy, and I&rsquo;m real thankful,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;I guess there&rsquo;ll
+      be no need of saying anything more. Mr. Marshall is a fine young man, only
+      a little thoughtless. Now that he&rsquo;s got his eyes opened I&rsquo;m sure he&rsquo;ll do
+      what is right. I don&rsquo;t want Margaret&rsquo;s child made unhappy.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Her husband came to the kitchen door and sat down on the steps to enjoy
+      his evening smoke, talking between whiffs to his wife of Elder Tracy&rsquo;s
+      church row, and Mary Alice Martin&rsquo;s beau, the price Jake Crosby was giving
+      for eggs, the quantity of hay yielded by the hill meadow, the trouble he
+      was having with old Molly&rsquo;s calf, and the respective merits of Plymouth
+      Rock and Brahma roosters. Mrs. Williamson answered at random, and heard
+      not one word in ten.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What&rsquo;s got the Master, Mother?&rdquo; inquired old Robert, presently. &ldquo;I hear
+      him striding up and down in his room &lsquo;sif he was caged. Sure you didn&rsquo;t
+      lock him in by mistake?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Maybe he&rsquo;s worried over the way Seth Tracy&rsquo;s acting in school,&rdquo; suggested
+      Mrs. Williamson, who did not choose that her gossipy husband should
+      suspect the truth about Eric and Kilmeny Gordon.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Shucks, he needn&rsquo;t worry a morsel over that. Seth&rsquo;ll quiet down as soon
+      as he finds he can&rsquo;t run the Master. He&rsquo;s a rare good teacher&mdash;better&rsquo;n
+      Mr. West was even, and that&rsquo;s saying something. The trustees are hoping
+      he&rsquo;ll stay for another term. They&rsquo;re going to ask him at the school
+      meeting to-morrow, and offer him a raise of supplement.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Upstairs, in his little room under the eaves, Eric Marshall was in the
+      grip of the most intense and overwhelming emotion he had ever experienced.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Up and down, to and fro, he walked, with set lips and clenched hands. When
+      he was wearied out he flung himself on a chair by the window and wrestled
+      with the flood of feeling.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mrs. Williamson&rsquo;s words had torn away the delusive veil with which he had
+      bound his eyes. He was face to face with the knowledge that he loved
+      Kilmeny Gordon with the love that comes but once, and is for all time. He
+      wondered how he could have been so long blind to it. He knew that he must
+      have loved her ever since their first meeting that May evening in the old
+      orchard.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And he knew that he must choose between two alternatives&mdash;either he
+      must never go to the orchard again, or he must go as an avowed lover to
+      woo him a wife.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Worldly prudence, his inheritance from a long line of thrifty, cool-headed
+      ancestors, was strong in Eric, and he did not yield easily or speedily to
+      the dictates of his passion. All night he struggled against the new
+      emotions that threatened to sweep away the &ldquo;common sense&rdquo; which David
+      Baker had bade him take with him when he went a-wooing. Would not a
+      marriage with Kilmeny Gordon be an unwise thing from any standpoint?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then something stronger and greater and more vital than wisdom or unwisdom
+      rose up in him and mastered him. Kilmeny, beautiful, dumb Kilmeny was, as
+      he had once involuntarily thought, &ldquo;the one maid&rdquo; for him. Nothing should
+      part them. The mere idea of never seeing her again was so unbearable that
+      he laughed at himself for having counted it a possible alternative.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If I can win Kilmeny&rsquo;s love I shall ask her to be my wife,&rdquo; he said,
+      looking out of the window to the dark, southwestern hill beyond which lay
+      his orchard.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The velvet sky over it was still starry; but the water of the harbour was
+      beginning to grow silvery in the reflection of the dawn that was breaking
+      in the east.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Her misfortune will only make her dearer to me. I cannot realize that a
+      month ago I did not know her. It seems to me that she has been a part of
+      my life for ever. I wonder if she was grieved that I did not go to the
+      orchard last night&mdash;if she waited for me. If she does, she does not
+      know it herself yet. It will be my sweet task to teach her what love
+      means, and no man has ever had a lovelier, purer, pupil.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      At the annual school meeting, the next afternoon, the trustees asked Eric
+      to take the Lindsay school for the following year. He consented
+      unhesitatingly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      That evening he went to Mrs. Williamson, as she washed her tea dishes in
+      the kitchen.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mrs. Williamson, I am going back to the old Connors orchard to see
+      Kilmeny again to-night.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She looked at him reproachfully.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, Master, I have no more to say. I suppose it wouldn&rsquo;t be of any use
+      if I had. But you know what I think of it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I intend to marry Kilmeny Gordon if I can win her.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      An expression of amazement came into the good woman&rsquo;s face. She looked
+      scrutinizingly at the firm mouth and steady gray eyes for a moment. Then
+      she said in a troubled voice,
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do you think that is wise, Master? I suppose Kilmeny is pretty; the egg
+      peddler told me she was; and no doubt she is a good, nice girl. But she
+      wouldn&rsquo;t be a suitable wife for you&mdash;a girl that can&rsquo;t speak.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That doesn&rsquo;t make any difference to me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But what will your people say?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I have no &lsquo;people&rsquo; except my father. When he sees Kilmeny he will
+      understand. She is all the world to me, Mrs. Williamson.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;As long as you believe that there is nothing more to be said,&rdquo; was the
+      quiet answer, &ldquo;I&rsquo;d be a little bit afraid if I was you, though. But young
+      people never think of those things.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My only fear is that she won&rsquo;t care for me,&rdquo; said Eric soberly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mrs. Williamson surveyed the handsome, broad-shouldered young man
+      shrewdly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don&rsquo;t think there are many women would say you &lsquo;no&rsquo;, Master. I wish you
+      well in your wooing, though I can&rsquo;t help thinking you&rsquo;re doing a daft-like
+      thing. I hope you won&rsquo;t have any trouble with Thomas and Janet. They are
+      so different from other folks there is no knowing. But take my advice,
+      Master, and go and see them about it right off. Don&rsquo;t go on meeting
+      Kilmeny unbeknownst to them.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I shall certainly take your advice,&rdquo; said Eric, gravely. &ldquo;I should have
+      gone to them before. It was merely thoughtlessness on my part. Possibly
+      they do know already. Kilmeny may have told them.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mrs. Williamson shook her head decidedly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, no, Master, she hasn&rsquo;t. They&rsquo;d never have let her go on meeting you
+      there if they had known. I know them too well to think of that for a
+      moment. Go you straight to them and say to them just what you have said to
+      me. That is your best plan, Master. And take care of Neil. People say he
+      has a notion of Kilmeny himself. He&rsquo;ll do you a bad turn if he can, I&rsquo;ve
+      no doubt. Them foreigners can&rsquo;t be trusted&mdash;and he&rsquo;s just as much a
+      foreigner as his parents before him&mdash;though he HAS been brought up on
+      oatmeal and the shorter catechism, as the old saying has it. I feel that
+      somehow&mdash;I always feel it when I look at him singing in the choir.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, I am not afraid of Neil,&rdquo; said Eric carelessly. &ldquo;He couldn&rsquo;t help
+      loving Kilmeny&mdash;nobody could.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I suppose every young man thinks that about his girl&mdash;if he&rsquo;s the
+      right sort of young man,&rdquo; said Mrs. Williamson with a little sigh.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She watched Eric out of sight anxiously.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I hope it&rsquo;ll all come out right,&rdquo; she thought. &ldquo;I hope he ain&rsquo;t making an
+      awful mistake&mdash;but&mdash;I&rsquo;m afraid. Kilmeny must be very pretty to
+      have bewitched him so. Well, I suppose there is no use in my worrying over
+      it. But I do wish he had never gone back to that old orchard and seen
+      her.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0011" id="link2HCH0011">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XI. A LOVER AND HIS LASS
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      Kilmeny was in the orchard when Eric reached it, and he lingered for a
+      moment in the shadow of the spruce wood to dream over her beauty.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The orchard had lately overflowed in waves of old-fashioned caraway, and
+      she was standing in the midst of its sea of bloom, with the lace-like
+      blossoms swaying around her in the wind. She wore the simple dress of pale
+      blue print in which he had first seen her; silk attire could not better
+      have become her loveliness. She had woven herself a chaplet of half open
+      white rosebuds and placed it on her dark hair, where the delicate blossoms
+      seemed less wonderful than her face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When Eric stepped through the gap she ran to meet him with outstretched
+      hands, smiling. He took her hands and looked into her eyes with an
+      expression before which hers for the first time faltered. She looked down,
+      and a warm blush strained the ivory curves of her cheek and throat. His
+      heart bounded, for in that blush he recognized the banner of love&rsquo;s
+      vanguard.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Are you glad to see me, Kilmeny?&rdquo; he asked, in a low significant tone.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She nodded, and wrote in a somewhat embarrassed fashion,
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes. Why do you ask? You know I am always glad to see you. I was afraid
+      you would not come. You did not come last night and I was so sorry.
+      Nothing in the orchard seemed nice any longer. I couldn&rsquo;t even play. I
+      tried to, and my violin only cried. I waited until it was dark and then I
+      went home.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am sorry you were disappointed, Kilmeny. I couldn&rsquo;t come last night.
+      Some day I shall tell you why. I stayed home to learn a new lesson. I am
+      sorry you missed me&mdash;no, I am glad. Can you understand how a person
+      may be glad and sorry for the same thing?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She nodded again, with a return of her usual sweet composure.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, I could not have understood once, but I can now. Did you learn your
+      new lesson?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, very thoroughly. It was a delightful lesson when I once understood
+      it. I must try to teach it to you some day. Come over to the old bench,
+      Kilmeny. There is something I want to say to you. But first, will you give
+      me a rose?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She ran to the bush, and, after careful deliberation, selected a perfect
+      half-open bud and brought it to him&mdash;a white bud with a faint,
+      sunrise flush about its golden heart.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thank you. It is as beautiful as&mdash;as a woman I know,&rdquo; Eric said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A wistful look came into her face at his words, and she walked with a
+      drooping head across the orchard to the bench.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Kilmeny,&rdquo; he said, seriously, &ldquo;I am going to ask you to do something for
+      me. I want you to take me home with you and introduce me to your uncle and
+      aunt.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She lifted her head and stared at him incredulously, as if he had asked
+      her to do something wildly impossible. Understanding from his grave face
+      that he meant what he said, a look of dismay dawned in her eyes. She shook
+      her head almost violently and seemed to be making a passionate,
+      instinctive effort to speak. Then she caught up her pencil and wrote with
+      feverish haste:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I cannot do that. Do not ask me to. You do not understand. They would be
+      very angry. They do not want to see any one coming to the house. And they
+      would never let me come here again. Oh, you do not mean it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He pitied her for the pain and bewilderment in her eyes; but he took her
+      slender hands in his and said firmly,
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, Kilmeny, I do mean it. It is not quite right for us to be meeting
+      each other here as we have been doing, without the knowledge and consent
+      of your friends. You cannot now understand this, but&mdash;believe me&mdash;it
+      is so.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She looked questioningly, pityingly into his eyes. What she read there
+      seemed to convince her, for she turned very pale and an expression of
+      hopelessness came into her face. Releasing her hands, she wrote slowly,
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If you say it is wrong I must believe it. I did not know anything so
+      pleasant could be wrong. But if it is wrong we must not meet here any
+      more. Mother told me I must never do anything that was wrong. But I did
+      not know this was wrong.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It was not wrong for you, Kilmeny. But it was a little wrong for me,
+      because I knew better&mdash;or rather, should have known better. I didn&rsquo;t
+      stop to think, as the children say. Some day you will understand fully.
+      Now, you will take me to your uncle and aunt, and after I have said to
+      them what I want to say it will be all right for us to meet here or
+      anywhere.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She shook her head.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No,&rdquo; she wrote, &ldquo;Uncle Thomas and Aunt Janet will tell you to go away and
+      never come back. And they will never let me come here any more. Since it
+      is not right to meet you I will not come, but it is no use to think of
+      going to them. I did not tell them about you because I knew that they
+      would forbid me to see you, but I am sorry, since it is so wrong.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You must take me to them,&rdquo; said Eric firmly. &ldquo;I am quite sure that things
+      will not be as you fear when they hear what I have to say.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Uncomforted, she wrote forlornly,
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I must do it, since you insist, but I am sure it will be no use. I cannot
+      take you to-night because they are away. They went to the store at Radnor.
+      But I will take you to-morrow night; and after that I shall not see you
+      any more.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Two great tears brimmed over in her big blue eyes and splashed down on her
+      slate. Her lips quivered like a hurt child&rsquo;s. Eric put his arm impulsively
+      about her and drew her head down upon his shoulder. As she cried there,
+      softly, miserably, he pressed his lips to the silky black hair with its
+      coronal of rosebuds. He did not see two burning eyes which were looking at
+      him over the old fence behind him with hatred and mad passion blazing in
+      their depths. Neil Gordon was crouched there, with clenched hands and
+      heaving breast, watching them.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Kilmeny, dear, don&rsquo;t cry,&rdquo; said Eric tenderly. &ldquo;You shall see me again. I
+      promise you that, whatever happens. I do not think your uncle and aunt
+      will be as unreasonable as you fear, but even if they are they shall not
+      prevent me from meeting you somehow.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Kilmeny lifted her head, and wiped the tears from her eyes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You do not know what they are like,&rdquo; she wrote. &ldquo;They will lock me into
+      my room. That is the way they always punished me when I was a little girl.
+      And once, not so very long ago, when I was a big girl, they did it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If they do I&rsquo;ll get you out somehow,&rdquo; said Eric, laughing a little.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She allowed herself to smile, but it was a rather forlorn little effort.
+      She did not cry any more, but her spirits did not come back to her. Eric
+      talked gaily, but she only listened in a pensive, absent way, as if she
+      scarcely heard him. When he asked her to play she shook her head.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I cannot think any music to-night,&rdquo; she wrote, &ldquo;I must go home, for my
+      head aches and I feel very stupid.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Very well, Kilmeny. Now, don&rsquo;t worry, little girl. It will all come out
+      all right.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Evidently she did not share his confidence, for her head drooped again as
+      they walked together across the orchard. At the entrance of the wild
+      cherry lane she paused and looked at him half reproachfully, her eyes
+      filling again. She seemed to be bidding him a mute farewell. With an
+      impulse of tenderness which he could not control, Eric put his arm about
+      her and kissed her red, trembling mouth. She started back with a little
+      cry. A burning colour swept over her face, and the next moment she fled
+      swiftly up the darkening lane.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The sweetness of that involuntary kiss clung to Eric&rsquo;s lips as he went
+      homeward, half-intoxicating him. He knew that it had opened the gates of
+      womanhood to Kilmeny. Never again, he felt, would her eyes meet his with
+      their old unclouded frankness. When next he looked into them he knew that
+      he should see there the consciousness of his kiss. Behind her in the
+      orchard that night Kilmeny had left her childhood.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0012" id="link2HCH0012">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XII. A PRISONER OF LOVE
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      When Eric betook himself to the orchard the next evening he had to admit
+      that he felt rather nervous. He did not know how the Gordons would receive
+      him and certainly the reports he had heard of them were not encouraging,
+      to say the least of it. Even Mrs. Williamson, when he had told her where
+      he was going, seemed to look upon him as one bent on bearding a lion in
+      his den.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I do hope they won&rsquo;t be very uncivil to you, Master,&rdquo; was the best she
+      could say.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He expected Kilmeny to be in the orchard before him, for he had been
+      delayed by a call from one of the trustees; but she was nowhere to be
+      seen. He walked across it to the wild cherry lane; but at its entrance he
+      stopped short in sudden dismay.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Neil Gordon had stepped from behind the trees and stood confronting him,
+      with blazing eyes, and lips which writhed in emotion so great that at
+      first it prevented him from speaking.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      With a thrill of dismay Eric instantly understood what must have taken
+      place. Neil had discovered that he and Kilmeny had been meeting in the
+      orchard, and beyond doubt had carried that tale to Janet and Thomas
+      Gordon. He realized how unfortunate it was that this should have happened
+      before he had had time to make his own explanation. It would probably
+      prejudice Kilmeny&rsquo;s guardians still further against him. At this point in
+      his thoughts Neil&rsquo;s pent up passion suddenly found vent in a burst of wild
+      words.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;So you&rsquo;ve come to meet her again. But she isn&rsquo;t here&mdash;you&rsquo;ll never
+      see her again! I hate you&mdash;I hate you&mdash;I hate you!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      His voice rose to a shrill scream. He took a furious step nearer Eric as
+      if he would attack him. Eric looked steadily in his eyes with a calm
+      defiance, before which his wild passion broke like foam on a rock.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;So you have been making trouble for Kilmeny, Neil, have you?&rdquo; said Eric
+      contemptuously. &ldquo;I suppose you have been playing the spy. And I suppose
+      that you have told her uncle and aunt that she has been meeting me here.
+      Well, you have saved me the trouble of doing it, that is all. I was going
+      to tell them myself, tonight. I don&rsquo;t know what your motive in doing this
+      has been. Was it jealousy of me? Or have you done it out of malice to
+      Kilmeny?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      His contempt cowed Neil more effectually than any display of anger could
+      have done.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Never you mind why I did it,&rdquo; he muttered sullenly. &ldquo;What I did or why I
+      did it is no business of yours. And you have no business to come sneaking
+      around here either. Kilmeny won&rsquo;t meet you here again.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;She will meet me in her own home then,&rdquo; said Eric sternly. &ldquo;Neil, in
+      behaving as you have done you have shown yourself to be a very foolish,
+      undisciplined boy. I am going straightway to Kilmeny&rsquo;s uncle and aunt to
+      explain everything.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Neil sprang forward in his path.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No&mdash;no&mdash;go away,&rdquo; he implored wildly. &ldquo;Oh, sir&mdash;oh, Mr.
+      Marshall, please go away. I&rsquo;ll do anything for you if you will. I love
+      Kilmeny. I&rsquo;ve loved her all my life. I&rsquo;d give my life for her. I can&rsquo;t
+      have you coming here to steal her from me. If you do&mdash;I&rsquo;ll kill you!
+      I wanted to kill you last night when I saw you kiss her. Oh, yes, I saw
+      you. I was watching&mdash;spying, if you like. I don&rsquo;t care what you call
+      it. I had followed her&mdash;I suspected something. She was so different&mdash;so
+      changed. She never would wear the flowers I picked for her any more. She
+      seemed to forget I was there. I knew something had come between us. And it
+      was you, curse you! Oh, I&rsquo;ll make you sorry for it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He was working himself up into a fury again&mdash;the untamed fury of the
+      Italian peasant thwarted in his heart&rsquo;s desire. It overrode all the
+      restraint of his training and environment. Eric, amid all his anger and
+      annoyance, felt a thrill of pity for him. Neil Gordon was only a boy
+      still; and he was miserable and beside himself.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Neil, listen to me,&rdquo; he said quietly. &ldquo;You are talking very foolishly. It
+      is not for you to say who shall or shall not be Kilmeny&rsquo;s friend. Now, you
+      may just as well control yourself and go home like a decent fellow. I am
+      not at all frightened by your threats, and I shall know how to deal with
+      you if you persist in interfering with me or persecuting Kilmeny. I am not
+      the sort of person to put up with that, my lad.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The restrained power in his tone and look cowed Neil. The latter turned
+      sullenly away, with another muttered curse, and plunged into the shadow of
+      the firs.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Eric, not a little ruffled under all his external composure by this most
+      unexpected and unpleasant encounter, pursued his way along the lane which
+      wound on by the belt of woodland in twist and curve to the Gordon
+      homestead. His heart beat as he thought of Kilmeny. What might she not be
+      suffering? Doubtless Neil had given a very exaggerated and distorted
+      account of what he had seen, and probably her dour relations were very
+      angry with her, poor child. Anxious to avert their wrath as soon as might
+      be, he hurried on, almost forgetting his meeting with Neil. The threats of
+      the latter did not trouble him at all. He thought the angry outburst of a
+      jealous boy mattered but little. What did matter was that Kilmeny was in
+      trouble which his heedlessness had brought upon her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Presently he found himself before the Gordon house. It was an old building
+      with sharp eaves and dormer windows, its shingles stained a dark gray by
+      long exposure to wind and weather. Faded green shutters hung on the
+      windows of the lower story. Behind it grew a thick wood of spruces. The
+      little yard in front of it was grassy and prim and flowerless; but over
+      the low front door a luxuriant early-flowering rose vine clambered, in a
+      riot of blood-red blossom which contrasted strangely with the general
+      bareness of its surroundings. It seemed to fling itself over the grim old
+      house as if intent on bombarding it with an alien life and joyousness.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Eric knocked at the door, wondering if it might be possible that Kilmeny
+      should come to it. But a moment later it was opened by an elderly woman&mdash;a
+      woman of rigid lines from the hem of her lank, dark print dress to the
+      crown of her head, covered with black hair which, despite its few gray
+      threads, was still thick and luxuriant. She had a long, pale face somewhat
+      worn and wrinkled, but possessing a certain harsh comeliness of feature
+      which neither age nor wrinkles had quite destroyed; and her deep-set,
+      light gray eyes were not devoid of suggested kindliness, although they now
+      surveyed Eric with an unconcealed hostility. Her figure, in its merciless
+      dress, was very angular; yet there was about her a dignity of carriage and
+      manner which Eric liked. In any case, he preferred her unsmiling dourness
+      to vulgar garrulity.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He lifted his hat.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Have I the honour of speaking to Miss Gordon?&rdquo; he asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am Janet Gordon,&rdquo; said the woman stiffly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then I wish to talk with you and your brother.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Come in.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She stepped aside and motioned him to a low brown door opening on the
+      right.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Go in and sit down. I&rsquo;ll call Thomas,&rdquo; she said coldly, as she walked out
+      through the hall.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Eric walked into the parlour and sat down as bidden. He found himself in
+      the most old-fashioned room he had ever seen. The solidly made chairs and
+      tables, of some wood grown dark and polished with age, made even Mrs.
+      Williamson&rsquo;s &ldquo;parlour set&rdquo; of horsehair seem extravagantly modern by
+      contrast. The painted floor was covered with round braided rugs. On the
+      centre table was a lamp, a Bible and some theological volumes contemporary
+      with the square-runged furniture. The walls, wainscoted half way up in
+      wood and covered for the rest with a dark, diamond-patterned paper, were
+      hung with faded engravings, mostly of clerical-looking, bewigged
+      personages in gowns and bands.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But over the high, undecorated black mantel-piece, in a ruddy glow of
+      sunset light striking through the window, hung one which caught and held
+      Eric&rsquo;s attention to the exclusion of everything else. It was the enlarged
+      &ldquo;crayon&rdquo; photograph of a young girl, and, in spite of the crudity of
+      execution, it was easily the center of interest in the room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Eric at once guessed that this must be the picture of Margaret Gordon,
+      for, although quite unlike Kilmeny&rsquo;s sensitive, spirited face in general,
+      there was a subtle, unmistakable resemblance about brow and chin.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The pictured face was a very handsome one, suggestive of velvety dark eyes
+      and vivid colouring; but it was its expression rather than its beauty
+      which fascinated Eric. Never had he seen a countenance indicative of more
+      intense and stubborn will power. Margaret Gordon was dead and buried; the
+      picture was a cheap and inartistic production in an impossible frame of
+      gilt and plush; yet the vitality in that face dominated its surroundings
+      still. What then must have been the power of such a personality in life?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Eric realized that this woman could and would have done whatsoever she
+      willed, unflinchingly and unrelentingly. She could stamp her desire on
+      everything and everybody about her, moulding them to her wish and will, in
+      their own despite and in defiance of all the resistance they might make.
+      Many things in Kilmeny&rsquo;s upbringing and temperament became clear to him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If that woman had told me I was ugly I should have believed her,&rdquo; he
+      thought. &ldquo;Ay, even though I had a mirror to contradict her. I should never
+      have dreamed of disputing or questioning anything she might have said. The
+      strange power in her face is almost uncanny, peering out as it does from a
+      mask of beauty and youthful curves. Pride and stubbornness are its salient
+      characteristics. Well, Kilmeny does not at all resemble her mother in
+      expression and only very slightly in feature.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      His reflections were interrupted by the entrance of Thomas and Janet
+      Gordon. The former had evidently been called from his work. He nodded
+      without speaking, and the two sat gravely down before Eric.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I have come to see you with regard to your niece, Mr. Gordon,&rdquo; he said
+      abruptly, realizing that there would be small use in beating about the
+      bush with this grim pair. &ldquo;I met your&mdash;I met Neil Gordon in the
+      Connors orchard, and I found that he has told you that I have been meeting
+      Kilmeny there.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He paused. Thomas Gordon nodded again; but he did not speak, and he did
+      not remove his steady, piercing eyes from the young man&rsquo;s flushed
+      countenance. Janet still sat in a sort of expectant immovability.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I fear that you have formed an unfavourable opinion of me on this
+      account, Mr. Gordon,&rdquo; Eric went on. &ldquo;But I hardly think I deserve it. I
+      can explain the matter if you will allow me. I met your niece accidentally
+      in the orchard three weeks ago and heard her play. I thought her music
+      very wonderful and I fell into the habit of coming to the orchard in the
+      evenings to hear it. I had no thought of harming her in any way, Mr.
+      Gordon. I thought of her as a mere child, and a child who was doubly
+      sacred because of her affliction. But recently I&mdash;I&mdash;it occurred
+      to me that I was not behaving quite honourably in encouraging her to meet
+      me thus. Yesterday evening I asked her to bring me here and introduce me
+      to you and her aunt. We would have come then if you had been at home. As
+      you were not we arranged to come tonight.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I hope you will not refuse me the privilege of seeing your niece, Mr.
+      Gordon,&rdquo; said Eric eagerly. &ldquo;I ask you to allow me to visit her here. But
+      I do not ask you to receive me as a friend on my own recommendations only.
+      I will give you references&mdash;men of standing in Charlottetown and
+      Queenslea. If you refer to them&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don&rsquo;t need to do that,&rdquo; said Thomas Gordon, quietly. &ldquo;I know more of
+      you than you think, Master. I know your father well by reputation and I
+      have seen him. I know you are a rich man&rsquo;s son, whatever your whim in
+      teaching a country school may be. Since you have kept your own counsel
+      about your affairs I supposed you didn&rsquo;t want your true position generally
+      known, and so I have held my tongue about you. I know no ill of you,
+      Master, and I think none, now that I believe you were not beguiling
+      Kilmeny to meet you unknown to her friends of set purpose. But all this
+      doesn&rsquo;t make you a suitable friend for her, sir&mdash;it makes you all the
+      more unsuitable. The less she sees of you the better.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Eric almost started to his feet in an indignant protest; but he swiftly
+      remembered that his only hope of winning Kilmeny lay in bringing Thomas
+      Gordon to another way of thinking. He had got on better than he had
+      expected so far; he must not now jeopardize what he had gained by rashness
+      or impatience.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why do you think so, Mr. Gordon?&rdquo; he asked, regaining his self-control
+      with an effort.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, plain speaking is best, Master. If you were to come here and see
+      Kilmeny often she&rsquo;d most likely come to think too much of you. I mistrust
+      there&rsquo;s some mischief done in that direction already. Then when you went
+      away she might break her heart&mdash;for she is one of those who feel
+      things deeply. She has been happy enough. I know folks condemn us for the
+      way she has been brought up, but they don&rsquo;t know everything. It was the
+      best way for her, all things considered. And we don&rsquo;t want her made
+      unhappy, Master.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But I love your niece and I want to marry her if I can win her love,&rdquo;
+       said Eric steadily.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He surprised them out of their self possession at last. Both started, and
+      looked at him as if they could not believe the evidence of their ears.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Marry her! Marry Kilmeny!&rdquo; exclaimed Thomas Gordon incredulously. &ldquo;You
+      can&rsquo;t mean it, sir. Why, she is dumb&mdash;Kilmeny is dumb.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That makes no difference in my love for her, although I deeply regret it
+      for her own sake,&rdquo; answered Eric. &ldquo;I can only repeat what I have already
+      said, Mr. Gordon. I want Kilmeny for my wife.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The older man leaned forward and looked at the floor in a troubled
+      fashion, drawing his bushy eyebrows down and tapping the calloused tips of
+      his fingers together uneasily. He was evidently puzzled by this unexpected
+      turn of the conversation, and in grave doubt what to say.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What would your father say to all this, Master?&rdquo; he queried at last.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I have often heard my father say that a man must marry to please
+      himself,&rdquo; said Eric, with a smile. &ldquo;If he felt tempted to go back on that
+      opinion I think the sight of Kilmeny would convert him. But, after all, it
+      is what I say that matters in this case, isn&rsquo;t it, Mr. Gordon? I am well
+      educated and not afraid of work. I can make a home for Kilmeny in a few
+      years even if I have to depend entirely on my own resources. Only give me
+      the chance to win her&mdash;that is all I ask.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don&rsquo;t think it would do, Master,&rdquo; said Thomas Gordon, shaking his head.
+      &ldquo;Of course, I dare say you&mdash;you&rdquo;&mdash;he tried to say &ldquo;love,&rdquo; but
+      Scotch reserve balked stubbornly at the terrible word&mdash;&ldquo;you think you
+      like Kilmeny now, but you are only a lad&mdash;and lads&rsquo; fancies change.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mine will not,&rdquo; Eric broke in vehemently. &ldquo;It is not a fancy, Mr. Gordon.
+      It is the love that comes once in a lifetime and once only. I may be but a
+      lad, but I know that Kilmeny is the one woman in the world for me. There
+      can never be any other. Oh, I&rsquo;m not speaking rashly or inconsiderately. I
+      have weighed the matter well and looked at it from every aspect. And it
+      all comes to this&mdash;I love Kilmeny and I want what any decent man who
+      loves a woman truly has the right to have&mdash;the chance to win her love
+      in return.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well!&rdquo; Thomas Gordon drew a long breath that was almost a sigh. &ldquo;Maybe&mdash;if
+      you feel like that, Master&mdash;I don&rsquo;t know&mdash;there are some things
+      it isn&rsquo;t right to cross. Perhaps we oughtn&rsquo;t&mdash;Janet, woman, what
+      shall we say to him?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Janet Gordon had hitherto spoken no word. She had sat rigidly upright on
+      one of the old chairs under Margaret Gordon&rsquo;s insistent picture, with her
+      knotted, toil-worn hands grasping the carved arms tightly, and her eyes
+      fastened on Eric&rsquo;s face. At first their expression had been guarded and
+      hostile, but as the conversation proceeded they lost this gradually and
+      became almost kindly. Now, when her brother appealed to her, she leaned
+      forward and said eagerly,
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do you know that there is a stain on Kilmeny&rsquo;s birth, Master?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I know that her mother was the innocent victim of a very sad mistake,
+      Miss Gordon. I admit no real stain where there was no conscious wrong
+      doing. Though, for that matter, even if there were, it would be no fault
+      of Kilmeny&rsquo;s and would make no difference to me as far as she is
+      concerned.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      A sudden change swept over Janet Gordon&rsquo;s face, quite marvelous in the
+      transformation it wrought. Her grim mouth softened and a flood of
+      repressed tenderness glorified her cold gray eyes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, then.&rdquo; she said almost triumphantly, &ldquo;since neither that nor her
+      dumbness seems to be any drawback in your eyes I don&rsquo;t see why you should
+      not have the chance you want. Perhaps your world will say she is not good
+      enough for you, but she is&mdash;she is&rdquo;&mdash;this half defiantly. &ldquo;She
+      is a sweet and innocent and true-hearted lassie. She is bright and clever
+      and she is not ill looking. Thomas, I say let the young man have his
+      will.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Thomas Gordon stood up, as if he considered the responsibility off his
+      shoulders and the interview at an end.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Very well, Janet, woman, since you think it is wise. And may God deal
+      with him as he deals with her. Good evening, Master. I&rsquo;ll see you again,
+      and you are free to come and go as suits you. But I must go to my work
+      now. I left my horses standing in the field.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I will go up and send Kilmeny down,&rdquo; said Janet quietly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She lighted the lamp on the table and left the room. A few minutes later
+      Kilmeny came down. Eric rose and went to meet her eagerly, but she only
+      put out her right hand with a pretty dignity and, while she looked into
+      his face, she did not look into his eyes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You see I was right after all, Kilmeny,&rdquo; he said, smiling. &ldquo;Your uncle
+      and aunt haven&rsquo;t driven me away. On the contrary they have been very kind
+      to me, and they say I may see you whenever and wherever I like.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She smiled, and went over to the table to write on her slate.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But they were very angry last night, and said dreadful things to me. I
+      felt very frightened and unhappy. They seemed to think I had done
+      something terribly wrong. Uncle Thomas said he would never trust me out of
+      his sight again. I could hardly believe it when Aunt Janet came up and
+      told me you were here and that I might come down. She looked at me very
+      strangely as she spoke, but I could see that all the anger had gone out of
+      her face. She seemed pleased and yet sad. But I am glad they have forgiven
+      us.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She did not tell him how glad she was, and how unhappy she had been over
+      the thought that she was never to see him again. Yesterday she would have
+      told him all frankly and fully; but for her yesterday was a lifetime away&mdash;a
+      lifetime in which she had come into her heritage of womanly dignity and
+      reserve. The kiss which Eric had left on her lips, the words her uncle and
+      aunt had said to her, the tears she had shed for the first time on a
+      sleepless pillow&mdash;all had conspired to reveal her to herself. She did
+      not yet dream that she loved Eric Marshall, or that he loved her. But she
+      was no longer the child to be made a dear comrade of. She was, though
+      quite unconsciously, the woman to be wooed and won, exacting, with sweet,
+      innate pride, her dues of allegiance.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0013" id="link2HCH0013">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XIII. A SWEETER WOMAN NE&rsquo;ER DREW BREATH
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      Thenceforward Eric Marshall was a constant visitor at the Gordon
+      homestead. He soon became a favourite with Thomas and Janet, especially
+      the latter. He liked them both, discovering under all their outward
+      peculiarities sterling worth and fitness of character. Thomas Gordon was
+      surprisingly well read and could floor Eric any time in argument, once he
+      became sufficiently warmed up to attain fluency of words. Eric hardly
+      recognized him the first time he saw him thus animated. His bent form
+      straightened, his sunken eyes flashed, his face flushed, his voice rang
+      like a trumpet, and he poured out a flood of eloquence which swept Eric&rsquo;s
+      smart, up-to-date arguments away like straws in the rush of a mountain
+      torrent. Eric enjoyed his own defeat enormously, but Thomas Gordon was
+      ashamed of being thus drawn out of himself, and for a week afterwards
+      confined his remarks to &ldquo;Yes&rdquo; and &ldquo;No,&rdquo; or, at the outside, to a brief
+      statement that a change in the weather was brewing.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Janet never talked on matters of church and state; such she plainly
+      considered to be far beyond a woman&rsquo;s province. But she listened with
+      lurking interest in her eyes while Thomas and Eric pelted on each other
+      with facts and statistics and opinions, and on the rare occasions when
+      Eric scored a point she permitted herself a sly little smile at her
+      brother&rsquo;s expense.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Of Neil, Eric saw but little. The Italian boy avoided him, or if they
+      chanced to meet passed him by with sullen, downcast eyes. Eric did not
+      trouble himself greatly about Neil; but Thomas Gordon, understanding the
+      motive which had led Neil to betray his discovery of the orchard trysts,
+      bluntly told Kilmeny that she must not make such an equal of Neil as she
+      had done.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You have been too kind to the lad, lassie, and he&rsquo;s got presumptuous. He
+      must be taught his place. I mistrust we have all made more of him than we
+      should.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      But most of the idyllic hours of Eric&rsquo;s wooing were spent in the old
+      orchard; the garden end of it was now a wilderness of roses&mdash;roses
+      red as the heart of a sunset, roses pink as the early flush of dawn, roses
+      white as the snows on mountain peaks, roses full blown, and roses in buds
+      that were sweeter than anything on earth except Kilmeny&rsquo;s face. Their
+      petals fell in silken heaps along the old paths or clung to the lush
+      grasses among which Eric lay and dreamed, while Kilmeny played to him on
+      her violin.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Eric promised himself that when she was his wife her wonderful gift for
+      music should be cultivated to the utmost. Her powers of expression seemed
+      to deepen and develop every day, growing as her soul grew, taking on new
+      colour and richness from her ripening heart.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      To Eric, the days were all pages in an inspired idyl. He had never dreamed
+      that love could be so mighty or the world so beautiful. He wondered if the
+      universe were big enough to hold his joy or eternity long enough to live
+      it out. His whole existence was, for the time being, bounded by that
+      orchard where he wooed his sweetheart. All other ambitions and plans and
+      hopes were set aside in the pursuit of this one aim, the attainment of
+      which would enhance all others a thousand-fold, the loss of which would
+      rob all others of their reason for existence. His own world seemed very
+      far away and the things of that world forgotten.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      His father, on hearing that he had taken the Lindsay school for a year,
+      had written him a testy, amazed letter, asking him if he were demented.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Or is there a girl in the case?&rdquo; he wrote. &ldquo;There must be, to tie you
+      down to a place like Lindsay for a year. Take care, master Eric; you&rsquo;ve
+      been too sensible all your life. A man is bound to make a fool of himself
+      at least once, and when you didn&rsquo;t get through with that in your teens it
+      may be attacking you now.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      David also wrote, expostulating more gravely; but he did not express the
+      suspicions Eric knew he must entertain.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Good old David! He is quaking with fear that I am up to something he
+      can&rsquo;t approve of, but he won&rsquo;t say a word by way of attempting to force my
+      confidence.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      It could not long remain a secret in Lindsay that &ldquo;the Master&rdquo; was going
+      to the Gordon place on courting thoughts intent. Mrs. Williamson kept her
+      own and Eric&rsquo;s counsel; the Gordons said nothing; but the secret leaked
+      out and great was the surprise and gossip and wonder. One or two
+      incautious people ventured to express their opinion of the Master&rsquo;s wisdom
+      to the Master himself; but they never repeated the experiment. Curiosity
+      was rife. A hundred stories were circulated about Kilmeny, all greatly
+      exaggerated in the circulation. Wise heads were shaken and the majority
+      opined that it was a great pity. The Master was a likely young fellow; he
+      could have his pick of almost anybody, you might think; it was too bad
+      that he should go and take up with that queer, dumb niece of the Gordons
+      who had been brought up in such a heathenish way. But then you never could
+      guess what way a man&rsquo;s fancy would jump when he set out to pick him a
+      wife. They guessed Neil Gordon didn&rsquo;t like it much. He seemed to have got
+      dreadful moody and sulky of late and wouldn&rsquo;t sing in the choir any more.
+      Thus the buzz of comment and gossip ran.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      To those two in the old orchard it mattered not a whit. Kilmeny knew
+      nothing of gossip. To her, Lindsay was as much of an unknown world as the
+      city of Eric&rsquo;s home. Her thoughts strayed far and wide in the realm of her
+      fancy, but they never wandered out to the little realities that hedged her
+      strange life around. In that life she had blossomed out, a fair, unique
+      thing. There were times when Eric almost regretted that one day he must
+      take her out of her white solitude to a world that, in the last analysis,
+      was only Lindsay on a larger scale, with just the same pettiness of
+      thought and feeling and opinion at the bottom of it. He wished he might
+      keep her to himself for ever, in that old, spruce-hidden orchard where the
+      roses fell.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      One day he indulged himself in the fulfillment of the whim he had formed
+      when Kilmeny had told him she thought herself ugly. He went to Janet and
+      asked her permission to bring a mirror to the house that he might have the
+      privilege of being the first to reveal Kilmeny to herself exteriorly.
+      Janet was somewhat dubious at first.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There hasn&rsquo;t been such a thing in the house for sixteen years, Master.
+      There never was but three&mdash;one in the spare room, and a little one in
+      the kitchen, and Margaret&rsquo;s own. She broke them all the day it first
+      struck her that Kilmeny was going to be bonny. I might have got one after
+      she died maybe. But I didn&rsquo;t think of it; and there&rsquo;s no need of lasses to
+      be always prinking at their looking glasses.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      But Eric pleaded and argued skilfully, and finally Janet said,
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, well, have your own way. You&rsquo;d have it anyway I think, lad. You are
+      one of those men who always get their own way. But that is different from
+      the men who TAKE their own way&mdash;and that&rsquo;s a mercy,&rdquo; she added under
+      her breath.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Eric went to town the next Saturday and picked out a mirror that pleased
+      him. He had it shipped to Radnor and Thomas Gordon brought it home, not
+      knowing what it was, for Janet had thought it just as well he should not
+      know.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It&rsquo;s a present the Master is making Kilmeny,&rdquo; she told him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She sent Kilmeny off to the orchard after tea, and Eric slipped around to
+      the house by way of the main road and lane. He and Janet together unpacked
+      the mirror and hung it on the parlour wall.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I never saw such a big one, Master,&rdquo; said Janet rather doubtfully, as if,
+      after all, she distrusted its gleaming, pearly depth and richly ornamented
+      frame. &ldquo;I hope it won&rsquo;t make her vain. She is very bonny, but it may not
+      do her any good to know it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It won&rsquo;t harm her,&rdquo; said Eric confidently. &ldquo;When a belief in her ugliness
+      hasn&rsquo;t spoiled a girl a belief in her beauty won&rsquo;t.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      But Janet did not understand epigrams. She carefully removed a little dust
+      from the polished surface, and frowned meditatively at the by no means
+      beautiful reflection she saw therein.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I cannot think what made Kilmeny suppose she was ugly, Master.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Her mother told her she was,&rdquo; said Eric, rather bitterly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah!&rdquo; Janet shot a quick glance at the picture of her sister. &ldquo;Was that
+      it? Margaret was a strange woman, Master. I suppose she thought her own
+      beauty had been a snare to her. She WAS bonny. That picture doesn&rsquo;t do her
+      justice. I never liked it. It was taken before she was&mdash;before she
+      met Ronald Fraser. We none of us thought it very like her at the time.
+      But, Master, three years later it was like her&mdash;oh, it was like her
+      then! That very look came in her face.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Kilmeny doesn&rsquo;t resemble her mother,&rdquo; remarked Eric, glancing at the
+      picture with the same feeling of mingled fascination and distaste with
+      which he always regarded it. &ldquo;Does she look like her father?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, not a great deal, though some of her ways are very like his. She
+      looks like her grandmother&mdash;Margaret&rsquo;s mother, Master. Her name was
+      Kilmeny too, and she was a handsome, sweet woman. I was very fond of my
+      stepmother, Master. When she died she gave her baby to me, and asked me to
+      be a mother to it. Ah well, I tried; but I couldn&rsquo;t fence the sorrow out
+      of Margaret&rsquo;s life, and it sometimes comes to my mind that maybe I&rsquo;ll not
+      be able to fence it out of Kilmeny&rsquo;s either.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That will be my task,&rdquo; said Eric.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You&rsquo;ll do your best, I do not doubt. But maybe it will be through you
+      that sorrow will come to her after all.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not through any fault of mine, Aunt Janet.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, no, I&rsquo;m not saying it will be your fault. But my heart misgives me at
+      times. Oh, I dare say I am only a foolish old woman, Master. Go your ways
+      and bring your lass here to look at your plaything when you like. I&rsquo;ll not
+      make or meddle with it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Janet betook herself to the kitchen and Eric went to look for Kilmeny. She
+      was not in the orchard and it was not until he had searched for some time
+      that he found her. She was standing under a beech tree in a field beyond
+      the orchard, leaning on the longer fence, with her hands clasped against
+      her cheek. In them she held a white Mary-lily from the orchard. She did
+      not run to meet him while he was crossing the pasture, as she would once
+      have done. She waited motionless until he was close to her. Eric began,
+      half laughingly, half tenderly, to quote some lines from her namesake
+      ballad:
+    </p>
+<pre xml:space="preserve">
+    &ldquo;&lsquo;Kilmeny, Kilmeny, where have you been?
+    Long hae we sought baith holt and den,&mdash;
+    By linn, by ford, and greenwood tree!
+    Yet you are halesome and fair to see.
+    Where got you that joup o&rsquo; the lily sheen?
+    That bonny snood o&rsquo; the birk sae green,
+    And those roses, the fairest that ever was seen?
+    Kilmeny, Kilmeny, where have you been?&rsquo; 
+</pre>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Only it&rsquo;s a lily and not a rose you are carrying. I might go on and quote
+      the next couplet too&mdash;
+    </p>
+<pre xml:space="preserve">
+    &ldquo;&lsquo;Kilmeny looked up with a lovely grace,
+    But there was nae smile on Kilmeny&rsquo;s face.&rsquo; 
+</pre>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why are you looking so sober?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Kilmeny did not have her slate with her and could not answer; but Eric
+      guessed from something in her eyes that she was bitterly contrasting the
+      beauty of the ballad&rsquo;s heroine with her own supposed ugliness.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Come down to the house, Kilmeny. I have something there to show you&mdash;something
+      lovelier than you have ever seen before,&rdquo; he said, with boyish pleasure
+      shining in his eyes. &ldquo;I want you to go and put on that muslin dress you
+      wore last Sunday evening, and pin up your hair the same way you did then.
+      Run along&mdash;don&rsquo;t wait for me. But you are not to go into the parlour
+      until I come. I want to pick some of those Mary-lilies up in the orchard.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      When Eric returned to the house with an armful of the long stemmed, white
+      Madonna lilies that bloomed in the orchard Kilmeny was just coming down
+      the steep, narrow staircase with its striped carpeting of homespun
+      drugget. Her marvelous loveliness was brought out into brilliant relief by
+      the dark wood work and shadows of the dim old hall.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She wore a trailing, clinging dress of some creamy tinted fabric that had
+      been her mother&rsquo;s. It had not been altered in any respect, for fashion
+      held no sway at the Gordon homestead, and Kilmeny thought that the dress
+      left nothing to be desired. Its quaint style suited her admirably; the
+      neck was slightly cut away to show the round white throat, and the sleeves
+      were long, full &ldquo;bishops,&rdquo; out of which her beautiful, slender hands
+      slipped like flowers from their sheaths. She had crossed her long braids
+      at the back and pinned them about her head like a coronet; a late white
+      rose was fastened low down on the left side.
+    </p>
+<pre xml:space="preserve">
+    &ldquo;&lsquo;A man had given all other bliss
+    And all his worldly wealth for this&mdash;
+    To waste his whole heart in one kiss
+    Upon her perfect lips,&rsquo;&rdquo;
+ </pre>
+    <p>
+      quoted Eric in a whisper as he watched her descend. Aloud he said,
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Take these lilies on your arm, letting their bloom fall against your
+      shoulder&mdash;so. Now, give me your hand and shut your eyes. Don&rsquo;t open
+      them until I say you may.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He led her into the parlour and up to the mirror.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Look,&rdquo; he cried, gaily.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Kilmeny opened her eyes and looked straight into the mirror where, like a
+      lovely picture in a golden frame, she saw herself reflected. For a moment
+      she was bewildered. Then she realized what it meant. The lilies fell from
+      her arm to the floor and she turned pale. With a little low, involuntary
+      cry she put her hands over her face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Eric pulled them boyishly away.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Kilmeny, do you think you are ugly now? This is a truer mirror than Aunt
+      Janet&rsquo;s silver sugar bowl! Look&mdash;look&mdash;look! Did you ever
+      imagine anything fairer than yourself, dainty Kilmeny?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She was blushing now, and stealing shy radiant glances at the mirror. With
+      a smile she took her slate and wrote naively,
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I think I am pleasant to look upon. I cannot tell you how glad I am. It
+      is so dreadful to believe one is ugly. You can get used to everything
+      else, but you never get used to that. It hurts just the same every time
+      you remember it. But why did mother tell me I was ugly? Could she really
+      have thought so? Perhaps I have become better looking since I grew up.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I think perhaps your mother had found that beauty is not always a
+      blessing, Kilmeny, and thought it wiser not to let you know you possessed
+      it. Come, let us go back to the orchard now. We mustn&rsquo;t waste this rare
+      evening in the house. There is going to be a sunset that we shall remember
+      all our lives. The mirror will hang here. It is yours. Don&rsquo;t look into it
+      too often, though, or Aunt Janet will disapprove. She is afraid it will
+      make you vain.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Kilmeny gave one of her rare, musical laughs, which Eric never heard
+      without a recurrence of the old wonder that she could laugh so when she
+      could not speak. She blew an airy little kiss at her mirrored face and
+      turned from it, smiling happily.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      On their way to the orchard they met Neil. He went by them with an averted
+      face, but Kilmeny shivered and involuntarily drew nearer to Eric.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don&rsquo;t understand Neil at all now,&rdquo; she wrote nervously. &ldquo;He is not
+      nice, as he used to be, and sometimes he will not answer when I speak to
+      him. And he looks so strangely at me, too. Besides, he is surly and
+      impertinent to Uncle and Aunt.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don&rsquo;t mind Neil,&rdquo; said Eric lightly. &ldquo;He is probably sulky because of
+      some things I said to him when I found he had spied on us.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      That night before she went up stairs Kilmeny stole into the parlour for
+      another glimpse of herself in that wonderful mirror by the light of a dim
+      little candle she carried. She was still lingering there dreamily when
+      Aunt Janet&rsquo;s grim face appeared in the shadows of the doorway.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Are you thinking about your own good looks, lassie? Ay, but remember that
+      handsome is as handsome does,&rdquo; she said, with grudging admiration&mdash;for
+      the girl with her flushed cheeks and shining eyes was something that even
+      dour Janet Gordon could not look upon unmoved.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Kilmeny smiled softly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I&rsquo;ll try to remember,&rdquo; she wrote, &ldquo;but oh, Aunt Janet, I am so glad I am
+      not ugly. It is not wrong to be glad of that, is it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The older woman&rsquo;s face softened.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, I don&rsquo;t suppose it is, lassie,&rdquo; she conceded. &ldquo;A comely face is
+      something to be thankful for&mdash;as none know better than those who have
+      never possessed it. I remember well when I was a girl&mdash;but that is
+      neither here nor there. The Master thinks you are wonderful bonny,
+      Kilmeny,&rdquo; she added, looking keenly at the girl.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Kilmeny started and a scarlet blush scorched her face. That, and the
+      expression that flashed into her eyes, told Janet Gordon all she wished to
+      know. With a stifled sigh she bade her niece good night and went away.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Kilmeny ran fleetly up the stairs to her dim little room, that looked out
+      into the spruces, and flung herself on her bed, burying her burning face
+      in the pillow. Her aunt&rsquo;s words had revealed to her the hidden secret of
+      her heart. She knew that she loved Eric Marshall&mdash;and the knowledge
+      brought with it a strange anguish. For was she not dumb? All night she lay
+      staring wide-eyed through the darkness till the dawn.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0014" id="link2HCH0014">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XIV. IN HER SELFLESS MOOD
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      Eric noticed a change in Kilmeny at their next meeting&mdash;a change that
+      troubled him. She seemed aloof, abstracted, almost ill at ease. When he
+      proposed an excursion to the orchard he thought she was reluctant to go.
+      The days that followed convinced him of the change. Something had come
+      between them. Kilmeny seemed as far away from him as if she had in truth,
+      like her namesake of the ballad, sojourned for seven years in the land
+      &ldquo;where the rain never fell and the wind never blew,&rdquo; and had come back
+      washed clean from all the affections of earth.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Eric had a bad week of it; but he determined to put an end to it by plain
+      speaking. One evening in the orchard he told her of his love.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was an evening in August, with wheat fields ripening to their harvestry&mdash;a
+      soft violet night made for love, with the distant murmur of an unquiet sea
+      on a rocky shore sounding through it. Kilmeny was sitting on the old bench
+      where he had first seen her. She had been playing for him, but her music
+      did not please her and she laid aside the violin with a little frown.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It might be that she was afraid to play&mdash;afraid that her new emotions
+      might escape her and reveal themselves in music. It was difficult to
+      prevent this, so long had she been accustomed to pour out all her feelings
+      in harmony. The necessity for restraint irked her and made of her bow a
+      clumsy thing which no longer obeyed her wishes. More than ever at that
+      instant did she long for speech&mdash;speech that would conceal and
+      protect where dangerous silence might betray.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In a low voice that trembled with earnestness Eric told her that he loved
+      her&mdash;that he had loved her from the first time he had seen her in
+      that old orchard. He spoke humbly but not fearfully, for he believed that
+      she loved him, and he had little expectation of any rebuff.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Kilmeny, will you be my wife?&rdquo; he asked finally, taking her hands in his.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Kilmeny had listened with averted face. At first she had blushed painfully
+      but now she had grown very pale. When he had finished speaking and was
+      waiting for her answer, she suddenly pulled her hands away, and, putting
+      them over her face, burst into tears and noiseless sobs.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Kilmeny, dearest, have I alarmed you? Surely you knew before that I loved
+      you. Don&rsquo;t you care for me?&rdquo; Eric said, putting his arm about her and
+      trying to draw her to him. But she shook her head sorrowfully, and wrote
+      with compressed lips,
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, I do love you, but I will never marry you, because I cannot speak.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, Kilmeny,&rdquo; said Eric smiling, for he believed his victory won, &ldquo;that
+      doesn&rsquo;t make any difference to me&mdash;you know it doesn&rsquo;t, sweetest. If
+      you love me that is enough.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      But Kilmeny only shook her head again. There was a very determined look on
+      her pale face. She wrote,
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, it is not enough. It would be doing you a great wrong to marry you
+      when I cannot speak, and I will not do it because I love you too much to
+      do anything that would harm you. Your world would think you had done a
+      very foolish thing and it would be right. I have thought it all over many
+      times since something Aunt Janet said made me understand, and I know I am
+      doing right. I am sorry I did not understand sooner, before you had
+      learned to care so much.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Kilmeny, darling, you have taken a very absurd fancy into that dear black
+      head of yours. Don&rsquo;t you know that you will make me miserably unhappy all
+      my life if you will not be my wife?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, you think so now; and I know you will feel very badly for a time.
+      Then you will go away and after awhile you will forget me; and then you
+      will see that I was right. I shall be very unhappy, too, but that is
+      better than spoiling your life. Do not plead or coax because I shall not
+      change my mind.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Eric did plead and coax, however&mdash;at first patiently and smilingly,
+      as one might argue with a dear foolish child; then with vehement and
+      distracted earnestness, as he began to realize that Kilmeny meant what she
+      said. It was all in vain. Kilmeny grew paler and paler, and her eyes
+      revealed how keenly she was suffering. She did not even try to argue with
+      him, but only listened patiently and sadly, and shook her head. Say what
+      he would, entreat and implore as he might, he could not move her
+      resolution a hairs-breadth.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Yet he did not despair; he could not believe that she would adhere to such
+      a resolution; he felt sure that her love for him would eventually conquer,
+      and he went home not unhappily after all. He did not understand that it
+      was the very intensity of her love which gave her the strength to resist
+      his pleading, where a more shallow affection might have yielded. It held
+      her back unflinchingly from doing him what she believed to be a wrong.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0015" id="link2HCH0015">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XV. AN OLD, UNHAPPY, FAR-OFF THING
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      The next day Eric sought Kilmeny again and renewed his pleadings, but
+      again in vain. Nothing he could say, no argument which he could advance,
+      was of any avail against her sad determination. When he was finally
+      compelled to realize that her resolution was not to be shaken, he went in
+      his despair to Janet Gordon. Janet listened to his story with concern and
+      disappointment plainly visible on her face. When he had finished she shook
+      her head.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I&rsquo;m sorry, Master. I can&rsquo;t tell you how sorry I am. I had hoped for
+      something very different. HOPED! I have PRAYED for it. Thomas and I are
+      getting old and it has weighed on my mind for years&mdash;what was to
+      become of Kilmeny when we would be gone. Since you came I had hoped she
+      would have a protector in you. But if Kilmeny says she will not marry you
+      I am afraid she&rsquo;ll stick to it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But she loves me,&rdquo; cried the young man, &ldquo;and if you and her uncle speak
+      to her&mdash;urge her&mdash;perhaps you can influence her&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, Master, it wouldn&rsquo;t be any use. Oh, we will, of course, but it will
+      not be any use. Kilmeny is as determined as her mother when once she makes
+      up her mind. She has always been good and obedient for the most part, but
+      once or twice we have found out that there is no moving her if she does
+      resolve upon anything. When her mother died Thomas and I wanted to take
+      her to church. We could not prevail on her to go. We did not know why
+      then, but now I suppose it was because she believed she was so very ugly.
+      It is because she thinks so much of you that she will not marry you. She
+      is afraid you would come to repent having married a dumb girl. Maybe she
+      is right&mdash;maybe she is right.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I cannot give her up,&rdquo; said Eric stubbornly. &ldquo;Something must be done.
+      Perhaps her defect can be remedied even yet. Have you ever thought of
+      that? You have never had her examined by a doctor qualified to pronounce
+      on her case, have you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, Master, we never took her to anyone. When we first began to fear that
+      she was never going to talk Thomas wanted to take her to Charlottetown and
+      have her looked to. He thought so much of the child and he felt terrible
+      about it. But her mother wouldn&rsquo;t hear of it being done. There was no use
+      trying to argue with her. She said that it would be no use&mdash;that it
+      was her sin that was visited on her child and it could never be taken
+      away.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And did you give in meekly to a morbid whim like that?&rdquo; asked Eric
+      impatiently.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Master, you didn&rsquo;t know my sister. We HAD to give in&mdash;nobody could
+      hold out against her. She was a strange woman&mdash;and a terrible woman
+      in many ways&mdash;after her trouble. We were afraid to cross her for fear
+      she would go out of her mind.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But, could you not have taken Kilmeny to a doctor unknown to her mother?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, that was not possible. Margaret never let her out of her sight, not
+      even when she was grown up. Besides, to tell you the whole truth, Master,
+      we didn&rsquo;t think ourselves that it would be much use to try to cure
+      Kilmeny. It WAS a sin that made her as she is.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Aunt Janet, how can you talk such nonsense? Where was there any sin? Your
+      sister thought herself a lawful wife. If Ronald Fraser thought otherwise&mdash;and
+      there is no proof that he did&mdash;HE committed a sin, but you surely do
+      not believe that it was visited in this fashion on his innocent child!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, I am not meaning that, Master. That wasn&rsquo;t where Margaret did wrong;
+      and though I never liked Ronald Fraser over much, I must say this in his
+      defence&mdash;I believe he thought himself a free man when he married
+      Margaret. No, it&rsquo;s something else&mdash;something far worse. It gives me a
+      shiver whenever I think of it. Oh, Master, the Good Book is right when it
+      says the sins of the parents are visited on the children. There isn&rsquo;t a
+      truer word in it than that from cover to cover.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What, in heaven&rsquo;s name, is the meaning of all this?&rdquo; exclaimed Eric.
+      &ldquo;Tell me what it is. I must know the whole truth about Kilmeny. Do not
+      torment me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am going to tell you the story, Master, though it will be like opening
+      an old wound. No living person knows it but Thomas and me. When you hear
+      it you will understand why Kilmeny can&rsquo;t speak, and why it isn&rsquo;t likely
+      that there can ever be anything done for her. She doesn&rsquo;t know the truth
+      and you must never tell her. It isn&rsquo;t a fit story for her ears, especially
+      when it is about her mother. Promise me that you will never tell her, no
+      matter what may happen.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I promise. Go on&mdash;go on,&rdquo; said the young man feverishly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Janet Gordon locked her hands together in her lap, like a woman who nerves
+      herself to some hateful task. She looked very old; the lines on her face
+      seemed doubly deep and harsh.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My sister Margaret was a very proud, high-spirited girl, Master. But I
+      would not have you think she was unlovable. No, no, that would be doing a
+      great injustice to her memory. She had her faults as we all have; but she
+      was bright and merry and warm-hearted. We all loved her. She was the light
+      and life of this house. Yes, Master, before the trouble that came on her
+      Margaret was a winsome lass, singing like a lark from morning till night.
+      Maybe we spoiled her a little&mdash;maybe we gave her too much of her own
+      way.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, Master, you have heard the story of her marriage to Ronald Fraser
+      and what came after, so I need not go into that. I know, or used to know
+      Elizabeth Williamson well, and I know that whatever she told you would be
+      the truth and nothing more or less than the truth.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Our father was a very proud man. Oh, Master, if Margaret was too proud
+      she got it from no stranger. And her misfortune cut him to the heart. He
+      never spoke a word to us here for more than three days after he heard of
+      it. He sat in the corner there with bowed head and would not touch bite or
+      sup. He had not been very willing for her to marry Ronald Fraser; and when
+      she came home in disgrace she had not set foot over the threshold before
+      he broke out railing at her. Oh, I can see her there at the door this very
+      minute, Master, pale and trembling, clinging to Thomas&rsquo;s arm, her great
+      eyes changing from sorrow and shame to wrath. It was just at sunset and a
+      red ray came in at the window and fell right across her breast like a
+      stain of blood.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Father called her a hard name, Master. Oh, he was too hard&mdash;even
+      though he was my father I must say he was too hard on her, broken-hearted
+      as she was, and guilty of nothing more after all than a little willfulness
+      in the matter of her marriage.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And father was sorry for it&mdash;Oh, Master, the word wasn&rsquo;t out of his
+      mouth before he was sorry for it. But the mischief was done. Oh, I&rsquo;ll
+      never forget Margaret&rsquo;s face, Master! It haunts me yet in the black of the
+      night. It was full of anger and rebellion and defiance. But she never
+      answered him back. She clenched her hands and went up to her old room
+      without saying a word, all those mad feelings surging in her soul, and
+      being held back from speech by her sheer, stubborn will. And, Master,
+      never a word did Margaret say from that day until after Kilmeny was born&mdash;not
+      one word, Master. Nothing we could do for her softened her. And we were
+      kind to her, Master, and gentle with her, and never reproached her by so
+      much as a look. But she would not speak to anyone. She just sat in her
+      room most of the time and stared at the wall with such awful eyes. Father
+      implored her to speak and forgive him, but she never gave any sign that
+      she heard him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I haven&rsquo;t come to the worst yet, Master. Father sickened and took to his
+      bed. Margaret would not go in to see him. Then one night Thomas and I were
+      watching by him; it was about eleven o&rsquo;clock. All at once he said,
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;&lsquo;Janet, go up and tell the lass&rsquo;&mdash;he always called Margaret that&mdash;it
+      was a kind of pet name he had for her&mdash;&lsquo;that I&rsquo;m deein&rsquo; and ask her
+      to come down and speak to me afore I&rsquo;m gone.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Master, I went. Margaret was sitting in her room all alone in the cold
+      and dark, staring at the wall. I told her what our father had said. She
+      never let on she heard me. I pleaded and wept, Master. I did what I had
+      never done to any human creature&mdash;I kneeled to her and begged her, as
+      she hoped for mercy herself, to come down and see our dying father.
+      Master, she wouldn&rsquo;t! She never moved or looked at me. I had to get up and
+      go downstairs and tell that old man she would not come.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Janet Gordon lifted her hands and struck them together in her agony of
+      remembrance.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;When I told father he only said, oh, so gently,
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;&lsquo;Poor lass, I was too hard on her. She isna to blame. But I canna go to
+      meet her mother till our little lass has forgie&rsquo;n me for the name I called
+      her. Thomas, help me up. Since she winna come to me I must e&rsquo;en go to
+      her.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There was no crossing him&mdash;we saw that. He got up from his deathbed
+      and Thomas helped him out into the hall and up the stair. I walked behind
+      with the candle. Oh, Master, I&rsquo;ll never forget it&mdash;the awful shadows
+      and the storm wind wailing outside, and father&rsquo;s gasping breath. But we
+      got him to Margaret&rsquo;s room and he stood before her, trembling, with his
+      white hairs falling about his sunken face. And he prayed Margaret to
+      forgive him&mdash;to forgive him and speak just one word to him before he
+      went to meet her mother. Master&rdquo;&mdash;Janet&rsquo;s voice rose almost to a
+      shriek&mdash;&ldquo;she would not&mdash;she would not! And yet she WANTED to
+      speak&mdash;afterwards she confessed to me that she wanted to speak. But
+      her stubbornness wouldn&rsquo;t let her. It was like some evil power that had
+      gripped hold of her and wouldn&rsquo;t let go. Father might as well have pleaded
+      with a graven image. Oh, it was hard and dreadful! She saw her father die
+      and she never spoke the word he prayed for to him. THAT was her sin,
+      Master,&mdash;and for that sin the curse fell on her unborn child. When
+      father understood that she would not speak he closed his eyes and was like
+      to have fallen if Thomas had not caught him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;&lsquo;Oh, lass, you&rsquo;re a hard woman,&rsquo; was all he said. And they were his last
+      words. Thomas and I carried him back to his room, but the breath was gone
+      from him before we ever got him there.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, Master, Kilmeny was born a month afterwards, and when Margaret felt
+      her baby at her breast the evil thing that had held her soul in its
+      bondage lost its power. She spoke and wept and was herself again. Oh, how
+      she wept! She implored us to forgive her and we did freely and fully. But
+      the one against whom she had sinned most grievously was gone, and no word
+      of forgiveness could come to her from the grave. My poor sister never knew
+      peace of conscience again, Master. But she was gentle and kind and humble
+      until&mdash;until she began to fear that Kilmeny was never going to speak.
+      We thought then that she would go out of her mind. Indeed, Master, she
+      never was quite right again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But that is the story and it&rsquo;s a thankful woman I am that the telling of
+      it is done. Kilmeny can&rsquo;t speak because her mother wouldn&rsquo;t.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Eric had listened with a gray horror on his face to the gruesome tale. The
+      black tragedy of it appalled him&mdash;the tragedy of that merciless law,
+      the most cruel and mysterious thing in God&rsquo;s universe, which ordains that
+      the sin of the guilty shall be visited on the innocent. Fight against it
+      as he would, the miserable conviction stole into his heart that Kilmeny&rsquo;s
+      case was indeed beyond the reach of any human skill.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It is a dreadful tale,&rdquo; he said moodily, getting up and walking
+      restlessly to and fro in the dim spruce-shadowed old kitchen where they
+      were. &ldquo;And if it is true that her mother&rsquo;s willful silence caused
+      Kilmeny&rsquo;s dumbness, I fear, as you say, that we cannot help her. But you
+      may be mistaken. It may have been nothing more than a strange coincidence.
+      Possibly something may be done for her. At all events, we must try. I have
+      a friend in Queenslea who is a physician. His name is David Baker, and he
+      is a very skilful specialist in regard to the throat and voice. I shall
+      have him come here and see Kilmeny.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Have your way,&rdquo; assented Janet in the hopeless tone which she might have
+      used in giving him permission to attempt any impossible thing.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It will be necessary to tell Dr. Baker why Kilmeny cannot speak&mdash;or
+      why you think she cannot.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Janet&rsquo;s face twitched.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Must that be, Master? Oh, it&rsquo;s a bitter tale to tell a stranger.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don&rsquo;t be afraid. I shall tell him nothing that is not strictly necessary
+      to his proper understanding of the case. It will be quite enough to say
+      that Kilmeny may be dumb because for several months before her birth her
+      mother&rsquo;s mind was in a very morbid condition, and she preserved a stubborn
+      and unbroken silence because of a certain bitter personal resentment.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, do as you think best, Master.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Janet plainly had no faith in the possibility of anything being done for
+      Kilmeny. But a rosy glow of hope flashed over Kilmeny&rsquo;s face when Eric
+      told her what he meant to do.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, do you think he can make me speak?&rdquo; she wrote eagerly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don&rsquo;t know, Kilmeny. I hope that he can, and I know he will do all that
+      mortal skill can do. If he can remove your defect will you promise to
+      marry me, dearest?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She nodded. The grave little motion had the solemnity of a sacred promise.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; she wrote, &ldquo;when I can speak like other women I will marry you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0016" id="link2HCH0016">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XVI. DAVID BAKER&rsquo;S OPINION
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      The next week David Baker came to Lindsay. He arrived in the afternoon
+      when Eric was in school. When the latter came home he found that David
+      had, in the space of an hour, captured Mrs. Williamson&rsquo;s heart, wormed
+      himself into the good graces of Timothy, and become hail-fellow-well-met
+      with old Robert. But he looked curiously at Eric when the two young men
+      found themselves alone in the upstairs room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Now, Eric, I want to know what all this is about. What scrape have you
+      got into? You write me a letter, entreating me in the name of friendship
+      to come to you at once. Accordingly I come post haste. You seem to be in
+      excellent health yourself. Explain why you have inveigled me hither.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I want you to do me a service which only you can do, David,&rdquo; said Eric
+      quietly. &ldquo;I didn&rsquo;t care to go into the details by letter. I have met in
+      Lindsay a young girl whom I have learned to love. I have asked her to
+      marry me, but, although she cares for me, she refuses to do so because she
+      is dumb. I wish you to examine her and find out the cause of her defect,
+      and if it can be cured. She can hear perfectly and all her other faculties
+      are entirely normal. In order that you may better understand the case I
+      must tell you the main facts of her history.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      This Eric proceeded to do. David Baker listened with grave attention, his
+      eyes fastened on his friend&rsquo;s face. He did not betray the surprise and
+      dismay he felt at learning that Eric had fallen in love with a dumb girl
+      of doubtful antecedents; and the strange case enlisted his professional
+      interest. When he had heard the whole story he thrust his hands into his
+      pockets and strode up and down the room several times in silence. Finally
+      he halted before Eric.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;So you have done what I foreboded all along you would do&mdash;left your
+      common sense behind you when you went courting.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If I did,&rdquo; said Eric quietly, &ldquo;I took with me something better and nobler
+      than common sense.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      David shrugged his shoulders.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You&rsquo;ll have hard work to convince me of that, Eric.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, it will not be difficult at all. I have one argument that will
+      convince you speedily&mdash;and that is Kilmeny Gordon herself. But we
+      will not discuss the matter of my wisdom or lack of it just now. What I
+      want to know is this&mdash;what do you think of the case as I have stated
+      it to you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      David frowned thoughtfully.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I hardly know what to think. It is very curious and unusual, but it is
+      not totally unprecedented. There have been cases on record where pre-natal
+      influences have produced a like result. I cannot just now remember whether
+      any were ever cured. Well, I&rsquo;ll see if anything can be done for this girl.
+      I cannot express any further opinion until I have examined her.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The next morning Eric took David up to the Gordon homestead. As they
+      approached the old orchard a strain of music came floating through the
+      resinous morning arcades of the spruce wood&mdash;a wild, sorrowful,
+      appealing cry, full of indescribable pathos, yet marvelously sweet.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What is that?&rdquo; exclaimed David, starting.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That is Kilmeny playing on her violin,&rdquo; answered Eric. &ldquo;She has great
+      talent in that respect and improvises wonderful melodies.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      When they reached the orchard Kilmeny rose from the old bench to meet
+      them, her lovely luminous eyes distended, her face flushed with the
+      excitement of mingled hope and fear.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, ye gods!&rdquo; muttered David helplessly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He could not hide his amazement and Eric smiled to see it. The latter had
+      not failed to perceive that his friend had until now considered him as
+      little better than a lunatic.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Kilmeny, this is my friend, Dr. Baker,&rdquo; he said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Kilmeny held out her hand with a smile. Her beauty, as she stood there in
+      the fresh morning sunshine beside a clump of her sister lilies, was
+      something to take away a man&rsquo;s breath. David, who was by no means lacking
+      in confidence and generally had a ready tongue where women were concerned,
+      found himself as mute and awkward as a school boy, as he bowed over her
+      hand.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But Kilmeny was charmingly at ease. There was not a trace of embarrassment
+      in her manner, though there was a pretty shyness. Eric smiled as he
+      recalled HIS first meeting with her. He suddenly realized how far Kilmeny
+      had come since then and how much she had developed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      With a little gesture of invitation Kilmeny led the way through the
+      orchard to the wild cherry lane, and the two men followed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Eric, she is simply unutterable!&rdquo; said David in an undertone. &ldquo;Last
+      night, to tell you the truth, I had a rather poor opinion of your sanity.
+      But now I am consumed with a fierce envy. She is the loveliest creature I
+      ever saw.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Eric introduced David to the Gordons and then hurried away to his school.
+      On his way down the Gordon lane he met Neil and was half startled by the
+      glare of hatred in the Italian boy&rsquo;s eyes. Pity succeeded the momentary
+      alarm. Neil&rsquo;s face had grown thin and haggard; his eyes were sunken and
+      feverishly bright; he looked years older than on the day when Eric had
+      first seen him in the brook hollow.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Prompted by sudden compassionate impulse Eric stopped and held out his
+      hand.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Neil, can&rsquo;t we be friends?&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;I am sorry if I have been the cause
+      of inflicting pain on you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Friends! Never!&rdquo; said Neil passionately. &ldquo;You have taken Kilmeny from me.
+      I shall hate you always. And I&rsquo;ll be even with you yet.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He strode fiercely up the lane, and Eric, with a shrug of his shoulders,
+      went on his way, dismissing the meeting from his mind.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The day seemed interminably long to him. David had not returned when he
+      went home to dinner; but when he went to his room in the evening he found
+      his friend there, staring out of the window.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well,&rdquo; he said, impatiently, as David wheeled around but still kept
+      silence, &ldquo;What have you to say to me? Don&rsquo;t keep me in suspense any
+      longer, David. I have endured all I can. To-day has seemed like a thousand
+      years. Have you discovered what is the matter with Kilmeny?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There is nothing the matter with her,&rdquo; answered David slowly, flinging
+      himself into a chair by the window.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What do you mean?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Just exactly what I say. Her vocal organs are all perfect. As far as they
+      are concerned, there is absolutely no reason why she should not speak.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then why can&rsquo;t she speak? Do you think&mdash;do you think&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I think that I cannot express my conclusion in any better words than
+      Janet Gordon used when she said that Kilmeny cannot speak because her
+      mother wouldn&rsquo;t. That is all there is to it. The trouble is psychological,
+      not physical. Medical skill is helpless before it. There are greater men
+      than I in my profession; but it is my honest belief, Eric, that if you
+      were to consult them they would tell you just what I have told you,
+      neither more nor less.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then there is no hope,&rdquo; said Eric in a tone of despair. &ldquo;You can do
+      nothing for her?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      David took from the back of his chair a crochet antimacassar with a lion
+      rampant in the center and spread it over his knee.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I can do nothing for her,&rdquo; he said, scowling at that work of art. &ldquo;I do
+      not believe any living man can do anything for her. But I do not say&mdash;exactly&mdash;that
+      there is no hope.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Come, David, I am in no mood for guessing riddles. Speak plainly, man,
+      and don&rsquo;t torment me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      David frowned dubiously and poked his finger through the hole which
+      represented the eye of the king of beasts.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don&rsquo;t know that I can make it plain to you. It isn&rsquo;t very plain to
+      myself. And it is only a vague theory of mine, of course. I cannot
+      substantiate it by any facts. In short, Eric, I think it is possible that
+      Kilmeny may speak sometime&mdash;if she ever wants it badly enough.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wants to! Why, man, she wants to as badly as it is possible for any one
+      to want anything. She loves me with all her heart and she won&rsquo;t marry me
+      because she can&rsquo;t speak. Don&rsquo;t you suppose that a girl under such
+      circumstances would &lsquo;want&rsquo; to speak as much as any one could?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, but I do not mean that sort of wanting, no matter how strong the
+      wish may be. What I do mean is&mdash;a sudden, vehement, passionate inrush
+      of desire, physical, psychical, mental, all in one, mighty enough to rend
+      asunder the invisible fetters that hold her speech in bondage. If any
+      occasion should arise to evoke such a desire I believe that Kilmeny would
+      speak&mdash;and having once spoken would thenceforth be normal in that
+      respect&mdash;ay, if she spoke but the one word.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;All this sounds like great nonsense to me,&rdquo; said Eric restlessly. &ldquo;I
+      suppose you have an idea what you are talking about, but I haven&rsquo;t. And,
+      in any case, it practically means that there is no hope for her&mdash;or
+      me. Even if your theory is correct it is not likely such an occasion as
+      you speak of will ever arise. And Kilmeny will never marry me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don&rsquo;t give up so easily, old fellow. There HAVE been cases on record
+      where women have changed their minds.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not women like Kilmeny,&rdquo; said Eric miserably. &ldquo;I tell you she has all her
+      mother&rsquo;s unfaltering will and tenacity of purpose, although she is free
+      from any taint of pride or selfishness. I thank you for your sympathy and
+      interest, David. You have done all you could&mdash;but, heavens, what it
+      would have meant to me if you could have helped her!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      With a groan Eric flung himself on a chair and buried his face in his
+      hands. It was a moment which held for him all the bitterness of death. He
+      had thought that he was prepared for disappointment; he had not known how
+      strong his hope had really been until that hope was utterly taken from
+      him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      David, with a sigh, returned the crochet antimacassar carefully to its
+      place on the chair back.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Eric, last night, to be honest, I thought that, if I found I could not
+      help this girl, it would be the best thing that could happen, as far as
+      you were concerned. But since I have seen her&mdash;well, I would give my
+      right hand if I could do anything for her. She is the wife for you, if we
+      could make her speak; yes, and by the memory of your mother&rdquo;&mdash;David
+      brought his fist down on the window sill with a force that shook the
+      casement,&mdash;&ldquo;she is the wife for you, speech or no speech, if we could
+      only convince her of it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;She cannot be convinced of that. No, David, I have lost her. Did you tell
+      her what you have told me?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I told her I could not help her. I did not say anything to her of my
+      theory&mdash;that would have done no good.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How did she take it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Very bravely and quietly&mdash;&lsquo;like a winsome lady&rsquo;. But the look in her
+      eyes&mdash;Eric, I felt as if I had murdered something. She bade me
+      good-bye with a pitiful smile and went upstairs. I did not see her again,
+      although I stayed to dinner as her uncle&rsquo;s request. Those old Gordons are
+      a queer pair. I liked them, though. They are strong and staunch&mdash;good
+      friends, bitter enemies. They were sorry that I could not help Kilmeny,
+      but I saw plainly that old Thomas Gordon thought that I had been meddling
+      with predestination in attempting it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Eric smiled mechanically.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I must go up and see Kilmeny. You&rsquo;ll excuse me, won&rsquo;t you, David? My
+      books are there&mdash;help yourself.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      But when Eric reached the Gordon house he saw only old Janet, who told him
+      that Kilmeny was in her room and refused to see him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;She thought you would come up, and she left this with me to give you,
+      Master.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Janet handed him a little note. It was very brief and blotted with tears.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do not come any more, Eric,&rdquo; it ran. &ldquo;I must not see you, because it
+      would only make it harder for us both. You must go away and forget me. You
+      will be thankful for this some day. I shall always love and pray for you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+<pre xml:space="preserve">
+                                                      &ldquo;KILMENY.&rdquo;
+ </pre>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I MUST see her,&rdquo; said Eric desperately. &ldquo;Aunt Janet, be my friend. Tell
+      her she must see me for a little while at least.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Janet shook her head but went upstairs. She soon returned.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;She says she cannot come down. You know she means it, Master, and it is
+      of no use to coax her. And I must say I think she is right. Since she will
+      not marry you it is better for her not to see you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Eric was compelled to go home with no better comfort than this. In the
+      morning, as it was Sunday, he drove David Baker to the station. He had not
+      slept and he looked so miserable and reckless that David felt anxious
+      about him. David would have stayed in Lindsay for a few days, but a
+      certain critical case in Queenslea demanded his speedy return. He shook
+      hands with Eric on the station platform.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Eric, give up that school and come home at once. You can do no good in
+      Lindsay now, and you&rsquo;ll only eat your heart out here.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I must see Kilmeny once more before I leave,&rdquo; was all Eric&rsquo;s answer.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      That afternoon he went again to the Gordon homestead. But the result was
+      the same; Kilmeny refused to see him, and Thomas Gordon said gravely,
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Master, you know I like you and I am sorry Kilmeny thinks as she does,
+      though maybe she is right. I would be glad to see you often for your own
+      sake and I&rsquo;ll miss you much; but as things are I tell you plainly you&rsquo;d
+      better not come here any more. It will do no good, and the sooner you and
+      she get over thinking about each other the better for you both. Go now,
+      lad, and God bless you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do you know what it is you are asking of me?&rdquo; said Eric hoarsely.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I know I am asking a hard thing for your own good, Master. It is not as
+      if Kilmeny would ever change her mind. We have had some experience with a
+      woman&rsquo;s will ere this. Tush, Janet, woman, don&rsquo;t be weeping. You women are
+      foolish creatures. Do you think tears can wash such things away? No, they
+      cannot blot out sin, or the consequences of sin. It&rsquo;s awful how one sin
+      can spread out and broaden, till it eats into innocent lives, sometimes
+      long after the sinner has gone to his own accounting. Master, if you take
+      my advice, you&rsquo;ll give up the Lindsay school and go back to your own world
+      as soon as may be.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0017" id="link2HCH0017">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XVII. A BROKEN FETTER
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      Eric went home with a white, haggard face. He had never thought it was
+      possible for a man to suffer as he suffered then. What was he to do? It
+      seemed impossible to go on with life&mdash;there was NO life apart from
+      Kilmeny. Anguish wrung his soul until his strength went from him and youth
+      and hope turned to gall and bitterness in his heart.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He never afterwards could tell how he lived through the following Sunday
+      or how he taught school as usual on Monday. He found out how much a man
+      may suffer and yet go on living and working. His body seemed to him an
+      automaton that moved and spoke mechanically, while his tortured spirit,
+      pent-up within, endured pain that left its impress on him for ever. Out of
+      that fiery furnace of agony Eric Marshall was to go forth a man who had
+      put boyhood behind him for ever and looked out on life with eyes that saw
+      into it and beyond.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      On Tuesday afternoon there was a funeral in the district and, according to
+      custom, the school was closed. Eric went again to the old orchard. He had
+      no expectation of seeing Kilmeny there, for he thought she would avoid the
+      spot lest she might meet him. But he could not keep away from it, although
+      the thought of it was an added torment, and he vibrated between a wild
+      wish that he might never see it again, and a sick wonder how he could
+      possibly go away and leave it&mdash;that strange old orchard where he had
+      met and wooed his sweetheart, watching her develop and blossom under his
+      eyes, like some rare flower, until in the space of three short months she
+      had passed from exquisite childhood into still more exquisite womanhood.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      As he crossed the pasture field before the spruce wood he came upon Neil
+      Gordon, building a longer fence. Neil did not look up as Eric passed, but
+      sullenly went on driving poles. Before this Eric had pitied Neil; now he
+      was conscious of feeling sympathy with him. Had Neil suffered as he was
+      suffering? Eric had entered into a new fellowship whereof the passport was
+      pain.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The orchard was very silent and dreamy in the thick, deep tinted sunshine
+      of the September afternoon, a sunshine which seemed to possess the power
+      of extracting the very essence of all the odours which summer has stored
+      up in wood and field. There were few flowers now; most of the lilies,
+      which had queened it so bravely along the central path a few days before,
+      were withered. The grass had become ragged and sere and unkempt. But in
+      the corners the torches of the goldenrod were kindling and a few misty
+      purple asters nodded here and there. The orchard kept its own strange
+      attractiveness, as some women with youth long passed still preserve an
+      atmosphere of remembered beauty and innate, indestructible charm.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Eric walked drearily and carelessly about it, and finally sat down on a
+      half fallen fence panel in the shadow of the overhanging spruce boughs.
+      There he gave himself up to a reverie, poignant and bitter sweet, in which
+      he lived over again everything that had passed in the orchard since his
+      first meeting there with Kilmeny.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      So deep was his abstraction that he was conscious of nothing around him.
+      He did not hear stealthy footsteps behind him in the dim spruce wood. He
+      did not even see Kilmeny as she came slowly around the curve of the wild
+      cherry lane.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Kilmeny had sought the old orchard for the healing of her heartbreak, if
+      healing were possible for her. She had no fear of encountering Eric there
+      at that time of day, for she did not know that it was the district custom
+      to close the school for a funeral. She would never have gone to it in the
+      evening, but she longed for it continually; it, and her memories, were all
+      that was left her now.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Years seemed to have passed over the girl in those few days. She had drunk
+      of pain and broken bread with sorrow. Her face was pale and strained, with
+      bluish, transparent shadows under her large wistful eyes, out of which the
+      dream and laughter of girlhood had gone, but into which had come the
+      potent charm of grief and patience. Thomas Gordon had shaken his head
+      bodingly when he had looked at her that morning at the breakfast table.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;She won&rsquo;t stand it,&rdquo; he thought. &ldquo;She isn&rsquo;t long for this world. Maybe it
+      is all for the best, poor lass. But I wish that young Master had never set
+      foot in the Connors orchard, or in this house. Margaret, Margaret, it&rsquo;s
+      hard that your child should have to be paying the reckoning of a sin that
+      was sinned before her birth.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Kilmeny walked through the lane slowly and absently like a woman in a
+      dream. When she came to the gap in the fence where the lane ran into the
+      orchard she lifted her wan, drooping face and saw Eric, sitting in the
+      shadow of the wood at the other side of the orchard with his bowed head in
+      his hands. She stopped quickly and the blood rushed wildly over her face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The next moment it ebbed, leaving her white as marble. Horror filled her
+      eyes,&mdash;blank, deadly horror, as the livid shadow of a cloud might
+      fill two blue pools.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Behind Eric Neil Gordon was standing tense, crouched, murderous. Even at
+      that distance Kilmeny saw the look on his face, saw what he held in his
+      hand, and realized in one agonized flash of comprehension what it meant.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      All this photographed itself in her brain in an instant. She knew that by
+      the time she could run across the orchard to warn Eric by a touch it would
+      be too late. Yet she must warn him&mdash;she MUST&mdash;she MUST! A mighty
+      surge of desire seemed to rise up within her and overwhelm her like a wave
+      of the sea,&mdash;a surge that swept everything before it in an
+      irresistible flood. As Neil Gordon swiftly and vindictively, with the face
+      of a demon, lifted the axe he held in his hand, Kilmeny sprang forward
+      through the gap.
+    </p>
+    <h3>
+      &ldquo;ERIC, ERIC, LOOK BEHIND YOU&mdash;LOOK BEHIND YOU!&rdquo;
+     </h3>
+    <p>
+      Eric started up, confused, bewildered, as the voice came shrieking across
+      the orchard. He did not in the least realize that it was Kilmeny who had
+      called to him, but he instinctively obeyed the command.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He wheeled around and saw Neil Gordon, who was looking, not at him, but
+      past him at Kilmeny. The Italian boy&rsquo;s face was ashen and his eyes were
+      filled with terror and incredulity, as if he had been checked in his
+      murderous purpose by some supernatural interposition. The axe, lying at
+      his feet where he had dropped it in his unutterable consternation on
+      hearing Kilmeny&rsquo;s cry told the whole tale. But before Eric could utter a
+      word Neil turned, with a cry more like that of an animal than a human
+      being, and fled like a hunted creature into the shadow of the spruce wood.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A moment later Kilmeny, her lovely face dewed with tears and sunned over
+      with smiles, flung herself on Eric&rsquo;s breast.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, Eric, I can speak,&mdash;I can speak! Oh, it is so wonderful! Eric, I
+      love you&mdash;I love you!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0018" id="link2HCH0018">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XVIII. NEIL GORDON SOLVES HIS OWN PROBLEM
+    </h2>
+    <h3>
+      &ldquo;It is a miracle!&rdquo; said Thomas Gordon in an awed tone.
+    </h3>
+    <p>
+      It was the first time he had spoken since Eric and Kilmeny had rushed in,
+      hand in hand, like two children intoxicated with joy and wonder, and
+      gasped out their story together to him and Janet.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, no, it is very wonderful, but it is not a miracle,&rdquo; said Eric. &ldquo;David
+      told me it might happen. I had no hope that it would. He could explain it
+      all to you if he were here.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Thomas Gordon shook his head. &ldquo;I doubt if he could, Master&mdash;he, or
+      any one else. It is near enough to a miracle for me. Let us thank God
+      reverently and humbly that he has seen fit to remove his curse from the
+      innocent. Your doctors may explain it as they like, lad, but I&rsquo;m thinking
+      they won&rsquo;t get much nearer to it than that. It is awesome, that is what it
+      is. Janet, woman, I feel as if I were in a dream. Can Kilmeny really
+      speak?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Indeed I can, Uncle,&rdquo; said Kilmeny, with a rapturous glance at Eric. &ldquo;Oh,
+      I don&rsquo;t know how it came to me&mdash;I felt that I MUST speak&mdash;and I
+      did. And it is so easy now&mdash;it seems to me as if I could always have
+      done it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She spoke naturally and easily. The only difficulty which she seemed to
+      experience was in the proper modulation of her voice. Occasionally she
+      pitched it too high&mdash;again, too low. But it was evident that she
+      would soon acquire perfect control of it. It was a beautiful voice&mdash;very
+      clear and soft and musical.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, I am so glad that the first word I said was your name, dearest,&rdquo; she
+      murmured to Eric.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What about Neil?&rdquo; asked Thomas Gordon gravely, rousing himself with an
+      effort from his abstraction of wonder. &ldquo;What are we to do with him when he
+      returns? In one way this is a sad business.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Eric had almost forgotten about Neil in his overwhelming amazement and
+      joy. The realization of his escape from sudden and violent death had not
+      yet had any opportunity to take possession of his thoughts.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We must forgive him, Mr. Gordon. I know how I should feel towards a man
+      who took Kilmeny from me. It was an evil impulse to which he gave way in
+      his suffering&mdash;and think of the good which has resulted from it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That is true, Master, but it does not alter the terrible fact that the
+      boy had murder in his heart,&mdash;that he would have killed you. An
+      over-ruling Providence has saved him from the actual commission of the
+      crime and brought good out of evil; but he is guilty in thought and
+      purpose. And we have cared for him and instructed him as our own&mdash;with
+      all his faults we have loved him! It is a hard thing, and I do not see
+      what we are to do. We cannot act as if nothing had happened. We can never
+      trust him again.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      But Neil Gordon solved the problem himself. When Eric returned that night
+      he found old Robert Williamson in the pantry regaling himself with a lunch
+      of bread and cheese after a trip to the station. Timothy sat on the
+      dresser in black velvet state and gravely addressed himself to the
+      disposal of various tid-bits that came his way.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Good night, Master. Glad to see you&rsquo;re looking more like yourself. I told
+      the wife it was only a lover&rsquo;s quarrel most like. She&rsquo;s been worrying
+      about you; but she didn&rsquo;t like to ask you what was the trouble. She ain&rsquo;t
+      one of them unfortunate folks who can&rsquo;t be happy athout they&rsquo;re
+      everlasting poking their noses into other people&rsquo;s business. But what kind
+      of a rumpus was kicked up at the Gordon place, to-night, Master?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Eric looked amazed. What could Robert Williamson have heard so soon?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What do you mean?&rdquo; he asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, us folks at the station knew there must have been a to-do of some
+      kind when Neil Gordon went off on the harvest excursion the way he did.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Neil gone! On the harvest excursion!&rdquo; exclaimed Eric.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, sir. You know this was the night the excursion train left. They
+      cross on the boat to-night&mdash;special trip. There was a dozen or so
+      fellows from hereabouts went. We was all standing around chatting when
+      Lincoln Frame drove up full speed and Neil jumped out of his rig. Just
+      bolted into the office, got his ticket and out again, and on to the train
+      without a word to any one, and as black looking as the Old Scratch
+      himself. We was all too surprised to speak till he was gone. Lincoln
+      couldn&rsquo;t give us much information. He said Neil had rushed up to their
+      place about dark, looking as if the constable was after him, and offered
+      to sell that black filly of his to Lincoln for sixty dollars if Lincoln
+      would drive him to the station in time to catch the excursion train. The
+      filly was Neil&rsquo;s own, and Lincoln had been wanting to buy her but Neil
+      would never hear to it afore. Lincoln jumped at the chance. Neil had
+      brought the filly with him, and Lincoln hitched right up and took him to
+      the station. Neil hadn&rsquo;t no luggage of any kind and wouldn&rsquo;t open his
+      mouth the whole way up, Lincoln says. We concluded him and old Thomas must
+      have had a row. D&rsquo;ye know anything about it? Or was you so wrapped up in
+      sweethearting that you didn&rsquo;t hear or see nothing else?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Eric reflected rapidly. He was greatly relieved to find that Neil had
+      gone. He would never return and this was best for all concerned. Old
+      Robert must be told a part of the truth at least, since it would soon
+      become known that Kilmeny could speak.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There was some trouble at the Gordon place to-night, Mr. Williamson,&rdquo; he
+      said quietly. &ldquo;Neil Gordon behaved rather badly and frightened Kilmeny
+      terribly,&mdash;so terribly that a very surprising thing has happened. She
+      has found herself able to speak, and can speak perfectly.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Old Robert laid down the piece of cheese he was conveying to his mouth on
+      the point of a knife and stared at Eric in blank amazement.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;God bless my soul, Master, what an extraordinary thing!&rdquo; he ejaculated.
+      &ldquo;Are you in earnest? Or are you trying to see how much of a fool you can
+      make of the old man?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, Mr. Williamson, I assure you it is no more than the simple truth. Dr.
+      Baker told me that a shock might cure her,&mdash;and it has. As for Neil,
+      he has gone, no doubt for good, and I think it well that he has.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Not caring to discuss the matter further, Eric left the kitchen. But as he
+      mounted the stairs to his room he heard old Robert muttering, like a man
+      in hopeless bewilderment,
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, I never heard anything like this in all my born days&mdash;never&mdash;never.
+      Timothy, did YOU ever hear the like? Them Gordons are an unaccountable lot
+      and no mistake. They couldn&rsquo;t act like other people if they tried. I must
+      wake mother up and tell her about this, or I&rsquo;ll never be able to sleep.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0019" id="link2HCH0019">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XIX. VICTOR FROM VANQUISHED ISSUES
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      Now that everything was settled Eric wished to give up teaching and go
+      back to his own place. True, he had &ldquo;signed papers&rdquo; to teach the school
+      for a year; but he knew that the trustees would let him off if he procured
+      a suitable substitute. He resolved to teach until the fall vacation, which
+      came in October, and then go. Kilmeny had promised that their marriage
+      should take place in the following spring. Eric had pleaded for an earlier
+      date, but Kilmeny was sweetly resolute, and Thomas and Janet agreed with
+      her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There are so many things that I must learn yet before I shall be ready to
+      be married,&rdquo; Kilmeny had said. &ldquo;And I want to get accustomed to seeing
+      people. I feel a little frightened yet whenever I see any one I don&rsquo;t
+      know, although I don&rsquo;t think I show it. I am going to church with Uncle
+      and Aunt after this, and to the Missionary Society meetings. And Uncle
+      Thomas says that he will send me to a boarding school in town this winter
+      if you think it advisable.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Eric vetoed this promptly. The idea of Kilmeny in a boarding school was
+      something that could not be thought about without laughter.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I can&rsquo;t see why she can&rsquo;t learn all she needs to learn after she is
+      married to me, just as well as before,&rdquo; he grumbled to her uncle and aunt.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But we want to keep her with us for another winter yet,&rdquo; explained Thomas
+      Gordon patiently. &ldquo;We are going to miss her terrible when she does go,
+      Master. She has never been away from us for a day&mdash;she is all the
+      brightness there is in our lives. It is very kind of you to say that she
+      can come home whenever she likes, but there will be a great difference.
+      She will belong to your world and not to ours. That is for the best&mdash;and
+      we wouldn&rsquo;t have it otherwise. But let us keep her as our own for this one
+      winter yet.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Eric yielded with the best grace he could muster. After all, he reflected,
+      Lindsay was not so far from Queenslea, and there were such things as boats
+      and trains.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Have you told your father about all this yet?&rdquo; asked Janet anxiously.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      No, he had not. But he went home and wrote a full account of his summer to
+      old Mr. Marshall that night.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mr. Marshall, Senior, answered the letter in person. A few days later,
+      Eric, coming home from school, found his father sitting in Mrs.
+      Williamson&rsquo;s prim, fleckless parlour. Nothing was said about Eric&rsquo;s
+      letter, however, until after tea. When they found themselves alone, Mr.
+      Marshall said abruptly,
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Eric, what about this girl? I hope you haven&rsquo;t gone and made a fool of
+      yourself. It sounds remarkably like it. A girl that has been dumb all her
+      life&mdash;a girl with no right to her father&rsquo;s name&mdash;a country girl
+      brought up in a place like Lindsay! Your wife will have to fill your
+      mother&rsquo;s place,&mdash;and your mother was a pearl among women. Do you
+      think this girl is worthy of it? It isn&rsquo;t possible! You&rsquo;ve been led away
+      by a pretty face and dairy maid freshness. I expected some trouble out of
+      this freak of yours coming over here to teach school.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wait until you see Kilmeny, father,&rdquo; said Eric, smiling.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Humph! That&rsquo;s just exactly what David Baker said. I went straight to him
+      when I got your letter, for I knew that there was some connection between
+      it and that mysterious visit of his over here, concerning which I never
+      could drag a word out of him by hook or crook. And all HE said was, &lsquo;Wait
+      until you see Kilmeny Gordon, sir.&rsquo; Well, I WILL wait till I see her, but
+      I shall look at her with the eyes of sixty-five, mind you, not the eyes of
+      twenty-four. And if she isn&rsquo;t what your wife ought to be, sir, you give
+      her up or paddle your own canoe. I shall not aid or abet you in making a
+      fool of yourself and spoiling your life.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Eric bit his lip, but only said quietly,
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Come with me, father. We will go to see her now.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      They went around by way of the main road and the Gordon lane. Kilmeny was
+      not in when they reached the house.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;She is up in the old orchard, Master,&rdquo; said Janet. &ldquo;She loves that place
+      so much she spends all her spare time there. She likes to go there to
+      study.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      They sat down and talked awhile with Thomas and Janet. When they left, Mr.
+      Marshall said,
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I like those people. If Thomas Gordon had been a man like Robert
+      Williamson I shouldn&rsquo;t have waited to see your Kilmeny. But they are all
+      right&mdash;rugged and grim, but of good stock and pith&mdash;native
+      refinement and strong character. But I must say candidly that I hope your
+      young lady hasn&rsquo;t got her aunt&rsquo;s mouth.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Kilmeny&rsquo;s mouth is like a love-song made incarnate in sweet flesh,&rdquo; said
+      Eric enthusiastically.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Humph!&rdquo; said Mr. Marshall. &ldquo;Well,&rdquo; he added more tolerantly, a moment
+      later, &ldquo;I was a poet, too, for six months in my life when I was courting
+      your mother.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Kilmeny was reading on the bench under the lilac trees when they reached
+      the orchard. She stood up and came shyly forward to meet them, guessing
+      who the tall, white-haired old gentleman with Eric must be. As she
+      approached Eric saw with a thrill of exultation that she had never looked
+      lovelier. She wore a dress of her favourite blue, simply and quaintly
+      made, as all her gowns were, revealing the perfect lines of her lithe,
+      slender figure. Her glossy black hair was wound about her head in a
+      braided coronet, against which a spray of wild asters shone like pale
+      purple stars. Her face was flushed delicately with excitement. She looked
+      like a young princess, crowned with a ruddy splash of sunlight that fell
+      through the old trees.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Father, this is Kilmeny,&rdquo; said Eric proudly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Kilmeny held out her hand with a shyly murmured greeting. Mr. Marshall
+      took it and held it in his, looking so steadily and piercingly into her
+      face that even her frank gaze wavered before the intensity of his keen old
+      eyes. Then he drew her to him and kissed her gravely and gently on her
+      white forehead.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My dear,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;I am glad and proud that you have consented to be my
+      son&rsquo;s wife&mdash;and my very dear and honoured daughter.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Eric turned abruptly away to hide his emotion and on his face was a light
+      as of one who sees a great glory widening and deepening down the vista of
+      his future.
+    </p>
+    <h3>
+      THE END.
+    </h3>
+    <div style="height: 6em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+<pre>
+
+
+
+
+
+End of Project Gutenberg&rsquo;s Kilmeny of the Orchard, by Lucy Maud Montgomery
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+</pre>
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+  </body>
+</html>
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+++ b/5341.txt
@@ -0,0 +1,4698 @@
+Project Gutenberg's Kilmeny of the Orchard, by Lucy Maud Montgomery
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: Kilmeny of the Orchard
+
+Author: Lucy Maud Montgomery
+
+
+Release Date: March, 2004 [EBook #5341]
+This file was first posted on July 2, 2002
+Last Updated: April 15, 2013
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK KILMENY OF THE ORCHARD ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Elizabeth Morton, Mary Mark Ockerbloom, and Ben Crowder
+
+
+
+
+
+
+KILMENY OF THE ORCHARD
+
+By L. M. MONTGOMERY
+
+Author of "Anne's House of Dreams," "Rainbow Valley," "Rilla of
+Ingleside," etc.
+
+
+______________________________________________________________________
+Transcriber's Note:
+
+This book has been put on-line as part of the BUILD-A-BOOK Initiative at
+the Celebration of Women Writers through the combined work of Elizabeth
+Morton and Mary Mark Ockerbloom.
+
+http://digital.library.upenn.edu/women/
+
+Reformatted by Ben Crowder
+______________________________________________________________________
+
+
+
+
+TO MY COUSIN
+
+Beatrice A. McIntyre
+
+THIS BOOK
+
+IS AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED
+
+
+        "Kilmeny looked up with a lovely grace,
+        But nae smile was seen on Kilmeny's face;
+        As still was her look, and as still was her ee,
+        As the stillness that lay on the emerant lea,
+        Or the mist that sleeps on a waveless sea.
+        .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .
+        Such beauty bard may never declare,
+        For there was no pride nor passion there;
+        .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .
+        Her seymar was the lily flower,
+        And her cheek the moss-rose in the shower;
+        And her voice like the distant melodye
+        That floats along the twilight sea."
+
+                                  -- _The Queen's Wake_
+                                                 JAMES HOGG
+
+
+
+CONTENTS
+
+     I. The Thoughts of Youth
+    II. A Letter of Destiny
+   III. The Master of Lindsay School
+    IV. A Tea Table Conversation
+     V. A Phantom of Delight
+    VI. The Story of Kilmeny
+   VII. A Rose of Womanhood
+  VIII. At the Gate of Eden
+    IX. The Straight Simplicity of Eve
+     X. A Troubling of the Waters
+    XI. A Lover and His Lass
+   XII. A Prisoner of Love
+  XIII. A Sweeter Woman Ne'er Drew Breath
+   XIV. In Her Selfless Mood
+    XV. An Old, Unhappy, Far-off Thing
+   XVI. David Baker's Opinion
+  XVII. A Broken Fetter
+ XVIII. Neil Gordon Solves His Own Problem
+   XIX. Victor from Vanquished Issues
+
+
+
+KILMENY OF THE ORCHARD
+
+
+
+CHAPTER I. THE THOUGHTS OF YOUTH
+
+The sunshine of a day in early spring, honey pale and honey sweet, was
+showering over the red brick buildings of Queenslea College and the
+grounds about them, throwing through the bare, budding maples and elms,
+delicate, evasive etchings of gold and brown on the paths, and coaxing
+into life the daffodils that were peering greenly and perkily up under
+the windows of the co-eds' dressing-room.
+
+A young April wind, as fresh and sweet as if it had been blowing over
+the fields of memory instead of through dingy streets, was purring in
+the tree-tops and whipping the loose tendrils of the ivy network which
+covered the front of the main building. It was a wind that sang of many
+things, but what it sang to each listener was only what was in that
+listener's heart. To the college students who had just been capped and
+diplomad by "Old Charlie," the grave president of Queenslea, in the
+presence of an admiring throng of parents and sisters, sweethearts and
+friends, it sang, perchance, of glad hope and shining success and high
+achievement. It sang of the dreams of youth that may never be quite
+fulfilled, but are well worth the dreaming for all that. God help the
+man who has never known such dreams--who, as he leaves his alma mater,
+is not already rich in aerial castles, the proprietor of many a spacious
+estate in Spain. He has missed his birthright.
+
+The crowd streamed out of the entrance hall and scattered over the
+campus, fraying off into the many streets beyond. Eric Marshall and
+David Baker walked away together. The former had graduated in Arts that
+day at the head of his class; the latter had come to see the graduation,
+nearly bursting with pride in Eric's success.
+
+Between these two was an old and tried and enduring friendship, although
+David was ten years older than Eric, as the mere tale of years goes, and
+a hundred years older in knowledge of the struggles and difficulties of
+life which age a man far more quickly and effectually than the passing
+of time.
+
+Physically the two men bore no resemblance to one another, although
+they were second cousins. Eric Marshall, tall, broad-shouldered, sinewy,
+walking with a free, easy stride, which was somehow suggestive of
+reserve strength and power, was one of those men regarding whom
+less-favoured mortals are tempted seriously to wonder why all the gifts
+of fortune should be showered on one individual. He was not only clever
+and good to look upon, but he possessed that indefinable charm of
+personality which is quite independent of physical beauty or mental
+ability. He had steady, grayish-blue eyes, dark chestnut hair with a
+glint of gold in its waves when the sunlight struck it, and a chin that
+gave the world assurance of a chin. He was a rich man's son, with a
+clean young manhood behind him and splendid prospects before him. He
+was considered a practical sort of fellow, utterly guiltless of romantic
+dreams and visions of any sort.
+
+"I am afraid Eric Marshall will never do one quixotic thing," said
+a Queenslea professor, who had a habit of uttering rather mysterious
+epigrams, "but if he ever does it will supply the one thing lacking in
+him."
+
+David Baker was a short, stocky fellow with an ugly, irregular, charming
+face; his eyes were brown and keen and secretive; his mouth had a
+comical twist which became sarcastic, or teasing, or winning, as he
+willed. His voice was generally as soft and musical as a woman's; but
+some few who had seen David Baker righteously angry and heard the tones
+which then issued from his lips were in no hurry to have the experience
+repeated.
+
+He was a doctor--a specialist in troubles of the throat and voice--and
+he was beginning to have a national reputation. He was on the staff of
+the Queenslea Medical College and it was whispered that before long he
+would be called to fill an important vacancy at McGill.
+
+He had won his way to success through difficulties and drawbacks which
+would have daunted most men. In the year Eric was born David Baker
+was an errand boy in the big department store of Marshall & Company.
+Thirteen years later he graduated with high honors from Queenslea
+Medical College. Mr. Marshall had given him all the help which David's
+sturdy pride could be induced to accept, and now he insisted on sending
+the young man abroad for a post-graduate course in London and Germany.
+David Baker had eventually repaid every cent Mr. Marshall had expended
+on him; but he never ceased to cherish a passionate gratitude to
+the kind and generous man; and he loved that man's son with a love
+surpassing that of brothers.
+
+He had followed Eric's college course with keen, watchful interest. It
+was his wish that Eric should take up the study of law or medicine now
+that he was through Arts; and he was greatly disappointed that Eric
+should have finally made up his mind to go into business with his
+father.
+
+"It's a clean waste of your talents," he grumbled, as they walked home
+from the college. "You'd win fame and distinction in law--that glib
+tongue of yours was meant for a lawyer and it is sheer flying in the
+face of Providence to devote it to commercial uses--a flat crossing of
+the purposes of destiny. Where is your ambition, man?"
+
+"In the right place," answered Eric, with his ready laugh. "It is not
+your kind, perhaps, but there is room and need for all kinds in this
+lusty young country of ours. Yes, I am going into the business. In the
+first place, it has been father's cherished desire ever since I was
+born, and it would hurt him pretty badly if I backed out now. He wished
+me to take an Arts course because he believed that every man should have
+as liberal an education as he can afford to get, but now that I have had
+it he wants me in the firm."
+
+"He wouldn't oppose you if he thought you really wanted to go in for
+something else."
+
+"Not he. But I don't really want to--that's the point, David, man. You
+hate a business life so much yourself that you can't get it into your
+blessed noddle that another man might like it. There are many lawyers in
+the world--too many, perhaps--but there are never too many good honest
+men of business, ready to do clean big things for the betterment of
+humanity and the upbuilding of their country, to plan great enterprises
+and carry them through with brain and courage, to manage and control, to
+aim high and strike one's aim. There, I'm waxing eloquent, so I'd better
+stop. But ambition, man! Why, I'm full of it--it's bubbling in every
+pore of me. I mean to make the department store of Marshall & Company
+famous from ocean to ocean. Father started in life as a poor boy from
+a Nova Scotian farm. He has built up a business that has a provincial
+reputation. I mean to carry it on. In five years it shall have a
+maritime reputation, in ten, a Canadian. I want to make the firm of
+Marshall & Company stand for something big in the commercial interests
+of Canada. Isn't that as honourable an ambition as trying to make black
+seem white in a court of law, or discovering some new disease with
+a harrowing name to torment poor creatures who might otherwise die
+peacefully in blissful ignorance of what ailed them?"
+
+"When you begin to make poor jokes it is time to stop arguing with you,"
+said David, with a shrug of his fat shoulders. "Go your own gait and
+dree your own weird. I'd as soon expect success in trying to storm the
+citadel single-handed as in trying to turn you from any course about
+which you had once made up your mind. Whew, this street takes it out of
+a fellow! What could have possessed our ancestors to run a town up the
+side of a hill? I'm not so slim and active as I was on MY graduation
+day ten years ago. By the way, what a lot of co-eds were in your
+class--twenty, if I counted right. When I graduated there were only
+two ladies in our class and they were the pioneers of their sex at
+Queenslea. They were well past their first youth, very grim and angular
+and serious; and they could never have been on speaking terms with
+a mirror in their best days. But mark you, they were excellent
+females--oh, very excellent. Times have changed with a vengeance,
+judging from the line-up of co-eds to-day. There was one girl there who
+can't be a day over eighteen--and she looked as if she were made out of
+gold and roseleaves and dewdrops."
+
+"The oracle speaks in poetry," laughed Eric. "That was Florence
+Percival, who led the class in mathematics, as I'm a living man. By many
+she is considered the beauty of her class. I can't say that such is
+my opinion. I don't greatly care for that blonde, babyish style of
+loveliness--I prefer Agnes Campion. Did you notice her--the tall, dark
+girl with the ropes of hair and a sort of crimson, velvety bloom on her
+face, who took honours in philosophy?"
+
+"I DID notice her," said David emphatically, darting a keen side glance
+at his friend. "I noticed her most particularly and critically--for
+someone whispered her name behind me and coupled it with the exceedingly
+interesting information that Miss Campion was supposed to be the future
+Mrs. Eric Marshall. Whereupon I stared at her with all my eyes."
+
+"There is no truth in that report," said Eric in a tone of annoyance.
+"Agnes and I are the best of friends and nothing more. I like and admire
+her more than any woman I know; but if the future Mrs. Eric Marshall
+exists in the flesh I haven't met her yet. I haven't even started out
+to look for her--and don't intend to for some years to come. I have
+something else to think of," he concluded, in a tone of contempt, for
+which anyone might have known he would be punished sometime if Cupid
+were not deaf as well as blind.
+
+"You'll meet the lady of the future some day," said David dryly. "And in
+spite of your scorn I venture to predict that if fate doesn't bring
+her before long you'll very soon start out to look for her. A word of
+advice, oh, son of your mother. When you go courting take your common
+sense with you."
+
+"Do you think I shall be likely to leave it behind?" asked Eric
+amusedly.
+
+"Well, I mistrust you," said David, sagely wagging his head. "The
+Lowland Scotch part of you is all right, but there's a Celtic streak in
+you, from that little Highland grandmother of yours, and when a man has
+that there's never any knowing where it will break out, or what dance
+it will lead him, especially when it comes to this love-making business.
+You are just as likely as not to lose your head over some little fool or
+shrew for the sake of her outward favour and make yourself miserable for
+life. When you pick you a wife please remember that I shall reserve the
+right to pass a candid opinion on her."
+
+"Pass all the opinions you like, but it is MY opinion, and mine only,
+which will matter in the long run," retorted Eric.
+
+"Confound you, yes, you stubborn offshoot of a stubborn breed," growled
+David, looking at him affectionately. "I know that, and that is why I'll
+never feel at ease about you until I see you married to the right sort
+of a girl. She's not hard to find. Nine out of ten girls in this country
+of ours are fit for kings' palaces. But the tenth always has to be
+reckoned with."
+
+"You are as bad as _Clever Alice_ in the fairy tale who worried over the
+future of her unborn children," protested Eric.
+
+"_Clever Alice_ has been very unjustly laughed at," said David gravely.
+"We doctors know that. Perhaps she overdid the worrying business a
+little, but she was perfectly right in principle. If people worried
+a little more about their unborn children--at least, to the extent of
+providing a proper heritage, physically, mentally, and morally, for
+them--and then stopped worrying about them after they ARE born, this
+world would be a very much pleasanter place to live in, and the human
+race would make more progress in a generation than it has done in
+recorded history."
+
+"Oh, if you are going to mount your dearly beloved hobby of heredity
+I am not going to argue with you, David, man. But as for the matter
+of urging me to hasten and marry me a wife, why don't you"--It was on
+Eric's lips to say, "Why don't you get married to a girl of the right
+sort yourself and set me a good example?" But he checked himself. He
+knew that there was an old sorrow in David Baker's life which was not to
+be unduly jarred by the jests even of privileged friendship. He changed
+his question to, "Why don't you leave this on the knees of the gods
+where it properly belongs? I thought you were a firm believer in
+predestination, David."
+
+"Well, so I am, to a certain extent," said David cautiously. "I believe,
+as an excellent old aunt of mine used to say, that what is to be will
+be and what isn't to be happens sometimes. And it is precisely such
+unchancy happenings that make the scheme of things go wrong. I dare say
+you think me an old fogy, Eric; but I know something more of the world
+than you do, and I believe, with Tennyson's _Arthur_, that 'there's no
+more subtle master under heaven than is the maiden passion for a maid.'
+I want to see you safely anchored to the love of some good woman as soon
+as may be, that's all. I'm rather sorry Miss Campion isn't your lady of
+the future. I liked her looks, that I did. She is good and strong and
+true--and has the eyes of a woman who could love in a way that would
+be worth while. Moreover, she's well-born, well-bred, and
+well-educated--three very indispensable things when it comes to choosing
+a woman to fill your mother's place, friend of mine!"
+
+"I agree with you," said Eric carelessly. "I could not marry any woman
+who did not fulfill those conditions. But, as I have said, I am not in
+love with Agnes Campion--and it wouldn't be of any use if I were. She is
+as good as engaged to Larry West. You remember West?"
+
+"That thin, leggy fellow you chummed with so much your first two years
+in Queenslea? Yes, what has become of him?"
+
+"He had to drop out after his second year for financial reasons. He is
+working his own way through college, you know. For the past two years
+he has been teaching school in some out-of-the-way place over in Prince
+Edward Island. He isn't any too well, poor fellow--never was very strong
+and has studied remorselessly. I haven't heard from him since February.
+He said then that he was afraid he wasn't going to be able to stick it
+out till the end of the school year. I hope Larry won't break down. He
+is a fine fellow and worthy even of Agnes Campion. Well, here we are.
+Coming in, David?"
+
+"Not this afternoon--haven't got time. I must mosey up to the North End
+to see a man who has got a lovely throat. Nobody can find out what is
+the matter. He has puzzled all the doctors. He has puzzled me, but I'll
+find out what is wrong with him if he'll only live long enough."
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II. A LETTER OF DESTINY
+
+Eric, finding that his father had not yet returned from the college,
+went into the library and sat down to read a letter he had picked up
+from the hall table. It was from Larry West, and after the first few
+lines Eric's face lost the absent look it had worn and assumed an
+expression of interest.
+
+"I am writing to ask a favour of you, Marshall," wrote West. "The fact
+is, I've fallen into the hands of the Philistines--that is to say, the
+doctors. I've not been feeling very fit all winter but I've held on,
+hoping to finish out the year.
+
+"Last week my landlady--who is a saint in spectacles and calico--looked
+at me one morning at the breakfast table and said, VERY gently, 'You
+must go to town to-morrow, Master, and see a doctor about yourself.'
+
+"I went and did not stand upon the order of my going. Mrs. Williamson
+is She-Who-Must-Be-Obeyed. She has an inconvenient habit of making you
+realize that she is exactly right, and that you would be all kinds of a
+fool if you didn't take her advice. You feel that what she thinks to-day
+you will think to-morrow.
+
+"In Charlottetown I consulted a doctor. He punched and pounded me, and
+poked things at me and listened at the other end of them; and finally he
+said I must stop work 'immejutly and to onct' and hie me straightway
+to a climate not afflicted with the north-east winds of Prince Edward
+Island in the spring. I am not to be allowed to do any work until the
+fall. Such was his dictum and Mrs. Williamson enforces it.
+
+"I shall teach this week out and then the spring vacation of three weeks
+begins. I want you to come over and take my place as pedagogue in the
+Lindsay school for the last week in May and the month of June. The
+school year ends then and there will be plenty of teachers looking for
+the place, but just now I cannot get a suitable substitute. I have a
+couple of pupils who are preparing to try the Queen's Academy entrance
+examinations, and I don't like to leave them in the lurch or hand them
+over to the tender mercies of some third-class teacher who knows little
+Latin and less Greek. Come over and take the school till the end of the
+term, you petted son of luxury. It will do you a world of good to learn
+how rich a man feels when he is earning twenty-five dollars a month by
+his own unaided efforts!
+
+"Seriously, Marshall, I hope you can come, for I don't know any other
+fellow I can ask. The work isn't hard, though you'll likely find it
+monotonous. Of course, this little north-shore farming settlement isn't
+a very lively place. The rising and setting of the sun are the most
+exciting events of the average day. But the people are very kind and
+hospitable; and Prince Edward Island in the month of June is such a
+thing as you don't often see except in happy dreams. There are some
+trout in the pond and you'll always find an old salt at the harbour
+ready and willing to take you out cod-fishing or lobstering.
+
+"I'll bequeath you my boarding house. You'll find it comfortable and not
+further from the school than a good constitutional. Mrs. Williamson is
+the dearest soul alive; and she is one of those old-fashioned cooks who
+feed you on feasts of fat things and whose price is above rubies.
+
+"Her husband, Robert, or Bob, as he is commonly called despite his sixty
+years, is quite a character in his way. He is an amusing old gossip,
+with a turn for racy comment and a finger in everybody's pie. He knows
+everything about everybody in Lindsay for three generations back.
+
+"They have no living children, but Old Bob has a black cat which is his
+especial pride and darling. The name of this animal is Timothy and
+as such he must always be called and referred to. Never, as you value
+Robert's good opinion, let him hear you speaking of his pet as 'the
+cat,' or even as 'Tim.' You will never be forgiven and he will not
+consider you a fit person to have charge of the school.
+
+"You shall have my room, a little place over the kitchen, with a ceiling
+that follows the slant of the roof down one side, against which you will
+bump your head times innumerable until you learn to remember that it is
+there, and a looking glass which will make one of your eyes as small as
+a pea and the other as big as an orange.
+
+"But to compensate for these disadvantages the supply of towels is
+generous and unexceptionable; and there is a window whence you will
+daily behold an occidental view over Lindsay Harbour and the gulf beyond
+which is an unspeakable miracle of beauty. The sun is setting over it
+as I write and I see such a sea of glass mingled with fire as might have
+figured in the visions of the Patmian seer. A vessel is sailing away
+into the gold and crimson and pearl of the horizon; the big revolving
+light on the tip of the headland beyond the harbour has just been
+lighted and is winking and flashing like a beacon,
+
+                           "'O'er the foam
+           Of perilous seas in faerie lands forlorn.'"
+
+"Wire me if you can come; and if you can, report for duty on the
+twenty-third of May."
+
+Mr. Marshall, Senior, came in, just as Eric was thoughtfully folding up
+his letter. The former looked more like a benevolent old clergyman or
+philanthropist than the keen, shrewd, somewhat hard, although just and
+honest, man of business that he really was. He had a round, rosy face,
+fringed with white whiskers, a fine head of long white hair, and a
+pursed-up mouth. Only in his blue eyes was a twinkle that would have
+made any man who designed getting the better of him in a bargain think
+twice before he made the attempt.
+
+It was easily seen that Eric must have inherited his personal beauty and
+distinction of form from his mother, whose picture hung on the dark wall
+between the windows. She had died while still young, when Eric was a boy
+of ten. During her lifetime she had been the object of the passionate
+devotion of both her husband and son; and the fine, strong, sweet face
+of the picture was a testimony that she had been worthy of their love
+and reverence. The same face, cast in a masculine mold, was repeated in
+Eric; the chestnut hair grew off his forehead in the same way; his eyes
+were like hers, and in his grave moods they held a similar expression,
+half brooding, half tender, in their depths.
+
+Mr. Marshall was very proud of his son's success in college, but he had
+no intention of letting him see it. He loved this boy of his, with the
+dead mother's eyes, better than anything on earth, and all his hopes and
+ambitions were bound up in him.
+
+"Well, that fuss is over, thank goodness," he said testily, as he
+dropped into his favourite chair.
+
+"Didn't you find the programme interesting?" asked Eric absently.
+
+"Most of it was tommyrot," said his father. "The only things I liked
+were Charlie's Latin prayer and those pretty little girls trotting up
+to get their diplomas. Latin IS the language for praying in, I do
+believe,--at least, when a man has a voice like Old Charlie's. There was
+such a sonorous roll to the words that the mere sound of them made me
+feel like getting down on my marrow bones. And then those girls were as
+pretty as pinks, now weren't they? Agnes was the finest-looking of the
+lot in my opinion. I hope it's true that you're courting her, Eric?"
+
+"Confound it, father," said Eric, half irritably, half laughingly, "have
+you and David Baker entered into a conspiracy to hound me into matrimony
+whether I will or no?"
+
+"I've never said a word to David Baker on such a subject," protested Mr.
+Marshall.
+
+"Well, you are just as bad as he is. He hectored me all the way home
+from the college on the subject. But why are you in such a hurry to have
+me married, dad?"
+
+"Because I want a homemaker in this house as soon as may be. There has
+never been one since your mother died. I am tired of housekeepers. And I
+want to see your children at my knees before I die, Eric, and I'm an old
+man now."
+
+"Well, your wish is natural, father," said Eric gently, with a glance at
+his mother's picture. "But I can't rush out and marry somebody off-hand,
+can I? And I fear it wouldn't exactly do to advertise for a wife, even
+in these days of commercial enterprise."
+
+"Isn't there ANYBODY you're fond of?" queried Mr. Marshall, with the
+patient air of a man who overlooks the frivolous jests of youth.
+
+"No. I never yet saw the woman who could make my heart beat any faster."
+
+"I don't know what you young men are made of nowadays," growled his
+father. "I was in love half a dozen times before I was your age."
+
+"You might have been 'in love.' But you never LOVED any woman until you
+met my mother. I know that, father. And it didn't happen till you were
+pretty well on in life either."
+
+"You're too hard to please. That's what's the matter, that's what's the
+matter!"
+
+"Perhaps I am. When a man has had a mother like mine his standard of
+womanly sweetness is apt to be pitched pretty high. Let's drop the
+subject, father. Here, I want you to read this letter--it's from Larry."
+
+"Humph!" grunted Mr. Marshall, when he had finished with it. "So Larry's
+knocked out at last--always thought he would be--always expected it.
+Sorry, too. He was a decent fellow. Well, are you going?"
+
+"Yes, I think so, if you don't object."
+
+"You'll have a pretty monotonous time of it, judging from his account of
+Lindsay."
+
+"Probably. But I am not going over in search of excitement. I'm going to
+oblige Larry and have a look at the Island."
+
+"Well, it's worth looking at, some parts of the year," conceded Mr.
+Marshall. "When I'm on Prince Edward Island in the summer I always
+understand an old Scotch Islander I met once in Winnipeg. He was always
+talking of 'the Island.' Somebody once asked him, 'What island do you
+mean?' He simply LOOKED at that ignorant man. Then he said, 'Why, Prince
+Edward Island, mon. WHAT OTHER ISLAND IS THERE?' Go if you'd like to.
+You need a rest after the grind of examinations before settling down to
+business. And mind you don't get into any mischief, young sir."
+
+"Not much likelihood of that in a place like Lindsay, I fancy," laughed
+Eric.
+
+"Probably the devil finds as much mischief for idle hands in Lindsay as
+anywhere else. The worst tragedy I ever heard of happened on a backwoods
+farm, fifteen miles from a railroad and five from a store. However, I
+expect your mother's son to behave himself in the fear of God and man.
+In all likelihood the worst thing that will happen to you over there
+will be that some misguided woman will put you to sleep in a spare room
+bed. And if that does happen may the Lord have mercy on your soul!"
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III. THE MASTER OF LINDSAY SCHOOL
+
+One evening, a month later, Eric Marshall came out of the old,
+white-washed schoolhouse at Lindsay, and locked the door--which was
+carved over with initials innumerable, and built of double plank in
+order that it might withstand all the assaults and batteries to which it
+might be subjected.
+
+Eric's pupils had gone home an hour before, but he had stayed to solve
+some algebra problems, and correct some Latin exercises for his advanced
+students.
+
+The sun was slanting in warm yellow lines through the thick grove of
+maples to the west of the building, and the dim green air beneath them
+burst into golden bloom. A couple of sheep were nibbling the lush grass
+in a far corner of the play-ground; a cow-bell, somewhere in the maple
+woods, tinkled faintly and musically, on the still crystal air, which,
+in spite of its blandness, still retained a touch of the wholesome
+austerity and poignancy of a Canadian spring. The whole world seemed to
+have fallen, for the time being, into a pleasant untroubled dream.
+
+The scene was very peaceful and pastoral--almost too much so, the young
+man thought, with a shrug of his shoulders, as he stood in the worn
+steps and gazed about him. How was he going to put in a whole month
+here, he wondered, with a little smile at his own expense.
+
+"Father would chuckle if he knew I was sick of it already," he thought,
+as he walked across the play-ground to the long red road that ran past
+the school. "Well, one week is ended, at any rate. I've earned my own
+living for five whole days, and that is something I could never say
+before in all my twenty-four years of existence. It is an exhilarating
+thought. But teaching the Lindsay district school is distinctly NOT
+exhilarating--at least in such a well-behaved school as this, where
+the pupils are so painfully good that I haven't even the traditional
+excitement of thrashing obstreperous bad boys. Everything seems to go by
+clock work in Lindsay educational institution. Larry must certainly have
+possessed a marked gift for organizing and drilling. I feel as if I
+were merely a big cog in an orderly machine that ran itself. However, I
+understand that there are some pupils who haven't shown up yet, and who,
+according to all reports, have not yet had the old Adam totally drilled
+out of them. They may make things more interesting. Also a few
+more compositions, such as John Reid's, would furnish some spice to
+professional life."
+
+Eric's laughter wakened the echoes as he swung into the road down the
+long sloping hill. He had given his fourth grade pupils their own choice
+of subjects in the composition class that morning, and John Reid, a
+sober, matter-of-fact little urchin, with not the slightest embryonic
+development of a sense of humour, had, acting upon the whispered
+suggestion of a roguish desk-mate, elected to write upon "Courting." His
+opening sentence made Eric's face twitch mutinously whenever he recalled
+it during the day. "Courting is a very pleasant thing which a great many
+people go too far with."
+
+The distant hills and wooded uplands were tremulous and aerial in
+delicate spring-time gauzes of pearl and purple. The young, green-leafed
+maples crowded thickly to the very edge of the road on either side, but
+beyond them were emerald fields basking in sunshine, over which cloud
+shadows rolled, broadened, and vanished. Far below the fields a calm
+ocean slept bluely, and sighed in its sleep, with the murmur that rings
+for ever in the ear of those whose good fortune it is to have been born
+within the sound of it.
+
+Now and then Eric met some callow, check-shirted, bare-legged lad on
+horseback, or a shrewd-faced farmer in a cart, who nodded and called out
+cheerily, "Howdy, Master?" A young girl, with a rosy, oval face, dimpled
+cheeks, and pretty dark eyes filled with shy coquetry, passed him,
+looking as if she would not be at all averse to a better acquaintance
+with the new teacher.
+
+Half way down the hill Eric met a shambling, old gray horse drawing an
+express wagon which had seen better days. The driver was a woman: she
+appeared to be one of those drab-tinted individuals who can never have
+felt a rosy emotion in all their lives. She stopped her horse, and
+beckoned Eric over to her with the knobby handle of a faded and bony
+umbrella.
+
+"Reckon you're the new Master, ain't you?" she asked.
+
+Eric admitted that he was.
+
+"Well, I'm glad to see you," she said, offering him a hand in a much
+darned cotton glove that had once been black.
+
+"I was right sorry to see Mr. West go, for he was a right good teacher,
+and as harmless, inoffensive a creetur as ever lived. But I always told
+him every time I laid eyes on him that he was in consumption, if ever
+a man was. YOU look real healthy--though you can't aways tell by looks,
+either. I had a brother complected like you, but he was killed in a
+railroad accident out west when he was real young.
+
+"I've got a boy I'll be sending to school to you next week. He'd oughter
+gone this week, but I had to keep him home to help me put the pertaters
+in; for his father won't work and doesn't work and can't be made to
+work.
+
+"Sandy--his full name is Edward Alexander--called after both his
+grandfathers--hates the idee of going to school worse 'n pisen--always
+did. But go he shall, for I'm determined he's got to have more larning
+hammered into his head yet. I reckon you'll have trouble with him,
+Master, for he's as stupid as an owl, and as stubborn as Solomon's mule.
+But mind this, Master, I'll back you up. You just lick Sandy good and
+plenty when he needs it, and send me a scrape of the pen home with him,
+and I'll give him another dose.
+
+"There's people that always sides in with their young ones when there's
+any rumpus kicked up in the school, but I don't hold to that, and never
+did. You can depend on Rebecca Reid every time, Master."
+
+"Thank you. I am sure I can," said Eric, in his most winning tones.
+
+He kept his face straight until it was safe to relax, and Mrs. Reid
+drove on with a soft feeling in her leathery old heart, which had been
+so toughened by long endurance of poverty and toil, and a husband who
+wouldn't work and couldn't be made to work, that it was no longer a very
+susceptible organ where members of the opposite sex were concerned.
+
+Mrs. Reid reflected that this young man had a way with him.
+
+Eric already knew most of the Lindsay folks by sight; but at the foot of
+the hill he met two people, a man and a boy, whom he did not know. They
+were sitting in a shabby, old-fashioned wagon, and were watering their
+horse at the brook, which gurgled limpidly under the little plank bridge
+in the hollow.
+
+Eric surveyed them with some curiosity. They did not look in the least
+like the ordinary run of Lindsay people. The boy, in particular, had
+a distinctly foreign appearance, in spite of the gingham shirt and
+homespun trousers, which seemed to be the regulation, work-a-day outfit
+for the Lindsay farmer lads. He had a lithe, supple body, with sloping
+shoulders, and a lean, satiny brown throat above his open shirt collar.
+His head was covered with thick, silky, black curls, and the hand that
+hung down by the side of the wagon was unusually long and slender. His
+face was richly, though somewhat heavily featured, olive tinted, save
+for the cheeks, which had a dusky crimson bloom. His mouth was as red
+and beguiling as a girl's, and his eyes were large, bold and black. All
+in all, he was a strikingly handsome fellow; but the expression of his
+face was sullen, and he somehow gave Eric the impression of a sinuous,
+feline creature basking in lazy grace, but ever ready for an unexpected
+spring.
+
+The other occupant of the wagon was a man between sixty-five and
+seventy, with iron-gray hair, a long, full, gray beard, a harsh-featured
+face, and deep-set hazel eyes under bushy, bristling brows. He was
+evidently tall, with a spare, ungainly figure, and stooping shoulders.
+His mouth was close-lipped and relentless, and did not look as if it
+had ever smiled. Indeed, the idea of smiling could not be connected with
+this man--it was utterly incongruous. Yet there was nothing repellent
+about his face; and there was something in it that compelled Eric's
+attention.
+
+He rather prided himself on being a student of physiognomy, and he felt
+quite sure that this man was no ordinary Lindsay farmer of the genial,
+garrulous type with which he was familiar.
+
+Long after the old wagon, with its oddly assorted pair, had gone
+lumbering up the hill, Eric found himself thinking of the stern, heavy
+browed man and the black-eyed, red-lipped boy.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV. A TEA TABLE CONVERSATION
+
+The Williamson place, where Eric boarded, was on the crest of the
+succeeding hill. He liked it as well as Larry West had prophesied that
+he would. The Williamsons, as well as the rest of the Lindsay people,
+took it for granted that he was a poor college student working his way
+through as Larry West had been doing. Eric did not disturb this belief,
+although he said nothing to contribute to it.
+
+The Williamsons were at tea in the kitchen when Eric went in. Mrs.
+Williamson was the "saint in spectacles and calico" which Larry West had
+termed her. Eric liked her greatly. She was a slight, gray-haired woman,
+with a thin, sweet, high-bred face, deeply lined with the records of
+outlived pain. She talked little as a rule; but, in the pungent country
+phrase she never spoke but she said something. The one thing that
+constantly puzzled Eric was how such a woman ever came to marry Robert
+Williamson.
+
+She smiled in a motherly fashion at Eric, as he hung his hat on the
+white-washed wall and took his place at the table. Outside of the
+window behind him was a birch grove which, in the westering sun, was
+a tremulous splendour, with a sea of undergrowth wavered into golden
+billows by every passing wind.
+
+Old Robert Williamson sat opposite him, on a bench. He was a small, lean
+old man, half lost in loose clothes that seemed far too large for him.
+When he spoke his voice was as thin and squeaky as he appeared to be
+himself.
+
+The other end of the bench was occupied by Timothy, sleek and
+complacent, with a snowy breast and white paws. After old Robert had
+taken a mouthful of anything he gave a piece to Timothy, who ate it
+daintily and purred resonant gratitude.
+
+"You see we're busy waiting for you, Master," said old Robert. "You're
+late this evening. Keep any of the youngsters in? That's a foolish way
+of punishing them, as hard on yourself as on them. One teacher we had
+four years ago used to lock them in and go home. Then he'd go back in
+an hour and let them out--if they were there. They weren't always. Tom
+Ferguson kicked the panels out of the old door once and got out that
+way. We put a new door of double plank in that they couldn't kick out."
+
+"I stayed in the schoolroom to do some work," said Eric briefly.
+
+"Well, you've missed Alexander Tracy. He was here to find out if you
+could play checkers, and, when I told him you could, he left word for
+you to go up and have a game some evening soon. Don't beat him too
+often, even if you can. You'll need to stand in with him, I tell you,
+Master, for he's got a son that may brew trouble for you when he starts
+in to go to school. Seth Tracy's a young imp, and he'd far sooner be in
+mischief than eat. He tries to run on every new teacher and he's run
+two clean out of the school. But he met his match in Mr. West. William
+Tracy's boys now--you won't have a scrap of bother with THEM. They're
+always good because their mother tells them every Sunday that they'll
+go straight to hell if they don't behave in school. It's effective. Take
+some preserve, Master. You know we don't help things here the way Mrs.
+Adam Scott does when she has boarders, 'I s'pose you don't want any of
+this--nor you--nor you?' Mother, Aleck says old George Wright is having
+the time of his life. His wife has gone to Charlottetown to visit her
+sister and he is his own boss for the first time since he was married,
+forty years ago. He's on a regular orgy, Aleck says. He smokes in the
+parlour and sits up till eleven o'clock reading dime novels."
+
+"Perhaps I met Mr. Tracy," said Eric. "Is he a tall man, with gray hair
+and a dark, stern face?"
+
+"No, he's a round, jolly fellow, is Aleck, and he stopped growing pretty
+much before he'd ever begun. I reckon the man you mean is Thomas Gordon.
+I seen him driving down the road too. HE won't be troubling you with
+invitations up, small fear of it. The Gordons ain't sociable, to say the
+least of it. No, sir! Mother, pass the biscuits to the Master."
+
+"Who was the young fellow he had with him?" asked Eric curiously.
+
+"Neil--Neil Gordon."
+
+"That is a Scotchy name for such a face and eyes. I should rather have
+expected Guiseppe or Angelo. The boy looks like an Italian."
+
+"Well, now, you know, Master, I reckon it's likely he does, seeing
+that that's exactly what he is. You've hit the nail square on the head.
+Italyun, yes, sir! Rather too much so, I'm thinking, for decent folks'
+taste."
+
+"How has it happened that an Italian boy with a Scotch name is living in
+a place like Lindsay?"
+
+"Well, Master, it was this way. About twenty-two years ago--WAS it
+twenty-two, Mother or twenty-four? Yes, it was twenty-two--'twas the
+same year our Jim was born and he'd have been twenty-two if he'd lived,
+poor little fellow. Well, Master, twenty-two years ago a couple of
+Italian pack peddlers came along and called at the Gordon place. The
+country was swarming with them then. I useter set the dog on one every
+day on an average.
+
+"Well, these peddlers were man and wife, and the woman took sick up
+there at the Gordon place, and Janet Gordon took her in and nursed her.
+A baby was born the next day, and the woman died. Then the first thing
+anybody knew the father skipped clean out, pack and all, and was never
+seen or heard tell of afterwards. The Gordons were left with the fine
+youngster to their hands. Folks advised them to send him to the Orphan
+Asylum, and 'twould have been the wisest plan, but the Gordons were
+never fond of taking advice. Old James Gordon was living then, Thomas
+and Janet's father, and he said he would never turn a child out of his
+door. He was a masterful old man and liked to be boss. Folks used to say
+he had a grudge against the sun 'cause it rose and set without his
+say so. Anyhow, they kept the baby. They called him Neil and had him
+baptized same as any Christian child. He's always lived there. They
+did well enough by him. He was sent to school and taken to church and
+treated like one of themselves. Some folks think they made too much of
+him. It doesn't always do with that kind, for 'what's bred in bone
+is mighty apt to come out in flesh,' if 'taint kept down pretty well.
+Neil's smart and a great worker, they tell me. But folks hereabouts
+don't like him. They say he ain't to be trusted further'n you can see
+him, if as far. It's certain he's awful hot tempered, and one time when
+he was going to school he near about killed a boy he'd took a spite
+to--choked him till he was black in the face and Neil had to be dragged
+off."
+
+"Well now, father, you know they teased him terrible," protested Mrs.
+Williamson. "The poor boy had a real hard time when he went to school,
+Master. The other children were always casting things up to him and
+calling him names."
+
+"Oh, I daresay they tormented him a lot," admitted her husband. "He's
+a great hand at the fiddle and likes company. He goes to the harbour a
+good deal. But they say he takes sulky spells when he hasn't a word
+to throw to a dog. 'Twouldn't be any wonder, living with the Gordons.
+They're all as queer as Dick's hat-band."
+
+"Father, you shouldn't talk so about your neighbours," said his wife
+rebukingly.
+
+"Well now, Mother, you know they are, if you'd only speak up honest. But
+you're like old Aunt Nancy Scott, you never say anything uncharitable
+except in the way of business. You know the Gordons ain't like other
+people and never were and never will be. They're about the only queer
+folks we have in Lindsay, Master, except old Peter Cook, who keeps
+twenty-five cats. Lord, Master, think of it! What chanct would a poor
+mouse have? None of the rest of us are queer, leastwise, we hain't found
+it out if we are. But, then, we're mighty uninteresting, I'm bound to
+admit that."
+
+"Where do the Gordons live?" asked Eric, who had grown used to holding
+fast to a given point of inquiry through all the bewildering mazes of
+old Robert's conversation.
+
+"Away up yander, half a mile in from Radnor road, with a thick spruce
+wood atween them and all the rest of the world. They never go away
+anywheres, except to church--they never miss that--and nobody goes
+there. There's just old Thomas, and his sister Janet, and a niece of
+theirs, and this here Neil we've been talking about. They're a queer,
+dour, cranky lot, and I WILL say it, Mother. There, give your old man a
+cup of tea and never mind the way his tongue runs on. Speaking of tea,
+do you know Mrs. Adam Palmer and Mrs. Jim Martin took tea together at
+Foster Reid's last Wednesday afternoon?"
+
+"No, why, I thought they were on bad terms," said Mrs. Williamson,
+betraying a little feminine curiosity.
+
+"So they are, so they are. But they both happened to visit Mrs. Foster
+the same afternoon and neither would leave because that would be
+knuckling down to the other. So they stuck it out, on opposite sides
+of the parlour. Mrs. Foster says she never spent such an uncomfortable
+afternoon in all her life before. She would talk a spell to one and then
+t'other. And they kept talking TO Mrs. Foster and AT each other. Mrs.
+Foster says she really thought she'd have to keep them all night, for
+neither would start to go home afore the other. Finally Jim Martin came
+in to look for his wife, 'cause he thought she must have got stuck
+in the marsh, and that solved the problem. Master, you ain't eating
+anything. Don't mind my stopping; I was at it half an hour afore you
+come, and anyway I'm in a hurry. My hired boy went home to-day. He heard
+the rooster crow at twelve last night and he's gone home to see which of
+his family is dead. He knows one of 'em is. He heard a rooster crow in
+the middle of the night onct afore and the next day he got word that his
+second cousin down at Souris was dead. Mother, if the Master don't want
+any more tea, ain't there some cream for Timothy?"
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V. A PHANTOM OF DELIGHT
+
+Shortly before sunset that evening Eric went for a walk. When he did not
+go to the shore he liked to indulge in long tramps through the Lindsay
+fields and woods, in the mellowness of "the sweet 'o the year." Most of
+the Lindsay houses were built along the main road, which ran parallel to
+the shore, or about the stores at "The Corner." The farms ran back from
+them into solitudes of woods and pasture lands.
+
+Eric struck southwest from the Williamson homestead, in a direction
+he had not hitherto explored, and walked briskly along, enjoying the
+witchery of the season all about him in earth and air and sky. He felt
+it and loved it and yielded to it, as anyone of clean life and sane
+pulses must do.
+
+The spruce wood in which he presently found himself was smitten through
+with arrows of ruby light from the setting sun. He went through it,
+walking up a long, purple aisle where the wood-floor was brown and
+elastic under his feet, and came out beyond it on a scene which
+surprised him.
+
+No house was in sight, but he found himself looking into an orchard; an
+old orchard, evidently long neglected and forsaken. But an orchard dies
+hard; and this one, which must have been a very delightful spot once,
+was delightful still, none the less so for the air of gentle melancholy
+which seemed to pervade it, the melancholy which invests all places that
+have once been the scenes of joy and pleasure and young life, and are so
+no longer, places where hearts have throbbed, and pulses thrilled, and
+eyes brightened, and merry voices echoed. The ghosts of these things
+seem to linger in their old haunts through many empty years.
+
+The orchard was large and long, enclosed in a tumbledown old fence of
+longers bleached to a silvery gray in the suns of many lost summers. At
+regular intervals along the fence were tall, gnarled fir trees, and an
+evening wind, sweeter than that which blew over the beds of spice from
+Lebanon, was singing in their tops, an earth-old song with power to
+carry the soul back to the dawn of time.
+
+Eastward, a thick fir wood grew, beginning with tiny treelets just
+feathering from the grass, and grading up therefrom to the tall veterans
+of the mid-grove, unbrokenly and evenly, giving the effect of a solid,
+sloping green wall, so beautifully compact that it looked as if it had
+been clipped into its velvet surface by art.
+
+Most of the orchard was grown over lushly with grass; but at the end
+where Eric stood there was a square, treeless place which had evidently
+once served as a homestead garden. Old paths were still visible,
+bordered by stones and large pebbles. There were two clumps of lilac
+trees; one blossoming in royal purple, the other in white. Between
+them was a bed ablow with the starry spikes of June lilies. Their
+penetrating, haunting fragrance distilled on the dewy air in every soft
+puff of wind. Along the fence rosebushes grew, but it was as yet too
+early in the season for roses.
+
+Beyond was the orchard proper, three long rows of trees with green
+avenues between, each tree standing in a wonderful blow of pink and
+white.
+
+The charm of the place took sudden possession of Eric as nothing had
+ever done before. He was not given to romantic fancies; but the orchard
+laid hold of him subtly and drew him to itself, and he was never to be
+quite his own man again. He went into it over one of the broken panels
+of fence, and so, unknowing, went forward to meet all that life held for
+him.
+
+He walked the length of the orchard's middle avenue between long,
+sinuous boughs picked out with delicate, rose-hearted bloom. When he
+reached its southern boundary he flung himself down in a grassy corner
+of the fence where another lilac bush grew, with ferns and wild blue
+violets at its roots. From where he now was he got a glimpse of a house
+about a quarter of a mile away, its gray gable peering out from a dark
+spruce wood. It seemed a dull, gloomy, remote place, and he did not know
+who lived there.
+
+He had a wide outlook to the west, over far hazy fields and misty blue
+intervales. The sun had just set, and the whole world of green meadows
+beyond swam in golden light. Across a long valley brimmed with shadow
+were uplands of sunset, and great sky lakes of saffron and rose where
+a soul might lose itself in colour. The air was very fragrant with the
+baptism of the dew, and the odours of a bed of wild mint upon which he
+had trampled. Robins were whistling, clear and sweet and sudden, in the
+woods all about him.
+
+"This is a veritable 'haunt of ancient peace,'" quoted Eric, looking
+around with delighted eyes. "I could fall asleep here, dream dreams
+and see visions. What a sky! Could anything be diviner than that fine
+crystal eastern blue, and those frail white clouds that look like woven
+lace? What a dizzying, intoxicating fragrance lilacs have! I wonder
+if perfume could set a man drunk. Those apple trees now--why, what is
+that?"
+
+Eric started up and listened. Across the mellow stillness, mingled
+with the croon of the wind in the trees and the flute-like calls of the
+robins, came a strain of delicious music, so beautiful and fantastic
+that Eric held his breath in astonishment and delight. Was he dreaming?
+No, it was real music, the music of a violin played by some hand
+inspired with the very spirit of harmony. He had never heard anything
+like it; and, somehow, he felt quite sure that nothing exactly like it
+ever had been heard before; he believed that that wonderful music was
+coming straight from the soul of the unseen violinist, and translating
+itself into those most airy and delicate and exquisite sounds for the
+first time; the very soul of music, with all sense and earthliness
+refined away.
+
+It was an elusive, haunting melody, strangely suited to the time
+and place; it had in it the sigh of the wind in the woods, the eerie
+whispering of the grasses at dewfall, the white thoughts of the June
+lilies, the rejoicing of the apple blossoms; all the soul of all the old
+laughter and song and tears and gladness and sobs the orchard had
+ever known in the lost years; and besides all this, there was in it a
+pitiful, plaintive cry as of some imprisoned thing calling for freedom
+and utterance.
+
+At first Eric listened as a man spellbound, mutely and motionlessly,
+lost in wonderment. Then a very natural curiosity overcame him. Who in
+Lindsay could play a violin like that? And who was playing so here, in
+this deserted old orchard, of all places in the world?
+
+He rose and walked up the long white avenue, going as slowly and
+silently as possible, for he did not wish to interrupt the player.
+When he reached the open space of the garden he stopped short in new
+amazement and was again tempted into thinking he must certainly be
+dreaming.
+
+Under the big branching white lilac tree was an old, sagging, wooden
+bench; and on this bench a girl was sitting, playing on an old brown
+violin. Her eyes were on the faraway horizon and she did not see Eric.
+For a few moments he stood there and looked at her. The pictures she
+made photographed itself on his vision to the finest detail, never to
+be blotted from his book of remembrance. To his latest day Eric Marshall
+will be able to recall vividly that scene as he saw it then--the velvet
+darkness of the spruce woods, the overarching sky of soft brilliance,
+the swaying lilac blossoms, and amid it all the girl on the old bench
+with the violin under her chin.
+
+He had, in his twenty-four years of life, met hundreds of pretty women,
+scores of handsome women, a scant half dozen of really beautiful women.
+But he knew at once, beyond all possibility of question or doubt, that
+he had never seen or imagined anything so exquisite as this girl of the
+orchard. Her loveliness was so perfect that his breath almost went from
+him in his first delight of it.
+
+Her face was oval, marked in every cameo-like line and feature with
+that expression of absolute, flawless purity, found in the angels and
+Madonnas of old paintings, a purity that held in it no faintest strain
+of earthliness. Her head was bare, and her thick, jet-black hair was
+parted above her forehead and hung in two heavy lustrous braids over her
+shoulders. Her eyes were of such a blue as Eric had never seen in eyes
+before, the tint of the sea in the still, calm light that follows after
+a fine sunset; they were as luminous as the stars that came out over
+Lindsay Harbour in the afterglow, and were fringed about with very long,
+soot-black lashes, and arched over by most delicately pencilled dark
+eyebrows. Her skin was as fine and purely tinted as the heart of a white
+rose. The collarless dress of pale blue print she wore revealed her
+smooth, slender throat; her sleeves were rolled up above her elbows
+and the hand which guided the bow of her violin was perhaps the most
+beautiful thing about her, perfect in shape and texture, firm and
+white, with rosy-nailed taper fingers. One long, drooping plume of lilac
+blossom lightly touched her hair and cast a wavering shadow over the
+flower-like face beneath it.
+
+There was something very child-like about her, and yet at least eighteen
+sweet years must have gone to the making of her. She seemed to be
+playing half unconsciously, as if her thoughts were far away in some
+fair dreamland of the skies. But presently she looked away from "the
+bourne of sunset," and her lovely eyes fell on Eric, standing motionless
+before her in the shadow of the apple tree.
+
+The sudden change that swept over her was startling. She sprang to her
+feet, the music breaking in mid-strain and the bow slipping from her
+hand to the grass. Every hint of colour fled from her face and she
+trembled like one of the wind-stirred June lilies.
+
+"I beg your pardon," said Eric hastily. "I am sorry that I have alarmed
+you. But your music was so beautiful that I did not remember you were
+not aware of my presence here. Please forgive me."
+
+He stopped in dismay, for he suddenly realized that the expression on
+the girl's face was one of terror--not merely the startled alarm of
+a shy, childlike creature who had thought herself alone, but absolute
+terror. It was betrayed in her blanched and quivering lips and in the
+widely distended blue eyes that stared back into his with the expression
+of some trapped wild thing.
+
+It hurt him that any woman should look at him in such a fashion, at him
+who had always held womanhood in such reverence.
+
+"Don't look so frightened," he said gently, thinking only of calming her
+fear, and speaking as he would to a child. "I will not hurt you. You are
+safe, quite safe."
+
+In his eagerness to reassure her he took an unconscious step forward.
+Instantly she turned, and, without a sound, fled across the orchard,
+through a gap in the northern fence and along what seemed to be a lane
+bordering the fir wood beyond and arched over with wild cherry trees
+misty white in the gathering gloom. Before Eric could recover his wits
+she had vanished from his sight among the firs.
+
+He stooped and picked up the violin bow, feeling slightly foolish and
+very much annoyed.
+
+"Well, this is a most mysterious thing," he said, somewhat impatiently.
+"Am I bewitched? Who was she? WHAT was she? Can it be possible that she
+is a Lindsay girl? And why in the name of all that's provoking should
+she be so frightened at the mere sight of me? I have never thought I
+was a particularly hideous person, but certainly this adventure has not
+increased my vanity to any perceptible extent. Perhaps I have wandered
+into an enchanted orchard, and been outwardly transformed into an ogre.
+Now that I have come to think of it, there is something quite uncanny
+about the place. Anything might happen here. It is no common orchard for
+the production of marketable apples, that is plain to be seen. No, it's
+a most unwholesome locality; and the sooner I make my escape from it the
+better."
+
+He glanced about it with a whimsical smile. The light was fading rapidly
+and the orchard was full of soft, creeping shadows and silences. It
+seemed to wink sleepy eyes of impish enjoyment at his perplexity. He
+laid the violin bow down on the old bench.
+
+"Well, there is no use in my following her, and I have no right to do
+so even if it were of use. But I certainly wish she hadn't fled in such
+evident terror. Eyes like hers were never meant to express anything
+but tenderness and trust. Why--why--WHY was she so frightened? And
+who--who--WHO--can she be?"
+
+All the way home, over fields and pastures that were beginning to be
+moonlight silvered he pondered the mystery.
+
+"Let me see," he reflected. "Mr. Williamson was describing the Lindsay
+girls for my benefit the other evening. If I remember rightly he said
+that there were four handsome ones in the district. What were their
+names? Florrie Woods, Melissa Foster--no, Melissa Palmer--Emma Scott,
+and Jennie May Ferguson. Can she be one of them? No, it is a flagrant
+waste of time and gray matter supposing it. That girl couldn't be a
+Florrie or a Melissa or an Emma, while Jennie May is completely out of
+the question. Well, there is some bewitchment in the affair. Of that I'm
+convinced. So I'd better forget all about it."
+
+But Eric found that it was impossible to forget all about it. The more
+he tried to forget, the more keenly and insistently he remembered. The
+girl's exquisite face haunted him and the mystery of her tantalized him.
+
+True, he knew that, in all likelihood, he might easily solve the problem
+by asking the Williamsons about her. But somehow, to his own surprise,
+he found that he shrank from doing this. He felt that it was impossible
+to ask Robert Williamson and probably have the girl's name overflowed
+in a stream of petty gossip concerning her and all her antecedents and
+collaterals to the third and fourth generation. If he had to ask any one
+it should be Mrs. Williamson; but he meant to find out the secret for
+himself if it were at all possible.
+
+He had planned to go to the harbour the next evening. One of the
+lobstermen had promised to take him out cod-fishing. But instead he
+wandered southwest over the fields again.
+
+He found the orchard easily--he had half expected NOT to find it. It
+was still the same fragrant, grassy, wind-haunted spot. But it had no
+occupant and the violin bow was gone from the old bench.
+
+"Perhaps she tiptoed back here for it by the light o' the moon," thought
+Eric, pleasing his fancy by the vision of a lithe, girlish figure
+stealing with a beating heart through mingled shadow and moonshine. "I
+wonder if she will possibly come this evening, or if I have frightened
+her away for ever. I'll hide me behind this spruce copse and wait."
+
+Eric waited until dark, but no music sounded through the orchard and no
+one came to it. The keenness of his disappointment surprised him, nay
+more, it vexed him. What nonsense to be so worked up because a little
+girl he had seen for five minutes failed to appear! Where was his
+common sense, his "gumption," as old Robert Williamson would have said?
+Naturally a man liked to look at a pretty face. But was that any reason
+why he should feel as if life were flat, stale, and unprofitable simply
+because he could not look at it? He called himself a fool and went home
+in a petulant mood. Arriving there, he plunged fiercely into solving
+algebraical equations and working out geometry exercises, determined
+to put out of his head forthwith all vain imaginings of an enchanted
+orchard, white in the moonshine, with lilts of elfin music echoing down
+its long arcades.
+
+The next day was Sunday and Eric went to church twice. The Williamson
+pew was one of the side ones at the top of the church and its occupants
+practically faced the congregation. Eric looked at every girl and woman
+in the audience, but he saw nothing of the face which, setting will
+power and common sense flatly at defiance, haunted his memory like a
+star.
+
+Thomas Gordon was there, sitting alone in his long, empty pew near the
+top of the building; and Neil Gordon sang in the choir which occupied
+the front pew of the gallery. He had a powerful and melodious, though
+untrained voice, which dominated the singing and took the colour out
+of the weaker, more commonplace tones of the other singers. He was
+well-dressed in a suit of dark blue serge, with a white collar and
+tie. But Eric idly thought it did not become him so well as the working
+clothes in which he had first seen him. He was too obviously dressed up,
+and he looked coarser and more out of harmony with his surroundings.
+
+For two days Eric refused to let himself think of the orchard. Monday
+evening he went cod-fishing, and Tuesday evening he went up to play
+checkers with Alexander Tracy. Alexander won all the games so easily
+that he never had any respect for Eric Marshall again.
+
+"Played like a feller whose thoughts were wool gathering," he complained
+to his wife. "He'll never make a checker player--never in this world."
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI. THE STORY OF KILMENY
+
+Wednesday evening Eric went to the orchard again; and again he was
+disappointed. He went home, determined to solve the mystery by open
+inquiry. Fortune favoured him, for he found Mrs. Williamson alone,
+sitting by the west window of her kitchen and knitting at a long gray
+sock. She hummed softly to herself as she knitted, and Timothy slept
+blackly at her feet. She looked at Eric with quiet affection in her
+large, candid eyes. She had liked Mr. West. But Eric had found his way
+into the inner chamber of her heart, by reason that his eyes were so
+like those of the little son she had buried in the Lindsay churchyard
+many years before.
+
+"Mrs. Williamson," said Eric, with an affectation of carelessness, "I
+chanced on an old deserted orchard back behind the woods over there last
+week, a charming bit of wilderness. Do you know whose it is?"
+
+"I suppose it must be the old Connors orchard," answered Mrs. Williamson
+after a moment's reflection. "I had forgotten all about it. It must be
+all of thirty years since Mr. and Mrs. Connors moved away. Their house
+and barns were burned down and they sold the land to Thomas Gordon and
+went to live in town. They're both dead now. Mr. Connors used to be
+very proud of his orchard. There weren't many orchards in Lindsay then,
+though almost everybody has one now."
+
+"There was a young girl in it, playing on a violin," said Eric, annoyed
+to find that it cost him an effort to speak of her, and that the blood
+mounted to his face as he did so. "She ran away in great alarm as
+soon as she saw me, although I do not think I did or said anything to
+frighten or vex her. I have no idea who she was. Do you know?"
+
+Mrs. Williamson did not make an immediate reply. She laid down her
+knitting and gazed out of the window as if pondering seriously some
+question in her own mind. Finally she said, with an intonation of keen
+interest in her voice,
+
+"I suppose it must have been Kilmeny Gordon, Master."
+
+"Kilmeny Gordon? Do you mean the niece of Thomas Gordon of whom your
+husband spoke?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"I can hardly believe that the girl I saw can be a member of Thomas
+Gordon's family."
+
+"Well, if it wasn't Kilmeny Gordon I don't know who it could have been.
+There is no other house near that orchard and I've heard she plays the
+violin. If it was Kilmeny you've seen what very few people in Lindsay
+have ever seen, Master. And those few have never seen her close by. I
+have never laid eyes on her myself. It's no wonder she ran away, poor
+girl. She isn't used to seeing strangers."
+
+"I'm rather glad if that was the sole reason of her flight," said
+Eric. "I admit I didn't like to see any girl so frightened of me as she
+appeared to be. She was as white as paper, and so terrified that she
+never uttered a word, but fled like a deer to cover."
+
+"Well, she couldn't have spoken a word in any case," said Mrs.
+Williamson quietly. "Kilmeny Gordon is dumb."
+
+Eric sat in dismayed silence for a moment. That beautiful creature
+afflicted in such a fashion--why, it was horrible! Mingled with his
+dismay was a strange pang of personal regret and disappointment.
+
+"It couldn't have been Kilmeny Gordon, then," he protested at last,
+remembering. "The girl I saw played on the violin exquisitely. I never
+heard anything like it. It is impossible that a deaf mute could play
+like that."
+
+"Oh, she isn't deaf, Master," responded Mrs. Williamson, looking at Eric
+keenly through her spectacles. She picked up her knitting and fell to
+work again. "That is the strange part of it, if anything about her
+can be stranger than another. She can hear as well as anybody and
+understands everything that is said to her. But she can't speak a word
+and never could, at least, so they say. The truth is, nobody knows much
+about her. Janet and Thomas never speak of her, and Neil won't either.
+He has been well questioned, too, you can depend on that; but he won't
+ever say a word about Kilmeny and he gets mad if folks persist."
+
+"Why isn't she to be spoken of?" queried Eric impatiently. "What is the
+mystery about her?"
+
+"It's a sad story, Master. I suppose the Gordons look on her existence
+as a sort of disgrace. For my own part, I think it's terrible, the way
+she's been brought up. But the Gordons are very strange people, Mr.
+Marshall. I kind of reproved father for saying so, you remember, but it
+is true. They have very strange ways. And you've really seen Kilmeny?
+What does she look like? I've heard that she was handsome. Is it true?"
+
+"I thought her very beautiful," said Eric rather curtly. "But HOW has
+she been brought up, Mrs. Williamson? And why?"
+
+"Well, I might as well tell you the whole story, Master. Kilmeny is the
+niece of Thomas and Janet Gordon. Her mother was Margaret Gordon, their
+younger sister. Old James Gordon came out from Scotland. Janet and
+Thomas were born in the Old Country and were small children when they
+came here. They were never very sociable folks, but still they used to
+visit out some then, and people used to go there. They were kind and
+honest people, even if they were a little peculiar.
+
+"Mrs. Gordon died a few years after they came out, and four years later
+James Gordon went home to Scotland and brought a new wife back with him.
+She was a great deal younger than he was and a very pretty woman, as my
+mother often told me. She was friendly and gay and liked social life.
+The Gordon place was a very different sort of place after she came
+there, and even Janet and Thomas got thawed out and softened down a
+good bit. They were real fond of their stepmother, I've heard. Then, six
+years after she was married, the second Mrs. Gordon died too. She died
+when Margaret was born. They say James Gordon almost broke his heart
+over it.
+
+"Janet brought Margaret up. She and Thomas just worshipped the child and
+so did their father. I knew Margaret Gordon well once. We were just
+the same age and we set together in school. We were always good friends
+until she turned against all the world.
+
+"She was a strange girl in some ways even then, but I always liked her,
+though a great many people didn't. She had some bitter enemies, but she
+had some devoted friends too. That was her way. She made folks either
+hate or love her. Those who did love her would have gone through fire
+and water for her.
+
+"When she grew up she was very pretty--tall and splendid, like a queen,
+with great thick braids of black hair and red, red cheeks and lips.
+Everybody who saw her looked at her a second time. She was a little
+vain of her beauty, I think, Master. And she was proud, oh, she was very
+proud. She liked to be first in everything, and she couldn't bear not to
+show to good advantage. She was dreadful determined, too. You couldn't
+budge her an inch, Master, when she once had made up her mind on any
+point. But she was warm-hearted and generous. She could sing like an
+angel and she was very clever. She could learn anything with just one
+look at it and she was terrible fond of reading.
+
+"When I'm talking about her like this it all comes back to me, just what
+she was like and how she looked and spoke and acted, and little ways she
+had of moving her hands and head. I declare it almost seems as if
+she was right here in this room instead of being over there in the
+churchyard. I wish you'd light the lamp, Master. I feel kind of
+nervous."
+
+Eric rose and lighted the lamp, rather wondering at Mrs. Williamson's
+unusual exhibition of nerves. She was generally so calm and composed.
+
+"Thank you, Master. That's better. I won't be fancying now that Margaret
+Gordon's here listening to what I'm saying. I had the feeling so strong
+a moment ago.
+
+"I suppose you think I'm a long while getting to Kilmeny, but I'm coming
+to that. I didn't mean to talk so much about Margaret, but somehow my
+thoughts got taken up with her.
+
+"Well, Margaret passed the Board and went to Queen's Academy and got
+a teacher's license. She passed pretty well up when she came out, but
+Janet told me she cried all night after the pass list came out because
+there were some ahead of her.
+
+"She went to teach school over at Radnor. It was there she met a man
+named Ronald Fraser. Margaret had never had a beau before. She could
+have had any young man in Lindsay if she had wanted him, but she
+wouldn't look at one of them. They said it was because she thought
+nobody was good enough for her, but that wasn't the way of it at all,
+Master. I knew, because Margaret and I used to talk of those matters,
+as girls do. She didn't believe in going with anybody unless it was
+somebody she thought everything of. And there was nobody in Lindsay she
+cared that much for.
+
+"This Ronald Fraser was a stranger from Nova Scotia and nobody knew much
+about him. He was a widower, although he was only a young man. He had
+set up store-keeping in Radnor and was doing well. He was real handsome
+and had taking ways women like. It was said that all the Radnor girls
+were in love with him, but I don't think his worst enemy could have said
+he flirted with them. He never took any notice of them; but the very
+first time he saw Margaret Gordon he fell in love with her and she with
+him.
+
+"They came over to church in Lindsay together the next Sunday and
+everybody said it would be a match. Margaret looked lovely that day, so
+gentle and womanly. She had been used to hold her head pretty high, but
+that day she held it drooping a little and her black eyes cast down.
+Ronald Fraser was very tall and fair, with blue eyes. They made as
+handsome a couple as I ever saw.
+
+"But old James Gordon and Thomas and Janet didn't much approve of him. I
+saw that plain enough one time I was there and he brought Margaret home
+from Radnor Friday night. I guess they wouldn't have liked anybody,
+though, who come after Margaret. They thought nobody was good enough for
+her.
+
+"But Margaret coaxed them all round in time. She could do pretty near
+anything with them, they were so fond and proud of her. Her father held
+out the longest, but finally he give in and consented for her to marry
+Ronald Fraser.
+
+"They had a big wedding, too--all the neighbours were asked. Margaret
+always liked to make a display. I was her bridesmaid, Master. I helped
+her dress and nothing would please her; she wanted to look that nice
+for Ronald's sake. She was a handsome bride; dressed in white, with red
+roses in her hair and at her breast. She wouldn't wear white flowers;
+she said they looked too much like funeral flowers. She looked like a
+picture. I can see her this minute, as plain as plain, just as she was
+that night, blushing and turning pale by turns, and looking at Ronald
+with her eyes of love. If ever a girl loved a man with all her heart
+Margaret Gordon did. It almost made me feel frightened. She gave him the
+worship it isn't right to give anybody but God, Master, and I think that
+is always punished.
+
+"They went to live at Radnor and for a little while everything went
+well. Margaret had a nice house, and was gay and happy. She dressed
+beautiful and entertained a good deal. Then--well, Ronald Fraser's first
+wife turned up looking for him! She wasn't dead after all.
+
+"Oh, there was terrible scandal, Master. The talk and gossip was
+something dreadful. Every one you met had a different story, and it was
+hard to get at the truth. Some said Ronald Fraser had known all the time
+that his wife wasn't dead, and had deceived Margaret. But I don't think
+he did. He swore he didn't. They hadn't been very happy together, it
+seems. Her mother made trouble between them. Then she went to visit her
+mother in Montreal, and died in the hospital there, so the word came
+to Ronald. Perhaps he believed it a little too readily, but that he DID
+believe it I never had a doubt. Her story was that it was another woman
+of the same name. When she found out Ronald thought her dead she and her
+mother agreed to let him think so. But when she heard he had got married
+again she thought she'd better let him know the truth.
+
+"It all sounded like a queer story and I suppose you couldn't blame
+people for not believing it too readily. But I've always felt it was
+true. Margaret didn't think so, though. She believed that Ronald Fraser
+had deceived her, knowing all the time that he couldn't make her his
+lawful wife. She turned against him and hated him just as much as she
+had loved him before.
+
+"Ronald Fraser went away with his real wife, and in less than a year
+word came of his death. They said he just died of a broken heart,
+nothing more nor less.
+
+"Margaret came home to her father's house. From the day that she went
+over its threshold, she never came out until she was carried out in her
+coffin three years ago. Not a soul outside of her own family ever saw
+her again. I went to see her, but Janet told me she wouldn't see me. It
+was foolish of Margaret to act so. She hadn't done anything real wrong;
+and everybody was sorry for her and would have helped her all they
+could. But I reckon pity cut her as deep as blame could have done, and
+deeper, because you see, Master, she was so proud she couldn't bear it.
+
+"They say her father was hard on her, too; and that was unjust if it was
+true. Janet and Thomas felt the disgrace, too. The people that had been
+in the habit of going to the Gordon place soon stopped going, for they
+could see they were not welcome.
+
+"Old James Gordon died that winter. He never held his head up again
+after the scandal. He had been an elder in the church, but he handed in
+his resignation right away and nobody could persuade him to withdraw it.
+
+"Kilmeny was born in the spring, but nobody ever saw her, except the
+minister who baptized her. She was never taken to church or sent to
+school. Of course, I suppose there wouldn't have been any use in her
+going to school when she couldn't speak, and it's likely Margaret taught
+her all she could be taught herself. But it was dreadful that she was
+never taken to church, or let go among the children and young folks.
+And it was a real shame that nothing was ever done to find out why she
+couldn't talk, or if she could be cured.
+
+"Margaret Gordon died three years ago, and everybody in Lindsay went to
+the funeral. But they didn't see her. The coffin lid was screwed down.
+And they didn't see Kilmeny either. I would have loved to see HER for
+Margaret's sake, but I didn't want to see poor Margaret. I had never
+seen her since the night she was a bride, for I had left Lindsay on a
+visit just after that, and what I came home the scandal had just broken
+out. I remembered Margaret in all her pride and beauty, and I couldn't
+have borne to look at her dead face and see the awful changes I knew
+must be there.
+
+"It was thought perhaps Janet and Thomas would take Kilmeny out after
+her mother was gone, but they never did, so I suppose they must have
+agreed with Margaret about the way she had been brought up. I've often
+felt sorry for the poor girl, and I don't think her people did right by
+her, even if she was mysteriously afflicted. She must have had a very
+sad, lonely life.
+
+"That is the story, Master, and I've been a long time telling it, as I
+dare say you think. But the past just seemed to be living again for
+me as I talked. If you don't want to be pestered with questions about
+Kilmeny Gordon, Master, you'd better not let on you've seen her."
+
+Eric was not likely to. He had heard all he wanted to know and more.
+
+"So this girl is at the core of a tragedy," he reflected, as he went to
+his room. "And she is dumb! The pity of it! Kilmeny! The name suits her.
+She is as lovely and innocent as the heroine of the old ballad. 'And
+oh, Kilmeny was fair to see.' But the next line is certainly not so
+appropriate, for her eyes were anything but 'still and steadfast'--after
+she had seen me, at all events."
+
+He tried to put her out of his thoughts, but he could not. The memory of
+her beautiful face drew him with a power he could not resist. The next
+evening he went again to the orchard.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII. A ROSE OF WOMANHOOD
+
+When he emerged from the spruce wood and entered the orchard his heart
+gave a sudden leap, and he felt that the blood rushed madly to his face.
+She was there, bending over the bed of June lilies in the centre of the
+garden plot. He could only see her profile, virginal and white.
+
+He stopped, not wishing to startle her again. When she lifted her head
+he expected to see her shrink and flee, but she did not do so; she only
+grew a little paler and stood motionless, watching him intently.
+
+Seeing this, he walked slowly towards her, and when he was so close
+to her that he could hear the nervous flutter of her breath over her
+parted, trembling lips, he said very gently,
+
+"Do not be afraid of me. I am a friend, and I do not wish to disturb or
+annoy you in any way."
+
+She seemed to hesitate a moment. Then she lifted a little slate that
+hung at her belt, wrote something on it rapidly, and held it out to him.
+He read, in a small distinctive handwriting,
+
+"I am not afraid of you now. Mother told me that all strange men were
+very wicked and dangerous, but I do not think you can be. I have thought
+a great deal about you, and I am sorry I ran away the other night."
+
+He realized her entire innocence and simplicity. Looking earnestly into
+her still troubled eyes he said,
+
+"I would not do you any harm for the world. All men are not wicked,
+although it is too true that some are so. My name is Eric Marshall and
+I am teaching in the Lindsay school. You, I think, are Kilmeny Gordon.
+I thought your music so very lovely the other evening that I have been
+wishing ever since that I might hear it again. Won't you play for me?"
+
+The vague fear had all gone from her eyes by this time, and suddenly she
+smiled--a merry, girlish, wholly irresistible smile, which broke through
+the calm of her face like a gleam of sunlight rippling over a placid
+sea. Then she wrote, "I am very sorry that I cannot play this evening.
+I did not bring my violin with me. But I will bring it to-morrow evening
+and play for you if you would like to hear me. I should like to please
+you."
+
+Again that note of innocent frankness! What a child she was--what a
+beautiful, ignorant child, utterly unskilled in the art of hiding her
+feelings! But why should she hide them? They were as pure and beautiful
+as herself. Eric smiled back at her with equal frankness.
+
+"I should like it more than I can say, and I shall be sure to come
+to-morrow evening if it is fine. But if it is at all damp or unpleasant
+you must not come. In that case another evening will do. And now won't
+you give me some flowers?"
+
+She nodded, with another little smile, and began to pick some of the
+June lilies, carefully selecting the most perfect among them. He watched
+her lithe, graceful motions with delight; every movement seemed poetry
+itself. She looked like a very incarnation of Spring--as if all the
+shimmer of young leaves and glow of young mornings and evanescent
+sweetness of young blossoms in a thousand springs had been embodied in
+her.
+
+When she came to him, radiant, her hands full of the lilies, a couplet
+from a favourite poem darted into his head--
+
+    "A blossom vermeil white
+    That lightly breaks a faded flower sheath,
+    Here, by God's rood, is the one maid for me."
+
+The next moment he was angry with himself for his folly. She was,
+after all, nothing but a child--and a child set apart from her fellow
+creatures by her sad defect. He must not let himself think nonsense.
+
+"Thank you. These June lilies are the sweetest flowers the spring brings
+us. Do you know that their real name is the white narcissus?" She looked
+pleased and interested.
+
+"No, I did not know," she wrote. "I have often read of the white
+narcissus and wondered what it was like. I never thought of it being the
+same as my dear June lilies. I am glad you told me. I love flowers very
+much. They are my very good friends."
+
+"You couldn't help being friends with the lilies. Like always takes to
+like," said Eric. "Come and sit down on the old bench--here, where you
+were sitting that night I frightened you so badly. I could not imagine
+who or what you were. Sometimes I thought I had dreamed you--only," he
+added under his breath and unheard by her, "I could never have dreamed
+anything half so lovely."
+
+She sat down beside him on the old bench and looked unshrinkingly in his
+face. There was no boldness in her glance--nothing but the most perfect,
+childlike trust and confidence. If there had been any evil in his
+heart--any skulking thought, he was afraid to acknowledge--those
+eyes must have searched it out and shamed it. But he could meet them
+unafraid. Then she wrote,
+
+"I was very much frightened. You must have thought me very silly, but I
+had never seen any man except Uncle Thomas and Neil and the egg peddler.
+And you are different from them--oh, very, very different. I was afraid
+to come back here the next evening. And yet, somehow, I wanted to come.
+I did not want you to think I did not know how to behave. I sent Neil
+back for my bow in the morning. I could not do without it. I cannot
+speak, you know. Are you sorry?"
+
+"I am very sorry for your sake."
+
+"Yes, but what I mean is, would you like me better if I could speak like
+other people?"
+
+"No, it does not make any difference in that way, Kilmeny. By the way,
+do you mind my calling you Kilmeny?"
+
+She looked puzzled and wrote, "What else should you call me? That is my
+name. Everybody calls me that."
+
+"But I am such a stranger to you that perhaps you would wish me to call
+you Miss Gordon."
+
+"Oh, no, I would not like that," she wrote quickly, with a distressed
+look on her face. "Nobody ever calls me that. It would make me feel
+as if I were not myself but somebody else. And you do not seem like a
+stranger to me. Is there any reason why you should not call me Kilmeny?"
+
+"No reason whatever, if you will allow me the privilege. You have a very
+lovely name--the very name you ought to have."
+
+"I am glad you like it. Do you know that I was called after my
+grandmother and she was called after a girl in a poem? Aunt Janet has
+never liked my name, although she liked my grandmother. But I am glad
+you like both my name and me. I was afraid you would not like me because
+I cannot speak."
+
+"You can speak through your music, Kilmeny."
+
+She looked pleased. "How well you understand," she wrote. "Yes, I cannot
+speak or sing as other people can, but I can make my violin say things
+for me."
+
+"Do you compose your own music?" he asked. But he saw she did not
+understand him. "I mean, did any one ever teach you the music you played
+here that evening?"
+
+"Oh, no. It just came as I thought. It has always been that way. When I
+was very little Neil taught me to hold the violin and the bow, and the
+rest all came of itself. My violin once belonged to Neil, but he gave it
+to me. Neil is very good and kind to me, but I like you better. Tell me
+about yourself."
+
+The wonder of her grew upon him with every passing moment. How lovely
+she was! What dear little ways and gestures she had--ways and gestures
+as artless and unstudied as they were effective. And how strangely
+little her dumbness seemed to matter after all! She wrote so quickly and
+easily, her eyes and smile gave such expression to her mobile face, that
+voice was hardly missed.
+
+They lingered in the orchard until the long, languid shadows of the
+trees crept to their feet. It was just after sunset and the distant
+hills were purple against the melting saffron of the sky in the west and
+the crystalline blue of the sky in the south. Eastward, just over the
+fir woods, were clouds, white and high heaped like snow mountains, and
+the westernmost of them shone with a rosy glow as of sunset on an Alpine
+height.
+
+The higher worlds of air were still full of light--perfect, stainless
+light, unmarred of earth shadow; but down in the orchard and under the
+spruces the light had almost gone, giving place to a green, dewy dusk,
+made passionately sweet with the breath of the apple blossoms and mint,
+and the balsamic odours that rained down upon them from the firs.
+
+Eric told her of his life, and the life in the great outer world, in
+which she was girlishly and eagerly interested. She asked him many
+questions about it--direct and incisive questions which showed that she
+had already formed decided opinions and views about it. Yet it was plain
+to be seen that she did not regard it as anything she might ever share
+herself. Hers was the dispassionate interest with which she might have
+listened to a tale of the land of fairy or of some great empire long
+passed away from earth.
+
+Eric discovered that she had read a great deal of poetry and history,
+and a few books of biography and travel. She did not know what a
+novel meant and had never heard of one. Curiously enough, she was well
+informed regarding politics and current events, from the weekly paper
+for which her uncle subscribed.
+
+"I never read the newspaper while mother was alive," she wrote, "nor any
+poetry either. She taught me to read and write and I read the Bible all
+through many times and some of the histories. After mother died Aunt
+Janet gave me all her books. She had a great many. Most of them had been
+given to her as prizes when she was a girl at school, and some of them
+had been given to her by my father. Do you know the story of my father
+and mother?"
+
+Eric nodded.
+
+"Yes, Mrs. Williamson told me all about it. She was a friend of your
+mother."
+
+"I am glad you have heard it. It is so sad that I would not like to tell
+it, but you will understand everything better because you know. I never
+heard it until just before mother died. Then she told me all. I think
+she had thought father was to blame for the trouble; but before she died
+she told me she believed that she had been unjust to him and that he
+had not known. She said that when people were dying they saw things more
+clearly and she saw she had made a mistake about father. She said she
+had many more things she wanted to tell me, but she did not have time to
+tell them because she died that night. It was a long while before I had
+the heart to read her books. But when I did I thought them so beautiful.
+They were poetry and it was like music put into words."
+
+"I will bring you some books to read, if you would like them," said
+Eric.
+
+Her great blue eyes gleamed with interest and delight.
+
+"Oh, thank you, I would like it very much. I have read mine over so
+often that I know them nearly all by heart. One cannot get tired of
+really beautiful things, but sometimes I feel that I would like some new
+books."
+
+"Are you never lonely, Kilmeny?"
+
+"Oh, no, how could I be? There is always plenty for me to do, helping
+Aunt Janet about the house. I can do a great many things"--she glanced
+up at him with a pretty pride as her flying pencil traced the words. "I
+can cook and sew. Aunt Janet says I am a very good housekeeper, and she
+does not praise people very often or very much. And then, when I am
+not helping her, I have my dear, dear violin. That is all the company I
+want. But I like to read and hear of the big world so far away and the
+people who live there and the things that are done. It must be a very
+wonderful place."
+
+"Wouldn't you like to go out into it and see its wonders and meet those
+people yourself?" he asked, smiling at her.
+
+At once he saw that, in some way he could not understand, he had hurt
+her. She snatched her pencil and wrote, with such swiftness of
+motion and energy of expression that it almost seemed as if she had
+passionately exclaimed the words aloud,
+
+"No, no, no. I do not want to go anywhere away from home. I do not want
+ever to see strangers or have them see me. I could not bear it."
+
+He thought that possibly the consciousness of her defect accounted
+for this. Yet she did not seem sensitive about her dumbness and made
+frequent casual references to it in her written remarks. Or perhaps
+it was the shadow on her birth. Yet she was so innocent that it seemed
+unlikely she could realize or understand the existence of such a shadow.
+Eric finally decided that it was merely the rather morbid shrinking of a
+sensitive child who had been brought up in an unwholesome and unnatural
+way. At last the lengthening shadows warned him that it was time to go.
+
+"You won't forget to come to-morrow evening and play for me," he said,
+rising reluctantly. She answered by a quick little shake of her sleek,
+dark head, and a smile that was eloquent. He watched her as she walked
+across the orchard,
+
+    "With the moon's beauty and the moon's soft pace,"
+
+and along the wild cherry lane. At the corner of the firs she paused and
+waved her hand to him before turning it.
+
+When Eric reached home old Robert Williamson was having a lunch of bread
+and milk in the kitchen. He looked up, with a friendly grin, as Eric
+strode in, whistling.
+
+"Been having a walk, Master?" he queried.
+
+"Yes," said Eric.
+
+Unconsciously and involuntarily he infused so much triumph into the
+simple monosyllable that even old Robert felt it. Mrs. Williamson, who
+was cutting bread at the end of the table, laid down her knife and loaf,
+and looked at the young man with a softly troubled expression in her
+eyes. She wondered if he had been back to the Connors orchard--and if he
+could have seen Kilmeny Gordon again.
+
+"You didn't discover a gold mine, I s'pose?" said old Robert dryly. "You
+look as if you might have."
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII. AT THE GATE OF EDEN
+
+When Eric went to the old Connors orchard the next evening he found
+Kilmeny waiting for him on the bench under the white lilac tree, with
+the violin in her lap. As soon as she saw him she caught it up and began
+to play an airy delicate little melody that sounded like the laughter of
+daisies.
+
+When it was finished she dropped her bow, and looked up at him with
+flushed cheeks and questioning eyes.
+
+"What did that say to you?" she wrote.
+
+"It said something like this," answered Eric, falling into her humour
+smilingly. "Welcome, my friend. It is a very beautiful evening. The sky
+is so blue and the apple blossoms so sweet. The wind and I have been
+here alone together and the wind is a good companion, but still I am
+glad to see you. It is an evening on which it is good to be alive and to
+wander in an orchard that is fine and white. Welcome, my friend."
+
+She clapped her hands, looking like a pleased child.
+
+"You are very quick to understand," she wrote. "That was just what I
+meant. Of course I did not think it in just those words, but that was
+the FEELING of it. I felt that I was so glad I was alive, and that the
+apple blossoms and the white lilacs and the trees and I were all pleased
+together to see you come. You are quicker than Neil. He is almost always
+puzzled to understand my music, and I am puzzled to understand his.
+Sometimes it frightens me. It seems as if there were something in it
+trying to take hold of me--something I do not like and want to run away
+from."
+
+Somehow Eric did not like her references to Neil. The idea of that
+handsome, low-born boy seeing Kilmeny every day, talking to her, sitting
+at the same table with her, dwelling under the same roof, meeting her in
+the hundred intimacies of daily life, was distasteful to him. He put the
+thought away from him, and flung himself down on the long grass at her
+feet.
+
+"Now play for me, please," he said. "I want to lie here and listen to
+you."
+
+"And look at you," he might have added. He could not tell which was
+the greater pleasure. Her beauty, more wonderful than any pictured
+loveliness he had ever seen, delighted him. Every tint and curve and
+outline of her face was flawless. Her music enthralled him. This child,
+he told himself as he listened, had genius. But it was being wholly
+wasted. He found himself thinking resentfully of the people who were her
+guardians, and who were responsible for her strange life. They had done
+her a great and irremediable wrong. How dared they doom her to such an
+existence? If her defect of utterance had been attended to in time, who
+knew but that it might have been cured? Now it was probably too late.
+Nature had given her a royal birthright of beauty and talent, but their
+selfish and unpardonable neglect had made it of no account.
+
+What divine music she lured out of the old violin--merry and sad, gay
+and sorrowful by turns, music such as the stars of morning might have
+made singing together, music that the fairies might have danced to in
+their revels among the green hills or on yellow sands, music that might
+have mourned over the grave of a dead hope. Then she drifted into a
+still sweeter strain. As he listened to it he realized that the whole
+soul and nature of the girl were revealing themselves to him through her
+music--the beauty and purity of her thoughts, her childhood dreams and
+her maiden reveries. There was no thought of concealment about her; she
+could not help the revelation she was unconscious of making.
+
+At last she laid her violin aside and wrote,
+
+"I have done my best to give you pleasure. It is your turn now. Do you
+remember a promise you made me last night? Have you kept it?"
+
+He gave her the two books he had brought for her--a modern novel and
+a volume of poetry unknown to her. He had hesitated a little over the
+former; but the book was so fine and full of beauty that he thought it
+could not bruise the bloom of her innocence ever so slightly. He had
+no doubts about the poetry. It was the utterance of one of those great
+inspired souls whose passing tread has made the kingdom of their birth
+and labour a veritable Holy Land.
+
+He read her some of the poems. Then he talked to her of his college days
+and friends. The minutes passed very swiftly. There was just then no
+world for him outside of that old orchard with its falling blossoms and
+its shadows and its crooning winds.
+
+Once, when he told her the story of some college pranks wherein the
+endless feuds of freshmen and sophomores figured, she clapped her hands
+together according to her habit, and laughed aloud--a clear, musical,
+silvery peal. It fell on Eric's ear with a shock of surprise. He thought
+it strange that she could laugh like that when she could not speak.
+Wherein lay the defect that closed for her the gates of speech? Was it
+possible that it could be removed?
+
+"Kilmeny," he said gravely after a moment's reflection, during which
+he had looked up as she sat with the ruddy sunlight falling through the
+lilac branches on her bare, silky head like a shower of red jewels, "do
+you mind if I ask you something about your inability to speak? Will it
+hurt you to talk of the matter with me?"
+
+She shook her head.
+
+"Oh, no," she wrote, "I do not mind at all. Of course I am sorry I
+cannot speak, but I am quite used to the thought and it never hurts me
+at all."
+
+"Then, Kilmeny, tell me this. Do you know why it is that you are unable
+to speak, when all your other faculties are so perfect?"
+
+"No, I do not know at all why I cannot speak. I asked mother once and
+she told me it was a judgment on her for a great sin she had committed,
+and she looked so strangely that I was frightened, and I never spoke of
+it to her or anyone else again."
+
+"Were you ever taken to a doctor to have your tongue and organs of
+speech examined?"
+
+"No. I remember when I was a very little girl that Uncle Thomas wanted
+to take me to a doctor in Charlottetown and see if anything could be
+done for me, but mother would not let him. She said it would be no use.
+And I do not think Uncle Thomas thought it would be, either."
+
+"You can laugh very naturally. Can you make any other sound?"
+
+"Yes, sometimes. When I am pleased or frightened I have made little
+cries. But it is only when I am not thinking of it at all that I can do
+that. If I TRY to make a sound I cannot do it at all."
+
+This seemed to Eric more mysterious than ever.
+
+"Do you ever try to speak--to utter words?" he persisted.
+
+"Oh yes, very often. All the time I am saying the words in my head, just
+as I hear other people saying them, but I never can make my tongue say
+them. Do not look so sorry, my friend. I am very happy and I do not mind
+so very much not being able to speak--only sometimes when I have so many
+thoughts and it seems so slow to write them out, some of them get away
+from me. I must play to you again. You look too sober."
+
+She laughed again, picked up her violin, and played a tinkling, roguish
+little melody as if she were trying to tease him, looking at Eric over
+her violin with luminous eyes that dared him to be merry.
+
+Eric smiled; but the puzzled look returned to his face many times that
+evening. He walked home in a brown study. Kilmeny's case certainly
+seemed a strange one, and the more he thought of it the stranger it
+seemed.
+
+"It strikes me as something very peculiar that she should be able to
+make sounds only when she is not thinking about it," he reflected. "I
+wish David Baker could examine her. But I suppose that is out of the
+question. That grim pair who have charge of her would never consent."
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX. THE STRAIGHT SIMPLICITY OF EVE
+
+For the next three weeks Eric Marshall seemed to himself to be living
+two lives, as distinct from each other as if he possessed a double
+personality. In one, he taught the Lindsay district school diligently
+and painstakingly; solved problems; argued on theology with Robert
+Williamson; called at the homes of his pupils and took tea in state
+with their parents; went to a rustic dance or two and played havoc, all
+unwittingly, with the hearts of the Lindsay maidens.
+
+But this life was a dream of workaday. He only LIVED in the other, which
+was spent in an old orchard, grassy and overgrown, where the minutes
+seemed to lag for sheer love of the spot and the June winds made wild
+harping in the old spruces.
+
+Here every evening he met Kilmeny; in that old orchard they garnered
+hours of quiet happiness together; together they went wandering in the
+fair fields of old romance; together they read many books and talked of
+many things; and, when they were tired of all else, Kilmeny played to
+him and the old orchard echoed with her lovely, fantastic melodies.
+
+At every meeting her beauty came home afresh to him with the old thrill
+of glad surprise. In the intervals of absence it seemed to him that she
+could not possibly be as beautiful as he remembered her; and then
+when they met she seemed even more so. He learned to watch for the
+undisguised light of welcome that always leaped into her eyes at the
+sound of his footsteps. She was nearly always there before him and she
+always showed that she was glad to see him with the frank delight of a
+child watching for a dear comrade.
+
+She was never in the same mood twice. Now she was grave, now gay, now
+stately, now pensive. But she was always charming. Thrawn and twisted
+the old Gordon stock might be, but it had at least this one offshoot of
+perfect grace and symmetry. Her mind and heart, utterly unspoiled of the
+world, were as beautiful as her face. All the ugliness of existence
+had passed her by, shrined in her double solitude of upbringing and
+muteness.
+
+She was naturally quick and clever. Delightful little flashes of wit
+and humour sparkled out occasionally. She could be whimsical--even
+charmingly capricious. Sometimes innocent mischief glimmered out in the
+unfathomable deeps of her blue eyes. Sarcasm, even, was not unknown to
+her. Now and then she punctured some harmless bubble of a young man's
+conceit or masculine superiority with a biting little line of daintily
+written script.
+
+She assimilated the ideas in the books they read, speedily, eagerly,
+and thoroughly, always seizing on the best and truest, and rejecting the
+false and spurious and weak with an unfailing intuition at which Eric
+marvelled. Hers was the spear of Ithuriel, trying out the dross of
+everything and leaving only the pure gold.
+
+In manner and outlook she was still a child. Yet now and again she was
+as old as Eve. An expression would leap into her laughing face, a subtle
+meaning reveal itself in her smile, that held all the lore of womanhood
+and all the wisdom of the ages.
+
+Her way of smiling enchanted him. The smile always began far down in her
+eyes and flowed outward to her face like a sparkling brook stealing out
+of shadow into sunshine.
+
+He knew everything about her life. She told him her simple history
+freely. She often mentioned her uncle and aunt and seemed to regard them
+with deep affection. She rarely spoke of her mother. Eric came somehow
+to understand, less from what she said than from what she did not say,
+that Kilmeny, though she had loved her mother, had always been rather
+afraid of her. There had not been between them the natural beautiful
+confidence of mother and child.
+
+Of Neil, she wrote frequently at first, and seemed very fond of him.
+Later she ceased to mention him. Perhaps--for she was marvellously quick
+to catch and interpret every fleeting change of expression in his voice
+and face--she discerned what Eric did not know himself--that his eyes
+clouded and grew moody at the mention of Neil's name.
+
+Once she asked him naively,
+
+"Are there many people like you out in the world?"
+
+"Thousands of them," said Eric, laughing.
+
+She looked gravely at him. Then she gave her head a quick decided little
+shake.
+
+"I do not think so," she wrote. "I do not know much of the world, but I
+do not think there are many people like you in it."
+
+One evening, when the far-away hills and fields were scarfed in gauzy
+purples, and the intervales were brimming with golden mists, Eric
+carried to the old orchard a little limp, worn volume that held a love
+story. It was the first thing of the kind he had ever read to her,
+for in the first novel he had lent her the love interest had been
+very slight and subordinate. This was a beautiful, passionate idyl
+exquisitely told.
+
+He read it to her, lying in the grass at her feet; she listened with her
+hands clasped over her knee and her eyes cast down. It was not a long
+story; and when he had finished it he shut the book and looked up at her
+questioningly.
+
+"Do you like it, Kilmeny?" he asked.
+
+Very slowly she took her slate and wrote,
+
+"Yes, I like it. But it hurt me, too. I did not know that a person could
+like anything that hurt her. I do not know why it hurt me. I felt as if
+I had lost something that I never had. That was a very silly feeling,
+was it not? But I did not understand the book very well, you see. It is
+about love and I do not know anything about love. Mother told me once
+that love is a curse, and that I must pray that it would never enter
+into my life. She said it very earnestly, and so I believed her. But
+your book teaches that it is a blessing. It says that it is the most
+splendid and wonderful thing in life. Which am I to believe?"
+
+"Love--real love--is never a curse, Kilmeny," said Eric gravely. "There
+is a false love which IS a curse. Perhaps your mother believed it was
+that which had entered her life and ruined it; and so she made the
+mistake. There is nothing in the world--or in heaven either, as I
+believe--so truly beautiful and wonderful and blessed as love."
+
+"Have you ever loved?" asked Kilmeny, with the directness of phrasing
+necessitated by her mode of communication which was sometimes a little
+terrible. She asked the question simply and without embarrassment. She
+knew of no reason why love might not be discussed with Eric as other
+matters--music and books and travel--might be.
+
+"No," said Eric--honestly, as he thought, "but every one has an ideal of
+love whom he hopes to meet some day--'the ideal woman of a young man's
+dream.' I suppose I have mine, in some sealed, secret chamber of my
+heart."
+
+"I suppose your ideal woman would be beautiful, like the woman in your
+book?"
+
+"Oh, yes, I am sure I could never care for an ugly woman," said Eric,
+laughing a little as he sat up. "Our ideals are always beautiful,
+whether they so translate themselves into realities or not. But the
+sun is going down. Time does certainly fly in this enchanted orchard. I
+believe you bewitch the moments away, Kilmeny. Your namesake of the
+poem was a somewhat uncanny maid, if I recollect aright, and thought as
+little of seven years in elfland as ordinary folk do of half an hour
+on upper earth. Some day I shall waken from a supposed hour's lingering
+here and find myself an old man with white hair and ragged coat, as in
+that fairy tale we read the other night. Will you let me give you this
+book? I should never commit the sacrilege of reading it in any other
+place than this. It is an old book, Kilmeny. A new book, savouring of
+the shop and market-place, however beautiful it might be, would not do
+for you. This was one of my mother's books. She read it and loved it.
+See--the faded rose leaves she placed in it one day are there still.
+I'll write your name in it--that quaint, pretty name of yours which
+always sounds as if it had been specially invented for you--'Kilmeny of
+the Orchard'--and the date of this perfect June day on which we read it
+together. Then when you look at it you will always remember me, and the
+white buds opening on that rosebush beside you, and the rush and murmur
+of the wind in the tops of those old spruces."
+
+He held out the book to her, but, to his surprise, she shook her head,
+with a deeper flush on her face.
+
+"Won't you take the book, Kilmeny? Why not?"
+
+She took her pencil and wrote slowly, unlike her usual quick movement.
+
+"Do not be offended with me. I shall not need anything to make me
+remember you because I can never forget you. But I would rather not take
+the book. I do not want to read it again. It is about love, and there is
+no use in my learning about love, even if it is all you say. Nobody will
+ever love me. I am too ugly."
+
+"You! Ugly!" exclaimed Eric. He was on the point of going off into a
+peal of laughter at the idea when a glimpse of her half averted face
+sobered him. On it was a hurt, bitter look, such as he remembered seeing
+once before, when he had asked her if she would not like to see the
+world for herself.
+
+"Kilmeny," he said in astonishment, "you don't really think yourself
+ugly, do you?"
+
+She nodded, without looking at him, and then wrote,
+
+"Oh, yes, I know that I am. I have known it for a long time. Mother told
+me that I was very ugly and that nobody would ever like to look at me. I
+am sorry. It hurts me much worse to know I am ugly than it does to know
+I cannot speak. I suppose you will think that is very foolish of me, but
+it is true. That was why I did not come back to the orchard for such a
+long time, even after I had got over my fright. I hated to think that
+YOU would think me ugly. And that is why I do not want to go out into
+the world and meet people. They would look at me as the egg peddler did
+one day when I went out with Aunt Janet to his wagon the spring after
+mother died. He stared at me so. I knew it was because he thought me so
+ugly, and I have always hidden when he came ever since."
+
+Eric's lips twitched. In spite of his pity for the real suffering
+displayed in her eyes, he could not help feeling amused over the absurd
+idea of this beautiful girl believing herself in all seriousness to be
+ugly.
+
+"But, Kilmeny, do you think yourself ugly when you look in a mirror?" he
+asked smiling.
+
+"I have never looked in a mirror," she wrote. "I never knew there was
+such a thing until after mother died, and I read about it in a book.
+Then I asked Aunt Janet and she said mother had broken all the looking
+glasses in the house when I was a baby. But I have seen my face
+reflected in the spoons, and in a little silver sugar bowl Aunt Janet
+has. And it IS ugly--very ugly."
+
+Eric's face went down into the grass. For his life he could not help
+laughing; and for his life he would not let Kilmeny see him laughing.
+A certain little whimsical wish took possession of him and he did not
+hasten to tell her the truth, as had been his first impulse. Instead,
+when he dared to look up he said slowly,
+
+"I don't think you are ugly, Kilmeny."
+
+"Oh, but I am sure you must," she wrote protestingly. "Even Neil does.
+He tells me I am kind and nice, but one day I asked him if he thought
+me very ugly, and he looked away and would not speak, so I knew what he
+thought about it, too. Do not let us speak of this again. It makes me
+feel sorry and spoils everything. I forget it at other times. Let me
+play you some good-bye music, and do not feel vexed because I would not
+take your book. It would only make me unhappy to read it."
+
+"I am not vexed," said Eric, "and I think you will take it some day
+yet--after I have shown you something I want you to see. Never mind
+about your looks, Kilmeny. Beauty isn't everything."
+
+"Oh, it is a great deal," she wrote naively. "But you do like me, even
+though I am so ugly, don't you? You like me because of my beautiful
+music, don't you?"
+
+"I like you very much, Kilmeny," answered Eric, laughing a little;
+but there was in his voice a tender note of which he was unconscious.
+Kilmeny was aware of it, however, and she picked up her violin with a
+pleased smile.
+
+He left her playing there, and all the way through the dim resinous
+spruce wood her music followed him like an invisible guardian spirit.
+
+"Kilmeny the Beautiful!" he murmured, "and yet, good heavens, the child
+thinks she is ugly--she with a face more lovely than ever an artist
+dreamed of! A girl of eighteen who has never looked in a mirror! I
+wonder if there is another such in any civilized country in the world.
+What could have possessed her mother to tell her such a falsehood? I
+wonder if Margaret Gordon could have been quite sane. It is strange that
+Neil has never told her the truth. Perhaps he doesn't want her to find
+out."
+
+Eric had met Neil Gordon a few evenings before this, at a country
+dance where Neil had played the violin for the dancers. Influenced by
+curiosity he had sought the lad's acquaintance. Neil was friendly and
+talkative at first; but at the first hint concerning the Gordons
+which Eric threw out skilfully his face and manner changed. He looked
+secretive and suspicious, almost sinister. A sullen look crept into
+his big black eyes and he drew his bow across the violin strings with a
+discordant screech, as if to terminate the conversation. Plainly nothing
+was to be found out from him about Kilmeny and her grim guardians.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X. A TROUBLING OF THE WATERS
+
+One evening in late June Mrs. Williamson was sitting by her kitchen
+window. Her knitting lay unheeded in her lap, and Timothy, though he
+nestled ingratiatingly against her foot as he lay on the rug and purred
+his loudest, was unregarded. She rested her face on her hand and looked
+out of the window, across the distant harbour, with troubled eyes.
+
+"I guess I must speak," she thought wistfully. "I hate to do it. I
+always did hate meddling. My mother always used to say that ninety-nine
+times out of a hundred the last state of a meddler and them she
+meddled with was worse than the first. But I guess it's my duty. I was
+Margaret's friend, and it is my duty to protect her child any way I can.
+If the Master does go back across there to meet her I must tell him what
+I think about it."
+
+Overhead in his room, Eric was walking about whistling. Presently he
+came downstairs, thinking of the orchard, and the girl who would be
+waiting for him there.
+
+As he crossed the little front entry he heard Mrs. Williamson's voice
+calling to him.
+
+"Mr. Marshall, will you please come here a moment?"
+
+He went out to the kitchen. Mrs. Williamson looked at him deprecatingly.
+There was a flush on her faded cheek and her voice trembled.
+
+"Mr. Marshall, I want to ask you a question. Perhaps you will think it
+isn't any of my business. But it isn't because I want to meddle. No, no.
+It is only because I think I ought to speak. I have thought it over for
+a long time, and it seems to me that I ought to speak. I hope you won't
+be angry, but even if you are I must say what I have to say. Are you
+going back to the old Connors orchard to meet Kilmeny Gordon?"
+
+For a moment an angry flush burned in Eric's face. It was more Mrs.
+Williamson's tone than her words which startled and annoyed him.
+
+"Yes, I am, Mrs. Williamson," he said coldly. "What of it?"
+
+"Then, sir," said Mrs. Williamson with more firmness, "I have got to
+tell you that I don't think you are doing right. I have been suspecting
+all along that that was where you went every evening, but I haven't said
+a word to any one about it. Even my husband doesn't know. But tell me
+this, Master. Do Kilmeny's uncle and aunt know that you are meeting her
+there?"
+
+"Why," said Eric, in some confusion, "I--I do not know whether they do
+or not. But Mrs. Williamson, surely you do not suspect me of meaning any
+harm or wrong to Kilmeny Gordon?"
+
+"No, I don't, Master. I might think it of some men, but never of you. I
+don't for a minute think that you would do her or any woman any wilful
+wrong. But you may do her great harm for all that. I want you to stop
+and think about it. I guess you haven't thought. Kilmeny can't know
+anything about the world or about men, and she may get to thinking too
+much of you. That might break her heart, because you couldn't ever marry
+a dumb girl like her. So I don't think you ought to be meeting her so
+often in this fashion. It isn't right, Master. Don't go to the orchard
+again."
+
+Without a word Eric turned away, and went upstairs to his room. Mrs.
+Williamson picked up her knitting with a sigh.
+
+"That's done, Timothy, and I'm real thankful," she said. "I guess
+there'll be no need of saying anything more. Mr. Marshall is a fine
+young man, only a little thoughtless. Now that he's got his eyes opened
+I'm sure he'll do what is right. I don't want Margaret's child made
+unhappy."
+
+Her husband came to the kitchen door and sat down on the steps to enjoy
+his evening smoke, talking between whiffs to his wife of Elder Tracy's
+church row, and Mary Alice Martin's beau, the price Jake Crosby was
+giving for eggs, the quantity of hay yielded by the hill meadow, the
+trouble he was having with old Molly's calf, and the respective merits
+of Plymouth Rock and Brahma roosters. Mrs. Williamson answered at
+random, and heard not one word in ten.
+
+"What's got the Master, Mother?" inquired old Robert, presently. "I hear
+him striding up and down in his room 'sif he was caged. Sure you didn't
+lock him in by mistake?"
+
+"Maybe he's worried over the way Seth Tracy's acting in school,"
+suggested Mrs. Williamson, who did not choose that her gossipy husband
+should suspect the truth about Eric and Kilmeny Gordon.
+
+"Shucks, he needn't worry a morsel over that. Seth'll quiet down as soon
+as he finds he can't run the Master. He's a rare good teacher--better'n
+Mr. West was even, and that's saying something. The trustees are hoping
+he'll stay for another term. They're going to ask him at the school
+meeting to-morrow, and offer him a raise of supplement."
+
+Upstairs, in his little room under the eaves, Eric Marshall was in
+the grip of the most intense and overwhelming emotion he had ever
+experienced.
+
+Up and down, to and fro, he walked, with set lips and clenched hands.
+When he was wearied out he flung himself on a chair by the window and
+wrestled with the flood of feeling.
+
+Mrs. Williamson's words had torn away the delusive veil with which he
+had bound his eyes. He was face to face with the knowledge that he loved
+Kilmeny Gordon with the love that comes but once, and is for all time.
+He wondered how he could have been so long blind to it. He knew that he
+must have loved her ever since their first meeting that May evening in
+the old orchard.
+
+And he knew that he must choose between two alternatives--either he must
+never go to the orchard again, or he must go as an avowed lover to woo
+him a wife.
+
+Worldly prudence, his inheritance from a long line of thrifty,
+cool-headed ancestors, was strong in Eric, and he did not yield easily
+or speedily to the dictates of his passion. All night he struggled
+against the new emotions that threatened to sweep away the "common
+sense" which David Baker had bade him take with him when he went
+a-wooing. Would not a marriage with Kilmeny Gordon be an unwise thing
+from any standpoint?
+
+Then something stronger and greater and more vital than wisdom or
+unwisdom rose up in him and mastered him. Kilmeny, beautiful, dumb
+Kilmeny was, as he had once involuntarily thought, "the one maid" for
+him. Nothing should part them. The mere idea of never seeing her again
+was so unbearable that he laughed at himself for having counted it a
+possible alternative.
+
+"If I can win Kilmeny's love I shall ask her to be my wife," he said,
+looking out of the window to the dark, southwestern hill beyond which
+lay his orchard.
+
+The velvet sky over it was still starry; but the water of the harbour
+was beginning to grow silvery in the reflection of the dawn that was
+breaking in the east.
+
+"Her misfortune will only make her dearer to me. I cannot realize that a
+month ago I did not know her. It seems to me that she has been a part of
+my life for ever. I wonder if she was grieved that I did not go to the
+orchard last night--if she waited for me. If she does, she does not know
+it herself yet. It will be my sweet task to teach her what love means,
+and no man has ever had a lovelier, purer, pupil."
+
+At the annual school meeting, the next afternoon, the trustees asked
+Eric to take the Lindsay school for the following year. He consented
+unhesitatingly.
+
+That evening he went to Mrs. Williamson, as she washed her tea dishes in
+the kitchen.
+
+"Mrs. Williamson, I am going back to the old Connors orchard to see
+Kilmeny again to-night."
+
+She looked at him reproachfully.
+
+"Well, Master, I have no more to say. I suppose it wouldn't be of any
+use if I had. But you know what I think of it."
+
+"I intend to marry Kilmeny Gordon if I can win her."
+
+An expression of amazement came into the good woman's face. She looked
+scrutinizingly at the firm mouth and steady gray eyes for a moment. Then
+she said in a troubled voice,
+
+"Do you think that is wise, Master? I suppose Kilmeny is pretty; the egg
+peddler told me she was; and no doubt she is a good, nice girl. But she
+wouldn't be a suitable wife for you--a girl that can't speak."
+
+"That doesn't make any difference to me."
+
+"But what will your people say?"
+
+"I have no 'people' except my father. When he sees Kilmeny he will
+understand. She is all the world to me, Mrs. Williamson."
+
+"As long as you believe that there is nothing more to be said," was
+the quiet answer, "I'd be a little bit afraid if I was you, though. But
+young people never think of those things."
+
+"My only fear is that she won't care for me," said Eric soberly.
+
+Mrs. Williamson surveyed the handsome, broad-shouldered young man
+shrewdly.
+
+"I don't think there are many women would say you 'no', Master. I wish
+you well in your wooing, though I can't help thinking you're doing
+a daft-like thing. I hope you won't have any trouble with Thomas and
+Janet. They are so different from other folks there is no knowing. But
+take my advice, Master, and go and see them about it right off. Don't go
+on meeting Kilmeny unbeknownst to them."
+
+"I shall certainly take your advice," said Eric, gravely. "I should have
+gone to them before. It was merely thoughtlessness on my part. Possibly
+they do know already. Kilmeny may have told them."
+
+Mrs. Williamson shook her head decidedly.
+
+"No, no, Master, she hasn't. They'd never have let her go on meeting
+you there if they had known. I know them too well to think of that for a
+moment. Go you straight to them and say to them just what you have said
+to me. That is your best plan, Master. And take care of Neil. People say
+he has a notion of Kilmeny himself. He'll do you a bad turn if he can,
+I've no doubt. Them foreigners can't be trusted--and he's just as much
+a foreigner as his parents before him--though he HAS been brought up on
+oatmeal and the shorter catechism, as the old saying has it. I feel that
+somehow--I always feel it when I look at him singing in the choir."
+
+"Oh, I am not afraid of Neil," said Eric carelessly. "He couldn't help
+loving Kilmeny--nobody could."
+
+"I suppose every young man thinks that about his girl--if he's the right
+sort of young man," said Mrs. Williamson with a little sigh.
+
+She watched Eric out of sight anxiously.
+
+"I hope it'll all come out right," she thought. "I hope he ain't making
+an awful mistake--but--I'm afraid. Kilmeny must be very pretty to have
+bewitched him so. Well, I suppose there is no use in my worrying over
+it. But I do wish he had never gone back to that old orchard and seen
+her."
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI. A LOVER AND HIS LASS
+
+Kilmeny was in the orchard when Eric reached it, and he lingered for a
+moment in the shadow of the spruce wood to dream over her beauty.
+
+The orchard had lately overflowed in waves of old-fashioned caraway, and
+she was standing in the midst of its sea of bloom, with the lace-like
+blossoms swaying around her in the wind. She wore the simple dress of
+pale blue print in which he had first seen her; silk attire could not
+better have become her loveliness. She had woven herself a chaplet
+of half open white rosebuds and placed it on her dark hair, where the
+delicate blossoms seemed less wonderful than her face.
+
+When Eric stepped through the gap she ran to meet him with outstretched
+hands, smiling. He took her hands and looked into her eyes with an
+expression before which hers for the first time faltered. She looked
+down, and a warm blush strained the ivory curves of her cheek and
+throat. His heart bounded, for in that blush he recognized the banner of
+love's vanguard.
+
+"Are you glad to see me, Kilmeny?" he asked, in a low significant tone.
+
+She nodded, and wrote in a somewhat embarrassed fashion,
+
+"Yes. Why do you ask? You know I am always glad to see you. I was afraid
+you would not come. You did not come last night and I was so sorry.
+Nothing in the orchard seemed nice any longer. I couldn't even play. I
+tried to, and my violin only cried. I waited until it was dark and then
+I went home."
+
+"I am sorry you were disappointed, Kilmeny. I couldn't come last night.
+Some day I shall tell you why. I stayed home to learn a new lesson. I am
+sorry you missed me--no, I am glad. Can you understand how a person may
+be glad and sorry for the same thing?"
+
+She nodded again, with a return of her usual sweet composure.
+
+"Yes, I could not have understood once, but I can now. Did you learn
+your new lesson?"
+
+"Yes, very thoroughly. It was a delightful lesson when I once understood
+it. I must try to teach it to you some day. Come over to the old bench,
+Kilmeny. There is something I want to say to you. But first, will you
+give me a rose?"
+
+She ran to the bush, and, after careful deliberation, selected a perfect
+half-open bud and brought it to him--a white bud with a faint, sunrise
+flush about its golden heart.
+
+"Thank you. It is as beautiful as--as a woman I know," Eric said.
+
+A wistful look came into her face at his words, and she walked with a
+drooping head across the orchard to the bench.
+
+"Kilmeny," he said, seriously, "I am going to ask you to do something
+for me. I want you to take me home with you and introduce me to your
+uncle and aunt."
+
+She lifted her head and stared at him incredulously, as if he had asked
+her to do something wildly impossible. Understanding from his grave face
+that he meant what he said, a look of dismay dawned in her eyes. She
+shook her head almost violently and seemed to be making a passionate,
+instinctive effort to speak. Then she caught up her pencil and wrote
+with feverish haste:
+
+"I cannot do that. Do not ask me to. You do not understand. They would
+be very angry. They do not want to see any one coming to the house. And
+they would never let me come here again. Oh, you do not mean it?"
+
+He pitied her for the pain and bewilderment in her eyes; but he took her
+slender hands in his and said firmly,
+
+"Yes, Kilmeny, I do mean it. It is not quite right for us to be meeting
+each other here as we have been doing, without the knowledge and consent
+of your friends. You cannot now understand this, but--believe me--it is
+so."
+
+She looked questioningly, pityingly into his eyes. What she read there
+seemed to convince her, for she turned very pale and an expression of
+hopelessness came into her face. Releasing her hands, she wrote slowly,
+
+"If you say it is wrong I must believe it. I did not know anything so
+pleasant could be wrong. But if it is wrong we must not meet here any
+more. Mother told me I must never do anything that was wrong. But I did
+not know this was wrong."
+
+"It was not wrong for you, Kilmeny. But it was a little wrong for me,
+because I knew better--or rather, should have known better. I didn't
+stop to think, as the children say. Some day you will understand fully.
+Now, you will take me to your uncle and aunt, and after I have said
+to them what I want to say it will be all right for us to meet here or
+anywhere."
+
+She shook her head.
+
+"No," she wrote, "Uncle Thomas and Aunt Janet will tell you to go away
+and never come back. And they will never let me come here any more.
+Since it is not right to meet you I will not come, but it is no use to
+think of going to them. I did not tell them about you because I knew
+that they would forbid me to see you, but I am sorry, since it is so
+wrong."
+
+"You must take me to them," said Eric firmly. "I am quite sure that
+things will not be as you fear when they hear what I have to say."
+
+Uncomforted, she wrote forlornly,
+
+"I must do it, since you insist, but I am sure it will be no use. I
+cannot take you to-night because they are away. They went to the store
+at Radnor. But I will take you to-morrow night; and after that I shall
+not see you any more."
+
+Two great tears brimmed over in her big blue eyes and splashed down
+on her slate. Her lips quivered like a hurt child's. Eric put his arm
+impulsively about her and drew her head down upon his shoulder. As she
+cried there, softly, miserably, he pressed his lips to the silky black
+hair with its coronal of rosebuds. He did not see two burning eyes which
+were looking at him over the old fence behind him with hatred and mad
+passion blazing in their depths. Neil Gordon was crouched there, with
+clenched hands and heaving breast, watching them.
+
+"Kilmeny, dear, don't cry," said Eric tenderly. "You shall see me again.
+I promise you that, whatever happens. I do not think your uncle and aunt
+will be as unreasonable as you fear, but even if they are they shall not
+prevent me from meeting you somehow."
+
+Kilmeny lifted her head, and wiped the tears from her eyes.
+
+"You do not know what they are like," she wrote. "They will lock me into
+my room. That is the way they always punished me when I was a little
+girl. And once, not so very long ago, when I was a big girl, they did
+it."
+
+"If they do I'll get you out somehow," said Eric, laughing a little.
+
+She allowed herself to smile, but it was a rather forlorn little effort.
+She did not cry any more, but her spirits did not come back to her. Eric
+talked gaily, but she only listened in a pensive, absent way, as if she
+scarcely heard him. When he asked her to play she shook her head.
+
+"I cannot think any music to-night," she wrote, "I must go home, for my
+head aches and I feel very stupid."
+
+"Very well, Kilmeny. Now, don't worry, little girl. It will all come out
+all right."
+
+Evidently she did not share his confidence, for her head drooped again
+as they walked together across the orchard. At the entrance of the wild
+cherry lane she paused and looked at him half reproachfully, her eyes
+filling again. She seemed to be bidding him a mute farewell. With an
+impulse of tenderness which he could not control, Eric put his arm about
+her and kissed her red, trembling mouth. She started back with a little
+cry. A burning colour swept over her face, and the next moment she fled
+swiftly up the darkening lane.
+
+The sweetness of that involuntary kiss clung to Eric's lips as he went
+homeward, half-intoxicating him. He knew that it had opened the gates of
+womanhood to Kilmeny. Never again, he felt, would her eyes meet his with
+their old unclouded frankness. When next he looked into them he knew
+that he should see there the consciousness of his kiss. Behind her in
+the orchard that night Kilmeny had left her childhood.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XII. A PRISONER OF LOVE
+
+When Eric betook himself to the orchard the next evening he had to
+admit that he felt rather nervous. He did not know how the Gordons would
+receive him and certainly the reports he had heard of them were not
+encouraging, to say the least of it. Even Mrs. Williamson, when he had
+told her where he was going, seemed to look upon him as one bent on
+bearding a lion in his den.
+
+"I do hope they won't be very uncivil to you, Master," was the best she
+could say.
+
+He expected Kilmeny to be in the orchard before him, for he had been
+delayed by a call from one of the trustees; but she was nowhere to be
+seen. He walked across it to the wild cherry lane; but at its entrance
+he stopped short in sudden dismay.
+
+Neil Gordon had stepped from behind the trees and stood confronting him,
+with blazing eyes, and lips which writhed in emotion so great that at
+first it prevented him from speaking.
+
+With a thrill of dismay Eric instantly understood what must have taken
+place. Neil had discovered that he and Kilmeny had been meeting in the
+orchard, and beyond doubt had carried that tale to Janet and Thomas
+Gordon. He realized how unfortunate it was that this should have
+happened before he had had time to make his own explanation. It would
+probably prejudice Kilmeny's guardians still further against him. At
+this point in his thoughts Neil's pent up passion suddenly found vent in
+a burst of wild words.
+
+"So you've come to meet her again. But she isn't here--you'll never see
+her again! I hate you--I hate you--I hate you!"
+
+His voice rose to a shrill scream. He took a furious step nearer Eric
+as if he would attack him. Eric looked steadily in his eyes with a calm
+defiance, before which his wild passion broke like foam on a rock.
+
+"So you have been making trouble for Kilmeny, Neil, have you?" said Eric
+contemptuously. "I suppose you have been playing the spy. And I suppose
+that you have told her uncle and aunt that she has been meeting me here.
+Well, you have saved me the trouble of doing it, that is all. I was
+going to tell them myself, tonight. I don't know what your motive in
+doing this has been. Was it jealousy of me? Or have you done it out of
+malice to Kilmeny?"
+
+His contempt cowed Neil more effectually than any display of anger could
+have done.
+
+"Never you mind why I did it," he muttered sullenly. "What I did or
+why I did it is no business of yours. And you have no business to come
+sneaking around here either. Kilmeny won't meet you here again."
+
+"She will meet me in her own home then," said Eric sternly. "Neil, in
+behaving as you have done you have shown yourself to be a very foolish,
+undisciplined boy. I am going straightway to Kilmeny's uncle and aunt to
+explain everything."
+
+Neil sprang forward in his path.
+
+"No--no--go away," he implored wildly. "Oh, sir--oh, Mr. Marshall,
+please go away. I'll do anything for you if you will. I love Kilmeny.
+I've loved her all my life. I'd give my life for her. I can't have you
+coming here to steal her from me. If you do--I'll kill you! I wanted to
+kill you last night when I saw you kiss her. Oh, yes, I saw you. I was
+watching--spying, if you like. I don't care what you call it. I had
+followed her--I suspected something. She was so different--so changed.
+She never would wear the flowers I picked for her any more. She seemed
+to forget I was there. I knew something had come between us. And it was
+you, curse you! Oh, I'll make you sorry for it."
+
+He was working himself up into a fury again--the untamed fury of the
+Italian peasant thwarted in his heart's desire. It overrode all the
+restraint of his training and environment. Eric, amid all his anger and
+annoyance, felt a thrill of pity for him. Neil Gordon was only a boy
+still; and he was miserable and beside himself.
+
+"Neil, listen to me," he said quietly. "You are talking very foolishly.
+It is not for you to say who shall or shall not be Kilmeny's friend.
+Now, you may just as well control yourself and go home like a decent
+fellow. I am not at all frightened by your threats, and I shall know how
+to deal with you if you persist in interfering with me or persecuting
+Kilmeny. I am not the sort of person to put up with that, my lad."
+
+The restrained power in his tone and look cowed Neil. The latter turned
+sullenly away, with another muttered curse, and plunged into the shadow
+of the firs.
+
+Eric, not a little ruffled under all his external composure by this
+most unexpected and unpleasant encounter, pursued his way along the lane
+which wound on by the belt of woodland in twist and curve to the Gordon
+homestead. His heart beat as he thought of Kilmeny. What might she not
+be suffering? Doubtless Neil had given a very exaggerated and distorted
+account of what he had seen, and probably her dour relations were very
+angry with her, poor child. Anxious to avert their wrath as soon as
+might be, he hurried on, almost forgetting his meeting with Neil. The
+threats of the latter did not trouble him at all. He thought the angry
+outburst of a jealous boy mattered but little. What did matter was that
+Kilmeny was in trouble which his heedlessness had brought upon her.
+
+Presently he found himself before the Gordon house. It was an old
+building with sharp eaves and dormer windows, its shingles stained a
+dark gray by long exposure to wind and weather. Faded green shutters
+hung on the windows of the lower story. Behind it grew a thick wood
+of spruces. The little yard in front of it was grassy and prim and
+flowerless; but over the low front door a luxuriant early-flowering
+rose vine clambered, in a riot of blood-red blossom which contrasted
+strangely with the general bareness of its surroundings. It seemed to
+fling itself over the grim old house as if intent on bombarding it with
+an alien life and joyousness.
+
+Eric knocked at the door, wondering if it might be possible that Kilmeny
+should come to it. But a moment later it was opened by an elderly
+woman--a woman of rigid lines from the hem of her lank, dark print dress
+to the crown of her head, covered with black hair which, despite its few
+gray threads, was still thick and luxuriant. She had a long, pale face
+somewhat worn and wrinkled, but possessing a certain harsh comeliness
+of feature which neither age nor wrinkles had quite destroyed; and
+her deep-set, light gray eyes were not devoid of suggested kindliness,
+although they now surveyed Eric with an unconcealed hostility. Her
+figure, in its merciless dress, was very angular; yet there was about
+her a dignity of carriage and manner which Eric liked. In any case, he
+preferred her unsmiling dourness to vulgar garrulity.
+
+He lifted his hat.
+
+"Have I the honour of speaking to Miss Gordon?" he asked.
+
+"I am Janet Gordon," said the woman stiffly.
+
+"Then I wish to talk with you and your brother."
+
+"Come in."
+
+She stepped aside and motioned him to a low brown door opening on the
+right.
+
+"Go in and sit down. I'll call Thomas," she said coldly, as she walked
+out through the hall.
+
+Eric walked into the parlour and sat down as bidden. He found himself
+in the most old-fashioned room he had ever seen. The solidly made chairs
+and tables, of some wood grown dark and polished with age, made even
+Mrs. Williamson's "parlour set" of horsehair seem extravagantly modern
+by contrast. The painted floor was covered with round braided rugs.
+On the centre table was a lamp, a Bible and some theological volumes
+contemporary with the square-runged furniture. The walls,
+wainscoted half way up in wood and covered for the rest with a dark,
+diamond-patterned paper, were hung with faded engravings, mostly of
+clerical-looking, bewigged personages in gowns and bands.
+
+But over the high, undecorated black mantel-piece, in a ruddy glow of
+sunset light striking through the window, hung one which caught and
+held Eric's attention to the exclusion of everything else. It was the
+enlarged "crayon" photograph of a young girl, and, in spite of the
+crudity of execution, it was easily the center of interest in the room.
+
+Eric at once guessed that this must be the picture of Margaret Gordon,
+for, although quite unlike Kilmeny's sensitive, spirited face in
+general, there was a subtle, unmistakable resemblance about brow and
+chin.
+
+The pictured face was a very handsome one, suggestive of velvety dark
+eyes and vivid colouring; but it was its expression rather than its
+beauty which fascinated Eric. Never had he seen a countenance indicative
+of more intense and stubborn will power. Margaret Gordon was dead
+and buried; the picture was a cheap and inartistic production in an
+impossible frame of gilt and plush; yet the vitality in that face
+dominated its surroundings still. What then must have been the power of
+such a personality in life?
+
+Eric realized that this woman could and would have done whatsoever she
+willed, unflinchingly and unrelentingly. She could stamp her desire on
+everything and everybody about her, moulding them to her wish and will,
+in their own despite and in defiance of all the resistance they might
+make. Many things in Kilmeny's upbringing and temperament became clear
+to him.
+
+"If that woman had told me I was ugly I should have believed her," he
+thought. "Ay, even though I had a mirror to contradict her. I should
+never have dreamed of disputing or questioning anything she might have
+said. The strange power in her face is almost uncanny, peering out as it
+does from a mask of beauty and youthful curves. Pride and stubbornness
+are its salient characteristics. Well, Kilmeny does not at all resemble
+her mother in expression and only very slightly in feature."
+
+His reflections were interrupted by the entrance of Thomas and Janet
+Gordon. The former had evidently been called from his work. He nodded
+without speaking, and the two sat gravely down before Eric.
+
+"I have come to see you with regard to your niece, Mr. Gordon," he said
+abruptly, realizing that there would be small use in beating about the
+bush with this grim pair. "I met your--I met Neil Gordon in the Connors
+orchard, and I found that he has told you that I have been meeting
+Kilmeny there."
+
+He paused. Thomas Gordon nodded again; but he did not speak, and he
+did not remove his steady, piercing eyes from the young man's flushed
+countenance. Janet still sat in a sort of expectant immovability.
+
+"I fear that you have formed an unfavourable opinion of me on this
+account, Mr. Gordon," Eric went on. "But I hardly think I deserve it.
+I can explain the matter if you will allow me. I met your niece
+accidentally in the orchard three weeks ago and heard her play. I
+thought her music very wonderful and I fell into the habit of coming to
+the orchard in the evenings to hear it. I had no thought of harming her
+in any way, Mr. Gordon. I thought of her as a mere child, and a child
+who was doubly sacred because of her affliction. But recently I--I--it
+occurred to me that I was not behaving quite honourably in encouraging
+her to meet me thus. Yesterday evening I asked her to bring me here and
+introduce me to you and her aunt. We would have come then if you had
+been at home. As you were not we arranged to come tonight."
+
+"I hope you will not refuse me the privilege of seeing your niece, Mr.
+Gordon," said Eric eagerly. "I ask you to allow me to visit her here.
+But I do not ask you to receive me as a friend on my own recommendations
+only. I will give you references--men of standing in Charlottetown and
+Queenslea. If you refer to them--"
+
+"I don't need to do that," said Thomas Gordon, quietly. "I know more of
+you than you think, Master. I know your father well by reputation and
+I have seen him. I know you are a rich man's son, whatever your whim in
+teaching a country school may be. Since you have kept your own counsel
+about your affairs I supposed you didn't want your true position
+generally known, and so I have held my tongue about you. I know no
+ill of you, Master, and I think none, now that I believe you were not
+beguiling Kilmeny to meet you unknown to her friends of set purpose. But
+all this doesn't make you a suitable friend for her, sir--it makes you
+all the more unsuitable. The less she sees of you the better."
+
+Eric almost started to his feet in an indignant protest; but he swiftly
+remembered that his only hope of winning Kilmeny lay in bringing Thomas
+Gordon to another way of thinking. He had got on better than he had
+expected so far; he must not now jeopardize what he had gained by
+rashness or impatience.
+
+"Why do you think so, Mr. Gordon?" he asked, regaining his self-control
+with an effort.
+
+"Well, plain speaking is best, Master. If you were to come here and
+see Kilmeny often she'd most likely come to think too much of you. I
+mistrust there's some mischief done in that direction already. Then when
+you went away she might break her heart--for she is one of those who
+feel things deeply. She has been happy enough. I know folks condemn us
+for the way she has been brought up, but they don't know everything. It
+was the best way for her, all things considered. And we don't want her
+made unhappy, Master."
+
+"But I love your niece and I want to marry her if I can win her love,"
+said Eric steadily.
+
+He surprised them out of their self possession at last. Both started,
+and looked at him as if they could not believe the evidence of their
+ears.
+
+"Marry her! Marry Kilmeny!" exclaimed Thomas Gordon incredulously. "You
+can't mean it, sir. Why, she is dumb--Kilmeny is dumb."
+
+"That makes no difference in my love for her, although I deeply regret
+it for her own sake," answered Eric. "I can only repeat what I have
+already said, Mr. Gordon. I want Kilmeny for my wife."
+
+The older man leaned forward and looked at the floor in a troubled
+fashion, drawing his bushy eyebrows down and tapping the calloused
+tips of his fingers together uneasily. He was evidently puzzled by this
+unexpected turn of the conversation, and in grave doubt what to say.
+
+"What would your father say to all this, Master?" he queried at last.
+
+"I have often heard my father say that a man must marry to please
+himself," said Eric, with a smile. "If he felt tempted to go back on
+that opinion I think the sight of Kilmeny would convert him. But, after
+all, it is what I say that matters in this case, isn't it, Mr. Gordon?
+I am well educated and not afraid of work. I can make a home for Kilmeny
+in a few years even if I have to depend entirely on my own resources.
+Only give me the chance to win her--that is all I ask."
+
+"I don't think it would do, Master," said Thomas Gordon, shaking his
+head. "Of course, I dare say you--you"--he tried to say "love," but
+Scotch reserve balked stubbornly at the terrible word--"you think you
+like Kilmeny now, but you are only a lad--and lads' fancies change."
+
+"Mine will not," Eric broke in vehemently. "It is not a fancy, Mr.
+Gordon. It is the love that comes once in a lifetime and once only. I
+may be but a lad, but I know that Kilmeny is the one woman in the world
+for me. There can never be any other. Oh, I'm not speaking rashly or
+inconsiderately. I have weighed the matter well and looked at it from
+every aspect. And it all comes to this--I love Kilmeny and I want what
+any decent man who loves a woman truly has the right to have--the chance
+to win her love in return."
+
+"Well!" Thomas Gordon drew a long breath that was almost a sigh.
+"Maybe--if you feel like that, Master--I don't know--there are some
+things it isn't right to cross. Perhaps we oughtn't--Janet, woman, what
+shall we say to him?"
+
+Janet Gordon had hitherto spoken no word. She had sat rigidly upright
+on one of the old chairs under Margaret Gordon's insistent picture, with
+her knotted, toil-worn hands grasping the carved arms tightly, and her
+eyes fastened on Eric's face. At first their expression had been guarded
+and hostile, but as the conversation proceeded they lost this gradually
+and became almost kindly. Now, when her brother appealed to her, she
+leaned forward and said eagerly,
+
+"Do you know that there is a stain on Kilmeny's birth, Master?"
+
+"I know that her mother was the innocent victim of a very sad mistake,
+Miss Gordon. I admit no real stain where there was no conscious wrong
+doing. Though, for that matter, even if there were, it would be no
+fault of Kilmeny's and would make no difference to me as far as she is
+concerned."
+
+A sudden change swept over Janet Gordon's face, quite marvelous in
+the transformation it wrought. Her grim mouth softened and a flood of
+repressed tenderness glorified her cold gray eyes.
+
+"Well, then." she said almost triumphantly, "since neither that nor
+her dumbness seems to be any drawback in your eyes I don't see why you
+should not have the chance you want. Perhaps your world will say she is
+not good enough for you, but she is--she is"--this half defiantly.
+"She is a sweet and innocent and true-hearted lassie. She is bright and
+clever and she is not ill looking. Thomas, I say let the young man have
+his will."
+
+Thomas Gordon stood up, as if he considered the responsibility off his
+shoulders and the interview at an end.
+
+"Very well, Janet, woman, since you think it is wise. And may God deal
+with him as he deals with her. Good evening, Master. I'll see you again,
+and you are free to come and go as suits you. But I must go to my work
+now. I left my horses standing in the field."
+
+"I will go up and send Kilmeny down," said Janet quietly.
+
+She lighted the lamp on the table and left the room. A few minutes later
+Kilmeny came down. Eric rose and went to meet her eagerly, but she only
+put out her right hand with a pretty dignity and, while she looked into
+his face, she did not look into his eyes.
+
+"You see I was right after all, Kilmeny," he said, smiling. "Your uncle
+and aunt haven't driven me away. On the contrary they have been very
+kind to me, and they say I may see you whenever and wherever I like."
+
+She smiled, and went over to the table to write on her slate.
+
+"But they were very angry last night, and said dreadful things to me.
+I felt very frightened and unhappy. They seemed to think I had done
+something terribly wrong. Uncle Thomas said he would never trust me out
+of his sight again. I could hardly believe it when Aunt Janet came up
+and told me you were here and that I might come down. She looked at me
+very strangely as she spoke, but I could see that all the anger had gone
+out of her face. She seemed pleased and yet sad. But I am glad they have
+forgiven us."
+
+She did not tell him how glad she was, and how unhappy she had been over
+the thought that she was never to see him again. Yesterday she would
+have told him all frankly and fully; but for her yesterday was a
+lifetime away--a lifetime in which she had come into her heritage of
+womanly dignity and reserve. The kiss which Eric had left on her lips,
+the words her uncle and aunt had said to her, the tears she had shed for
+the first time on a sleepless pillow--all had conspired to reveal her to
+herself. She did not yet dream that she loved Eric Marshall, or that he
+loved her. But she was no longer the child to be made a dear comrade
+of. She was, though quite unconsciously, the woman to be wooed and won,
+exacting, with sweet, innate pride, her dues of allegiance.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIII. A SWEETER WOMAN NE'ER DREW BREATH
+
+Thenceforward Eric Marshall was a constant visitor at the Gordon
+homestead. He soon became a favourite with Thomas and Janet, especially
+the latter. He liked them both, discovering under all their outward
+peculiarities sterling worth and fitness of character. Thomas Gordon was
+surprisingly well read and could floor Eric any time in argument, once
+he became sufficiently warmed up to attain fluency of words. Eric hardly
+recognized him the first time he saw him thus animated. His bent form
+straightened, his sunken eyes flashed, his face flushed, his voice
+rang like a trumpet, and he poured out a flood of eloquence which swept
+Eric's smart, up-to-date arguments away like straws in the rush of a
+mountain torrent. Eric enjoyed his own defeat enormously, but Thomas
+Gordon was ashamed of being thus drawn out of himself, and for a week
+afterwards confined his remarks to "Yes" and "No," or, at the outside,
+to a brief statement that a change in the weather was brewing.
+
+Janet never talked on matters of church and state; such she plainly
+considered to be far beyond a woman's province. But she listened with
+lurking interest in her eyes while Thomas and Eric pelted on each other
+with facts and statistics and opinions, and on the rare occasions when
+Eric scored a point she permitted herself a sly little smile at her
+brother's expense.
+
+Of Neil, Eric saw but little. The Italian boy avoided him, or if they
+chanced to meet passed him by with sullen, downcast eyes. Eric did not
+trouble himself greatly about Neil; but Thomas Gordon, understanding the
+motive which had led Neil to betray his discovery of the orchard trysts,
+bluntly told Kilmeny that she must not make such an equal of Neil as she
+had done.
+
+"You have been too kind to the lad, lassie, and he's got presumptuous.
+He must be taught his place. I mistrust we have all made more of him
+than we should."
+
+But most of the idyllic hours of Eric's wooing were spent in the old
+orchard; the garden end of it was now a wilderness of roses--roses red
+as the heart of a sunset, roses pink as the early flush of dawn, roses
+white as the snows on mountain peaks, roses full blown, and roses in
+buds that were sweeter than anything on earth except Kilmeny's face.
+Their petals fell in silken heaps along the old paths or clung to the
+lush grasses among which Eric lay and dreamed, while Kilmeny played to
+him on her violin.
+
+Eric promised himself that when she was his wife her wonderful gift
+for music should be cultivated to the utmost. Her powers of expression
+seemed to deepen and develop every day, growing as her soul grew, taking
+on new colour and richness from her ripening heart.
+
+To Eric, the days were all pages in an inspired idyl. He had never
+dreamed that love could be so mighty or the world so beautiful. He
+wondered if the universe were big enough to hold his joy or eternity
+long enough to live it out. His whole existence was, for the time
+being, bounded by that orchard where he wooed his sweetheart. All other
+ambitions and plans and hopes were set aside in the pursuit of this one
+aim, the attainment of which would enhance all others a thousand-fold,
+the loss of which would rob all others of their reason for existence.
+His own world seemed very far away and the things of that world
+forgotten.
+
+His father, on hearing that he had taken the Lindsay school for a year,
+had written him a testy, amazed letter, asking him if he were demented.
+
+"Or is there a girl in the case?" he wrote. "There must be, to tie you
+down to a place like Lindsay for a year. Take care, master Eric; you've
+been too sensible all your life. A man is bound to make a fool of
+himself at least once, and when you didn't get through with that in your
+teens it may be attacking you now."
+
+David also wrote, expostulating more gravely; but he did not express the
+suspicions Eric knew he must entertain.
+
+"Good old David! He is quaking with fear that I am up to something he
+can't approve of, but he won't say a word by way of attempting to force
+my confidence."
+
+It could not long remain a secret in Lindsay that "the Master" was going
+to the Gordon place on courting thoughts intent. Mrs. Williamson kept
+her own and Eric's counsel; the Gordons said nothing; but the secret
+leaked out and great was the surprise and gossip and wonder. One or
+two incautious people ventured to express their opinion of the Master's
+wisdom to the Master himself; but they never repeated the experiment.
+Curiosity was rife. A hundred stories were circulated about Kilmeny, all
+greatly exaggerated in the circulation. Wise heads were shaken and the
+majority opined that it was a great pity. The Master was a likely young
+fellow; he could have his pick of almost anybody, you might think; it
+was too bad that he should go and take up with that queer, dumb niece of
+the Gordons who had been brought up in such a heathenish way. But then
+you never could guess what way a man's fancy would jump when he set out
+to pick him a wife. They guessed Neil Gordon didn't like it much. He
+seemed to have got dreadful moody and sulky of late and wouldn't sing in
+the choir any more. Thus the buzz of comment and gossip ran.
+
+To those two in the old orchard it mattered not a whit. Kilmeny knew
+nothing of gossip. To her, Lindsay was as much of an unknown world as
+the city of Eric's home. Her thoughts strayed far and wide in the realm
+of her fancy, but they never wandered out to the little realities that
+hedged her strange life around. In that life she had blossomed out, a
+fair, unique thing. There were times when Eric almost regretted that one
+day he must take her out of her white solitude to a world that, in the
+last analysis, was only Lindsay on a larger scale, with just the same
+pettiness of thought and feeling and opinion at the bottom of it. He
+wished he might keep her to himself for ever, in that old, spruce-hidden
+orchard where the roses fell.
+
+One day he indulged himself in the fulfillment of the whim he had formed
+when Kilmeny had told him she thought herself ugly. He went to Janet and
+asked her permission to bring a mirror to the house that he might
+have the privilege of being the first to reveal Kilmeny to herself
+exteriorly. Janet was somewhat dubious at first.
+
+"There hasn't been such a thing in the house for sixteen years, Master.
+There never was but three--one in the spare room, and a little one in
+the kitchen, and Margaret's own. She broke them all the day it first
+struck her that Kilmeny was going to be bonny. I might have got one
+after she died maybe. But I didn't think of it; and there's no need of
+lasses to be always prinking at their looking glasses."
+
+But Eric pleaded and argued skilfully, and finally Janet said,
+
+"Well, well, have your own way. You'd have it anyway I think, lad. You
+are one of those men who always get their own way. But that is different
+from the men who TAKE their own way--and that's a mercy," she added
+under her breath.
+
+Eric went to town the next Saturday and picked out a mirror that pleased
+him. He had it shipped to Radnor and Thomas Gordon brought it home, not
+knowing what it was, for Janet had thought it just as well he should not
+know.
+
+"It's a present the Master is making Kilmeny," she told him.
+
+She sent Kilmeny off to the orchard after tea, and Eric slipped around
+to the house by way of the main road and lane. He and Janet together
+unpacked the mirror and hung it on the parlour wall.
+
+"I never saw such a big one, Master," said Janet rather doubtfully,
+as if, after all, she distrusted its gleaming, pearly depth and richly
+ornamented frame. "I hope it won't make her vain. She is very bonny, but
+it may not do her any good to know it."
+
+"It won't harm her," said Eric confidently. "When a belief in her
+ugliness hasn't spoiled a girl a belief in her beauty won't."
+
+But Janet did not understand epigrams. She carefully removed a little
+dust from the polished surface, and frowned meditatively at the by no
+means beautiful reflection she saw therein.
+
+"I cannot think what made Kilmeny suppose she was ugly, Master."
+
+"Her mother told her she was," said Eric, rather bitterly.
+
+"Ah!" Janet shot a quick glance at the picture of her sister. "Was that
+it? Margaret was a strange woman, Master. I suppose she thought her own
+beauty had been a snare to her. She WAS bonny. That picture doesn't do
+her justice. I never liked it. It was taken before she was--before she
+met Ronald Fraser. We none of us thought it very like her at the time.
+But, Master, three years later it was like her--oh, it was like her
+then! That very look came in her face."
+
+"Kilmeny doesn't resemble her mother," remarked Eric, glancing at the
+picture with the same feeling of mingled fascination and distaste with
+which he always regarded it. "Does she look like her father?"
+
+"No, not a great deal, though some of her ways are very like his. She
+looks like her grandmother--Margaret's mother, Master. Her name was
+Kilmeny too, and she was a handsome, sweet woman. I was very fond of my
+stepmother, Master. When she died she gave her baby to me, and asked me
+to be a mother to it. Ah well, I tried; but I couldn't fence the sorrow
+out of Margaret's life, and it sometimes comes to my mind that maybe
+I'll not be able to fence it out of Kilmeny's either."
+
+"That will be my task," said Eric.
+
+"You'll do your best, I do not doubt. But maybe it will be through you
+that sorrow will come to her after all."
+
+"Not through any fault of mine, Aunt Janet."
+
+"No, no, I'm not saying it will be your fault. But my heart misgives me
+at times. Oh, I dare say I am only a foolish old woman, Master. Go your
+ways and bring your lass here to look at your plaything when you like.
+I'll not make or meddle with it."
+
+Janet betook herself to the kitchen and Eric went to look for Kilmeny.
+She was not in the orchard and it was not until he had searched for some
+time that he found her. She was standing under a beech tree in a field
+beyond the orchard, leaning on the longer fence, with her hands clasped
+against her cheek. In them she held a white Mary-lily from the orchard.
+She did not run to meet him while he was crossing the pasture, as she
+would once have done. She waited motionless until he was close to her.
+Eric began, half laughingly, half tenderly, to quote some lines from her
+namesake ballad:
+
+    "'Kilmeny, Kilmeny, where have you been?
+    Long hae we sought baith holt and den,--
+    By linn, by ford, and greenwood tree!
+    Yet you are halesome and fair to see.
+    Where got you that joup o' the lily sheen?
+    That bonny snood o' the birk sae green,
+    And those roses, the fairest that ever was seen?
+    Kilmeny, Kilmeny, where have you been?'
+
+"Only it's a lily and not a rose you are carrying. I might go on and
+quote the next couplet too--
+
+    "'Kilmeny looked up with a lovely grace,
+    But there was nae smile on Kilmeny's face.'
+
+"Why are you looking so sober?"
+
+Kilmeny did not have her slate with her and could not answer; but Eric
+guessed from something in her eyes that she was bitterly contrasting the
+beauty of the ballad's heroine with her own supposed ugliness.
+
+"Come down to the house, Kilmeny. I have something there to show
+you--something lovelier than you have ever seen before," he said, with
+boyish pleasure shining in his eyes. "I want you to go and put on that
+muslin dress you wore last Sunday evening, and pin up your hair the same
+way you did then. Run along--don't wait for me. But you are not to go
+into the parlour until I come. I want to pick some of those Mary-lilies
+up in the orchard."
+
+When Eric returned to the house with an armful of the long stemmed,
+white Madonna lilies that bloomed in the orchard Kilmeny was just coming
+down the steep, narrow staircase with its striped carpeting of homespun
+drugget. Her marvelous loveliness was brought out into brilliant relief
+by the dark wood work and shadows of the dim old hall.
+
+She wore a trailing, clinging dress of some creamy tinted fabric that
+had been her mother's. It had not been altered in any respect, for
+fashion held no sway at the Gordon homestead, and Kilmeny thought
+that the dress left nothing to be desired. Its quaint style suited
+her admirably; the neck was slightly cut away to show the round white
+throat, and the sleeves were long, full "bishops," out of which her
+beautiful, slender hands slipped like flowers from their sheaths. She
+had crossed her long braids at the back and pinned them about her head
+like a coronet; a late white rose was fastened low down on the left
+side.
+
+    "'A man had given all other bliss
+    And all his worldly wealth for this--
+    To waste his whole heart in one kiss
+    Upon her perfect lips,'"
+
+quoted Eric in a whisper as he watched her descend. Aloud he said,
+
+"Take these lilies on your arm, letting their bloom fall against your
+shoulder--so. Now, give me your hand and shut your eyes. Don't open them
+until I say you may."
+
+He led her into the parlour and up to the mirror.
+
+"Look," he cried, gaily.
+
+Kilmeny opened her eyes and looked straight into the mirror where, like
+a lovely picture in a golden frame, she saw herself reflected. For a
+moment she was bewildered. Then she realized what it meant. The lilies
+fell from her arm to the floor and she turned pale. With a little low,
+involuntary cry she put her hands over her face.
+
+Eric pulled them boyishly away.
+
+"Kilmeny, do you think you are ugly now? This is a truer mirror than
+Aunt Janet's silver sugar bowl! Look--look--look! Did you ever imagine
+anything fairer than yourself, dainty Kilmeny?"
+
+She was blushing now, and stealing shy radiant glances at the mirror.
+With a smile she took her slate and wrote naively,
+
+"I think I am pleasant to look upon. I cannot tell you how glad I am.
+It is so dreadful to believe one is ugly. You can get used to everything
+else, but you never get used to that. It hurts just the same every time
+you remember it. But why did mother tell me I was ugly? Could she really
+have thought so? Perhaps I have become better looking since I grew up."
+
+"I think perhaps your mother had found that beauty is not always
+a blessing, Kilmeny, and thought it wiser not to let you know you
+possessed it. Come, let us go back to the orchard now. We mustn't waste
+this rare evening in the house. There is going to be a sunset that we
+shall remember all our lives. The mirror will hang here. It is yours.
+Don't look into it too often, though, or Aunt Janet will disapprove. She
+is afraid it will make you vain."
+
+Kilmeny gave one of her rare, musical laughs, which Eric never heard
+without a recurrence of the old wonder that she could laugh so when she
+could not speak. She blew an airy little kiss at her mirrored face and
+turned from it, smiling happily.
+
+On their way to the orchard they met Neil. He went by them with an
+averted face, but Kilmeny shivered and involuntarily drew nearer to
+Eric.
+
+"I don't understand Neil at all now," she wrote nervously. "He is not
+nice, as he used to be, and sometimes he will not answer when I speak
+to him. And he looks so strangely at me, too. Besides, he is surly and
+impertinent to Uncle and Aunt."
+
+"Don't mind Neil," said Eric lightly. "He is probably sulky because of
+some things I said to him when I found he had spied on us."
+
+That night before she went up stairs Kilmeny stole into the parlour for
+another glimpse of herself in that wonderful mirror by the light of a
+dim little candle she carried. She was still lingering there dreamily
+when Aunt Janet's grim face appeared in the shadows of the doorway.
+
+"Are you thinking about your own good looks, lassie? Ay, but
+remember that handsome is as handsome does," she said, with grudging
+admiration--for the girl with her flushed cheeks and shining eyes was
+something that even dour Janet Gordon could not look upon unmoved.
+
+Kilmeny smiled softly.
+
+"I'll try to remember," she wrote, "but oh, Aunt Janet, I am so glad I
+am not ugly. It is not wrong to be glad of that, is it?"
+
+The older woman's face softened.
+
+"No, I don't suppose it is, lassie," she conceded. "A comely face is
+something to be thankful for--as none know better than those who have
+never possessed it. I remember well when I was a girl--but that is
+neither here nor there. The Master thinks you are wonderful bonny,
+Kilmeny," she added, looking keenly at the girl.
+
+Kilmeny started and a scarlet blush scorched her face. That, and the
+expression that flashed into her eyes, told Janet Gordon all she wished
+to know. With a stifled sigh she bade her niece good night and went
+away.
+
+Kilmeny ran fleetly up the stairs to her dim little room, that looked
+out into the spruces, and flung herself on her bed, burying her burning
+face in the pillow. Her aunt's words had revealed to her the hidden
+secret of her heart. She knew that she loved Eric Marshall--and the
+knowledge brought with it a strange anguish. For was she not dumb? All
+night she lay staring wide-eyed through the darkness till the dawn.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIV. IN HER SELFLESS MOOD
+
+Eric noticed a change in Kilmeny at their next meeting--a change that
+troubled him. She seemed aloof, abstracted, almost ill at ease. When he
+proposed an excursion to the orchard he thought she was reluctant to go.
+The days that followed convinced him of the change. Something had come
+between them. Kilmeny seemed as far away from him as if she had in
+truth, like her namesake of the ballad, sojourned for seven years in the
+land "where the rain never fell and the wind never blew," and had come
+back washed clean from all the affections of earth.
+
+Eric had a bad week of it; but he determined to put an end to it by
+plain speaking. One evening in the orchard he told her of his love.
+
+It was an evening in August, with wheat fields ripening to their
+harvestry--a soft violet night made for love, with the distant murmur of
+an unquiet sea on a rocky shore sounding through it. Kilmeny was sitting
+on the old bench where he had first seen her. She had been playing for
+him, but her music did not please her and she laid aside the violin with
+a little frown.
+
+It might be that she was afraid to play--afraid that her new emotions
+might escape her and reveal themselves in music. It was difficult
+to prevent this, so long had she been accustomed to pour out all her
+feelings in harmony. The necessity for restraint irked her and made of
+her bow a clumsy thing which no longer obeyed her wishes. More than ever
+at that instant did she long for speech--speech that would conceal and
+protect where dangerous silence might betray.
+
+In a low voice that trembled with earnestness Eric told her that he
+loved her--that he had loved her from the first time he had seen her
+in that old orchard. He spoke humbly but not fearfully, for he believed
+that she loved him, and he had little expectation of any rebuff.
+
+"Kilmeny, will you be my wife?" he asked finally, taking her hands in
+his.
+
+Kilmeny had listened with averted face. At first she had blushed
+painfully but now she had grown very pale. When he had finished speaking
+and was waiting for her answer, she suddenly pulled her hands away, and,
+putting them over her face, burst into tears and noiseless sobs.
+
+"Kilmeny, dearest, have I alarmed you? Surely you knew before that I
+loved you. Don't you care for me?" Eric said, putting his arm about her
+and trying to draw her to him. But she shook her head sorrowfully, and
+wrote with compressed lips,
+
+"Yes, I do love you, but I will never marry you, because I cannot
+speak."
+
+"Oh, Kilmeny," said Eric smiling, for he believed his victory won, "that
+doesn't make any difference to me--you know it doesn't, sweetest. If you
+love me that is enough."
+
+But Kilmeny only shook her head again. There was a very determined look
+on her pale face. She wrote,
+
+"No, it is not enough. It would be doing you a great wrong to marry you
+when I cannot speak, and I will not do it because I love you too much to
+do anything that would harm you. Your world would think you had done
+a very foolish thing and it would be right. I have thought it all over
+many times since something Aunt Janet said made me understand, and I
+know I am doing right. I am sorry I did not understand sooner, before
+you had learned to care so much."
+
+"Kilmeny, darling, you have taken a very absurd fancy into that dear
+black head of yours. Don't you know that you will make me miserably
+unhappy all my life if you will not be my wife?"
+
+"No, you think so now; and I know you will feel very badly for a time.
+Then you will go away and after awhile you will forget me; and then you
+will see that I was right. I shall be very unhappy, too, but that is
+better than spoiling your life. Do not plead or coax because I shall not
+change my mind."
+
+Eric did plead and coax, however--at first patiently and smilingly,
+as one might argue with a dear foolish child; then with vehement and
+distracted earnestness, as he began to realize that Kilmeny meant what
+she said. It was all in vain. Kilmeny grew paler and paler, and her eyes
+revealed how keenly she was suffering. She did not even try to argue
+with him, but only listened patiently and sadly, and shook her head. Say
+what he would, entreat and implore as he might, he could not move her
+resolution a hairs-breadth.
+
+Yet he did not despair; he could not believe that she would adhere to
+such a resolution; he felt sure that her love for him would eventually
+conquer, and he went home not unhappily after all. He did not understand
+that it was the very intensity of her love which gave her the strength
+to resist his pleading, where a more shallow affection might have
+yielded. It held her back unflinchingly from doing him what she believed
+to be a wrong.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XV. AN OLD, UNHAPPY, FAR-OFF THING
+
+The next day Eric sought Kilmeny again and renewed his pleadings, but
+again in vain. Nothing he could say, no argument which he could advance,
+was of any avail against her sad determination. When he was finally
+compelled to realize that her resolution was not to be shaken, he went
+in his despair to Janet Gordon. Janet listened to his story with concern
+and disappointment plainly visible on her face. When he had finished she
+shook her head.
+
+"I'm sorry, Master. I can't tell you how sorry I am. I had hoped for
+something very different. HOPED! I have PRAYED for it. Thomas and I are
+getting old and it has weighed on my mind for years--what was to become
+of Kilmeny when we would be gone. Since you came I had hoped she would
+have a protector in you. But if Kilmeny says she will not marry you I am
+afraid she'll stick to it."
+
+"But she loves me," cried the young man, "and if you and her uncle speak
+to her--urge her--perhaps you can influence her--"
+
+"No, Master, it wouldn't be any use. Oh, we will, of course, but it will
+not be any use. Kilmeny is as determined as her mother when once she
+makes up her mind. She has always been good and obedient for the most
+part, but once or twice we have found out that there is no moving her if
+she does resolve upon anything. When her mother died Thomas and I wanted
+to take her to church. We could not prevail on her to go. We did not
+know why then, but now I suppose it was because she believed she was
+so very ugly. It is because she thinks so much of you that she will not
+marry you. She is afraid you would come to repent having married a dumb
+girl. Maybe she is right--maybe she is right."
+
+"I cannot give her up," said Eric stubbornly. "Something must be done.
+Perhaps her defect can be remedied even yet. Have you ever thought of
+that? You have never had her examined by a doctor qualified to pronounce
+on her case, have you?"
+
+"No, Master, we never took her to anyone. When we first began to
+fear that she was never going to talk Thomas wanted to take her to
+Charlottetown and have her looked to. He thought so much of the child
+and he felt terrible about it. But her mother wouldn't hear of it being
+done. There was no use trying to argue with her. She said that it would
+be no use--that it was her sin that was visited on her child and it
+could never be taken away."
+
+"And did you give in meekly to a morbid whim like that?" asked Eric
+impatiently.
+
+"Master, you didn't know my sister. We HAD to give in--nobody could hold
+out against her. She was a strange woman--and a terrible woman in many
+ways--after her trouble. We were afraid to cross her for fear she would
+go out of her mind."
+
+"But, could you not have taken Kilmeny to a doctor unknown to her
+mother?"
+
+"No, that was not possible. Margaret never let her out of her sight,
+not even when she was grown up. Besides, to tell you the whole truth,
+Master, we didn't think ourselves that it would be much use to try to
+cure Kilmeny. It WAS a sin that made her as she is."
+
+"Aunt Janet, how can you talk such nonsense? Where was there any sin?
+Your sister thought herself a lawful wife. If Ronald Fraser thought
+otherwise--and there is no proof that he did--HE committed a sin, but
+you surely do not believe that it was visited in this fashion on his
+innocent child!"
+
+"No, I am not meaning that, Master. That wasn't where Margaret did
+wrong; and though I never liked Ronald Fraser over much, I must say this
+in his defence--I believe he thought himself a free man when he married
+Margaret. No, it's something else--something far worse. It gives me a
+shiver whenever I think of it. Oh, Master, the Good Book is right when
+it says the sins of the parents are visited on the children. There isn't
+a truer word in it than that from cover to cover."
+
+"What, in heaven's name, is the meaning of all this?" exclaimed Eric.
+"Tell me what it is. I must know the whole truth about Kilmeny. Do not
+torment me."
+
+"I am going to tell you the story, Master, though it will be like
+opening an old wound. No living person knows it but Thomas and me. When
+you hear it you will understand why Kilmeny can't speak, and why it
+isn't likely that there can ever be anything done for her. She doesn't
+know the truth and you must never tell her. It isn't a fit story for her
+ears, especially when it is about her mother. Promise me that you will
+never tell her, no matter what may happen."
+
+"I promise. Go on--go on," said the young man feverishly.
+
+Janet Gordon locked her hands together in her lap, like a woman who
+nerves herself to some hateful task. She looked very old; the lines on
+her face seemed doubly deep and harsh.
+
+"My sister Margaret was a very proud, high-spirited girl, Master. But I
+would not have you think she was unlovable. No, no, that would be doing
+a great injustice to her memory. She had her faults as we all have; but
+she was bright and merry and warm-hearted. We all loved her. She was the
+light and life of this house. Yes, Master, before the trouble that came
+on her Margaret was a winsome lass, singing like a lark from morning
+till night. Maybe we spoiled her a little--maybe we gave her too much of
+her own way.
+
+"Well, Master, you have heard the story of her marriage to Ronald Fraser
+and what came after, so I need not go into that. I know, or used to know
+Elizabeth Williamson well, and I know that whatever she told you would
+be the truth and nothing more or less than the truth.
+
+"Our father was a very proud man. Oh, Master, if Margaret was too proud
+she got it from no stranger. And her misfortune cut him to the heart. He
+never spoke a word to us here for more than three days after he heard of
+it. He sat in the corner there with bowed head and would not touch bite
+or sup. He had not been very willing for her to marry Ronald Fraser; and
+when she came home in disgrace she had not set foot over the threshold
+before he broke out railing at her. Oh, I can see her there at the door
+this very minute, Master, pale and trembling, clinging to Thomas's arm,
+her great eyes changing from sorrow and shame to wrath. It was just at
+sunset and a red ray came in at the window and fell right across her
+breast like a stain of blood.
+
+"Father called her a hard name, Master. Oh, he was too hard--even though
+he was my father I must say he was too hard on her, broken-hearted as
+she was, and guilty of nothing more after all than a little willfulness
+in the matter of her marriage.
+
+"And father was sorry for it--Oh, Master, the word wasn't out of his
+mouth before he was sorry for it. But the mischief was done. Oh, I'll
+never forget Margaret's face, Master! It haunts me yet in the black
+of the night. It was full of anger and rebellion and defiance. But she
+never answered him back. She clenched her hands and went up to her old
+room without saying a word, all those mad feelings surging in her
+soul, and being held back from speech by her sheer, stubborn will. And,
+Master, never a word did Margaret say from that day until after Kilmeny
+was born--not one word, Master. Nothing we could do for her softened
+her. And we were kind to her, Master, and gentle with her, and never
+reproached her by so much as a look. But she would not speak to anyone.
+She just sat in her room most of the time and stared at the wall with
+such awful eyes. Father implored her to speak and forgive him, but she
+never gave any sign that she heard him.
+
+"I haven't come to the worst yet, Master. Father sickened and took to
+his bed. Margaret would not go in to see him. Then one night Thomas
+and I were watching by him; it was about eleven o'clock. All at once he
+said,
+
+"'Janet, go up and tell the lass'--he always called Margaret that--it
+was a kind of pet name he had for her--'that I'm deein' and ask her to
+come down and speak to me afore I'm gone.'
+
+"Master, I went. Margaret was sitting in her room all alone in the cold
+and dark, staring at the wall. I told her what our father had said. She
+never let on she heard me. I pleaded and wept, Master. I did what I had
+never done to any human creature--I kneeled to her and begged her, as
+she hoped for mercy herself, to come down and see our dying father.
+Master, she wouldn't! She never moved or looked at me. I had to get up
+and go downstairs and tell that old man she would not come."
+
+Janet Gordon lifted her hands and struck them together in her agony of
+remembrance.
+
+"When I told father he only said, oh, so gently,
+
+"'Poor lass, I was too hard on her. She isna to blame. But I canna go
+to meet her mother till our little lass has forgie'n me for the name I
+called her. Thomas, help me up. Since she winna come to me I must e'en
+go to her.'
+
+"There was no crossing him--we saw that. He got up from his deathbed and
+Thomas helped him out into the hall and up the stair. I walked behind
+with the candle. Oh, Master, I'll never forget it--the awful shadows and
+the storm wind wailing outside, and father's gasping breath. But we
+got him to Margaret's room and he stood before her, trembling, with his
+white hairs falling about his sunken face. And he prayed Margaret to
+forgive him--to forgive him and speak just one word to him before
+he went to meet her mother. Master"--Janet's voice rose almost to
+a shriek--"she would not--she would not! And yet she WANTED to
+speak--afterwards she confessed to me that she wanted to speak. But
+her stubbornness wouldn't let her. It was like some evil power that
+had gripped hold of her and wouldn't let go. Father might as well have
+pleaded with a graven image. Oh, it was hard and dreadful! She saw her
+father die and she never spoke the word he prayed for to him. THAT was
+her sin, Master,--and for that sin the curse fell on her unborn child.
+When father understood that she would not speak he closed his eyes and
+was like to have fallen if Thomas had not caught him.
+
+"'Oh, lass, you're a hard woman,' was all he said. And they were his
+last words. Thomas and I carried him back to his room, but the breath
+was gone from him before we ever got him there.
+
+"Well, Master, Kilmeny was born a month afterwards, and when Margaret
+felt her baby at her breast the evil thing that had held her soul in its
+bondage lost its power. She spoke and wept and was herself again. Oh,
+how she wept! She implored us to forgive her and we did freely and
+fully. But the one against whom she had sinned most grievously was gone,
+and no word of forgiveness could come to her from the grave. My poor
+sister never knew peace of conscience again, Master. But she was gentle
+and kind and humble until--until she began to fear that Kilmeny was
+never going to speak. We thought then that she would go out of her mind.
+Indeed, Master, she never was quite right again.
+
+"But that is the story and it's a thankful woman I am that the telling
+of it is done. Kilmeny can't speak because her mother wouldn't."
+
+Eric had listened with a gray horror on his face to the gruesome tale.
+The black tragedy of it appalled him--the tragedy of that merciless law,
+the most cruel and mysterious thing in God's universe, which ordains
+that the sin of the guilty shall be visited on the innocent. Fight
+against it as he would, the miserable conviction stole into his heart
+that Kilmeny's case was indeed beyond the reach of any human skill.
+
+"It is a dreadful tale," he said moodily, getting up and walking
+restlessly to and fro in the dim spruce-shadowed old kitchen where
+they were. "And if it is true that her mother's willful silence caused
+Kilmeny's dumbness, I fear, as you say, that we cannot help her. But
+you may be mistaken. It may have been nothing more than a strange
+coincidence. Possibly something may be done for her. At all events, we
+must try. I have a friend in Queenslea who is a physician. His name is
+David Baker, and he is a very skilful specialist in regard to the throat
+and voice. I shall have him come here and see Kilmeny."
+
+"Have your way," assented Janet in the hopeless tone which she might
+have used in giving him permission to attempt any impossible thing.
+
+"It will be necessary to tell Dr. Baker why Kilmeny cannot speak--or why
+you think she cannot."
+
+Janet's face twitched.
+
+"Must that be, Master? Oh, it's a bitter tale to tell a stranger."
+
+"Don't be afraid. I shall tell him nothing that is not strictly
+necessary to his proper understanding of the case. It will be quite
+enough to say that Kilmeny may be dumb because for several months before
+her birth her mother's mind was in a very morbid condition, and she
+preserved a stubborn and unbroken silence because of a certain bitter
+personal resentment."
+
+"Well, do as you think best, Master."
+
+Janet plainly had no faith in the possibility of anything being done for
+Kilmeny. But a rosy glow of hope flashed over Kilmeny's face when Eric
+told her what he meant to do.
+
+"Oh, do you think he can make me speak?" she wrote eagerly.
+
+"I don't know, Kilmeny. I hope that he can, and I know he will do all
+that mortal skill can do. If he can remove your defect will you promise
+to marry me, dearest?"
+
+She nodded. The grave little motion had the solemnity of a sacred
+promise.
+
+"Yes," she wrote, "when I can speak like other women I will marry you."
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVI. DAVID BAKER'S OPINION
+
+The next week David Baker came to Lindsay. He arrived in the afternoon
+when Eric was in school. When the latter came home he found that David
+had, in the space of an hour, captured Mrs. Williamson's heart, wormed
+himself into the good graces of Timothy, and become hail-fellow-well-met
+with old Robert. But he looked curiously at Eric when the two young men
+found themselves alone in the upstairs room.
+
+"Now, Eric, I want to know what all this is about. What scrape have you
+got into? You write me a letter, entreating me in the name of friendship
+to come to you at once. Accordingly I come post haste. You seem to be in
+excellent health yourself. Explain why you have inveigled me hither."
+
+"I want you to do me a service which only you can do, David," said Eric
+quietly. "I didn't care to go into the details by letter. I have met in
+Lindsay a young girl whom I have learned to love. I have asked her to
+marry me, but, although she cares for me, she refuses to do so because
+she is dumb. I wish you to examine her and find out the cause of her
+defect, and if it can be cured. She can hear perfectly and all her other
+faculties are entirely normal. In order that you may better understand
+the case I must tell you the main facts of her history."
+
+This Eric proceeded to do. David Baker listened with grave attention,
+his eyes fastened on his friend's face. He did not betray the surprise
+and dismay he felt at learning that Eric had fallen in love with a
+dumb girl of doubtful antecedents; and the strange case enlisted his
+professional interest. When he had heard the whole story he thrust his
+hands into his pockets and strode up and down the room several times in
+silence. Finally he halted before Eric.
+
+"So you have done what I foreboded all along you would do--left your
+common sense behind you when you went courting."
+
+"If I did," said Eric quietly, "I took with me something better and
+nobler than common sense."
+
+David shrugged his shoulders.
+
+"You'll have hard work to convince me of that, Eric."
+
+"No, it will not be difficult at all. I have one argument that will
+convince you speedily--and that is Kilmeny Gordon herself. But we will
+not discuss the matter of my wisdom or lack of it just now. What I want
+to know is this--what do you think of the case as I have stated it to
+you?"
+
+David frowned thoughtfully.
+
+"I hardly know what to think. It is very curious and unusual, but it
+is not totally unprecedented. There have been cases on record where
+pre-natal influences have produced a like result. I cannot just now
+remember whether any were ever cured. Well, I'll see if anything can be
+done for this girl. I cannot express any further opinion until I have
+examined her."
+
+The next morning Eric took David up to the Gordon homestead. As they
+approached the old orchard a strain of music came floating through
+the resinous morning arcades of the spruce wood--a wild, sorrowful,
+appealing cry, full of indescribable pathos, yet marvelously sweet.
+
+"What is that?" exclaimed David, starting.
+
+"That is Kilmeny playing on her violin," answered Eric. "She has great
+talent in that respect and improvises wonderful melodies."
+
+When they reached the orchard Kilmeny rose from the old bench to meet
+them, her lovely luminous eyes distended, her face flushed with the
+excitement of mingled hope and fear.
+
+"Oh, ye gods!" muttered David helplessly.
+
+He could not hide his amazement and Eric smiled to see it. The latter
+had not failed to perceive that his friend had until now considered him
+as little better than a lunatic.
+
+"Kilmeny, this is my friend, Dr. Baker," he said.
+
+Kilmeny held out her hand with a smile. Her beauty, as she stood there
+in the fresh morning sunshine beside a clump of her sister lilies,
+was something to take away a man's breath. David, who was by no means
+lacking in confidence and generally had a ready tongue where women were
+concerned, found himself as mute and awkward as a school boy, as he
+bowed over her hand.
+
+But Kilmeny was charmingly at ease. There was not a trace of
+embarrassment in her manner, though there was a pretty shyness. Eric
+smiled as he recalled HIS first meeting with her. He suddenly realized
+how far Kilmeny had come since then and how much she had developed.
+
+With a little gesture of invitation Kilmeny led the way through the
+orchard to the wild cherry lane, and the two men followed.
+
+"Eric, she is simply unutterable!" said David in an undertone. "Last
+night, to tell you the truth, I had a rather poor opinion of your
+sanity. But now I am consumed with a fierce envy. She is the loveliest
+creature I ever saw."
+
+Eric introduced David to the Gordons and then hurried away to his
+school. On his way down the Gordon lane he met Neil and was half
+startled by the glare of hatred in the Italian boy's eyes. Pity
+succeeded the momentary alarm. Neil's face had grown thin and haggard;
+his eyes were sunken and feverishly bright; he looked years older than
+on the day when Eric had first seen him in the brook hollow.
+
+Prompted by sudden compassionate impulse Eric stopped and held out his
+hand.
+
+"Neil, can't we be friends?" he said. "I am sorry if I have been the
+cause of inflicting pain on you."
+
+"Friends! Never!" said Neil passionately. "You have taken Kilmeny from
+me. I shall hate you always. And I'll be even with you yet."
+
+He strode fiercely up the lane, and Eric, with a shrug of his shoulders,
+went on his way, dismissing the meeting from his mind.
+
+The day seemed interminably long to him. David had not returned when
+he went home to dinner; but when he went to his room in the evening he
+found his friend there, staring out of the window.
+
+"Well," he said, impatiently, as David wheeled around but still kept
+silence, "What have you to say to me? Don't keep me in suspense any
+longer, David. I have endured all I can. To-day has seemed like a
+thousand years. Have you discovered what is the matter with Kilmeny?"
+
+"There is nothing the matter with her," answered David slowly, flinging
+himself into a chair by the window.
+
+"What do you mean?"
+
+"Just exactly what I say. Her vocal organs are all perfect. As far as
+they are concerned, there is absolutely no reason why she should not
+speak."
+
+"Then why can't she speak? Do you think--do you think--"
+
+"I think that I cannot express my conclusion in any better words than
+Janet Gordon used when she said that Kilmeny cannot speak because
+her mother wouldn't. That is all there is to it. The trouble is
+psychological, not physical. Medical skill is helpless before it. There
+are greater men than I in my profession; but it is my honest belief,
+Eric, that if you were to consult them they would tell you just what I
+have told you, neither more nor less."
+
+"Then there is no hope," said Eric in a tone of despair. "You can do
+nothing for her?"
+
+David took from the back of his chair a crochet antimacassar with a lion
+rampant in the center and spread it over his knee.
+
+"I can do nothing for her," he said, scowling at that work of art. "I
+do not believe any living man can do anything for her. But I do not
+say--exactly--that there is no hope."
+
+"Come, David, I am in no mood for guessing riddles. Speak plainly, man,
+and don't torment me."
+
+David frowned dubiously and poked his finger through the hole which
+represented the eye of the king of beasts.
+
+"I don't know that I can make it plain to you. It isn't very plain
+to myself. And it is only a vague theory of mine, of course. I cannot
+substantiate it by any facts. In short, Eric, I think it is possible
+that Kilmeny may speak sometime--if she ever wants it badly enough."
+
+"Wants to! Why, man, she wants to as badly as it is possible for any one
+to want anything. She loves me with all her heart and she won't marry
+me because she can't speak. Don't you suppose that a girl under such
+circumstances would 'want' to speak as much as any one could?"
+
+"Yes, but I do not mean that sort of wanting, no matter how strong the
+wish may be. What I do mean is--a sudden, vehement, passionate inrush of
+desire, physical, psychical, mental, all in one, mighty enough to rend
+asunder the invisible fetters that hold her speech in bondage. If any
+occasion should arise to evoke such a desire I believe that Kilmeny
+would speak--and having once spoken would thenceforth be normal in that
+respect--ay, if she spoke but the one word."
+
+"All this sounds like great nonsense to me," said Eric restlessly. "I
+suppose you have an idea what you are talking about, but I haven't. And,
+in any case, it practically means that there is no hope for her--or me.
+Even if your theory is correct it is not likely such an occasion as you
+speak of will ever arise. And Kilmeny will never marry me."
+
+"Don't give up so easily, old fellow. There HAVE been cases on record
+where women have changed their minds."
+
+"Not women like Kilmeny," said Eric miserably. "I tell you she has all
+her mother's unfaltering will and tenacity of purpose, although she
+is free from any taint of pride or selfishness. I thank you for your
+sympathy and interest, David. You have done all you could--but, heavens,
+what it would have meant to me if you could have helped her!"
+
+With a groan Eric flung himself on a chair and buried his face in his
+hands. It was a moment which held for him all the bitterness of death.
+He had thought that he was prepared for disappointment; he had not known
+how strong his hope had really been until that hope was utterly taken
+from him.
+
+David, with a sigh, returned the crochet antimacassar carefully to its
+place on the chair back.
+
+"Eric, last night, to be honest, I thought that, if I found I could not
+help this girl, it would be the best thing that could happen, as far
+as you were concerned. But since I have seen her--well, I would give my
+right hand if I could do anything for her. She is the wife for you, if
+we could make her speak; yes, and by the memory of your mother"--David
+brought his fist down on the window sill with a force that shook the
+casement,--"she is the wife for you, speech or no speech, if we could
+only convince her of it."
+
+"She cannot be convinced of that. No, David, I have lost her. Did you
+tell her what you have told me?"
+
+"I told her I could not help her. I did not say anything to her of my
+theory--that would have done no good."
+
+"How did she take it?"
+
+"Very bravely and quietly--'like a winsome lady'. But the look in her
+eyes--Eric, I felt as if I had murdered something. She bade me good-bye
+with a pitiful smile and went upstairs. I did not see her again,
+although I stayed to dinner as her uncle's request. Those old
+Gordons are a queer pair. I liked them, though. They are strong and
+staunch--good friends, bitter enemies. They were sorry that I could not
+help Kilmeny, but I saw plainly that old Thomas Gordon thought that I
+had been meddling with predestination in attempting it."
+
+Eric smiled mechanically.
+
+"I must go up and see Kilmeny. You'll excuse me, won't you, David? My
+books are there--help yourself."
+
+But when Eric reached the Gordon house he saw only old Janet, who told
+him that Kilmeny was in her room and refused to see him.
+
+"She thought you would come up, and she left this with me to give you,
+Master."
+
+Janet handed him a little note. It was very brief and blotted with
+tears.
+
+"Do not come any more, Eric," it ran. "I must not see you, because it
+would only make it harder for us both. You must go away and forget me.
+You will be thankful for this some day. I shall always love and pray for
+you."
+
+                                                      "KILMENY."
+
+"I MUST see her," said Eric desperately. "Aunt Janet, be my friend. Tell
+her she must see me for a little while at least."
+
+Janet shook her head but went upstairs. She soon returned.
+
+"She says she cannot come down. You know she means it, Master, and it
+is of no use to coax her. And I must say I think she is right. Since she
+will not marry you it is better for her not to see you."
+
+Eric was compelled to go home with no better comfort than this. In the
+morning, as it was Sunday, he drove David Baker to the station. He
+had not slept and he looked so miserable and reckless that David felt
+anxious about him. David would have stayed in Lindsay for a few days,
+but a certain critical case in Queenslea demanded his speedy return. He
+shook hands with Eric on the station platform.
+
+"Eric, give up that school and come home at once. You can do no good in
+Lindsay now, and you'll only eat your heart out here."
+
+"I must see Kilmeny once more before I leave," was all Eric's answer.
+
+That afternoon he went again to the Gordon homestead. But the result was
+the same; Kilmeny refused to see him, and Thomas Gordon said gravely,
+
+"Master, you know I like you and I am sorry Kilmeny thinks as she does,
+though maybe she is right. I would be glad to see you often for your own
+sake and I'll miss you much; but as things are I tell you plainly you'd
+better not come here any more. It will do no good, and the sooner you
+and she get over thinking about each other the better for you both. Go
+now, lad, and God bless you."
+
+"Do you know what it is you are asking of me?" said Eric hoarsely.
+
+"I know I am asking a hard thing for your own good, Master. It is not as
+if Kilmeny would ever change her mind. We have had some experience with
+a woman's will ere this. Tush, Janet, woman, don't be weeping. You women
+are foolish creatures. Do you think tears can wash such things away? No,
+they cannot blot out sin, or the consequences of sin. It's awful how
+one sin can spread out and broaden, till it eats into innocent lives,
+sometimes long after the sinner has gone to his own accounting. Master,
+if you take my advice, you'll give up the Lindsay school and go back to
+your own world as soon as may be."
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVII. A BROKEN FETTER
+
+Eric went home with a white, haggard face. He had never thought it was
+possible for a man to suffer as he suffered then. What was he to do?
+It seemed impossible to go on with life--there was NO life apart from
+Kilmeny. Anguish wrung his soul until his strength went from him and
+youth and hope turned to gall and bitterness in his heart.
+
+He never afterwards could tell how he lived through the following Sunday
+or how he taught school as usual on Monday. He found out how much a man
+may suffer and yet go on living and working. His body seemed to him an
+automaton that moved and spoke mechanically, while his tortured spirit,
+pent-up within, endured pain that left its impress on him for ever. Out
+of that fiery furnace of agony Eric Marshall was to go forth a man who
+had put boyhood behind him for ever and looked out on life with eyes
+that saw into it and beyond.
+
+On Tuesday afternoon there was a funeral in the district and, according
+to custom, the school was closed. Eric went again to the old orchard.
+He had no expectation of seeing Kilmeny there, for he thought she would
+avoid the spot lest she might meet him. But he could not keep away from
+it, although the thought of it was an added torment, and he vibrated
+between a wild wish that he might never see it again, and a sick wonder
+how he could possibly go away and leave it--that strange old orchard
+where he had met and wooed his sweetheart, watching her develop and
+blossom under his eyes, like some rare flower, until in the space of
+three short months she had passed from exquisite childhood into still
+more exquisite womanhood.
+
+As he crossed the pasture field before the spruce wood he came upon Neil
+Gordon, building a longer fence. Neil did not look up as Eric passed,
+but sullenly went on driving poles. Before this Eric had pitied Neil;
+now he was conscious of feeling sympathy with him. Had Neil suffered
+as he was suffering? Eric had entered into a new fellowship whereof the
+passport was pain.
+
+The orchard was very silent and dreamy in the thick, deep tinted
+sunshine of the September afternoon, a sunshine which seemed to possess
+the power of extracting the very essence of all the odours which summer
+has stored up in wood and field. There were few flowers now; most of
+the lilies, which had queened it so bravely along the central path a
+few days before, were withered. The grass had become ragged and sere and
+unkempt. But in the corners the torches of the goldenrod were kindling
+and a few misty purple asters nodded here and there. The orchard kept
+its own strange attractiveness, as some women with youth long
+passed still preserve an atmosphere of remembered beauty and innate,
+indestructible charm.
+
+Eric walked drearily and carelessly about it, and finally sat down on a
+half fallen fence panel in the shadow of the overhanging spruce boughs.
+There he gave himself up to a reverie, poignant and bitter sweet, in
+which he lived over again everything that had passed in the orchard
+since his first meeting there with Kilmeny.
+
+So deep was his abstraction that he was conscious of nothing around him.
+He did not hear stealthy footsteps behind him in the dim spruce wood. He
+did not even see Kilmeny as she came slowly around the curve of the wild
+cherry lane.
+
+Kilmeny had sought the old orchard for the healing of her heartbreak,
+if healing were possible for her. She had no fear of encountering Eric
+there at that time of day, for she did not know that it was the district
+custom to close the school for a funeral. She would never have gone
+to it in the evening, but she longed for it continually; it, and her
+memories, were all that was left her now.
+
+Years seemed to have passed over the girl in those few days. She had
+drunk of pain and broken bread with sorrow. Her face was pale and
+strained, with bluish, transparent shadows under her large wistful eyes,
+out of which the dream and laughter of girlhood had gone, but into
+which had come the potent charm of grief and patience. Thomas Gordon had
+shaken his head bodingly when he had looked at her that morning at the
+breakfast table.
+
+"She won't stand it," he thought. "She isn't long for this world. Maybe
+it is all for the best, poor lass. But I wish that young Master had
+never set foot in the Connors orchard, or in this house. Margaret,
+Margaret, it's hard that your child should have to be paying the
+reckoning of a sin that was sinned before her birth."
+
+Kilmeny walked through the lane slowly and absently like a woman in a
+dream. When she came to the gap in the fence where the lane ran into the
+orchard she lifted her wan, drooping face and saw Eric, sitting in the
+shadow of the wood at the other side of the orchard with his bowed head
+in his hands. She stopped quickly and the blood rushed wildly over her
+face.
+
+The next moment it ebbed, leaving her white as marble. Horror filled her
+eyes,--blank, deadly horror, as the livid shadow of a cloud might fill
+two blue pools.
+
+Behind Eric Neil Gordon was standing tense, crouched, murderous. Even at
+that distance Kilmeny saw the look on his face, saw what he held in his
+hand, and realized in one agonized flash of comprehension what it meant.
+
+All this photographed itself in her brain in an instant. She knew that
+by the time she could run across the orchard to warn Eric by a touch it
+would be too late. Yet she must warn him--she MUST--she MUST! A mighty
+surge of desire seemed to rise up within her and overwhelm her like
+a wave of the sea,--a surge that swept everything before it in an
+irresistible flood. As Neil Gordon swiftly and vindictively, with the
+face of a demon, lifted the axe he held in his hand, Kilmeny sprang
+forward through the gap.
+
+"ERIC, ERIC, LOOK BEHIND YOU--LOOK BEHIND YOU!"
+
+Eric started up, confused, bewildered, as the voice came shrieking
+across the orchard. He did not in the least realize that it was Kilmeny
+who had called to him, but he instinctively obeyed the command.
+
+He wheeled around and saw Neil Gordon, who was looking, not at him, but
+past him at Kilmeny. The Italian boy's face was ashen and his eyes were
+filled with terror and incredulity, as if he had been checked in his
+murderous purpose by some supernatural interposition. The axe, lying
+at his feet where he had dropped it in his unutterable consternation on
+hearing Kilmeny's cry told the whole tale. But before Eric could utter
+a word Neil turned, with a cry more like that of an animal than a human
+being, and fled like a hunted creature into the shadow of the spruce
+wood.
+
+A moment later Kilmeny, her lovely face dewed with tears and sunned over
+with smiles, flung herself on Eric's breast.
+
+"Oh, Eric, I can speak,--I can speak! Oh, it is so wonderful! Eric, I
+love you--I love you!"
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVIII. NEIL GORDON SOLVES HIS OWN PROBLEM
+
+"It is a miracle!" said Thomas Gordon in an awed tone.
+
+It was the first time he had spoken since Eric and Kilmeny had rushed
+in, hand in hand, like two children intoxicated with joy and wonder, and
+gasped out their story together to him and Janet.
+
+"Oh, no, it is very wonderful, but it is not a miracle," said Eric.
+"David told me it might happen. I had no hope that it would. He could
+explain it all to you if he were here."
+
+Thomas Gordon shook his head. "I doubt if he could, Master--he, or
+any one else. It is near enough to a miracle for me. Let us thank God
+reverently and humbly that he has seen fit to remove his curse from
+the innocent. Your doctors may explain it as they like, lad, but I'm
+thinking they won't get much nearer to it than that. It is awesome, that
+is what it is. Janet, woman, I feel as if I were in a dream. Can Kilmeny
+really speak?"
+
+"Indeed I can, Uncle," said Kilmeny, with a rapturous glance at Eric.
+"Oh, I don't know how it came to me--I felt that I MUST speak--and I
+did. And it is so easy now--it seems to me as if I could always have
+done it."
+
+She spoke naturally and easily. The only difficulty which she seemed to
+experience was in the proper modulation of her voice. Occasionally she
+pitched it too high--again, too low. But it was evident that she would
+soon acquire perfect control of it. It was a beautiful voice--very clear
+and soft and musical.
+
+"Oh, I am so glad that the first word I said was your name, dearest,"
+she murmured to Eric.
+
+"What about Neil?" asked Thomas Gordon gravely, rousing himself with an
+effort from his abstraction of wonder. "What are we to do with him when
+he returns? In one way this is a sad business."
+
+Eric had almost forgotten about Neil in his overwhelming amazement and
+joy. The realization of his escape from sudden and violent death had not
+yet had any opportunity to take possession of his thoughts.
+
+"We must forgive him, Mr. Gordon. I know how I should feel towards a man
+who took Kilmeny from me. It was an evil impulse to which he gave way in
+his suffering--and think of the good which has resulted from it."
+
+"That is true, Master, but it does not alter the terrible fact that
+the boy had murder in his heart,--that he would have killed you. An
+over-ruling Providence has saved him from the actual commission of the
+crime and brought good out of evil; but he is guilty in thought and
+purpose. And we have cared for him and instructed him as our own--with
+all his faults we have loved him! It is a hard thing, and I do not see
+what we are to do. We cannot act as if nothing had happened. We can
+never trust him again."
+
+But Neil Gordon solved the problem himself. When Eric returned that
+night he found old Robert Williamson in the pantry regaling himself with
+a lunch of bread and cheese after a trip to the station. Timothy sat on
+the dresser in black velvet state and gravely addressed himself to the
+disposal of various tid-bits that came his way.
+
+"Good night, Master. Glad to see you're looking more like yourself.
+I told the wife it was only a lover's quarrel most like. She's been
+worrying about you; but she didn't like to ask you what was the trouble.
+She ain't one of them unfortunate folks who can't be happy athout
+they're everlasting poking their noses into other people's business.
+But what kind of a rumpus was kicked up at the Gordon place, to-night,
+Master?"
+
+Eric looked amazed. What could Robert Williamson have heard so soon?
+
+"What do you mean?" he asked.
+
+"Why, us folks at the station knew there must have been a to-do of some
+kind when Neil Gordon went off on the harvest excursion the way he did."
+
+"Neil gone! On the harvest excursion!" exclaimed Eric.
+
+"Yes, sir. You know this was the night the excursion train left. They
+cross on the boat to-night--special trip. There was a dozen or so
+fellows from hereabouts went. We was all standing around chatting when
+Lincoln Frame drove up full speed and Neil jumped out of his rig. Just
+bolted into the office, got his ticket and out again, and on to the
+train without a word to any one, and as black looking as the Old Scratch
+himself. We was all too surprised to speak till he was gone. Lincoln
+couldn't give us much information. He said Neil had rushed up to their
+place about dark, looking as if the constable was after him, and offered
+to sell that black filly of his to Lincoln for sixty dollars if Lincoln
+would drive him to the station in time to catch the excursion train. The
+filly was Neil's own, and Lincoln had been wanting to buy her but Neil
+would never hear to it afore. Lincoln jumped at the chance. Neil had
+brought the filly with him, and Lincoln hitched right up and took him
+to the station. Neil hadn't no luggage of any kind and wouldn't open his
+mouth the whole way up, Lincoln says. We concluded him and old Thomas
+must have had a row. D'ye know anything about it? Or was you so wrapped
+up in sweethearting that you didn't hear or see nothing else?"
+
+Eric reflected rapidly. He was greatly relieved to find that Neil had
+gone. He would never return and this was best for all concerned. Old
+Robert must be told a part of the truth at least, since it would soon
+become known that Kilmeny could speak.
+
+"There was some trouble at the Gordon place to-night, Mr. Williamson,"
+he said quietly. "Neil Gordon behaved rather badly and frightened
+Kilmeny terribly,--so terribly that a very surprising thing has
+happened. She has found herself able to speak, and can speak perfectly."
+
+Old Robert laid down the piece of cheese he was conveying to his mouth
+on the point of a knife and stared at Eric in blank amazement.
+
+"God bless my soul, Master, what an extraordinary thing!" he ejaculated.
+"Are you in earnest? Or are you trying to see how much of a fool you can
+make of the old man?"
+
+"No, Mr. Williamson, I assure you it is no more than the simple truth.
+Dr. Baker told me that a shock might cure her,--and it has. As for Neil,
+he has gone, no doubt for good, and I think it well that he has."
+
+Not caring to discuss the matter further, Eric left the kitchen. But as
+he mounted the stairs to his room he heard old Robert muttering, like a
+man in hopeless bewilderment,
+
+"Well, I never heard anything like this in all my born
+days--never--never. Timothy, did YOU ever hear the like? Them Gordons
+are an unaccountable lot and no mistake. They couldn't act like other
+people if they tried. I must wake mother up and tell her about this, or
+I'll never be able to sleep."
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIX. VICTOR FROM VANQUISHED ISSUES
+
+Now that everything was settled Eric wished to give up teaching and go
+back to his own place. True, he had "signed papers" to teach the school
+for a year; but he knew that the trustees would let him off if he
+procured a suitable substitute. He resolved to teach until the fall
+vacation, which came in October, and then go. Kilmeny had promised
+that their marriage should take place in the following spring. Eric
+had pleaded for an earlier date, but Kilmeny was sweetly resolute, and
+Thomas and Janet agreed with her.
+
+"There are so many things that I must learn yet before I shall be ready
+to be married," Kilmeny had said. "And I want to get accustomed to
+seeing people. I feel a little frightened yet whenever I see any one I
+don't know, although I don't think I show it. I am going to church with
+Uncle and Aunt after this, and to the Missionary Society meetings. And
+Uncle Thomas says that he will send me to a boarding school in town this
+winter if you think it advisable."
+
+Eric vetoed this promptly. The idea of Kilmeny in a boarding school was
+something that could not be thought about without laughter.
+
+"I can't see why she can't learn all she needs to learn after she is
+married to me, just as well as before," he grumbled to her uncle and
+aunt.
+
+"But we want to keep her with us for another winter yet," explained
+Thomas Gordon patiently. "We are going to miss her terrible when she
+does go, Master. She has never been away from us for a day--she is all
+the brightness there is in our lives. It is very kind of you to say
+that she can come home whenever she likes, but there will be a great
+difference. She will belong to your world and not to ours. That is for
+the best--and we wouldn't have it otherwise. But let us keep her as our
+own for this one winter yet."
+
+Eric yielded with the best grace he could muster. After all, he
+reflected, Lindsay was not so far from Queenslea, and there were such
+things as boats and trains.
+
+"Have you told your father about all this yet?" asked Janet anxiously.
+
+No, he had not. But he went home and wrote a full account of his summer
+to old Mr. Marshall that night.
+
+Mr. Marshall, Senior, answered the letter in person. A few days
+later, Eric, coming home from school, found his father sitting in Mrs.
+Williamson's prim, fleckless parlour. Nothing was said about Eric's
+letter, however, until after tea. When they found themselves alone, Mr.
+Marshall said abruptly,
+
+"Eric, what about this girl? I hope you haven't gone and made a fool of
+yourself. It sounds remarkably like it. A girl that has been dumb all
+her life--a girl with no right to her father's name--a country girl
+brought up in a place like Lindsay! Your wife will have to fill your
+mother's place,--and your mother was a pearl among women. Do you think
+this girl is worthy of it? It isn't possible! You've been led away by
+a pretty face and dairy maid freshness. I expected some trouble out of
+this freak of yours coming over here to teach school."
+
+"Wait until you see Kilmeny, father," said Eric, smiling.
+
+"Humph! That's just exactly what David Baker said. I went straight to
+him when I got your letter, for I knew that there was some connection
+between it and that mysterious visit of his over here, concerning which
+I never could drag a word out of him by hook or crook. And all HE said
+was, 'Wait until you see Kilmeny Gordon, sir.' Well, I WILL wait till I
+see her, but I shall look at her with the eyes of sixty-five, mind you,
+not the eyes of twenty-four. And if she isn't what your wife ought to
+be, sir, you give her up or paddle your own canoe. I shall not aid or
+abet you in making a fool of yourself and spoiling your life."
+
+Eric bit his lip, but only said quietly,
+
+"Come with me, father. We will go to see her now."
+
+They went around by way of the main road and the Gordon lane. Kilmeny
+was not in when they reached the house.
+
+"She is up in the old orchard, Master," said Janet. "She loves that
+place so much she spends all her spare time there. She likes to go there
+to study."
+
+They sat down and talked awhile with Thomas and Janet. When they left,
+Mr. Marshall said,
+
+"I like those people. If Thomas Gordon had been a man like Robert
+Williamson I shouldn't have waited to see your Kilmeny. But they are all
+right--rugged and grim, but of good stock and pith--native refinement
+and strong character. But I must say candidly that I hope your young
+lady hasn't got her aunt's mouth."
+
+"Kilmeny's mouth is like a love-song made incarnate in sweet flesh,"
+said Eric enthusiastically.
+
+"Humph!" said Mr. Marshall. "Well," he added more tolerantly, a moment
+later, "I was a poet, too, for six months in my life when I was courting
+your mother."
+
+Kilmeny was reading on the bench under the lilac trees when they reached
+the orchard. She stood up and came shyly forward to meet them, guessing
+who the tall, white-haired old gentleman with Eric must be. As she
+approached Eric saw with a thrill of exultation that she had never
+looked lovelier. She wore a dress of her favourite blue, simply and
+quaintly made, as all her gowns were, revealing the perfect lines of her
+lithe, slender figure. Her glossy black hair was wound about her head in
+a braided coronet, against which a spray of wild asters shone like
+pale purple stars. Her face was flushed delicately with excitement. She
+looked like a young princess, crowned with a ruddy splash of sunlight
+that fell through the old trees.
+
+"Father, this is Kilmeny," said Eric proudly.
+
+Kilmeny held out her hand with a shyly murmured greeting. Mr. Marshall
+took it and held it in his, looking so steadily and piercingly into her
+face that even her frank gaze wavered before the intensity of his keen
+old eyes. Then he drew her to him and kissed her gravely and gently on
+her white forehead.
+
+"My dear," he said, "I am glad and proud that you have consented to be
+my son's wife--and my very dear and honoured daughter."
+
+Eric turned abruptly away to hide his emotion and on his face was a
+light as of one who sees a great glory widening and deepening down the
+vista of his future.
+
+
+THE END.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+End of Project Gutenberg's Kilmeny of the Orchard, by Lucy Maud Montgomery
+
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