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| committer | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 05:27:09 -0700 |
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diff --git a/6217-h/6217-h.htm b/6217-h/6217-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..e0e2a8b --- /dev/null +++ b/6217-h/6217-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,5605 @@ +<?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> + The Pomp of the Lavilettes, by Gilbert Parker + </title> + <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + + body { margin:5%; background:#faebd7; 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; } + .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} + .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} + pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} + +</style> + </head> + <body> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Project Gutenberg's The Pomp of the Lavilettes, Complete, by Gilbert Parker + +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: The Pomp of the Lavilettes, Complete + +Author: Gilbert Parker + +Release Date: October 18, 2006 [EBook #6217] +Last Updated: August 27, 2016 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE POMP OF THE LAVILETTES, *** + + + +Produced by David Widger + + + + + +</pre> + + <h1> + THE POMP OF THE LAVILETTES + </h1> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <h2> + By Gilbert Parker + </h2> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <blockquote> + <p class="toc"> + <big><b>CONTENTS</b></big> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_INTR"> INTRODUCTION </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0002"> <b>THE POMP OF THE LAVILETTES</b> </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0001"> CHAPTER I </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0002"> CHAPTER II </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0003"> CHAPTER III </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0004"> CHAPTER IV </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0005"> CHAPTER V </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0006"> CHAPTER VI </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0007"> CHAPTER VII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0008"> CHAPTER VIII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0009"> CHAPTER IX </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0010"> CHAPTER X </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0011"> CHAPTER XI </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0012"> CHAPTER XII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0013"> CHAPTER XIII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0014"> CHAPTER XIV </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0015"> CHAPTER XV </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0016"> CHAPTER XVI </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0017"> CHAPTER XVII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0018"> CHAPTER XVIII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0019"> CHAPTER XIX </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0020"> CHAPTER XX </a> + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> <a name="link2H_INTR" id="link2H_INTR"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <h2> + INTRODUCTION + </h2> + <p> + I believe that ‘The Pomp of the Lavilettes’ has elements which justify + consideration. Its original appearance was, however, not made under wholly + favourable conditions. It is the only book of mine which I ever sold + outright. This was in 1896. Mr. Lamson, of Messrs. Lamson & Wolffe, + energetic and enterprising young publishers of Boston, came to see me at + Atlantic City (I was on a visit to the United States at the time), and + made a gallant offer for the English, American and colonial book and + serial rights. I felt that some day I could get the book back under my + control if I so desired, while the chances of the book making an immediate + phenomenal sale were not great. There is something in the nature of a + story which determines its popularity. I knew that ‘The Seats of the + Mighty’ and ‘The Right of Way’ would have a great sale, and after they + were written I said as much to my publishers. There was the element of + general appeal in the narratives and the characters. Without detracting + from the character-drawing, the characters, or the story in ‘The Pomp of + the Lavilettes’, I was convinced that the book would not make the + universal appeal. Yet I should have written the story, even if it had been + destined only to have a hundred readers. It had to be written. I wanted to + write what was in me, and that invasion of a little secluded + French-Canadian society by a ne’er-do-well of the over-sea aristocracy had + a psychological interest, which I could not resist. I thought it ought to + be worked out and recorded, and particularly as the time chosen—1837—marked + a large collision between the British and the French interests in French + Canada, or rather of French political interests and the narrow + administrative prejudices and nepotism of the British executive in Quebec. + </p> + <p> + It is a satisfaction to include this book in a definitive edition of my + works, for I think that, so far as it goes, it is truthfully + characteristic of French life in Canada, that its pictures are faithful, + and that the character-drawing represents a closer observation than any of + the previous works, slight as the volume is. It holds the same relation to + ‘The Right of Way’ that ‘The Trail of the Sword’ holds to ‘The Seats of + the Mighty’, that ‘A Ladder of Swords’ holds to ‘The Battle of the + Strong’, that ‘Donovan Pasha’ holds to ‘The Weavers’. Instinctively, and, + as I believe, naturally, I gave to each ambitious, and—so far as + conception goes—to each important novel of mine, an avant coureur. + ‘The Trail of the Sword, A Ladder of Swords, Donovan Pasha and The Pomp of + the Lavilettes’, are all very short novels, not exceeding in any case + sixty thousand words, while the novels dealing in a larger way with the + same material—the same people and environment, with the same + mise-en-scene, were each of them at least one hundred and forty thousand + words in length, or over two and a half times as long. I do not say that + this is a system which I devised; but it was, from the first, the method I + pursued instinctively; on the basis that dealing with a smaller subject—with + what one might call a genre picture first, I should get well into my + field, and acquire greater familiarity with my material than I should have + if I attempted the larger work at once. + </p> + <p> + This is not to say that the smaller work was immature. On the contrary, I + believe that at least these shorter works are quite mature in their + treatment and in their workmanship and design. Naturally, however, they + made less demand on all one’s resources, they were narrower in scope and + less complicated, than the longer works, like ‘The Seats of the Mighty’, + which made heavier call upon the capacities of one’s art. The only + occasion on which I have not preceded a very long novel of life in a new + field, by a very short one, is in the writing of ‘The Judgment House’. For + this book, however, it might be said, that all the last twenty years was a + preparation, since the scenes were scenes in which I had lived and moved, + and in a sense played a part; while the ten South African chapters of the + book placed in the time of the Natal campaign needed no pioneer narrative + to increase familiarity with the material, the circumstances and the + country itself. I knew it all from study on the spot. + </p> + <p> + From The ‘Pomp of the Lavilettes’, with which might be associated ‘The + Lane That Had no Turning’, to ‘The Right of Way’, was a natural + progression; it was the emergence of a big subject which must be treated + in a large bold way, if it was to succeed. It succeeded to a degree which + could not fail to gratify any one who would rather have a wide audience + than a contracted one, who believes that to be popular is not necessarily + to be contemptible—as the ancient Pistol put it, “base, common and + popular.” + </p> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> <a name="link2H_4_0002" id="link2H_4_0002"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <h1> + THE POMP OF THE LAVILETTES + </h1> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0001" id="link2HCH0001"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER I + </h2> + <p> + You could not call the place a village, nor yet could it be called a town. + Viewed from the bluff, on the English side of the river, it was a long + stretch of small farmhouses—some painted red, with green shutters, + some painted white, with red shutters—set upon long strips of land, + green, yellow, and brown, as it chanced to be pasture land, fields of + grain, or “plough-land.” + </p> + <p> + These long strips of property, fenced off one from the other, so narrow + and so precise, looked like pieces of ribbon laid upon a wide quilt of + level country. Far back from this level land lay the dark, limestone + hills, which had rambled down from Labrador, and, crossing the River St. + Lawrence, stretched away into the English province. The farmhouses and the + long strips of land were in such regular procession, it might almost have + seemed to the eye of the whimsical spectator that the houses and the + ribbon were of a piece, and had been set down there, sentinel after + sentinel, like so many toy soldiers, along the banks of the great river. + There was one important break in the long line of precise settlement, and + that was where the Parish Church, about the middle of the line, had + gathered round it a score or so of buildings. But this only added to the + strength of the line rather than broke its uniformity. Wide stretches of + meadow-land reached back from the Parish Church until they were lost in + the darker verdure of the hills. + </p> + <p> + On either side of the Parish Church, with its tall, stone tower, were two + stout-built houses, set among trees and shrubbery. They were low set, + broad and square, with heavy-studded, old-fashioned doors. The roofs were + steep and high, with dormer windows and a sort of shelf at the gables. + </p> + <p> + They were both on the highest ground in the whole settlement, a little + higher than the site of the Parish Church. The one was the residence of + the old seigneur, Monsieur Duhamel; the other was the Manor Casimbault, + empty now of all the Casimbaults. For a year it had lain idle, until the + only heir of the old family, which was held in high esteem as far back as + the time of Louis Quinze, returned from his dissipations in Quebec to + settle in the old place or sell it to the highest bidder. + </p> + <p> + Behind the Manor Casimbault and the Seigneury, thus flanking the church at + reverential distance, another large house completed the acute triangle, + forming the apex of the solid wedge of settlement drawn about the church. + This was the great farmhouse of the Lavilettes, one of the most noticeable + families in the parish. + </p> + <p> + Of the little buildings bunched beside the church, not the least important + was the post-office, kept by Papin Baby, who was also keeper of the bridge + which was almost at the door of the office. This bridge crossed a stream + that ran into the large river, forming a harbour. It opened in the middle, + permitting boats and vessels to go through. Baby worked it by a lever. A + hundred yards or so above the bridge was the parish mill, and between were + the Hotel France, the little house of Doctor Montmagny, the Regimental + Surgeon (as he was called), the cooper shop, the blacksmith, the tinsmith + and the grocery shops. Just beyond the mill, upon the banks of the river, + was the most notorious, if not the most celebrated, house in the + settlement. Shangois, the travelling notary, lived in it—when he was + not travelling. When he was, he left it unlocked, all save one room; and + people came and went through the house as they pleased, eyeing with + curiosity the dusty, tattered books upon the shelves, the empty bottles in + the corner, the patchwork of cheap prints, notices of sales, summonses, + accounts, certificates of baptism, memoranda, receipted bills—though + they were few—tacked or stuck to the wall. + </p> + <p> + No grown-up person of the village meddled with anything, no matter how + curious; for this consistent, if unspoken, trust displayed by Shangois + appealed to their better instincts. Besides, they, like the children, had + a wholesome fear of the disreputable, shrunken, dishevelled little notary, + with the bead-like eyes, yellow stockings, hooked nose and palsied left + hand. Also the knapsack and black bag he carried under his arms contained + more secrets than most people wished to tempt or challenge forth. Few + cared to anger the little man, whose father and grandfather had been + notaries here before him. + </p> + <p> + Like others in the settlement, Shangois was the last of his race. He could + put his finger upon the secret history and private lives of nearly every + person in a dozen parishes, but most of all in Bonaventure—for such + this long parish was called. He knew to a hair’s breadth the social value + of every human being in the parish. He was too cunning and acute to be a + gossip, but by direct and indirect ways he made every person feel that the + Cure and the Lord might forgive their pasts, but he could never forget + them, nor wished to do so. For Monsieur Duhamel, the old seigneur, for the + drunken Philippe Casimbault, for the Cure, and for the Lavilettes, who + owned the great farmhouse at the apex of that wedge of village life, he + had a profound respect. The parish generally did not share his respect for + the Lavilettes. + </p> + <p> + Once upon a time, beyond the memories of any in the parish, the Lavilettes + of Bonaventure were a great people. Disaster came, debt and difficulty + followed, fire consumed the old house in which their dignity had been + cherished, and at last they had no longer their seigneurial position, but + that of ordinary farmers who work and toil in the field like any of the + fifty-acre farmers on the banks of the St. Lawrence River. + </p> + <p> + Monsieur Louis Lavilette, the present head of the house, had not married + well. At the time when the feeling against the English was the strongest, + and when his own fortunes were precarious, he had married a girl somewhat + older than himself, who was half English and half French, her father + having been a Hudson’s Bay Company factor on the north coast of the river. + In proportion as their fortunes and their popularity declined, and their + once notable position as an old family became scarce a memory even, the + pride of the Lavilettes increased. + </p> + <p> + Madame Lavilette made strong efforts to secure her place; but she was not + of an old French family, and this was an easy and convenient weapon + against her. Besides, she had no taste, and her manners were much inferior + to those of her husband. What impression he managed to make by virtue of a + good deal of natural dignity, she soon unmade by her lack of tact. She had + no innate breeding, though she was not vulgar. She lacked sense a little + and sensitiveness much. + </p> + <p> + The Casimbaults and the wife of the old seigneur made no friends of the + Lavilettes, but the old seigneur kept up a formal habit of calling twice a + year at the Lavilettes’ big farmhouse, which, in spite of all misfortune, + grew bigger as the years went on. Probably, in spite of everything, + Monsieur Lavilette and his family would have succeeded better socially had + it not been for one or two unpopular lawsuits brought by the Lavilettes + against two neighbours, small farmers, one of whom was clearly in the + wrong, and the other as clearly in the right. + </p> + <p> + When, after years had gone by, and the children of the Lavilettes had + grown up, young Monsieur Casimbault came from Quebec to sell his property + (it seemed to the people of Bonaventure like selling his birthright), he + was greatly surprised to find Monsieur Lavilette ready with ten thousand + dollars, to purchase the Manor Casimbault. Before the parish had time to + take breath Monsieur Casimbault had handed over the deed, pocketed the + money, and leaving the ancient heritage of his family in the hands of the + Lavilettes, (who forthwith prepared to enter upon it, house and land), had + hurried away to Quebec again without any pangs of sentiment. + </p> + <p> + It was a little before this time that impertinent peasants in the parish + began to sing: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “O when you hear my little silver drum, + And when I blow my little gold trompette-a, + You must drop your work and come, + You must leave your pride at home, + And duck your heads before the Lavilette-a!” + </pre> + <p> + Gatineau the miller, and Baby the keeper of the bridge, gave their own + reasons for the renewed progress of the Lavilettes. They met in conference + at the mill on the eve of the marriage of Sophie Lavilette to Magon + Farcinelle, farrier, farmer and member of the provincial legislature, + whose house lay behind the piece of maple wood, a mile or so to the right + of the Lavilettes’ farmhouse. Farcinelle’s engagement to Sophie had come + as a surprise to all, for, so far as people knew, there had been no + courting. Madame Lavilette had encouraged, had even tempted, the + spontaneous and jovial Farcinelle. Though he had never made a speech in + the House of Assembly, and it was hard to tell why he was elected, save + because everybody liked him, his official position and his popularity held + an important place in Madame Lavilette’s long-developed plans, which at + last were to place her in a position equal to that of the old seigneur, + and launch her upon society at the capital. + </p> + <p> + They had gone more than once to the capital, where their family had been + well-known fifty years before, but few doors had been opened to them. They + were farmers—only farmers—and Madame Lavilette made no + remarkable impression. Her dress was florid and not in excellent taste, + and her accent was rather crude. Sophie had gone to school at the convent + in the city, but she had no ambition. She had inherited the stolid + simplicity of her English grandfather. When her schooling was finished she + let her school friends drop, and came back to Bonaventure, rather stately, + given to reading, and little inclined to bother her head about anybody. + </p> + <p> + Christine, the younger sister, had gone to Quebec also, but after a week + of rebellion, bad temper and sharp speaking, had come home again without + ceremony, and refused to return. Despite certain likenesses to her mother, + she had a deep, if unintelligible, admiration for her father, and she + never tired looking at the picture of her great-grandfather in the dress + of a chevalier of St. Louis—almost the only thing that had been + saved from the old Manor House, destroyed so long before her time. Perhaps + it was the importance she attached to her ancestry which made her + impatient with their present position, and with people in the parish who + would not altogether recognise their claims. It was that which made her + give a little jerky bow to the miller and the postmaster when she passed + the mill. + </p> + <p> + “Come, dusty-belly,” said Baby, “what’s all this pom-pom of the + Lavilettes?” + </p> + <p> + The miller pursed out his lips, contracted his brows, and arranged his + loose waistcoat carefully on his fat stomach. + </p> + <p> + “Money,” said he, oracularly, as though he had solved the great question + of the universe. + </p> + <p> + “La! la! But other folks have money; and they step about Bonaventure no + more louder than a cat.” + </p> + <p> + “Blood,” added Gatineau, corrugating his brows still more. + </p> + <p> + “Bosh!” + </p> + <p> + “Both together—money and blood,” rejoined the miller. Overcome by + his exertions, he wheezed so tremendously that great billows of excitement + raised his waistcoat, and a perspiration broke out upon his mealy face, + making a paste which the sun, through the open doorway, immediately began + to bake into a crust. + </p> + <p> + “Pah, the airs they have always had, those Lavilettes!” said Baby. “They + will not do this because it is not polite, they will not do that because + they are too proud. They say that once there was a baron in their family. + Who can tell how long ago! Perhaps when John the Baptist was alive. What + is that? Nothing. There is no baron now. All at once somebody die a year + ago, and leave them ten thousand dollars; and then—mais, there is + the grand difference! They have save and save twenty years to pay their + debts and to buy a seigneury, like that baron who live in the time of John + the Baptist. Now it is to stand on a ladder to speak to them. And when + all’s done, they marry Ma’m’selle Sophie to a farrier, to that Magon + Farcinelle—bah!” + </p> + <p> + “Magon was at the Laval College in Quebec; he has ten thousand dollars; he + is the best judge of horses in the province, and he’s a Member of + Parliament to boot,” said the miller, puffing. “He is a great man almost.” + </p> + <p> + “He’s no better judge of horses than M’sieu’ Nic Lavilette—eh, + that’s a bully bad scamp, my Gatineau!” responded Baby. “He’s the best in + the family. He is a grand sport; yes. It’s he that fetched Ma’m’selle + Sophie to the hitching-post. Voila, he can wind them all round his + finger!” + </p> + <p> + Baby looked round to see if any one was near; then he drew the miller’s + head down by pulling at his collar, and whispered in his ear: + </p> + <p> + “He’s hot foot for the Rebellion; that’s one good thing,” he said. “If he + wipes out the English—” + </p> + <p> + “Hold your tongue,” nervously interrupted Gatineau, for just then two or + three loiterers of the parish came shambling around the corner of the + mill. + </p> + <p> + Baby stopped short, and as they greeted the newcomers their attention was + drawn to the stage-coach from St. Croix coming over the little hill near + by. + </p> + <p> + “Here’s M’sieu’ Nic now—and who’s with him?” said Baby, stepping + about nervously in his excitement. “I knew there was something up. M’sieu’ + Nic’s been writing long letters from Montreal.” + </p> + <p> + Baby’s look suggested that he knew more than his position as postmaster + entitled him to know; but the furtive droop at the corner of his eyes + showed also that his secretiveness was equal to his cowardice. + </p> + <p> + On the seat, beside the driver of the coach, was Nicolas Lavilette, + black-haired, brown-eyed, athletic, reckless-looking, with a cast in his + left eye, which gave him a look of drollery, in keeping with his buoyant, + daring nature. Beside him was a figure much more noticeable and unusual. + </p> + <p> + Lean, dark-featured, with keen-glancing eyes, and a body with a faculty + for finding corners of ease; waving hair, streaked with grey, black + moustache, and a hectic flush on the cheeks, lending to the world-wise + face a wistful look-that, with near six feet of height, was the picture of + his friend. + </p> + <p> + “Who is it?” asked the miller, with bulging eyes. “An English nobleman,” + answered Baby. “How do you know?” asked Gatineau. + </p> + <p> + “How do I know you are a fat, cheating miller?” replied the postmaster, + with cunning care and a touch of malice. Malice was the only power Baby + knew. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0002" id="link2HCH0002"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER II + </h2> + <p> + In the matter of power, Baby, the inquisitive postmaster and keeper of the + bridge, was unlike the new arrival in Bonaventure. The abilities of the + Honourable Tom Ferrol lay in a splendid plausibility, a spontaneous + blarney. He could no more help being spendthrift of his affections and his + morals than of his money, and many a time he had wished that his money was + as inexhaustible as his emotions. + </p> + <p> + In point of morals, any of the Lavilettes presented a finer average than + their new guest, who had come to give their feasting distinction, and what + more time was to show. Indeed, the Hon. Mr. Ferrol had no morals to speak + of, and very little honour. He was the penniless son of an Irish peer, who + was himself well-nigh penniless; and he and his sister, whose path of life + at home was not easy after her marriageable years had passed, drew from + the consols the small sum of money their mother had left them, and sailed + away for New York. + </p> + <p> + Six months of life there, with varying fortune in which a well-to-do girl + in society gave him a promise of marriage, and then Ferrol found himself + jilted for a baronet, who owned a line of steamships and could give the + ambitious lady a title. In his sick heart he had spoken profanely of the + future Lady of Title, had bade her good-bye with a smile and an agreeable + piece of wit, and had gone home to his flat and sobbed like a schoolboy; + for, as much as he could love anybody, he loved this girl. He and the + faithful sister vanished from New York and appeared in Quebec, where they + were made welcome in Government House, at the citadel, and among all who + cared to know the weight of an inherited title. For a time, the fact that + he had little or no money did not temper their hospitality with + niggardliness or caution. But their cheery and witty guest began to take + more wine than was good for him or comfortable for others; his bills at + the clubs remained unpaid, his landlord harried him, his tailors pursued + him; and then he borrowed cheerfully and well. + </p> + <p> + However, there came an end to this, and to the acceptance of his I O U’s. + Following the instincts of his Irish ancestors, he then leagued with a + professional smuggler, and began to deal in contraband liquors and cigars. + But before this occurred, he had sent his sister to a little secluded + town, where she should be well out of earshot of his doings or possible + troubles. He would have shielded her from harm at the cost of his life. + His loyalty to her was only limited by the irresponsibility of his nature + and a certain incapacity to see the difference between radical right and + radical wrong. His honour was a matter of tradition, such as it was, and + in all else he had the inherent invalidity of some of his distant + forebears. For a time all went well, then discovery came, and only the + kind intriguing of as good friends as any man deserved prevented his + arrest and punishment. But it all got whispered about; and while some + ladies saw a touch of romance in his doing professionally and wholesale + what they themselves did in an amateurish way with laces, gloves and so + on, men viewed the matter more seriously, and advised Ferrol to leave + Quebec. + </p> + <p> + Since that time he had lived by his wits—and pleasing, dangerous + wits they were—at Montreal and elsewhere. But fatal ill-luck pursued + him. Presently a cold settled on his lungs. In the dead of winter, after + sending what money he had to his sister, he had lived a week or more in a + room, with no fire and little food. As time went on, the cold got no + better. After sundry vicissitudes and twists of fortune, he met Nicolas + Lavilette at a horse race, and a friendship was struck up. He frankly and + gladly accepted an invitation to attend the wedding of Sophie Lavilette, + and to make a visit at the farm, and at the Manor Casimbault afterwards. + Nicolas spoke lightly of the Manor Casimbault, yet he had pride in it + also; for, scamp as he was, and indifferent to anything like personal + dignity or self-respect, he admired his father and had a natural, if + good-natured, arrogance akin to Christine’s self-will. + </p> + <p> + It meant to Ferrol freedom from poverty, misery and financial subterfuge + for a moment; and he could be quiet—for, as he said, “This + confounded cold takes the iron out of my blood.” + </p> + <p> + Like all people stricken with this disease, he never called it anything + but a cold. All those illusions which accompany the malady were his. He + would always be better “to-morrow.” He told the two or three friends who + came from their beds in the early morning to see him safely off from + Montreal to Bonaventure that he would be all right as soon as he got out + into the country; that he sat up too late in the town; and that he had + just got a new prescription which had cured a dozen people “with colds and + hemorrhages.” His was only a cold—just a cold; that was all. He was + a bit weak sometimes, and what he needed was something to pull up his + strength. The country would do this-plenty of fresh air, riding, walking, + and that sort of thing. + </p> + <p> + He had left Montreal behind in gay spirits, and he continued gay for + several hours, holding himself’ erect in the seat, noting the landscape, + telling stories; but he stumbled with weakness as they got out of the + coach for luncheon. He drank three full portions of whiskey at table, and + ate nothing. The silent landlady who waited on them at last brought a huge + bowl of milk, and set it before him without a word. A flush passed swiftly + across his face and faded away, as, with quick sensitiveness, he glanced + at Nicolas and another passenger, a fat priest. They took no notice, and, + reassured, he said, with a laugh, that the landlady knew exactly what he + wanted. Lifting the dish, he drained it at a gasp, though the milk almost + choked him, and, to the apprehension of his hostess, set the bowl spinning + on the table like a top. Another illusion of the disease was his: that he + succeeded perfectly in deceiving everybody round him with his pathetic + make-believe; and, unlike most deceivers, he deceived himself as well. The + two actions, inconsistent as they were, were reconciled in him, as in all + the race of consumptives, by some strange chemistry of the mind and + spirit. He was on the broad, undiverging highway to death; yet, with every + final token about him that he was in the enemy’s country, surrounded, + trapped, soon to be passed unceremoniously inside the citadel at the end + of the avenue, he kept signalling back to old friends that all was well, + and he told himself that to-morrow the king should have his own again—“To-morrow, + and to-morrow, and to-morrow!” + </p> + <p> + He was not very thin in body; his face was full, and at times his eyes + were singularly and fascinatingly bright. He had colour—that hectic + flush which, on his cheek, was almost beautiful. One would have turned + twice to see. The quantities of spirits that he drank (he ate little) + would have killed a half-dozen healthy men. To him it was food, taken up, + absorbed by the fever of his disease, giving him a real, not a fictitious + strength; and so it would continue to do till some artery burst and choked + him, or else, by some miracle of air and climate, the hole in his lung + healed up again; which he, in his elation, believed would be “to-morrow.” + Perhaps the air, the food, and life of Bonaventure were the one medicine + he needed! + </p> + <p> + But, in the moment Nicolas said to him that Bonaventure was just over the + hill, that they would be able to see it now, he had a sudden feeling of + depression. He felt that he would give anything to turn back. A + perspiration broke out on his forehead and his cheek. His eyes had a + wavering, anxious look. Some of that old sanity of the once healthy man + was making a last effort for supremacy, breaking in upon illusive hopes + and irresponsible deceptions. + </p> + <p> + It was only for a moment. Presently, from the top of the hill, they looked + down upon the long line of little homes lying along the banks of the river + like peaceful watchmen in a pleasant land, with corn and wine and oil at + hand. The tall cross on the spire of the Parish Church was itself a + message of hope. He did not define it so; but the impression vaguely, + perhaps superstitiously, possessed him. It was this vague influence, + perhaps (for he was not a Catholic), which made him involuntarily lift his + hat, as did Nicolas, when they passed a calvary; which induced him + likewise to make the sacred gesture when they met a priest, with an + acolyte and swinging censer, hurrying silently on to the home of some + dying parishioner. The sensations were different from anything he had + known. He had been used to the Catholic religion in Ireland; he had seen + it in France, Spain, Italy and elsewhere; but here was something + essentially primitive, archaically touching and convincing. + </p> + <p> + His spirits came back with a rush; he had a splendid feeling of + exaltation. He was not religious, never could be, but he felt religious; + he was ill, but he felt that he was on the open highway to health; he was + dishonest, but he felt an honest man; he was the son of a peer, but he + felt himself brother to the fat miller by the roadway, to Baby, the + postmaster and keeper of the bridge, to the Regimental Surgeon, who stood + in his doorway, pulling at his moustache and blowing clouds of tobacco + smoke into the air. + </p> + <p> + Shangois, the notary, met his eye as they dashed on. A new sensation—not + a change in the elation he felt, but an instant’s interruption—came + to him. He asked who Shangois was, and Nicolas told him. + </p> + <p> + “A notary, eh?” he remarked gaily. “Well, why does he disguise himself? He + looks like a ragpicker, and has the eye of Solomon and the devil in one. + He ought to be in some Star Chamber—Palmerston could make use of + him.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, he’s kept busy enough with secrets here!” was Nicolas’s laughing + reply. + </p> + <p> + “It’s only a difference of size in the secrets anyhow,” was Ferrol’s + response in the same vein; and in a few moments they had passed the + Seigneury, and were drawn up before the great farmhouse. + </p> + <p> + Its appearance was rather comfortable and commodious than impressive, but + it had the air of home and undepreciating use. There was one beautiful + clump of hollyhocks and sunflowers in the front garden; a corner of the + main building was covered with morning-glories; a fence to the left was + overgrown with grape-vines, making it look like a hedge; a huge pear tree + occupied a spot opposite to the pretty copse of sunflowers and hollyhocks; + and the rest of the garden was green, save just round a little + “summer-house,” in the corner, with its back to the road, near which + Sophie had set a palisade of the golden-rod flower. Just beside the front + door was a bush of purple lilac; and over the door, in copper, was the + coat-of-arms of the Lavilettes, placed there, at Madame’s insistence, in + spite of the dying wish of Lavilette’s father, a feeble, babbling old + gentleman in knee-breeches, stock, and swallow-tailed coat, who, broken + down by misfortune, age and loneliness, had gathered himself together for + one last effort for becomingness against his daughter-in-law’s false + tastes—and had died the day after. He was spared the indignity of + the coat-of-arms on the tombstone only by the fierce opposition of Louis + Lavilette, who upon this point had his first quarrel with his wife. + </p> + <p> + Ferrol saw no particular details in his first view of the house. The + picture was satisfying to a tired man—comfort, quiet, the bread of + idleness to eat, and welcome, admiring faces round him. Monsieur Lavilette + stood in the doorway, and behind him, at a carefully disposed distance, + was Madame, rather more emphatically dressed than necessary. As he shook + hands genially with Madame he saw Sophie and Christine in the doorway of + the parlour. His spirits took another leap. His inexhaustible emotions + were out upon cheerful parade at once. + </p> + <p> + The Lavilettes immediately became pensioners of his affections. The first + hour of his coming he himself did not know which sister his ample heart + was spending itself on most—Sophie, with her English face, and slow, + docile, well-bred manner, or Christine, dark, petite, impertinent, + gay-hearted, wilful, unsparing of her tongue for others—or for + herself. Though Christine’s lips and cheeks glowed, and her eyes had + wonderful warm lights, incredulity was constantly signalled from both eyes + and lips. She was a fine, daring little animal, with as great a talent for + untruth as truth, though, to this point in her life, truth had been more + with her. Her temptations had been few. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0003" id="link2HCH0003"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER III + </h2> + <p> + Mr. Ferrol seemed honestly to like the old farmhouse, with its low + ceilings, thick walls, big beams and wide chimneys, and he showed himself + perfectly at home. He begged to be allowed to sit for an hour in the + kitchen, beside the great fireplace. He enjoyed this part of his first + appearance greatly. It was like nothing he had tasted since he used, as a + boy, to visit the huntsman’s home on his father’s estate, and gossip and + smoke in that Galway chimney-corner. It was only when he had to face the + too impressive adoration of Madame Lavilette that his comfort got a twist. + </p> + <p> + He made easy headway into the affections of his hostess; for, besides all + other predilections, she had an adoring awe of the nobility. It rather + surprised her that Ferrol seemed almost unaware of his title. He was quite + without self-consciousness, although there was that little touch of + irresponsibility in him which betrayed a readiness to sell his dignity for + a small compensation. With a certain genial capacity for universal + blarney, he was at first as impressive with Sophie as he was attentive to + Christine. It was quite natural that presently Madame Lavilette should see + possibilities beyond all her past imaginations. It would surely advance + her ambitions to have him here for Sophie’s wedding; but even as she + thought that, she had twinges of disappointment, because she had promised + Farcinelle to have the wedding as simple and bourgeois as possible. + </p> + <p> + Farcinelle did not share the social ambitions of the Lavilettes. He liked + his political popularity, and he was only concerned for that. He had that + touch of shrewdness to save him from fatuity where the Lavilettes were + concerned. He was determined to associate with the ceremony all the + primitive customs of the country. He had come of a race of simple farmers, + and he was consistent enough to attempt to live up to the traditions of + his people. He was entirely too good-natured to take exception to Ferrol’s + easy-going admiration of Sophie. + </p> + <p> + Ferrol spoke excellent French, and soon found points of pleasant contact + with Monsieur Lavilette, who, despite the fact that he had coarsened as + the years went on, had still upon him the touch of family tradition, which + may become either offensive pride or defensive self-respect. With the + Cure, Ferrol was not quite so successful. The ascetic, prudent priest, + with that instinctive, long-sighted accuracy which belongs to the + narrow-minded, scented difficulty. He disliked the English exceedingly; + and all Irishmen were English men to him. He resisted Ferrol’s blarney. + His thin lips tightened, his narrow forehead seemed to grow narrower, and + his very cassock appeared to contract austerely on his figure as he talked + to the refugee of misfortune. + </p> + <p> + When the most pardonable of gossips, the Regimental Surgeon, asked him on + his way home what he thought of Ferrol, he shrugged his shoulders, + tightened his lips again, and said: + </p> + <p> + “A polite, designing heretic.” + </p> + <p> + The Regimental Surgeon, though a Frenchman, had once belonged to a British + battery of artillery stationed at Quebec, and there he had acquired an + admiration for the English, which betrayed itself in his curious attempts + to imitate Anglo-Saxon bluffness and blunt spontaneity. When the Cure had + gone, he flung back his shoulders, with a laugh, as he had seen the + major-general do at the officers’ mess at the citadel, and said in + English: + </p> + <p> + “Heretics are damn’ funny. I will go and call. I have also some Irish + whiskey. He will like that; and pipes—pipes, plenty of them!” + </p> + <p> + The pipe he was smoking at the moment had been given to him by the + major-general, and he polished the silver ferrule, with its honourable + inscription, every morning of his life. + </p> + <p> + On the morning of the second day after Ferrol came, he was carried off to + the Manor Casimbault to see the painful alterations which were being made + there under the direction of Madame Lavilette. Sophie, who had a good deal + of natural taste, had in the old days fought against her mother’s + incongruous ideas, and once, when the rehabilitation of the Manor + Casimbault came up, she had made a protest; but it was unavailing, and it + was her last effort. The Manor Casimbault was destined to be an example of + ancient dignity and modern bad taste. Alterations were going on as Madame + Lavilette, Ferrol and Christine entered. + </p> + <p> + For some time Ferrol watched the proceedings with a casual eye, but + presently he begged his hostess that she would leave the tall, old oak + clock where it was in the big hall, and that the new, platter-faced office + clock, intended for its substitute, be hung up in the kitchen. He eyed the + well-scraped over-mantel askance and saw, with scarcely concealed + astonishment, a fine, old, carved wooden seat carried out of doors to make + room for an American rocking-chair. He turned his head away almost in + anger when he saw that the beautiful brown wainscoting was being painted + an ultra-marine blue. His partly disguised astonishment and dissent were + not lost upon the crude but clever Christine. A new sense was opened up in + her, and she felt somehow that the ultra-marine blue was not right, that + the over-mantel had been spoiled, that the new walnut table was too + noticeable, and that the American rocking-chair looked very common. Also + she felt that the plush, with which her mother and the dressmaker at St. + Croix had decorated her bodice, was not the thing. Presently this made her + angry. + </p> + <p> + “Won’t you sit down?” she asked a little maliciously, pointing to the + rocking-chair in the salon. + </p> + <p> + “I prefer standing—with you,” he answered, eyeing the chair with a + sly twinkle. + </p> + <p> + “No, that isn’t it,” she rejoined sharply. “You don’t like the chair.” + Then suddenly breaking into English—“Ah! I know, I know. You can’t + fool me. I see de leetla look in your eye; and you not like the paint, and + you’d pitch that painter, Alcide, out into the snow if it is your house.” + </p> + <p> + “I wouldn’t, really,” he answered—he coughed a little—“Alcide + is doing his work very well. Couldn’t you give me a coat of blue paint, + too?” + </p> + <p> + The piquant, intelligent, fiery peasant face interested him. It had + warmth, natural life and passion. + </p> + <p> + She flushed and stamped her foot, while he laughed heartily; and she was + about to say something dangerous, when the laugh suddenly stopped and he + began coughing. The paroxysm increased until he strained and caught at his + breast with his hand. It seemed as if his chest and throat must burst. + </p> + <p> + She instantly changed. The flush of anger passed from her face, and + something else came into it. She caught his hand. + </p> + <p> + “Oh! what can I do, what can I do to help you?” she asked pitifully. “I + did not know you were so ill. Tell me, what can I do?” + </p> + <p> + He made a gentle, protesting motion of his free arm—he could not + speak yet—while she held and clasped his other hand. + </p> + <p> + “It’s the worst I ever had,” he said, after a moment “the very worst!” + </p> + <p> + He sat down, and again he had a fit of coughing, and the sweat started out + violently upon his forehead and cheek. When his head at last lay back + against the chair, the paroxysm over, a little spot of blood showed and + spread upon his white lips. With a pained, shuddering little gasp she + caught her handkerchief from her bosom, and, running one hand round his + shoulder, quickly and gently caught away the spot of blood, and crumpled + the handkerchief in her hand to hide it from him. + </p> + <p> + “Oh! poor fellow, poor fellow!” she said. “Oh! poor fellow!” + </p> + <p> + Her eyes filled with tears, and she looked at him with that look which is + not the love of a woman for a man, or of a lover for a lover, but that + latent spirit of care and motherhood which is in every woman who is more + woman than man. For there are women who are more men than women. + </p> + <p> + For himself, a new fact struck home in him. For the first time since his + illness he felt that he was doomed. That little spot of blood in the + crumpled handkerchief which had flashed past his eye was the fatal message + he had sought to elude for months past. A hopeless and ironical misery + shot through him. But he had humour too, and, with the taste of the warm + red drop in his mouth still, his tongue touched his lips swiftly, and one + hand grasping the arm of the chair, and the fingers of the other dropping + on the back of her hand lightly, he said in a quaint, ironical tone: + </p> + <p> + “‘Dead for a ducat!’” + </p> + <p> + When he saw the look of horror in her face, his eyes lifted almost gaily + to hers, as he continued: + </p> + <p> + “A little brandy, if you can get it, mademoiselle.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, yes. I’ll get some for you—some whiskey!” she said, with + frightened, terribly eager eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Alcide always has some. Don’t stir. Sit just where you are.” She ran out + of the room swiftly—a light-footed, warm-spirited, dramatic little + thing, set off so garishly in the bodice with the plush trimming; but she + had a big heart, and the man knew it. It was the big-heartedness which was + the touch of the man in her that made her companionable to him. + </p> + <p> + He said to himself when she left him: + </p> + <p> + “What cursed luck!” And after a pause, he added: “Good-hearted little + body, how sorry she looked!” Then he settled back in his chair, his eyes + fixed upon her as she entered the room, eager, pale and solicitous. A + half-hour later they two were on their way to the farmhouse, the work of + despoiling going on in the Manor behind them. Ferrol walked with an easy, + half-languid step, even a gay sort of courage in his bearing. The liquor + he had drunk brought the colour to his lips. They were now hot and red, + and his eyes had a singular feverish brilliancy, in keeping with the + hectic flush on his cheek. He had dismissed the subject of his illness + almost immediately, and Christine’s adaptable nature had instantly + responded to his mood. + </p> + <p> + He asked her questions about the country-side, of their neighbours, of the + way they lived, all in an easy, unintrusive way, winning her confidence + and provoking her candour. + </p> + <p> + Two or three times, however, her face suddenly flushed with the memory of + the scene in the Manor, and her first real awakening to her social + insufficiency; for she of all the family had been least careful to see + herself as others might see her. She was vain; she was somewhat of a + barbarian; she loved nobody and nobody’s opinion as she loved herself and + her own opinion. Though, if any people really cared for her, and she for + them, they were the Regimental Surgeon and Shangois the notary. + </p> + <p> + Once, as they walked on, she turned and looked back at the Manor House, + but only for an instant. He caught the glance, and said: + </p> + <p> + “You’ll like to live there, won’t you?” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know,” she answered almost sharply. “But if the Casimbaults liked + it, I don’t see why we shouldn’t.” + </p> + <p> + There was a challenge in her voice, defiance in the little toss of her + head. He liked her spirit in spite of the vanity. Her vanity did not + concern him greatly; for, after all, what was he doing here? Merely + filling in dark days, living a sober-coloured game out. He had one + solitary hundred dollars—no more; and half of that he had borrowed, + and half of it he got from selling his shooting-traps and his + hunting-watch. He might worry along on that till the end of the game; but + he had no money to send his sister in that secluded village two hundred + miles away. She had never known how really poor he was; and she had lived + in her simple way without want and without any unusual anxiety, save for + his health. More than once he had practically starved himself to send + money to her. Perhaps also he would have starved others for the same + purpose. + </p> + <p> + “I’ll warrant the Casimbaults never enjoyed the Manor as much as I’ve done + that big kitchen in your house,” he said, “and I can’t see why you want to + leave it. Don’t you feel sorry you are going to leave the old place? + Hadn’t you got your own little spots there, and made friends with them? I + feel as if I should like to sit down by the side of your big, warm + chimney-corner, till the wind came along that blows out the candle.” + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean by ‘blowing out the candle’?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” he answered, “it means, shut up shop, drop the curtain, or + anything you like. It means X Y Z and the grand finale!” + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” she said, with a little start, as the thing dawned upon her. “Don’t + speak like that; you’re not going to die.” + </p> + <p> + “Give me your handkerchief,” he answered. “Give it to me, and I’ll tell + you—how soon.” + </p> + <p> + She jammed her hand down in her pocket. “No, I won’t,” she answered. “I + won’t!” + </p> + <p> + She never did, and he liked her none the less for that. Somehow, up to + this time, he had always thought that he would get well, and to-morrow he + would probably think so again; but just for the moment he felt the real + truth. + </p> + <p> + Presently she said (they spoke in French): + </p> + <p> + “Why is it you like our old kitchen so much? It isn’t nearly as nice as + the parlour.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, it’s a place to live in, anyhow; and I fancy you all feel more at + home there than anywhere else.” + </p> + <p> + “I feel just as much at home in the parlour as there,” she retorted. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no, I think not. The room one lives in the most is the room for any + one’s money.” + </p> + <p> + She looked at him in a puzzled way. Too many sensations were being born in + her all at once; but she did recognise that he was not trying to subtract + anything from the pomp of the Lavilettes. + </p> + <p> + He belonged to a world that she did not know—and yet he was so + perfectly at home with her, so idly easygoing. + </p> + <p> + “Did you ever live in a castle?” she asked eagerly. “Yes,” he said, with a + dry little laugh. Then, after a moment, with the half-abstracted manner of + a man who is recalling a long-forgotten scene, he added: “I lived in the + North Tower, looking out on Farcalladen Moor. When I wasn’t riding to the + hounds myself I could see them crossing to or from the meet. The River + Stavely ran between; and just under the window of the North Tower is the + prettiest copse you ever saw. That was from one side of the tower. From + the other side you looked into the court-yard. As a boy, I liked the + court-yard just as well as the moor; for the pigeons, the sparrows, the + horses and the dogs were all there. As a man, I liked the moor better. + Well, I had jolly good times in Castle Stavely—once upon a time.” + “Yet, you like our kitchen!” she again urged, in a maze of wonderment. + </p> + <p> + “I like everything here,” he answered; “everything—everything, you + understand!” he said, looking meaningly into her eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Then you’ll like the wedding—Sophie’s wedding,” she answered, in a + little confusion. + </p> + <p> + A half-hour later, he said much the same sort of thing to Sophie, with the + same look in his eyes, and only the general purpose, in either case, of + being on easy terms with them. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0004" id="link2HCH0004"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IV + </h2> + <p> + The day of the wedding there was a gay procession through the parish of + the friends and constituents of Magon Farcinelle. When they came to his + home he joined them, and marched at the head of the procession as had done + many a forefather of his, with ribbons on his hat and others at his + button-hole. After stopping for exchange of courtesies at several houses + in the parish, the procession came to the homestead of the Lavilettes, and + the crowd were now enough excited to forget the pride which had repelled + and offended them for many years. + </p> + <p> + Monsieur Lavilette made a polite speech, sending round cider and “white + wine” (as native whiskey was called) when he had finished. Later, Nicolas + furnished some good brandy, and Farcinelle sent more. A good number of + people had come out of curiosity to see what manner of man the Englishman + was, well prepared to resent his overbearing snobbishness—they were + inclined to believe every Englishman snobbish. But Ferrol was so entirely + affable, and he drank so freely with everyone that came to say “A votre + sante, M’sieu’ le Baron,” and kept such a steady head in spite of all + those quantities of white wine, brandy and cider, that they were almost + ready to carry him on their shoulders; though, with their racial + prejudice, they would probably have repented of that indiscretion on the + morrow. + </p> + <p> + Presently, dancing began in a paddock just across the road from the house; + and when Madame Lavilette saw that Mr. Ferrol gave such undisguised + countenance to the primitive rejoicings, she encouraged the revellers and + enlarged her hospitality, sending down hampers of eatables. She preened + with pleasure when she saw Ferrol walking up and down in very confidential + conversation with Christine. If she had been really observant she would + have seen that Ferrol’s tendency was towards an appearance of confidential + friendliness with almost everybody. Great ideas had entered Madame’s head, + but they were vaguely defining themselves in Christine’s mind also. Where + might not this friendship with Ferrol lead her? + </p> + <p> + Something occurred in the midst of the dancing which gave a new turn to + affairs. In one of the pauses a song came monotonously lilting down the + street; yet it was not a song, it was only a sort of humming or chanting. + Immediately there was a clapping of hands, a flutter of female voices, and + delighted exclamations of children. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, it’s a dancing bear, it’s a dancing bear!” they cried. + </p> + <p> + “Is it Pito?” asked one. + </p> + <p> + “Is it Adrienne?” cried another. + </p> + <p> + “But no; I’ll bet it’s Victor!” exclaimed a third. As the man and the bear + came nearer, they saw it was neither of these. The man’s voice was not + unpleasant; it had a rolling, crooning sort of sound, a little weird, as + though he had lived where men see few of their kind and have much to do + with animals. + </p> + <p> + He was bearded, but young; his hair grew low on his forehead, and, + although it was summer time, a fur cap was set far back, like a fez, upon + his black curly hair. His forehead was corrugated, like that of a man of + sixty who had lived a hard life; his eyes were small, black and piercing. + He wore a thick, short coat, a red sash about his waist, a blue flannel + shirt, and a loose red scarf, like a handkerchief, at his throat. His feet + were bare, and his trousers were rolled half way up to his knee. In one + hand he carried a short pole with a steel pike in it, in the other a rope + fastened to a ring in the bear’s nose. + </p> + <p> + The bear, a huge brown animal, upright on his hind legs, was dancing + sideways along the road, keeping time to the lazy notes of his leader’s + voice. + </p> + <p> + In front of the Hotel France they halted, and the bear danced round and + round in a ring, his eyes rolling savagely, his head shaking from side to + side in a bad-tempered way. + </p> + <p> + Suddenly some one cried out: “It’s Vanne Castine! It’s Vanne!” + </p> + <p> + People crowded nearer: there was a flurry of exclamations, and then + Christine took a few steps forward where she could see the man’s face, and + as swiftly drew back into the crowd, pale and distraite. + </p> + <p> + The man watched her until she drew away behind a group, which was composed + of Ferrol, her brother and her sister Sophie. He dropped no note of his + song, and the bear kept jigging on. Children and elders threw coppers, + which he picked up, with a little nod of his head, a malicious sort of + smile on his lips. He kept a vigilant eye on the bear, however, and his + pole was pointed constantly towards it. After about five minutes of this + entertainment he moved along up the road. He spoke no word to anybody + though there were some cries of greeting, but passed on, still singing the + monotonous song, followed by a crowd of children. Presently he turned a + corner, and was lost to sight. For a moment longer the lullaby floated + across the garden and the green fields, then the cornet and the concertina + began again, and Ferrol turned towards Christine. + </p> + <p> + He had seen her paleness and her look of consternation, had observed the + sulky, penetrating look of the bear-leader’s eye, and he knew that he was + stumbling upon a story. Her eye met his, then swiftly turned away. When + her look came to his face again it was filled with defiant laughter, and a + hot brilliancy showed where the paleness had been. + </p> + <p> + “Will you dance with me?” Ferrol asked. + </p> + <p> + “Dance with you here?” she responded incredulously. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, just here,” he said, with a dry little laugh, as he ran his arm + round her waist and drew her out upon the green. + </p> + <p> + “And who is Vanne Castine?” he asked as they swung away in time with the + music. + </p> + <p> + The rest stopped dancing when they saw these two appear in the + ring-through curiosity or through courtesy. + </p> + <p> + She did not answer immediately. They danced a little longer, then he said: + </p> + <p> + “An old friend, eh?” + </p> + <p> + After a moment, with a masked defiance still, and a hard laugh, she + answered in English, though his question had been in French: + </p> + <p> + “De frien’ of an ol frien’.” + </p> + <p> + “You seem to be strangers now,” he suggested. She did not answer at all, + but suddenly stopped dancing, saying: “I’m tired.” + </p> + <p> + The dance went on without them. Sophie and Farcinelle presently withdrew + also. In five minutes the crowd had scattered, and the Lavilettes and Mr. + Ferrol returned to the house. + </p> + <p> + Meanwhile, as they passed up the street, the droning, vibrating voice of + the bear-leader came floating along the air and through the voices of the + crowd like the thread of motive in the movement of an opera. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0005" id="link2HCH0005"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER V + </h2> + <p> + That night, while gaiety and feasting went on at the Lavilettes’, there + was another sort of feasting under way at the house of Shangois, the + notary. + </p> + <p> + On one side of a tiny fire in the chimney, over which hung a little black + kettle, sat Shangois and Vanne Castine. Castine was blowing clouds of + smoke from his pipe, and Shangois was pouring some tea leaves into a + little tin pot, humming to himself snatches of an old song as he did so: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “What shall we do when the King comes home? + What shall we do when he rides along + With his slaves of Greece and his serfs of Rome? + What shall we sing for a song— + When the King comes home? + + “What shall we do when the King comes home? + What shall we do when he speaks so fair? + Shall we give him the house with the silver dome + And the maid with the crimson hair + When the King comes home?” + </pre> + <p> + A long, heavy sigh filled the room, but it was not the breath of Vanne + Castine. The sound came from the corner where the huge brown bear huddled + in savage ease. When it stirred, as if in response to Shangois’s song, the + chains rattled. He was fastened by two chains to a staple driven into the + foundation timbers of the house. Castine’s bear might easily be allowed + too much liberty! + </p> + <p> + Once he had killed a man in the open street of the City of Quebec, and + once also he had nearly killed Castine. They had had a fight and struggle, + out of which the man came with a lacerated chest; but since that time he + had become the master of the bear. It feared him; yet, as he travelled + with it, he scarcely ever took his eyes off it, and he never trusted it. + That was why, although Michael was always near him, sleeping or waking, he + kept him chained at night. + </p> + <p> + As Shangois sang, Castine’s brow knotted and twitched and his hand + clinched on his pipe with a sudden ferocity. + </p> + <p> + “Name of a black cat, what do you sing that song for, notary?” he broke + out peevishly. “Nose of a little god, are you making fun of me?” + </p> + <p> + Shangois handed him some tea. “There’s no one to laugh—why should I + make fun of you?” he asked, jeeringly, in English, for his English was + almost as good as his French, save in the turn of certain idioms. “Come, + my little punchinello, tell me, now, why have you come back?” + </p> + <p> + Castine laughed bitterly. + </p> + <p> + “Ha, ha, why do I come back? I’ll tell you.” He sucked at his pipe. + “Bon’venture is a good place to come to-yes. I have been to Quebec, to St. + John, to Fort Garry, to Detroit, up in Maine and down to New York. I have + ride a horse in a circus, I have drive a horse and sleigh in a shanty, I + have play in a brass band, I have drink whiskey every night for a month—enough + whiskey. I have drink water every night for a year—it is not enough. + I have learn how to speak English; I have lose all my money when I go to + play a game of cards. I go back to de circus; de circus smash; I have no + pay. I take dat damn bear Michael as my share—yes. I walk trough de + State of New York, all trough de State of Maine to Quebec, all de leetla + village, all de big city—yes. I learn dat damn funny song to sing to + Michael. Ha, why do I come to Bon’venture? What is there to Bon’venture? + Ha! you ask that? I know and you know, M’sieu’ Shangois. There is nosing + like Bon’venture in all de worl’. + </p> + <p> + “What is it you would have? Do you want nice warm house in winter, plenty + pork, molass’, patat, leetla drop whiskey ‘hind de door in de morning? Ha! + you come to Bon’venture. Where else you fin’ it? You want people say: ‘How + you do, Vanne Castine—how you are? Adieu, Vanne Castine; to see you + again ver’ happy, Vanne Castine.’ Ha, that is what you get in Bon’venture. + Who say ‘God bless you’ in New York! They say ‘Damn you!’—yes, I + know. + </p> + <p> + “Where have you a church so warm, so ver’ nice, and everybody say him mass + and God-have-mercy? Where you fin’ it like that leetla place on de hill in + Bon’venture? Yes. There is anoser place in Bon’venture, ver’ nice place—yes, + ha! On de side of de hill. You have small-pox, scarlet fev’, difthere; you + get smash your head, you get break your leg, you fall down, you go to die. + Ha, who is there in all de worl’ like M’sieu’ Vallier, the Cure? Who will + say to you like him: ‘Vanne Castine, you have break all de commandments: + you have swear, you have steal, you have kill, you have drink. Ver’ well, + now, you will be sorry for dat, and say your prayer. Perhaps, after hunder + fifty tousen’ years of purgator’, you will be forgive and go to Heaven. + But first, when you die, we will put you way down in de leetla warm house + in de ground, on de side of de hill, in de Parish of Bon’venture, because + it is de only place for a gipsy like Vanne Castine.’ + </p> + <p> + “You ask me-ah! I see you look at me, M’sieu’ le Notaire, you look at me + like a leetla dev’. You t’ink I come for somet’ing else”—his black + eyes flashed under his brow, he shook his head, and his hands clinched—“You + ask me why I come back? I come back because there is one thing I care for + mos’ in all de worl’. You t’ink I am happy to go about with a damn brown + bear and dance trough de village? Moi?—no, no, no! What a Jack I + look when I sing—ah, that fool’s song all down de street! I come + back for one thing only, M’sieu’ Shangois. + </p> + <p> + “You know that night—ah, four, five years ago? You remember, M’sieu’ + Shangois? Ah! she was so beautiful, so sweet; her hair it fall down about + her face, her eyes all black, her cheeks like the snow, her lips, her + lips!—You rememb’ her father curse me, tell me to go. Why? Because I + have kill a man! Eh bien, what if I kill a man! He would have kill me: I + do it to save myself. I say I am not guilty; but her father say I am a + sc’undrel, and turn me out de house. + </p> + <p> + “De girl, Christine, she love me. Yes, she love Vanne Castine. She say to + me, ‘I will go with you. Go anywhere, and I will go!’ + </p> + <p> + “It is night and it is all dark. I wait at de place, an’ she come. We + start to walk to Montreal. Ah! dat night, it is like fire in my heart. + Well, a great storm come down, and we have to come back. We come to your + house here, light a fire, and sit just in de spot where I am, one hour, + two hour, three hour. Saprie, how I love her! She is in me like fire, like + de wind and de sea. Well, I am happy like no other man. I sit here and + look at her, and t’ink of to-morrow-for ever. She look at me; oh, de love + of God, she look at me! So I kneel down on de floor here beside her and + say, ‘Who shall take you from me, Christine, my leetla Christine?’ + </p> + <p> + “She look at me and say: ‘Who shall take you from me, my big Vanne?’ + </p> + <p> + “All at once the door open, and—” + </p> + <p> + “And a little black notary take her from you,” said Shangois, dryly, and + with a touch of malice also. “You, yes, you lawyer dev’, you take her from + me! You say to her it is wicked. You tell her how her father will weep and + her mother’s heart will break. You tell her how she will be ashame’, and a + curse will fall on her. Then she begin to cry, for she is afraid. Ah, + where is de wrong? I love her; I would go to marry her—but no, what + is that to you! She turn on me and say, ‘I will go back to my father.’ And + she go back. After that I try to see her; but she will not see me. Then I + go away, and I am gone five years; yes.” + </p> + <p> + Shangois came over, and with his thin beautiful hand (for despite the + ill-kept finger nails, it was the one fine feature of his body-long, + shapely, artistic) tapped Castine’s knee. + </p> + <p> + “I did right to save Christine. She hates you now. If she had gone with + you that night, do you suppose she would have been happy as your wife? No, + she is not for Vanne Castine.” + </p> + <p> + Suddenly Shangois’s manner changed; he laid his hand upon the other’s + shoulder. + </p> + <p> + “My poor, wicked, good-for-nothing Vanne Castine, Christine Lavilette was + not made for you. You are a poor vaurien, always a poor vaurien. I knew + your father and your two grandfathers. They were all vauriens; all as + handsome as you can think, and all died, not in their beds. Your + grandfather killed a man, your father drank and killed a man. Your + grandfather drove his wife to her grave, your father broke your mother’s + heart. Why should you break the heart of any girl in the world? Leave her + alone. Is it love to a woman when you break all the commandments, and + shame her and bring her down to where you are—a bad vaurien? When a + man loves a woman with the true love, he will try to do good for her sake. + Go back to that crazy New York—it is the place for you. Ma’m’selle + Christine is not for you.” + </p> + <p> + “Who is she for, m’sieu’ le dev’?” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps for the English Irishman,” answered Shangois, in a low suggestive + tone, as he dropped a little brandy in his tea with light fingers. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, sacre! we shall see. There is vaurien in her too,” was the + half-triumphant reply. + </p> + <p> + “There is more woman,” retorted Shangois; “much more.” + </p> + <p> + “We’ll see about that, m’sieu’!” exclaimed Castine, as he turned towards + the bear, which was clawing at his chain. + </p> + <p> + An hour later, a scene quite as important occurred at Lavilette’s great + farmhouse. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0006" id="link2HCH0006"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VI + </h2> + <p> + It was about ten o’clock. Lights were burning in every window. At a table + in the dining-room sat Monsieur and Madame Lavilette, the father of Magon + Farcinelle, and Shangois, the notary. The marriage contract was before + them. They had reached a point of difficulty. Farcinelle was stipulating + for five acres of river-land as another item in Sophie’s dot. + </p> + <p> + The corners tightened around Madame’s mouth. Lavilette scratched his head, + so that the hair stood up like flying tassels of corn. The land in + question lay next a portion of Farcinelle’s own farm, with a river + frontage. On it was a little house and shed, and no better garden-stuff + grew in the parish than on this same five acres. + </p> + <p> + “But I do not own the land,” said Lavilette. “You’ve got a mortgage on + it,” answered Farcinelle. “Foreclose it.” + </p> + <p> + “Suppose I did foreclose; you couldn’t put the land in the marriage + contract until it was mine.” + </p> + <p> + The notary shrugged his shoulder ironically, and dropped his chin in his + hand as he furtively eyed the two men. Farcinelle was ready for the + emergency. He turned to Shangois. + </p> + <p> + “I’ve got everything ready for the foreclosure,” said he. “Couldn’t it be + done to-night, Shangois?” + </p> + <p> + “Hardly to-night. You might foreclose, but the property couldn’t be + Monsieur Lavilette’s until it is duly sold under the mortgage.” + </p> + <p> + “Here, I’ll tell you what can be done,” said Farcinelle. “You can put the + mortgage in the contract as her dot, and, name of a little man! I’ll + foreclose it, I can tell you. Come, now, Lavilette, is it a bargain?” + Shangois sat back in his chair, the fingers of both hands drumming on the + table before him, his head twisted a little to one side. His little + reflective eyes sparkled with malicious interest, and his little voice + said, as though he were speaking to himself: + </p> + <p> + “Excuse, but the land belongs to the young Vanne Castine—eh?” + </p> + <p> + “That’s it,” exclaimed Farcinelle. + </p> + <p> + “Well, why not give the poor vaurien a chance to take up the mortgage?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, he hasn’t paid the interest in five years!” said Lavilette. + </p> + <p> + “But—ah—you have had the use of the land, I think, monsieur. + That should meet the interest.” Lavilette scowled a little; Farcinelle + grunted and laughed. + </p> + <p> + “How can I give him a chance to pay the mortgage?” said Lavilette. “He + never had a penny. Besides, he hasn’t been seen for five years.” + </p> + <p> + A faint smile passed over Shangois’s face. “Yesterday,” he said, “he had + not been seen for five years, but to-day he is in Bonaventure.” + </p> + <p> + “The devil!” said Lavilette, dropping a fist on the table, and staring at + the notary; for he was not present in the afternoon when Castine passed + by. + </p> + <p> + “What difference does that make?” snarled Farcinelle. “I’ll bet he’s got + nothing more than what he went away with, and that wasn’t a sou markee!” + </p> + <p> + A provoking smile flickered at the corners of Shangois’s mouth, and he + said, with a dry inflection, as he dipped and redipped his quill pen in + the inkhorn: + </p> + <p> + “He has a bear, my friends, which dances very well.” Farcinelle guffawed. + “St. Mary!” said he, slapping his leg, “we’ll have the bear at the + wedding, and I’ll have that farm of Vanne Castine’s. What does he want of + a farm? He’s got a bear. Come, is it a bargain? Am I to have the mortgage? + If you don’t stick it in, I’ll not let my boy marry your girl, Lavilette. + There, now, that’s my last word.” + </p> + <p> + “‘Thou shalt not covet thy neighbour’s house, nor his wife, nor his maid, + nor his ox, nor his ass, nor anything that is his,”’ said the notary, + abstractedly, drawing the picture of a fat Jew on the paper before him. + </p> + <p> + The irony was lost upon his hearers. Madame Lavilette had been thinking, + however, and she saw further than her husband. + </p> + <p> + “It amounts to the same thing,” she said. “You see it doesn’t go away from + Sophie; so let him have it, Louis.” + </p> + <p> + “All right,” responded monsieur at last, “Sophie gets the acres and the + house in her dot.” + </p> + <p> + “You won’t give young Vanne Castine a chance?” asked the notary. “The + mortgage is for four hundred dollars and the place is worth seven + hundred!” + </p> + <p> + No one replied. “Very well, my Israelites,” added Shangois, bending over + the contract. + </p> + <p> + An hour later, Nicolas Lavilette was in the big storeroom of the + farmhouse, which was reached by a covered passage from the hall between + the kitchen and the dining-room. In his off-hand way he was getting out + some flour, dried fruit and preserves for the cook, who stood near as he + loaded up her arms. He laughingly thrust a string of green peppers under + her chin, and added a couple of sprigs of summer-savoury, then suddenly + turned round, with a start, for a peculiar low whistle came to him through + the half-open window. It was followed by heavy stertorous breathing. + </p> + <p> + He turned back again to the cook, gaily took her by the shoulders, and + pushed her to the door. Closing it behind her, he shot the bolt and ran + back to the window. As he did so, a hand appeared on the windowsill, and a + face followed the hand. + </p> + <p> + “Ha! Nicolas Lavilette, is that you? So, you know my leetla whistle + again!” + </p> + <p> + Nicolas’s brow darkened. In old days he and this same Vanne Castine had + been in many a scrape together, and Vanne, the elder, had always borne the + responsibility of their adventures. Nicolas had had enough of those old + days; other ambitions and habits governed him now. He was not exactly the + man to go back on a friend, but Castine no longer had any particular + claims to friendship. The last time he had heard Vanne’s whistle was a + night five years before, when they both joined a gang of river-drivers, + and made a raid on some sham American speculators and surveyors and + labourers, who were exploiting an oil-well on the property of the old + seigneur. The two had come out of the melee with bruised heads, and Vanne + with a bullet in his calf. But soon afterwards came Christine’s elopement + with Vanne, of which no one knew save her father, Nicolas, Shangois and + Vanne himself. That ended their compact, and, after a bitter quarrel, they + had parted and had never met nor seen each other till this very afternoon. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I know your whistle all right,” answered Nicolas, with a twist of + the shoulder. + </p> + <p> + “Aren’t you going to shake hands?” asked Castine, with a sort of sneer on + his face. + </p> + <p> + Nicolas thrust his hands down in his pockets. “I’m not so glad to see you + as all that,” he answered, with a contemptuous laugh. + </p> + <p> + The black eyes of the bear-leader were alive with anger. + </p> + <p> + “You’re a damn’ fool, Nic Lavilette. You think because I lead a bear—eh? + Pshaw! you shall see. I am nothing, eh? I am to walk on! Nic Lavilette, + once he steal the Cure’s pig and—” + </p> + <p> + “See you there, Castine, I’ve had enough of that,” was the half-angry, + half-amused interruption. “What are you after here?” + </p> + <p> + “What was I after five years ago?” was the meaning reply. + </p> + <p> + Lavilette’s face suddenly flushed with fury. He gripped the window with + both hands, and made as if he would leap out; but beside Castine’s face + there appeared another, with glaring eyes, red tongue, white vicious + teeth, and two huge claws which dropped on the ledge of the window in much + the same way as did Lavilette’s. + </p> + <p> + There was a moment’s silence as the man and the beast looked at each + other, and then Castine began laughing in a low, sneering sort of way. + </p> + <p> + “I’ll shoot the beast, and I’ll break your neck if ever I see you on this + farm again,” said Lavilette, with wild anger. + </p> + <p> + “Break my neck—that’s all right; but shoot this leetla Michael! When + you do that you will not have to wait for a British bullet to kill you. I + will do it with a knife—just where you can hear it sing under your + ear!” + </p> + <p> + “British bullet!” said Lavilette, excitedly; “what about a British bullet—eh—what?” + </p> + <p> + “Only that the Rebellion’s coming quick now,” answered Castine, his manner + changing, and a look of cunning crossing his face. “You’ve given your name + to the great Papineau, and I am here, as you see.” + </p> + <p> + “You—you—what have you got to do with the Revolution? with + Papineau?” + </p> + <p> + “Pah! do you think a Lavilette is the only patriot! Papineau is my friend, + and—” + </p> + <p> + “Your friend—” + </p> + <p> + “My friend. I am carrying his message all through the parishes. + Bon’venture is the last—almost. The great General Papineau sends you + a word, Nic Lavilette—here.” + </p> + <p> + He drew from his pocket a letter and handed it over. Lavilette tore it + open. It was a captain’s commission for M. Nicolas Lavilette, with a call + for money and a company of men and horses. + </p> + <p> + “Maybe there’s a leetla noose hanging from the tail of that, but then—it + is the glory—eh? Captain Lavilette—eh?” There was covert + malice in Castine’s voice. “If the English whip us, they won’t shoot us + like grand seigneurs, they will hang us like dogs.” + </p> + <p> + Lavilette scarcely noticed the sneer. He was seeing visions of a captain’s + sword and epaulettes, and planning to get men, money and horses together—for + this matter had been brooding for nearly a year, and he had been the + active leader in Bonaventure. + </p> + <p> + “We’ve been near a hundred years, we Frenchmen, eating dirt in the country + we owned from the start; and I’d rather die fighting to get back the old + citadel than live with the English heel on my nose,” said Lavilette, with + a play-acting attempt at oratory. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, an’ dey call us Johnny Pea-soups,” said Castine, with a furtive + grin. “An’ perhaps that British Colborne will hang us to our barn doors—eh?” + </p> + <p> + There was silence for a moment, in which Lavilette read the letter over + again with gloating eyes. Presently Castine started and looked round. + </p> + <p> + “What’s that?” he said in a whisper. “I heard nothing.” + </p> + <p> + “I heard the feet of a man—yes.” + </p> + <p> + They both stood moveless, listening. There was no sound; but, at the same + time, the Hon. Mr. Ferrol had the secret of the Rebellion in his hands. + </p> + <p> + A moment later Castine and his bear were out in the road. Lavilette leaned + out of the window and mused. Castine’s words of a few moments before came + to him: + </p> + <p> + “That British Colborne will hang us to our barn doors—eh?” + </p> + <p> + He shuddered, and struck a light. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0007" id="link2HCH0007"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VII + </h2> + <p> + Mr. Ferrol slept in the large guest-chamber of the house. Above it was + Christine’s bedroom. Thick as were the timbers and boards of the floor, + Christine could hear one sound, painfully monotonous and frequent, coming + from his room the whole night—the hacking, rending cough which she + had heard so often since he came. The fear of Vanne Castine, the memories + of the wild, half animal-like love she had had for him in the old days, + the excitement of the new events which had come into her life; these kept + her awake, and she tossed and turned in feverish unrest. All that had + happened since Ferrol had arrived, every word that he had spoken, every + motion that he had made, every look of his face, she recalled vividly. All + that he was, which was different from the people she had known, she + magnified, so that to her he had a distant, overwhelming sort of grandeur. + She beat the bedclothes in her restlessness. Suddenly she sat up straight + in bed. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, if I hadn’t been a Lavilette! If I’d only been born and brought up + with the sort of people he comes from, I’d not have been ashamed of myself + or him of me.” + </p> + <p> + The plush bodice she had worn that day danced before her eyes. She knew + how horribly ugly it was. Her fingers ran over the patchwork quilt on her + bed; and although she could not see it, she loathed it, because she knew + it was a painful mess of colours. With a little touch of dramatic + extravagance, she leaned over and down, and drew her fingers + contemptuously along the rag-carpet on the floor. Then she cried a little + hysterically: + </p> + <p> + “He never saw anything like that before. How he must laugh as he sits + there in that room!” + </p> + <p> + As if in reply, the hacking cough came faintly through the time-worn + floor. + </p> + <p> + “That cough’s going to kill him, to kill him,” she said. + </p> + <p> + Then, with a little start and with a sort of cry, which she stopped by + putting both hands over her mouth, she said to herself, brokenly: + </p> + <p> + “Why shouldn’t he—why shouldn’t he love me! I could take care of + him; I could nurse him; I could wait on him; I could be better to him than + any one else in the world. And it wouldn’t make any difference to him at + all in the end. He’s going to die before long—I know it. Well, what + does it matter what becomes of me afterwards? I should have had him; I + should have loved him; he should have been mine for a little while anyway. + I’d be good to him; oh, I’d be good to him! Who else is there? He’ll get + worse and worse; and what will any of the fine ladies do for him then, I’d + like to know. Why aren’t they here? Why isn’t he with them? He’s poor—Nic + says so—and they’re rich. Why don’t they help him? I would. I’d give + him my last penny and the last drop of blood in my heart. What do they + know about love?” + </p> + <p> + Her little teeth clinched, she shook her brown hair back in a sort of + fury. + </p> + <p> + “What do they know about love? What would they do for it? I’d have my + fingers chopped off one by one for it. I’d break every one of the ten + commandments for it. I’d lose my soul for it. + </p> + <p> + “I’ve got twenty times as much heart as any one of them, I don’t care who + they are. I’d lie for him; I’d steal for him; I’d kill for him. I’d watch + everything that he says, and I’d say it as he says it. I’d be angry when + he was angry, miserable when he was miserable, happy when he was happy. + Vanne Castine—what was he! What was it that made me care for him + then? And now—now he travels with a bear, and they toss coppers to + him; a beggar, a tramp—a dirty, lazy tramp! He hates me, I know—or + else he loves me, and that’s worse. And I’m afraid of him; I know I’m + afraid of him. Oh, how will it all end? I know there’s going to be + trouble. I could see it in Vanne’s face. But I don’t care, I don’t care, + if Mr. Ferrol—” + </p> + <p> + The cough came droning through the floor. + </p> + <p> + “If he’d only—ah! I’d do anything for him, anything; anybody would. + I saw Sophie look at him as she never looked at Magon. If she did—if + she dared to care for him—” + </p> + <p> + All at once she shivered as if with shame and fright, drew the bedclothes + about her head, and burst into a fit of weeping. When it passed, she lay + still and nerveless between the coarse sheets, and sank into a deep sleep + just as the dawn crept through the cracks of the blind. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0008" id="link2HCH0008"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VIII + </h2> + <p> + The weeks went by. Sophie had become the wife of the member for the + country, and had instantly settled down to a quiet life. This was + disconcerting to Madame Lavilette, who had hoped that out of Farcinelle’s + official position she might reap some praise and pence of ambition. + Meanwhile, Ferrol became more and more a cherished and important figure in + the Manor Casimbault, where the Lavilettes had made their home soon after + the wedding. The old farmhouse had also secretly become a rendezvous for + the mysterious Nicolas Lavilette and his rebel comrades. This was known to + Mr. Ferrol. One evening he stopped Nic as he was leaving the house, and + said: + </p> + <p> + “See, Nic, my boy, what’s up? I know a thing or so—what’s the use of + playing peek-a-boo?” + </p> + <p> + “What do you know, Ferrol?” + </p> + <p> + “What’s between you and Vanne Castine, for instance. Come, now, own up and + tell me all about it. I’m British; but I’m Nic Lavilette’s friend anyhow.” + </p> + <p> + He insinuated into his tone that little touch of brogue which he used when + particularly persuasive. Nic put out his hand with a burst of good-natured + frankness. + </p> + <p> + “Meet me in the store-room of the old farmhouse at nine o’clock, and I’ll + tell you. Here’s a key.” Handing over the key, he grasped Ferrol’s hand + with an effusive confidence, and hurried out. Nic Lavilette was now an + important person in his own sight and in the sight of others in + Bonaventure. In him the pomp of his family took an individual form. + </p> + <p> + Earlier than the appointed time, Ferrol turned the key and stepped inside + the big despoiled hallway of the old farmhouse. His footsteps sounded + hollow in the empty rooms. Already dust had gathered, and an air of + desertion and decay filled the place in spite of the solid timbers and + sound floors and window-sills. He took out his watch; it was ten minutes + to nine. Passing through the little hallway to the store-room, he opened + the door. It was dark inside. Striking a match, he saw a candle on the + window-sill, and, going to it, he lighted it with a flint and steel lying + near. The window was shut tight. From curiosity only he tried to open the + shutter, but it was immovable. Looking round, he saw another candle on the + window-sill opposite. He lighted it also, and mechanically tried to force + the shutters of the window, but they were tight also. + </p> + <p> + Going to the door, which opened into the farmyard, he found it securely + fastened. Although he turned the lock, the door would not open. + </p> + <p> + Presently his attention was drawn by the glitter of something upon one of + the crosspieces of timber halfway up the wall. Going over, he examined it, + and found it to be a broken bayonet—left there by a careless rebel. + Placing the steel again upon the ledge, he began walking up and down + thoughtfully. + </p> + <p> + Presently he was seized with a fit of coughing. The paroxysm lasted a + minute or more, and he placed his arm upon the window-sill, leaning his + head upon it. Presently, as the paroxysm lessened, he thought he heard the + click of a lock. He raised his head, but his eyes were misty, and, seeing + nothing, he leaned his head on his arm again. + </p> + <p> + Suddenly he felt something near him. He swung round swiftly, and saw Vanne + Castine’s bear not fifteen-feet away from him! It raised itself on its + hind legs, its red eyes rolling, and started towards him. He picked up the + candle from the window-sill, threw it in the animal’s face, and dashed + towards the door. + </p> + <p> + It was locked. He swung round. The huge beast, with a loud snarl, was + coming down upon him. + </p> + <p> + Here he was, shut within four solid walls, with a wild beast hungry for + his life. All his instincts were alive. He had little hope of saving + himself, but he was determined to do what lay in his power. + </p> + <p> + His first impulse was to blow out the other candle. That would leave him + in the dark, and it struck him that his advantage would be greater if + there were no light. He came straight towards the bear, then suddenly made + a swift movement to the left, trusting to his greater quickness of + movement. The beast was nearly as quick as he, and as he dashed along the + wall towards the candle, he could hear its breath just behind him. + </p> + <p> + As he passed the window, he caught the candle in his hands, and was about + to throw it on the floor or in the bear’s face, when he remembered that, + in the dark, the bear’s sense of smell would be as effective as eyesight, + while he himself would be no better off. + </p> + <p> + He ran suddenly to the centre of the room, the candle still in his hand, + and turned to meet his foe. It came savagely at him. He dodged, ran past + it, turned, doubled on it, and dodged again. A half-dozen times this was + repeated, the candle still flaring. It could not last long. The bear was + enraged. Its movements became swifter, its vicious teeth and lips were + covered with froth, which dripped to the floor, and sometimes spattered + Ferrol’s clothes as he ran past. No matador ever played with the horns of + a mad bull as Ferrol played his deadly game with Michael, the dancing + bear. His breath was becoming shorter and shorter; he had a stifling + sensation, a terrible tightness across his chest. He did not cough, + however, but once or twice he tasted warm drops of his heart’s blood in + his mouth. Once he drew the back of his hand across his lips mechanically, + and a red stain showed upon it. + </p> + <p> + In his boyhood and early manhood he had been a good sportsman; had been + quick of eye, swift of foot, and fearless. But what could fearlessness + avail him in this strait? With the best of rifles he would have felt + himself at a disadvantage. He was certain his time had come; and with that + conviction upon him, the terror of the thing and the horrible physical + shrinking almost passed away from him. The disease, eating away his life, + had diminished that revolt against death which is in the healthy flesh of + every man. He was levying upon the vital forces remaining in him, which, + distributed naturally, might cover a year or so, to give him here and now + a few moments of unnatural strength for the completion of a hopeless + struggle. + </p> + <p> + It was also as if two brains in him were working: one busy with all the + chances and details of his wild contest, the other with the events of his + life. + </p> + <p> + Pictures flashed before him. Some having to do with the earliest days of + his childhood; some with fighting on the Danube, before he left the army, + impoverished and ashamed; some with idle hours in the North Tower in + Stavely Castle; and one with the day he and his sister left the old + castle, never to return, and looked back upon it from the top of + Farcalladen Moor, waving a “God bless you” to it. The thought of his + sister filled him with a desire, a pitiful desire to live. + </p> + <p> + Just then another picture flashed before his eyes. It was he himself, + riding the mad stallion, Bolingbroke, the first year he followed the + hounds: how the brute tried to smash his leg against a stone wall; how it + reared until it almost toppled over and backwards; how it jibbed at a + gate, and nearly dashed its own brains out against a tree; and how, after + an hour’s hard fighting, he made it take the stiffest fence and + water-course in the county. + </p> + <p> + This thought gave him courage now. He suddenly remembered the broken + bayonet upon the ledge against the wall. If he could reach it there might + be a chance—chance to strike one blow for life. As his eye glanced + towards the wall he saw the steel flash in the light of the candle. + </p> + <p> + The bear was between him and it. He made a feint towards the left, then as + quickly to the right. But doing so, he slipped and fell. The candle + dropped to the floor and went out. With a lightning-like instinct of + self-preservation he swung over upon his face just as the bear, in its + wild rush, passed over his head. He remembered afterwards the odour of the + hot, rank body, and the sprawling huge feet and claws. Scrambling to his + feet swiftly, he ran to the wall. Fortune was with him. His hand almost + instantly clutched the broken bayonet. He whipped out his handkerchief, + tore the scarf from his neck, and wound them around his hand, that the + broken bayonet should not tear the flesh as he fought for his life; then, + seizing it, he stood waiting for the bear to come on. His body was bent + forwards, his eyes straining into the dark, his hot face dripping, + dripping sweat, his breath coming hard and laboured from his throat. + </p> + <p> + For a minute there was absolute silence, save for the breathing of the man + and the savage panting of the beast. Presently he felt exactly where the + bear was, and listened intently. He knew that it was now but a question of + minutes, perhaps seconds. Suddenly it occurred to him that if he could but + climb upon the ledge where the bayonet had been, there might be safety. + Yet again, in getting up, the bear might seize him, and there would be an + end to all immediately. It was worth trying, however. + </p> + <p> + Two things happened at that moment to prevent the trial: the sound of + knocking on a door somewhere, and the roaring rush of the bear upon him. + He sprang to one side, striking at the beast as he did so. The bayonet + went in and out again. There came voices from the outside; evidently + somebody was trying to get in. + </p> + <p> + The bear roared again and came on. It was all a blind man’s game. But his + scent, like the animal’s, was keen. He had taken off his coat, and he now + swung it out before him in a half-circle, and as it struck the bear it + covered his own position. He swung aside once more and drove his arm into + the dark. The bayonet struck the nose of the beast. + </p> + <p> + Now there was a knocking and a hammering at the window, and the wrenching + of the shutters. He gathered himself together for the next assault. + Suddenly he felt that every particle of strength had gone out of him. He + pulled himself up with a last effort. His legs would not support him; he + shivered and swayed. God, would they never get that window open! + </p> + <p> + His senses were abnormally acute. Another sound attracted him: the opening + of the door, and a voice—Vanne Castine’s—calling to the bear. + </p> + <p> + His heart seemed to give a leap, then slowly to roll over with a thud, and + he fell to the floor as the bear lunged forwards upon him. + </p> + <p> + A minute afterwards Vanne Castine was goading the savage beast through the + door and out to the hallway into the yard as Nic swung through the open + window into the room. + </p> + <p> + Castine’s lantern stood in the middle of the floor, and between it and the + window lay Ferrol, the broken bayonet still clutched in his right hand. + Lavilette dropped on his knees beside him and felt his heart. It was + beating, but the shirt and the waistcoat were dripping with blood where + the bear had set its claws and teeth in the shoulder of its victim. + </p> + <p> + An hour later Nic Lavilette stood outside the door of Ferrol’s bedroom in + the Manor Casimbault, talking to the Regimental Surgeon, as Christine, + pale and wildeyed, came running towards them. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0009" id="link2HCH0009"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IX + </h2> + <p> + “Is he dead? is he dead?” she asked distractedly. “I’ve just come from the + village. Why didn’t you send for me? Tell me, is he dead? Oh, tell me at + once!” + </p> + <p> + She caught the Regimental Surgeon’s arm. He looked down at her, over his + glasses, benignly, for she had always been a favourite of his, and + answered: + </p> + <p> + “Alive, alive, my dear. Bad rip in the shoulder—worn out—weak—shattered—but + good for a while yet—yes, yes—certainement!” + </p> + <p> + With a wayward impulse, she threw her arms around his neck and kissed him + on the cheek. The embrace disarranged his glasses and flushed his face + like a schoolgirl’s, but his eyes were full of embarrassed delight. + </p> + <p> + “There, there,” he said, “we’ll take care of him—!” Then suddenly he + paused, for the real significance of her action dawned upon him. + </p> + <p> + “Dear me,” he said in disturbed meditation; “dear me!” + </p> + <p> + She suddenly opened the bedroom door and went in, followed by Nic. The + Regimental Surgeon dropped his mouth and cheeks in his hand reflectively, + his eyes showing quaintly and quizzically above the glasses and his + fingers. + </p> + <p> + “Well, well! Well, well!” he said, as if he had encountered a difficulty. + “It—it will never be possible. He would not marry her,” he added, + and then, turning, went abstractedly down the stairs. + </p> + <p> + Ferrol was in a deep sleep when Christine and her brother entered the + chamber. Her face turned still more pale when she saw him, flushed, and + became pale again. There were leaden hollows round his eyes, and his hair + was matted with perspiration. Yet he was handsome—and helpless. Her + eyes filled with tears. She turned her head away from her brother and went + softly to the window, but not before she had touched the pale hand that + lay nerveless upon the coverlet. + </p> + <p> + “It’s not feverish,” she said to Nic, as if in necessary explanation of + the act. + </p> + <p> + She stood at the window for a moment, looking out, then said: + </p> + <p> + “Come here, Nic, and tell me all about it.” + </p> + <p> + He told her all he knew: how he had come to the old house by appointment + with Ferrol; had tried to get into the store-room; had found the doors + bolted; had heard the noise of a wild animal inside; had run out, tried a + window, at last wrenched it open and found Ferrol in a dead faint. He went + to the table and brought back the broken bayonet. + </p> + <p> + “That’s all he had to fight with,” he said. “Fire of a little hell, but he + had grit—after all!” + </p> + <p> + “That’s all he had to fight with!” she repeated, as she untwisted the + handkerchief from the hilt end. “Why did you say he had true grit—‘after + all’? What do you mean by that ‘after all’?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, you don’t expect much from a man with only one lung—eh?” + </p> + <p> + “Courage isn’t in the lungs,” she answered. Then she added: “Go and fetch + me a bottle of brandy—I’m going to bathe his hands and feet in + brandy and hot water as soon as he’s awake.” + </p> + <p> + “Better let mother do that, hadn’t you?” he asked rather hesitatingly, as + he moved towards the door. + </p> + <p> + Her eyes snapped fire. “Nic—mon Dieu, hear the nice Nic!” she said. + “The dear Nic, who went in swimming with—” + </p> + <p> + She said no more, for he had no desire to listen to an account of his + misdeeds, which were not a few,—and Christine had a galling tongue. + </p> + <p> + When the door was shut she went to the bed, sat down on a chair beside it, + and looked at Ferrol earnestly and sadly. + </p> + <p> + “My dear! my dear, dear, dear!” she said in a whisper, “you look so + handsome and so kind as you lie there—like no man I ever saw in my + life. Who’d have fought as you fought—and nearly dead! Who’d have + had brains enough to know just what to do! My darling, that never said ‘my + darling’ to me, nor heard me call you so. Suppose you haven’t a dollar, + not a cent, in the world, and suppose you’ll never earn a dollar or a cent + in the world, what difference does that make to me? I could earn it; and + I’d give more for a touch of your finger than a thousand dollars; and more + for a month with you than for a lifetime with the richest man in the + world. You never looked cross at me, or at any one, and you never say an + unkind thing, and you never find fault when you suffer so. You never hurt + any one, I know. You never hurt Vanne Castine—” + </p> + <p> + Her fingers twitched in her lap, and then clasped very tight, as she went + on: + </p> + <p> + “You never hurt him, and yet he’s tried to kill you in the most awful way. + Perhaps you’ll die now—perhaps you’ll die to-night—but no, no, + you shall not!” she cried in sudden fright and eagerness, as she got up + and leaned over him. “You shall not die; you shall live—for a while—oh! + yes, for a while yet,” she added, with a pitiful yearning in her voice; + “just for a little while—till you love me, and tell me so! Oh, how + could that devil try to kill you!” + </p> + <p> + She suddenly drew herself up. + </p> + <p> + “I’ll kill him and his bear too—now, now, while you lie there + sleeping. And when you wake I’ll tell you what I’ve done, and you’ll—you’ll + love me then, and tell me so, perhaps. Yes, yes, I’ll—” + </p> + <p> + She said no more, for her brother entered with the brandy. + </p> + <p> + “Put it there,” she said, pointing to the table. “You watch him till I + come. I’ll be back in an hour; and then, when he wakes, we’ll bathe him in + the hot water and brandy.” + </p> + <p> + “Who told you about hot water and brandy?” he asked her, curiously. + </p> + <p> + She did not answer him, but passed through the door and down the hall till + she came to Nic’s bedroom; she went in, took a pair of pistols from the + wall, examined them, found they were fully loaded, and hurried from the + room. + </p> + <p> + About a half-hour later she appeared before the house which once had + belonged to Vanne Castine. The mortgage had been foreclosed, and the place + had passed into the hands of Sophie and Magon Farcinelle; but Castine had + taken up his abode in the house a few days before, and defied anyone to + put him out. + </p> + <p> + A light was burning in the kitchen of the house. There were no curtains to + the window, but an old coat had been hung up to serve the purpose, and + light shone between a sleeve of it and the window-sill. Putting her face + close to the window, the girl could see the bear in the corner, clawing at + its chain and tossing its head from side to side, still panting and angry + from the fight. + </p> + <p> + Now and again, also, it licked the bayonet-wound between its shoulders, + and rubbed its lacerated nose on its paw. Castine was mixing some tar and + oil in a pan by the fire, to apply to the still bleeding wounds of his + Michael. He had an ugly grin on his face. + </p> + <p> + He was dressed just as in the first day he appeared in the village, even + to the fur cap; and presently, as he turned round, he began to sing the + monotonous measure to which the bear had danced. It had at once a soothing + effect upon the beast. + </p> + <p> + After he had gone from the store-room, leaving Ferrol dead, as he thought, + it was this song alone which had saved himself from peril; for the beast + was wild from pain, fury and the taste of blood. As soon as they had + cleared the farmyard, he had begun this song, and the bear, cowed at first + by the thrusts of its master’s pike, quieted to the well-known ditty. + </p> + <p> + He approached the bear now, and, stooping, put some of the tar and oil + upon its nose. It sniffed and rubbed off the salve, but he put more on; + then he rubbed it into the wound of the breast. Once the animal made a + fierce snap at his shoulder, but he deftly avoided it, gave it a thrust + with a sharp-pointed stick, and began the song again. Presently he rose + and came towards the fire. + </p> + <p> + As he did so he heard the door open. Turning round quickly, he saw + Christine standing just inside. She had a shawl thrown round her, and one + hand was thrust in the pocket of her dress. She looked from him to the + bear, then back again to him. + </p> + <p> + He did not realise why she had come. For a moment, in his excited state, + he almost thought she had come because she loved him. He had seen her + twice since his return; but each time she would say nothing to him further + than that she wished not to meet or to speak to him at all. He had pleaded + with her, had grown angry, and she had left him. Who could tell—perhaps + she had come to him now as she had come to him in the old days. He dropped + the pan of tar and oil. “Chris!” he said, and started forward to her. + </p> + <p> + At that moment the bear, as if it knew the girl’s mission, sprang forward, + with a growl. Its huge mouth was open, and all its fierce lust for killing + showed again in its wild lunges. Castine turned, with an oath, and thrust + the steel-set pike into its leg. It cowered at the voice and the + punishment for an instant, but came on again. + </p> + <p> + Castine saw the girl raise a pistol and fire at the beast. He was so + dumfounded that at first he did not move. Then he saw her raise another + pistol. The wounded bear lunged heavily on its chain—once—twice—in + a devilish rage, and as Christine prepared to fire, snapped the staple + loose and sprang forward. + </p> + <p> + At the same moment Castine threw himself in front of the girl, and caught + the onward rush. Calling the beast by its name, he grappled with it. They + were man and servant no longer, but two animals fighting for their lives. + Castine drew out his knife, as the bear, raised on its hind legs, crushed + him in its immense arms, and still calling, half crazily, “Michael! + Michael! down, Michael!” he plunged the knife twice in the beast’s side. + </p> + <p> + The bear’s teeth fastened in his shoulder; the horrible pressure of its + arms was turning his face black; he felt death coming, when another pistol + shot rang out close to his own head, and his breath suddenly came back. He + staggered to the wall, and then came to the floor in a heap as the bear + lurched downwards and fell over on its side, dead. + </p> + <p> + Christine had come to kill the beast and, perhaps, the man. The man had + saved her life, and now she had saved his; and together they had killed + the bear which had maltreated Tom Ferrol. + </p> + <p> + Castine’s eyes were fixed on the dead beast. Everything was gone from him + now—even the way to his meagre livelihood; and the cause of it all, + as he in his blind, unnatural way thought, was this girl before him—this + girl and her people. Her back was towards the door. Anger and passion were + both at work in him at once. + </p> + <p> + “Chris,” he said, “Chris, let’s call it even-eh? Let’s make it up. Chris, + ma cherie, don’t you remember when we used to meet, and was fond of each + other? Let’s make it up and leave here—now—to-night-eh? + </p> + <p> + “I’m not so poor, after all. I’ll be paid by Papineau, the leader of the + Rebellion—” He made a couple of unsteady steps towards her, for he + was weak yet. “What’s the good—you’re bound to come to me in the + end! You’ve got the same kind of feelings in you; you’ve—” + </p> + <p> + She had stood still at first, dazed by his words; but she grew angry + quickly, and was about to speak as she felt, when he went on: + </p> + <p> + “Stay here now with me. Don’t go back. Don’t you remember Shangois’s + house? Don’t you remember that night—that night when—ah! + Chris, stay here—” + </p> + <p> + Her face was flaming. “I’d rather stay in a room full of wild beasts like + that”—she pointed to the bear, “than be with you one minute—you + murderer!” she said, with choking anger. + </p> + <p> + He started towards her, saying: + </p> + <p> + “By the blood of Joseph! but you’ll stay just the same; and—” + </p> + <p> + He got no further, for she threw the pistol in his face with all her + might. It struck between his eyes with a thud, and he staggered back, + blind, bleeding and faint, as she threw open the door and sped away in the + darkness. + </p> + <p> + Reaching the Manor safely, she ran up to her room, arranged her hair, + washed her hands, and came again to Ferrol’s bedroom. Knocking softly she + was admitted by Nic. There was an unnatural brightness in her eyes. + “Where’ve you been?” he asked, for he noticed this. “What’ve you been + doing?” + </p> + <p> + “I’ve killed the bear that tried to kill him,” she answered. + </p> + <p> + She spoke louder than she meant. Her voice awakened Ferrol. + </p> + <p> + “Eh, what?” he said, “killed the bear, mademoiselle,—my dear + friend,” he added, “killed the bear!” He coughed a little, and a twinge of + pain crossed over his face. + </p> + <p> + She nodded, and her face was alight with pleasure. She lifted up his head + and gave him a little drink of brandy. His fingers closed on hers that + held the glass. His touch thrilled her. + </p> + <p> + “That’s good, that’s easier,” he remarked. + </p> + <p> + “We’re going to bathe you in brandy and hot water, now—Nic and I,” + she said. + </p> + <p> + “Bathe me! Bathe me!” he said, in amused consternation. + </p> + <p> + “Hands and feet,” Nic explained. + </p> + <p> + A few minutes later as she lifted up his head, her face was very near him; + her breath was in his face. Her eyes half closed, her fingers trembled. He + suddenly drew her to him and kissed her. She looked round swiftly, but her + brother had not noticed. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0010" id="link2HCH0010"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER X + </h2> + <p> + Ferrols’s recovery from his injuries was swifter than might have been + expected. As soon as he was able to move about Christine was his constant + attendant. She had made herself his nurse, and no one had seriously + interfered, though the Cure had not at all vaguely offered a protest to + Madame Lavilette. But Madame Lavilette was now in the humour to defy or + evade the Cure, whichever seemed the more convenient or more necessary. To + be linked by marriage with the nobility would indeed be the justification + of all her long-baffled hopes. Meanwhile, the parish gossiped, though + little of that gossip was heard at the Manor Casimbault. By and by the + Cure ceased to visit the Manor, but the Regimental Surgeon came often, and + sometimes stayed late. He, perhaps, could have given Madame Lavilette the + best advice and warning; but, in truth, he enjoyed what he considered a + piquant position. Once, drawing at his pipe, as little like an Englishman + as possible, he tried to say with an English accent, “Amusing and awkward + situation!” but he said, “Damn funny and chic!” instead. He had no idea + that any particular harm would be done—either by love or marriage; + and neither seemed certain. + </p> + <p> + One day as Ferrol, entirely convalescent, was sitting in an arbour of the + Manor garden, half asleep, he was awakened by voices near him. + </p> + <p> + He did not recognise one of the voices; the other was Nic Lavilette’s. + </p> + <p> + The strange voice was saying: “I have collected five thousand dollars—all + that can be got in the two counties. It is at the Seigneury. Here is an + order on the Seigneur Duhamel. Go there in two days and get the money. You + will carry it to headquarters. These are General Papineau’s orders. You + will understand that your men—” + </p> + <p> + Ferrol heard no more, for the two rebels passed on, their voices becoming + indistinct. He sat for a few moments moveless, for an idea had occurred to + him even as Papineau’s agent spoke. + </p> + <p> + If that money were only his! + </p> + <p> + Five thousand dollars—how that would ease the situation! The money + belonged to whom? To a lot of rebels: to be used for making war against + the British Government. After the money left the hands of the men who gave + it—Lavilette and the rest—it wasn’t theirs. It belonged to a + cause. Well, he was the enemy of that cause. All was fair in love and war! + </p> + <p> + There were two ways of doing it. He could waylay Nicolas as he came from + the house of the old seigneur, could call to him to throw up his hands in + good highwayman fashion, and, well disguised, could get away with the + money without being discovered. Or again, he could follow Nic from the + Seigneury to the Manor, discover where he kept the money, and devise a + plan to steal it. + </p> + <p> + For some time he had given up smoking; but now, as a sort of celebration + of his plan, he opened his cigar case, and finding two cigars left, took + one out and lighted it. + </p> + <p> + “By Jove,” he said to himself, “thieving is a nice come-down, I must say! + But a man has to live, and I’m sick of charity—sick of it. I’ve had + enough.” + </p> + <p> + He puffed his cigar briskly, and enjoyed the forbidden and deadly luxury + to the full. + </p> + <p> + Presently he got up, took his stick, came down-stairs, and passed out into + the garden. The shoulder which had been lacerated by the bear drooped + forward some what, and seemed smaller than the other. Although he held + himself as erect as possible, you still could have laid your hand in the + hollow of his left breast, and it would have done no more than give it a + natural fulness. Perhaps it was a sort of vanity, perhaps a kind of + courage, which made him resolutely straighten himself, in spite of the + deadly weight dragging his shoulder down. He might be melancholy in + secret, but in public he was gay and hopeful, and talked of everything + except himself. On that interesting topic he would permit no discussion. + Yet there often came jugs and jars from friendly people, who never spoke + to him of his disease—they were polite and sensitive, these humble + folk—but sent him their home-made medicines, with assurances + scrawled on paper that “it would cure Mr. Ferrol’s cold, oh, absolutely.” + </p> + <p> + Before the Lavilettes he smiled, and received the gifts in a debonair way, + sometimes making whimsical remarks. At the same time the jugs and jars of + cordial (whose contents varied from whiskey, molasses and boneset, to rum, + licorice, gentian and sarsaparilla roots) he carried to his room; and he + religiously tried them all by turn. Each seemed to do him good for a few + days, then to fail of effect; and he straightway tried another, with + renewed hope on every occasion, and subsequent disappointment. He also + secretly consulted the Regimental Surgeon, who was too kindhearted to tell + him the truth; and he tried his hand at various remedies of his own, which + did no more than to loosen the cough which was breaking down his strength. + </p> + <p> + As now, he often walked down the street swinging his cane, not as though + he needed it for walking, but merely for occupation and companionship. He + did not delude the villagers by these sorrowful deceptions, but they made + believe he did. There were a few people who did not like him; but they + were of that cantankerous minority who put thorns in the bed of the elect. + </p> + <p> + To-day, occupied with his thoughts, he walked down the main road, then + presently diverged on a side road which led past Magon Farcinelle’s house + to an old disused mill, owned by Magon’s father. He paused when he came + opposite Magon’s house, and glanced up at the open door. He was tired, and + the coolness of the place looked inviting. He passed through the gate, and + went lightly up the path. He could see straight through the house into the + harvest-fields at the back. Presently a figure crossed the lane of light, + and made a cheerful living foreground to the blue sky beyond the farther + door. The light and ardour of the scene gave him a thrill of pleasure, and + hurried his footsteps. The air was palpitating with sleepy comfort round + him, and he felt a new vitality pass into him: his imagination was feeding + his enfeebled body; his active brain was giving him a fresh counterfeit of + health. The hectic flush on his pale face deepened. He came to the wooden + steps of the piazza, or stoop, and then paused a moment, as if for breath; + but, suddenly conscious of what he was doing, he ran briskly up the steps, + knocked with his cane upon the door jamb, and, without waiting, stepped + inside. + </p> + <p> + Between him and the outer door, against the ardent blue background, stood + Sophie Farcinelle—the English faced Sophie—a little heavy, a + little slow, but with the large, long profile which is the type of English + beauty—docile, healthy, cow-like. Her face, within her sunbonnet, + caught the reflected light, and the pink calico of her dress threw a glow + over her cheeks and forehead, and gave a good gleam to her eyes. She had + in her hands a dish of strawberries. It was a charming picture in the eyes + of a man to whom the feelings of robustness and health were mostly a + reminiscence. Yet, while the first impression was on him, he contrasted + Sophie with the impetuous, fiery-hearted Christine, with her dramatic + Gallic face and blood, to the latter’s advantage, in spite of the more + harmonious setting of this picture. + </p> + <p> + Sophie was in place in this old farmhouse, with its dormer windows, with + the weaver’s loom in the large kitchen, the meat-block by the fireplace, + and the big bread-tray by the stove, where the yeast was as industrious as + the reapers beyond in the fields. She was in keeping with the chromo of + the Madonna and the Child upon the wall, with the sprig of holy palm at + the shrine in the corner, with the old King Louis blunderbuss above the + chimney. + </p> + <p> + Sophie tried to take off her sunbonnet with one hand, but the knot + tightened, and it tipped back on her head, giving her a piquant air. She + flushed. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, m’sieu’!” she said in English, “it’s kind of you to call. I am quite + glad—yes.” + </p> + <p> + Then she turned round to put the strawberries upon a table, but he was + beside her in an instant and took the dish out of her hands. Placing it on + the table, he took a couple of strawberries in his fingers. + </p> + <p> + “May I?” he asked in French. + </p> + <p> + She nodded as she whipped off the sunbonnet, and replied in her own + language: + </p> + <p> + “Certainly, as many as you want.” + </p> + <p> + He bit into one, but got no further with it. Her back was turned to him, + and he threw the berry out of the window. She felt rather than saw what he + had done. She saw that he was fagged. She instantly thought of a cordial + she had in the house, the gift of a nun from the Ursuline Convent in + Quebec; a precious little bottle which she had kept for the anniversary of + her wedding day. If she had been told in the morning that she would open + that bottle now, and for a stranger, she probably would have resented the + idea with scorn. + </p> + <p> + His disguised weariness still exciting her sympathy, she offered him a + chair. + </p> + <p> + “You will sit down, m’sieu’?” she asked. “It is very warm.” + </p> + <p> + She did not say: “You look very tired.” She instinctively felt that it + would suggest the delicate state of his health. + </p> + <p> + The chair was inviting enough, with its chintz cover and wicker seat, but + he would never admit fatigue. He threw his leg half jauntily over the end + of the table and said: + </p> + <p> + “No—no, thanks; I’d rather not sit.” + </p> + <p> + His forehead was dripping with perspiration. He took out his handkerchief + and dried it. His eyes were a little heavy, but his complexion was a + delicate and unnatural pink and white-like a piece of fine porcelain. It + was a face without care, without vice, without fear, and without morals. + For the absence of vice with the absence of morals are not incongruous in + a human face. Sophie went into another room for a moment, and brought back + a quaint cut-glass bottle of cordial. + </p> + <p> + “It is very good,” she said, as she took the cork out; “better than peach + brandy or things like that.” + </p> + <p> + He watched her pour it out into a wine-glass, and as soon as he saw the + colour and the flow of it he was certain of its quality. + </p> + <p> + “That looks like good stuff,” he said, as she handed him a glass brimming + over; “but you must have one with me. I can’t drink alone, you know.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, m’sieu’, if you please, no,” she answered half timidly, flattered by + the glance of his eye—a look of flattery which was part of his + stock-in-trade. It had got him into trouble all his life. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, madame, but I plead yes!” he answered, with a little encouraging nod + towards her. “Come, let me pour it for you.” + </p> + <p> + He took the odd little bottle and poured her glass as full as his own. + </p> + <p> + “If Magon were only here—he’d like some, I know,” she said, vaguely + struggling with a sense of impropriety, though why, she did not know; for, + on the surface, this was only dutiful hospitality to a distinguished + guest. The impropriety probably lay in the sensations roused by this visit + and this visitor. “I intended—” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, we must try to get along without monsieur,” he said, with a little + cough; “he’s a busy gentleman.” The rather rude and flippant sentiment + seemed hardly in keeping with the fatal token of his disease. + </p> + <p> + “Of course, he’s far away out there in the field, mowing,” she said, as if + in apology for something or other. “Yes, he’s ever so far away,” was his + reply, as he turned half lazily to the open doorway. + </p> + <p> + Neither spoke for a moment. The eyes of both were on the distant + harvest-fields. Vaguely, not decisively, the hazy, indolent air of summer + was broken by the lazy droning of the locusts and grasshoppers. A driver + was calling to his oxen down the dusty road, the warning bark of a dog + came across the fields from the gap in the fence which he was tending, and + the blades of the scythes made three-quarter circles of light as the + mowers travelled down the wheat-fields. + </p> + <p> + When their eyes met again, the glasses of cordial were at their lips. He + held her look by the intentional warmth and meaning of his own, drinking + very slowly to the last drop; and then, like a bon viveur, drew a breath + of air through his open mouth, and nodded his satisfaction. + </p> + <p> + “By Jove, but it is good stuff!” he said. “Here’s to the nun that made + it,” he added, making a motion to drink from the empty glass. + </p> + <p> + Sophie had not drunk all her cordial. At least one third of it was still + in the glass. She turned her head away, a little dismayed by his toast. + </p> + <p> + “Come, that’s not fair,” he said. “That elixir shouldn’t be wasted. Voila, + every drop of it now!” he added, with an insinuating smile and gesture. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, m’sieu’!” she said in protest, but drank it off. He still held the + empty glass in his hand, twisting it round musingly. + </p> + <p> + “A little more, m’sieu’?” she asked, “just a little?” Perhaps she was + surprised that he did not hesitate. He instantly held out his glass. + </p> + <p> + “It was made by a saint; the result should be health and piety—I + need both,” he added, with a little note of irony in his voice. + </p> + <p> + “So, once again, my giver of good gifts—to you!” He raised his glass + again, toasting her, but paused. “No, this won’t do; you must join me,” he + added. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no, m’sieu’, no! It is not possible. I feel it now in my head and in + all of me. Oh, I feel so warm all, through, and my heart it beats so very + fast! Oh, no, m’sieu’, no more!” + </p> + <p> + Her cheeks were glowing, and her eyes had become softer and more brilliant + under the influence of the potent liqueur. + </p> + <p> + “Well, well, I’ll let you off this time; but next time—next time, + remember.” + </p> + <p> + He raised the glass once more, and let the cordial drain down lazily. + </p> + <p> + He had said, “next time”—she noticed that. He seemed very fond of + this strong liqueur. She placed the bottle on the table, her own glass + beside it. + </p> + <p> + “For a minute, a little minute,” she said suddenly, and went quickly into + the other room. + </p> + <p> + He coolly picked up the bottle of liqueur, poured his glass full once + more, and began drinking it off in little sips. Presently he stood up, and + throwing back his shoulder, with a little ostentation of health, he went + over to the chintz-covered chair, and sat down in it. His mood was + contented and brisk. He held up the glass of liqueur against the sunlight. + </p> + <p> + “Better than any Benedictine I ever tasted,” he said. “A dozen bottles of + that would cure this beastly cold of mine. By Jove! it would. It’s as good + as the Gardivani I got that blessed day when we chaps of the Ninetieth + breakfasted with the King of Savoy.” He laughed to himself at the + reminiscence. “What a day that was, what a stunning day that was!” + </p> + <p> + He was still smiling, his white teeth showing humorously, when Sophie + again entered the room. He had forgotten her, forgotten all about her. As + she came in he made a quick, courteous movement to rise—too quick; + for a sharp pain shot through his breast, and he grew pale about the lips. + But he made essay to stand up lightly, nevertheless. + </p> + <p> + She saw his paleness, came quickly to him, and put out her hand to gently + force him back into his seat, but as instantly decided not to notice his + indisposition, and turned towards the table instead. Taking the bottle of + cordial, she brought it over, and not looking at him, said: + </p> + <p> + “Just one more little glass, m’sieu’?” She had in her other hand a plate + of seed-cakes. “But yes, you must sit down and eat a cake,” she added + adroitly. “They are very nice, and I made them myself. We are very fond of + them; and once, when the bishop stayed at our house, he liked them too.” + </p> + <p> + Before he sat down he drank off the whole of the cordial in the glass. + </p> + <p> + She took a chair near him, and breaking a seed-cake began eating it. His + tongue was loosened now, and he told her what he was smiling at when she + came into the room. She was amused, and there was a little awe to her + interest also. To think—she was sitting here, talking easily to a + man who had eaten at kings’ tables—with the king! Yet she was at + ease too—since she had drunk the cordial. It had acted on her like + some philtre. He begged that she would go on with her work; and she got + the dish of strawberries, and began stemming them while he talked. + </p> + <p> + It was much easier talking or listening to him while she was so occupied. + She had never enjoyed anything so much in her life. She was not clever, + like Christine, but she had admiration of ability, and was obedient to the + charm of temperament. Whenever Ferrol had met her he had lavished little + attentions on her, had said things to her that carried weight far beyond + their intention. She had been pleased at the time, but they had had no + permanent effect. + </p> + <p> + Now everything he said had a different influence: she felt for the first + time that it was not easy to look into his eyes, and as if she never could + again without betraying—she knew not what. + </p> + <p> + So they sat there, he talking, she listening and questioning now and then. + She had placed the bottle of liqueur and the seed-cakes at his elbow on + the windowsill; and as if mechanically, he poured out a glassful, and + after a little time, still another, and at last, apparently unconsciously, + poured her out one also, and handed it to her. She shook her head; he + still held the glass poised; her eyes met his; she made a feeble sort of + protest, then took the glass and drank off the liqueur in little sips. + </p> + <p> + “Gad, that puts fat on the bones, and gives the gay heart!” he said. + “Doesn’t it, though?” + </p> + <p> + She laughed quietly. Her nature was warm, and she had the animal-like + fondness for physical ease and content. + </p> + <p> + “It’s as if there wasn’t another stroke of work to do in the world,” she + answered, and sat contentedly back in her chair, the strawberries in her + lap. Her fingers, stained with red, lay beside the bowl. All the strings + of conscious duty were loose, and some of them were flying. The bumble-bee + that flew in at the door and boomed about the room contributed to the + day-dream. + </p> + <p> + She never quite knew how it happened that a moment later he was bending + over the back of her chair, with her face upturned to his, and his lips—With + that touch thrilling her, she sprang to her feet, and turned away from him + towards the table. Her face was glowing like a peony, and a troubled light + came into her eyes. He came over to her, after a moment, and spoke over + her shoulders as he just touched her waist with his fingers. + </p> + <p> + “A la bonne heure—Sophie!” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, it isn’t—it isn’t right,” she said, her body slightly inclining + from him. + </p> + <p> + “One minute out of a whole life—What does it matter! Ce ne fait + rien! Good-bye-Sophie.” + </p> + <p> + Now she inclined towards him. He was about to put his arms round her, when + he heard the distant sound of a horse’s hoofs. He let her go, and turned + towards the front door. Through it he saw Christine driving up the road. + She would pass the house. + </p> + <p> + “Good-bye-Sophie,” he said again over her shoulder, softly; and, picking + up his hat and stick, he left the house. + </p> + <p> + Her eyes followed him dreamily as he went up the road. She sat down in a + chair, the trance of the passionate moment still on her, and began to + brood. She vaguely heard the rattle of a buggy—Christine’s—as + it passed the house, and her thoughts drifted into a new-discovered + hemisphere where life was all a somnolent sort of joy and bodily love. + </p> + <p> + She was roused at last by a song which came floating across the fields. + The air she knew, and the voice she knew. The chanson was, “Le Voleur de + grand Chemin!” The voice was her husband’s. + </p> + <p> + She knew the words, too; and even before she could hear them, they were + fitting into the air: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Qui va la! There’s some one in the orchard, + There’s a robber in the apple-trees; + Qui va la! He is creeping through the doorway. + Ah, allez-vous-en! Va-t’-en!” + </pre> + <p> + She hurriedly put away the cordial and the seed-cakes. She picked up the + bottle. It was empty. Ferrol had drunk near half a pint of the liqueur! + She must get another bottle of it somehow. It would never do for Magon to + know that the precious anniversary cordial was all gone—in this way. + </p> + <p> + She hurried towards the other room. The voice of the farrier-farmer was + more distinct now. She could hear clearly the words of the song. She + looked out. The square-shouldered, blue-shirted Magon was skirting the + turnip field, making a short cut home. His straw hat was pushed back on + his head, his scythe was over his shoulder. He had cut the last swathe in + the field—now for Sophie. He was not handsome, and she had known + that always; but he seemed rough and coarse to-day. She did not notice how + well he fitted in with everything about him; and he was so healthy that + even three glasses of that cordial would have sent him reeling to bed. + </p> + <p> + As she passed into the dining-room, the words of the song followed her: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Qui va la! If you please, I own the mansion, + And this is my grandfather’s gun! + Qui va la! Now you’re a dead man, robber + Ah, allez-vous-en! Va-t’-en!” + </pre> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0011" id="link2HCH0011"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XI + </h2> + <h3> + “I saw you coming,” Ferrol said, as Christine stopped the buggy. + </h3> + <p> + “You have been to see Magon and Sophie?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, for a minute,” he answered. “Where are you going?” + </p> + <p> + “Just for a drive,” she replied. “Come, won’t you?” He got in, and she + drove on. + </p> + <p> + “Where were you going?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “Why, to the old mill,” was his reply. “I wanted a little walk, then a + rest.” + </p> + <p> + Ten minutes later they were looking from a window of the mill, out upon + the great wheel which had done all the work the past generations had given + it to do, and was now dropping into decay as it had long dropped into + disuse. Moss had gathered on the great paddles; many of them were broken, + and the debris had been carried away by the freshets of spring and the + floods of autumn. + </p> + <p> + They were silent for a time. Presently she looked up at him. + </p> + <p> + “You’re much better to-day,” she said; “better than you’ve been since—since + that night!” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I’m all right,” he answered; “right as can be.” He suddenly turned on + her, put his hand upon her arm, and said: + </p> + <p> + “Come, now, tell me what there was between you and Vanne Castine—once + upon a time. + </p> + <p> + “He was in love with me five years ago,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “And five years ago you were in love with him, eh?” “How dare you say that + to me!” she answered. “I never was. I always hated him.” + </p> + <p> + She told her lie with unscrupulous directness. He did not believe her; but + what did that matter! It was no reason why he should put her at a + disadvantage, and, strangely enough, he did not feel any contempt for her + because she told the lie, nor because she had once cared for Castine. + Probably in those days she had never known anybody who was very much + superior to Castine. She was in love with himself now; that was enough, or + nearly enough, and there was no particular reason why he should demand + more from her than she demanded from him. She was lying to him now because—well, + because she loved him. Like the majority of men, when women who love them + have lied to them so, they have seen in it a compliment as strong as the + act was weak. It was more to him now that this girl should love him than + that she should be upright, or moral, or truthful. Such is the egotism and + vanity of such men. + </p> + <p> + “Well, he owes me several years of life. I put in a bad hour that night.” + </p> + <p> + He knew that “several years of life” was a misstatement; but, then, they + were both sinners. + </p> + <p> + Her eyes flashed, she stamped her foot, and her fingers clinched. + </p> + <p> + “I wish I’d killed him when I killed his bear!” she said. + </p> + <p> + Then excitedly she described the scene exactly as it occurred. He admired + the dramatic force of it. He thrilled at the direct simplicity of the + tale. He saw Vanne Castine in the forearms of the huge beast, with his + eyes bulging from his head, his face becoming black, and he saw blind + justice in that death grip; Christine’s pistol at the bear’s head, and the + shoulder in the teeth of the beast, and then! + </p> + <p> + “By the Lord Harry,” he said, as she stood panting, with her hands fixed + in the last little dramatic gesture, “what a little spitfire and brick you + are!” + </p> + <p> + All at once he caught her away from the open window and drew her to him. + Whether what he said that moment, and what he did then, would have been + said and done if it were not for the liqueur he had drunk at Sophie’s + house would be hard to tell; but the sum of it was that she was his and he + was hers. She was to be his until the end of all, no matter what the end + might be. She looked up at him, her face glowing, her bosom beating—beating, + every pulse in her tingling. + </p> + <p> + “You mean that you love me, and that—that you want-to marry me?” she + said; and then, with a fervent impulse, she threw her arms round his neck + and kissed him again and again. + </p> + <p> + The directness of her question dumfounded him for the moment; but what she + suggested (though it might be selfish in him to agree to it) would be the + best thing that could happen to him. So he lied to her, and said: + </p> + <p> + “Yes, that’s what I meant. But, then, to tell you the sober truth, I’m as + poor as a church mouse.” + </p> + <p> + He paused. She looked up at him with a sudden fear in her face. + </p> + <p> + “You’re not married?” she asked, “you’re not married?” then, breaking off + suddenly: “I don’t care if you are, I don’t! I love you—love you! + Nobody would look after you as I would. I don’t; no, I don’t care.” + </p> + <p> + She drew up closer and closer to him. + </p> + <p> + “No, I don’t mean that I was married,” he said. “I meant—what you + know—that my life isn’t worth, perhaps, a ten-days’ purchase.” + </p> + <p> + Her face became pale again. + </p> + <p> + “You can have my life,” she said; “have it just as long as you live, and + I’ll make you live a year—yes, I’ll make you live ten years. Love + can do anything; it can do everything. We’ll be married to-morrow.” + </p> + <p> + “That’s rather difficult,” he answered. “You see, you’re a Catholic, and + I’m a Protestant, and they wouldn’t marry us here, I’m afraid; at least + not at once, perhaps not at all. You see, I—I’ve only one lung.” + </p> + <p> + He had never spoken so frankly of his illness before. “Well, we can go + over the border into the English province—into Upper Canada,” she + answered. “Don’t you see? It’s only a few miles’ drive to a village. I can + go over one day, get the licence; then, a couple of days after, we can go + over together and be married. And then, then—” + </p> + <p> + He smiled. “Well, then it won’t make much difference, will it? We’ll have + to fit in one way or another, eh?” + </p> + <p> + “We could be married afterwards by the Cure, if everybody made a fuss. The + bishop would give us a dispensation. It’s a great sin to marry a heretic, + but—” + </p> + <p> + “But love—eh, ma cigale!” Then he took her eagerly, tenderly into + his arms; and probably he had then the best moment in his life. + </p> + <p> + Sophie Farcinelle saw them driving back together. She was sitting at early + supper with Magon, when, raising her head at the sound of wheels, she saw + Christine laughing and Ferrol leaning affectionately towards her. Ferrol + had forgotten herself and the incident of the afternoon. It meant nothing + to him. With her, however, it was vital: it marked a change in her life. + Her face flushed, her hands trembled, and she arose hurriedly and went to + get something from the kitchen, that Magon might not see her face. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0012" id="link2HCH0012"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XII + </h2> + <p> + Twenty men had suddenly disappeared from Bonaventure on the day that + Ferrol visited Sophie Farcinelle, and it was only the next morning that + the cause of their disappearance was generally known. + </p> + <p> + There had been many rumours abroad that a detachment of men from the + parish were to join Papineau. The Rebellion was to be publicly declared on + a certain date near at hand, but nothing definite was known; and because + the Cure condemned any revolt against British rule, in spite of the evils + the province suffered from bad government, every recruit who joined Nic + Lavilette’s standard was sworn to secrecy. Louis Lavilette and his wife + knew nothing of their son’s complicity in the rumoured revolt—one’s + own people are generally the last to learn of one’s misdeeds. Madame would + have been sorely frightened and chagrined if she had known the truth, for + she was partly English. Besides, if the Rebellion did not succeed, + disgrace must come, and then good-bye to the progress of the Lavilettes, + and goodbye, maybe, to her son! + </p> + <p> + In spite of disappointments and rebuffs in many quarters, she still kept + faith with her ambitions, and, fortunately for herself, she did not see + the abject failure of many of her schemes. Some of the gentry from the + neighbouring parishes had called, chiefly, she was aware, because of Mr. + Ferrol. She was building the superstructure of her social ambitions on + that foundation for the present. She told Louis sometimes, with tears of + joy in her eyes, that a special Providence had sent Mr. Ferrol to them, + and she did not know how to be grateful enough. He suggested a gift to the + church in token of gratitude, but her thanksgiving did not take that form. + </p> + <p> + Nic was entirely French at heart, and ignored his mother’s nationality. He + resented the English blood in his veins, and atoned for it by increased + loyalty to his French origin. This was probably not so much a principle as + a fancy. He had a kind of importance also in the parish, and in his own + eyes, because he made as much in three months by buying and selling horses + as most people did in a year. The respect of Bonaventure for his ability + was considerable; and though it had no marked admiration for his + character, it appreciated his drolleries, and was attracted by his high + spirits. He had always been erratic, so that when he disappeared for days + at a time no one thought anything of it, and when he came home to the + Manor at unearthly hours it created no peculiar notice. + </p> + <p> + He had chosen very good men for his recruits; for, though they talked much + among themselves, they drew a cordon of silence round their little society + of revolution. They vanished in the night, and Nic with them; but he + returned the next afternoon when the fire of excitement was at its height. + As he rode through the streets, people stopped him and poured out + questions; but he only shrugged his shoulders, and gave no information, + and neither denied nor affirmed anything. + </p> + <p> + Acting under orders, he had marched his company to make conjunction with + other companies at a point in the mountains twenty miles away, but had + himself returned to get the five thousand dollars gathered by Papineau’s + agent. Now that the Rebellion was known, Nicolas intended to try and win + his father and his father’s money and horses over to the cause. + </p> + <p> + Because Ferrol was an Englishman he made no confidant of him, and because + he was a dying man he saw in him no menace to the cause. Besides, was not + Ferrol practically dependent upon their hospitality? If he had guessed + that his friend knew accurately of his movements since the night he had + seen Vanne Castine hand him his commission from Papineau, he would have + felt less secure: for, after all, love—or prejudice—of country + is a principle in the minds of most men deeper than any other. When all + other morals go, this latent tendency to stand by the blood of his clan is + the last moral in man that bears the test without treason. If he had known + that Ferrol had written to the Commandant at Quebec, telling him of the + imminence of the Rebellion, and the secret recruiting and drilling going + on in the parishes, his popular comrade might have paid a high price for + his disclosure. + </p> + <p> + That morning at sunrise, Christine, saying she was going upon a visit to + the next parish, started away upon her mission to the English province. + Ferrol had urged her to let him go, but she had refused. He had not yet + fully recovered from his adventure with the bear, she said. Then he said + they might go together; but she insisted that she must make the way clear, + and have everything ready. They might go and find the minister away, and + then—voila, what a chance for cancan! So she went alone. + </p> + <p> + From his window he watched her depart; and as she drove away in the fresh + morning he fell to thinking what it might seem like if he had to look + forward to ten, twenty, or forty years with just such a woman as his wife. + Now she was at her best (he did not deceive himself), but in ten years or + less the effects of her early life would show in many ways. She had once + loved Vanne Castine! and now vanity and cowardice, or unscrupulousness, + made her lie about it. He would have her at her best—a young, + vigorous radiant nature—for his short life, and then, good-bye, my + lover, good-bye! Selfish? Of course. But she would rather—she had + said it—have him for the time he had to live than not at all. + Position? What was his position? Cast off by his family, forgotten by his + old friends, in debt, penniless—let position be hanged! + Self-preservation was the first law. What was the difference between this + girl and himself? Morals? She was better than himself, anyhow. She had + genuine passions, and her sins would be in behalf of those genuine + passions. He had kicked over the moral traces many a time from absolute + selfishness. She had clean blood in her veins, she was good-looking, she + had a quick wit, she was an excellent horse-woman—what then? If she + wasn’t so “well bred,” that was a matter of training and opportunity which + had never quite been hers. What was he himself? A loafer, “a deuced + unfortunate loafer,” but still a loafer. He had no trade and no + profession. Confound it! how much better off, and how much better in + reality, were these people who had trades and occupations. In the vigour + and lithe activity of that girl’s body was the force of generations of + honest workers. He argued and thought—as every intelligent man in + his position would have done—until he had come into the old life + again, and into the presence of the old advantages and temptations! + </p> + <p> + Christine pulled up for a moment on a little hill, and waved her whip. He + shook his handkerchief from the window. That was their prearranged signal. + He shook it until she had driven away beyond the hill and was lost to + sight, and still stood there at the window looking out. + </p> + <p> + Presently Madame Lavilette appeared in the garden below, and he was sure, + from the way she glanced up at the window, and from her position in the + shrubbery, that she had seen the signal. Madame did not look displeased. + On the contrary, though an alliance with Christine now seemed unlikely, + because of the state of Ferrol’s health and his religion and nationality, + it pleased her to think that it might have been. + </p> + <p> + When she had passed into the house, Ferrol sat down on the broad + window-sill, and looked out the way Christine had gone. He was thinking of + the humiliation of his position, and how it would be more humiliating when + he married Christine, should the Lavilettes turn against them—which + was quite possible. And from outside: the whole parish—a few + excepted—sympathised with the Rebellion, and once the current of + hatred of the English set in, he would be swept down by it. There were + only three English people in the place. Then, if it became known that he + had given information to the authorities, his life would be less uncertain + than it was just now. Yet, confound the dirty lot of little rebels, it + served them right! He couldn’t sit by and see a revolt against British + rule without raising a hand. Warn Nic? To what good? The result would be + just the same. But if harm came to this intended brother-in-law-well, why + borrow trouble? He was not the Lord in Heaven, that he could have + everything as he wanted it! It was a toss-up, and he would see the sport + out. “Have to cough your way through, my boy!” he said, as he swayed back + and forth, the hard cough hacking in his throat. + </p> + <p> + As he had said yesterday, there was only one thing to do: he must have + that five thousand dollars which was to be handed over by the old + seigneur. This time he did not attempt to find excuses; he called the + thing by its proper name. + </p> + <p> + “Well, it’s stealing, or it’s highway robbery, no matter how one looks at + it,” he said to himself. “I wonder what’s the matter with me. I must have + got started wrong somehow. Money to spend, playing at soldiering, made to + believe I’d have a pot of money and an estate, and then told one fine day + that a son and heir, with health in form and feature, was come, and Esau + must go. No profession, except soldiering, debt staring me in the face, + and a nasty mess of it all round. I wonder why it is that I didn’t pull + myself together, be honest to a hair, and fight my way through? I suppose + I hadn’t it in me. I wasn’t the right metal at the start. There’s always + been a black sheep in our family, a gentleman or a lady, born without + morals, and I happen to be the gentleman this generation. I always knew + what was right, and liked it, and I always did what was wrong, and liked + it—nearly always. But I suppose I was fated. I was bound to get into + a hole, and I’m in it now, with one lung, and a wife in prospect to + support. I suppose if I were to write down all the decent things I’ve + thought in my life, and put them beside the indecent things I’ve done, + nobody would believe the same man was responsible for them. I’m one of the + men who ought to be put above temptation; be well bridled, well fed, and + the mere cost of comfortable living provided, and then I’d do big things. + But that isn’t the way of the world; and so I feel that a morning like + this, and the love of a girl like that” (he nodded towards the horizon + into which Christine had gone) “ought to make a man sing a Te Deum. And + yet this evening, or to-morrow evening, or the next, I’ll steal five + thousand dollars, if it can be done, and risk my neck in doing it—to + say nothing of family honour, and what not.” + </p> + <p> + He got up from the window, went to his trunk, opened it, and, taking out a + pistol, examined it carefully, cocking and uncorking it, and after loading + it, and again trying the trigger, put it back again. There came a tap at + the door, and to his call a servant entered with a glass of milk and + whiskey, with which he always began the day. + </p> + <p> + The taste of the liquid brought back the afternoon of the day before, and + he suddenly stopped drinking, threw back his head, and laughed softly. + </p> + <p> + “By Jingo, but that liqueur was stunning—and so was-Sophie... + Sophie! That sounds compromisingly familiar this morning, and very + improper also! But Sophie is a very nice person, and I ought to be well + ashamed of myself. I needed the bit and curb both yesterday. It’ll never + do at all. If I’m going to marry Christine, we must have no family + complications. ‘Must have’!” he exclaimed. “But what if Sophie already?—good + Lord!” + </p> + <p> + It was a strange sport altogether, in which some people were bound to get + a bad fall, himself probably among the rest. He intended to rob the + brother, he had set the government going against the brother’s + revolutionary cause, he was going to marry one sister, and the other—the + less thought and said about that matter the better. + </p> + <p> + The afternoon brought Nic, who seemed perplexed and excited, but was most + friendly. It seemed to Ferrol as if Nic wished to disclose something; but + he gave him no opportunity. What he knew he knew, and he could make use + of; but he wanted no further confidences. Ever since the night of the + fight with the bear there had been nothing said on matters concerning the + Rebellion. If Nicolas disclosed any secret now, it must surely be about + the money, and that must not be if he could prevent it. But he watched his + friend, nevertheless. + </p> + <p> + Night came, and Christine did not return; eight o’clock, nine o’clock. + Lavilette and his wife were a little anxious; but Ferrol and Nicolas made + excuses for her, and, in the wild talk and gossip about the Rebellion, + attention was easily shifted from her. Besides, Christine was well used to + taking care of herself. + </p> + <p> + Lavilette flatly refused to give Nic a penny for “the cause,” and stormed + at his connection with it; but at last became pacified, and agreed it was + best that Madame Lavilette should know nothing about Nic’s complicity just + yet. At half past nine o’clock Nic left the house and took the road + towards the Seigneury. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0013" id="link2HCH0013"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XIII + </h2> + <p> + About half-way between the Seigneury and the main street of the village + there was a huge tree, whose limbs stretched across the road and made a + sort of archway. In the daytime, during the summer, foot travellers, carts + and carriages, with their drivers, loitered in its shade as they passed, + grateful for the rest it gave; but at night, even when it was moonlight, + the wide branches threw a dark and heavy shadow, and the passage beneath + them was gloomy travel. Many a foot traveller hesitated to pass into that + umbrageous circle, and skirted the fence beyond the branches on the + further side of the road instead. + </p> + <p> + When Nicolas Lavilette, returning from the Seigneury with the precious bag + of gold for Papineau, came hurriedly along the road towards the village, + he half halted, with sudden premonition of danger, a dozen feet or so from + the great tree. But like most young people, who are inclined to trust + nothing but their own strong arms and what their eyes can see, he + withstood the temptation to skirt the fence; and with a little + half-scornful laugh at himself, yet a little timidity also (or he would + not have laughed at all), he hurried under the branches. He had not gone + three steps when the light of a dark lantern flashed suddenly in his face, + and a pistol touched his forehead. All he could see was a figure clothed + entirely in black, even to hands and face, with only holes for eyes, nose + and mouth. + </p> + <p> + He stood perfectly still; the shock was so sudden. There was something + determined and deadly in the pose of the figure before him, in the touch + of the weapon, in the clearness of the light. His eyes dropped, and fixed + involuntarily upon the lantern. + </p> + <p> + He had a revolver with him; but it was useless to attempt to defend + himself with it. Not a word had been spoken. Presently, with the fingers + that held the lantern, his assailant made a motion of Hands up! There was + no reason why he should risk his life without a chance of winning, so he + put up his hands. At another motion he drew out the bag of gold with his + left hand, and, obeying the direction of another gesture, dropped it on + the ground. There was a pause, then another gesture, which he pretended + not to understand. + </p> + <p> + “Your pistol!” said the voice in a whisper through the mask. + </p> + <p> + He felt the cold steel at his forehead press a little closer; he also felt + how steady it was. He was no fool. He had been in trouble before in his + lifetime; he drew out the pistol, and passed it, handle first, to three + fingers stretched out from the dark lantern. + </p> + <p> + The figure moved to where the money and the pistol were, and said, in a + whisper still: + </p> + <p> + “Go!” + </p> + <p> + He had one moment of wild eagerness to try his luck in a sudden assault, + but that passed as suddenly as it came; and with the pistol still covering + him, he moved out into the open road, with a helpless anger on him. + </p> + <p> + A crescent moon was struggling through floes of fleecy clouds, the stars + were shining, and so the road was not entirely dark. He went about thirty + steps, then turned and looked back. The figure was still standing there, + with the pistol and the light. He walked on another twenty or thirty + steps, and once again looked back. The light and the pistol were still + there. Again he walked on. But now he heard the rumble of buggy wheels + behind. Once more he looked back: the figure and the light had gone. The + buggy wheels sounded nearer. With a sudden feeling of courage, he turned + round and ran back swiftly. The light suddenly flashed again. + </p> + <p> + “It’s no use,” he said to himself, and turned and walked slowly along the + road. + </p> + <p> + The sound of the buggy wheels came still nearer. Presently it was obscured + by passing under the huge branches of the tree. Then the horse, buggy and + driver appeared at the other side, and in a few moments had overtaken him. + He looked up sharply, scrutinisingly. Suddenly he burst out: + </p> + <p> + “Holy mother, Chris, is that you! Where’ve you been? Are you all right?” + </p> + <p> + She had whipped up her horse at first sight of him, thinking he might be + some drunken rough. + </p> + <p> + “Mais, mon dieu, Nic, is that you? I thought at first you were a + highwayman!” + </p> + <p> + “No, you’ve passed the highwayman! Come, let me get in.” + </p> + <p> + Five minutes afterwards she knew exactly what had happened to him. + </p> + <p> + “Who could it be?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “I thought at first it was that beast Vanne Castine!” he answered; “he’s + the only one that knew about the money, besides the agent and the old + seigneur. He brought word from Papineau. But it was too tall for him, and + he wouldn’t have been so quiet about it. Just like a ghost. It makes my + flesh creep now!” + </p> + <p> + It did not seem such a terrible thing to her at the moment, for she had in + her pocket the licence to marry the Honourable Tom Ferrol upon the morrow, + and she thought, with joy, of seeing him just as soon as she set foot in + the doorway of the Manor Casimbault. + </p> + <p> + It was something of a shock to her that she did not see him for quite a + half hour after she arrived home, and that was half past ten o’clock. But + women forget neglect quickly in the delight of a lover’s presence; so her + disappointment passed. Yet she could not help speaking of it. + </p> + <p> + “Why weren’t you at the door to meet me when I came back to-night with + that-that in my pocket?” she asked him, his arm round her. + </p> + <p> + “I’ve got a kicking lung, you know,” he said, with a half ironical, half + self-pitying smile. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, forgive me, forgive me, Tom, my love!” she said as she buried her + face on his breast. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0014" id="link2HCH0014"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XIV + </h2> + <p> + Before he left for the front next morning to join his company and march to + Papineau’s headquarters, Nic came to Ferrol, told him, with rage and + disappointment, the story of the highway robbery, and also that he hoped + Ferrol would not worry about the Rebellion, and would remain at the Manor + Casimbault in any case. + </p> + <p> + “Anyhow,” said he, “my mother’s half English; so you’re not alone. We’re + going to make a big fight for it. We’ve stood it as long as we can. But + we’re friends in this, aren’t we, Ferrol?” + </p> + <p> + There was a pause, in which Ferrol sipped his whiskey and milk, and + continued dressing. He set the glass down, and looked towards the open + window, through which came the smell of the ripe orchard and the fragrance + of the pines. He turned to. Lavilette at last and said, as he fastened his + collar: + </p> + <p> + “Yes, you and I are friends, Nic; but I’m a Britisher, and my people have + been Britishers since Edward the Third’s time; and for this same Quebec + two of my great-grand-uncles fought and lost their lives. If I were sound + of wind and limb I’d fight, like them, to keep what they helped to get. + You’re in for a rare good beating, and, see, my friend—while I + wouldn’t do you any harm personally, I’d crawl on my knees from here to + the citadel at Quebec to get a pot-shot at your rag-tag-and-bobtail + ‘patriots.’ You can count me a first-class enemy to your ‘cause,’ though + I’m not a first-class fighting man. And now, Nic, give me a lift with my + coat. This shoulder jibs a bit since the bear-baiting.” + </p> + <p> + Lavilette was naturally prejudiced in Ferrol’s favour; and this deliberate + and straightforward patriotism more pleased than offended him. His own + patriotism was not a deep or lasting thing: vanity and a restless spirit + were its fountains of inspiration. He knew that Ferrol was penniless—or + he was so yesterday—and this quiet defiance of events in the very + camp of the enemy could not but appeal to his ebullient, Gallic chivalry. + Ferrol did not say these things because he had five thousand dollars + behind him, for he would have said them if he were starving and dying—perhaps + out of an inherent stubbornness, perhaps because this hereditary virtue in + him would have been as hard to resist as his sins. + </p> + <p> + “That’s all right, Ferrol,” answered Lavilette. “I hope you’ll stay here + at the Manor, no matter what comes. You’re welcome. Will you?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I’ll stay, and glad to. I can’t very well do anything else. I’m + bankrupt. Haven’t got a penny—of my own,” he added, with daring + irony. “Besides, it’s comfortable here, and I feel like one of the family; + and, anyhow, Life is short and Time is a pacer!” His wearing cough + emphasised the statement. + </p> + <p> + “It won’t be easy for you in Bonaventure,” said Nicolas, walking + restlessly up and down. “They’re nearly all for the cause, all except the + Cure. But he can’t do much now, and he’ll keep out of the mess. By the + time he has a chance to preach against it, next Sunday, every man that + wants to ‘ll be at the front, and fighting. But you’ll be all right, I + think. They like you here.” + </p> + <p> + “I’ve a couple of good friends to see me through,” was the quiet reply. + </p> + <p> + “Who are they?” + </p> + <p> + Ferrol went to his trunk, took out a pair of pistols, and balanced them + lightly in his hands. “Good to confuse twenty men,” he said. “A brace of + ‘em are bound to drop, and they don’t know which one.” + </p> + <p> + He raised a pistol lazily, and looked out along its barrel through the + open, sunshiny window. Something in the pose of the body, in the curve of + the arm, struck Nicolas strangely. He moved almost in front of Ferrol. + There came back to him mechanically the remembrance of a piece of silver + on the butt of one of the highwayman’s pistols! + </p> + <p> + The same piece of silver was on the butt of Ferrol’s pistol. It startled + him; but he almost laughed to him self at the absurdity of the suggestion. + Ferrol was the last man in the world to play a game like that, and with + him. + </p> + <p> + Still he could not resist a temptation. He stepped in front of the pistol, + almost touching it with his forehead, looking at Ferrol as he had looked + at the highwayman last night. + </p> + <p> + “Look out, it’s loaded!” said Ferrol, lowering the weapon coolly, and not + showing by sign or muscle that he understood Lavilette’s meaning. “I + should think you’d had enough of pistols for one twenty-four hours.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you know, Ferrol, you looked just then so like the robber last night + that, for one moment, I half thought!—And the pistol, too, looks + just the same—that silver piece on the butt!” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes, this piece for the name of the owner!” said Ferrol, in a + laughing brogue, and he coughed a little. “Well, maybe some one did use + this pistol last night. It wouldn’t be hard to open my trunk. Let’s see; + whom shall we suspect?” + </p> + <p> + Lavilette was entirely reassured, if indeed he needed reassurance. Ferrol + coughed still more, and was obliged to sit down on the side of the bed and + rest himself against the foot-board. + </p> + <p> + “There’s a new jug of medicine or cordial come this morning from Shangois, + the notary,” said Lavilette. “I just happened to think of it. What he does + counts. He knows a lot.” + </p> + <p> + Ferrol’s eyes showed interest at once. + </p> + <p> + “I’ll try it. I’ll try it. The stuff Gatineau the miller sent doesn’t do + any good now.” + </p> + <p> + “Shangois is here—he’s downstairs—if you want to see him.” + </p> + <p> + Ferrol nodded. He was tired of talking. + </p> + <p> + “I’m going,” said Lavilette, holding out his hand. “I’ll join my company + to-day, and the scrimmage ‘ll begin as soon as we reach Papineau. We’ve + got four hundred men.” + </p> + <p> + Ferrol tried to say something, but he was struggling with the cough in his + throat. He held out his hand, and Nicolas took it. At last he was able to + say: + </p> + <p> + “Good luck to you, Nic, and to the devil with the Rebellion! You’re in for + a bad drubbing.” + </p> + <p> + Nicolas had a sudden feeling of anger. This superior air of Ferrol’s was + assumed by most Englishmen in the country, and it galled him. + </p> + <p> + “We’ll not ask quarter of Englishmen; no-sacre!” he said in a rage. + </p> + <p> + “Well, Nic, I’m not so sure of that. Better do that than break your pretty + neck on a taut rope,” was the lazy reply. + </p> + <p> + With an oath, Lavilette went out, banging the door after him. Ferrol + shrugged his shoulder with a stoic ennui, and put away the pistols in the + trunk. He was thinking how reckless he had been to take them out; and yet + he was amused, too, at the risk he had run. A strange indifference + possessed him this morning—indifference to everything. He was + suffering reaction from the previous day’s excitement. He had got the five + thousand dollars, and now all interest in it seemed to have departed. + </p> + <p> + Suddenly he said to himself, as he ran a brush around his coat-collar: + </p> + <p> + “‘Pon my soul, I forgot; this is my wedding day!—the great day in a + man’s life, the immense event, after which comes steady happiness or the + devil to pay.” + </p> + <p> + He stepped to the window and looked out. It was only six o’clock as yet. + He could see the harvesters going to their labours in the fields of wheat + and oats, the carters already bringing in little loads of hay. He could + hear their marche-’t’-en! to the horses. Over by a little house on the + river bank stood an old woman sharpening a sickle. He could see the flash + of the steel as the stone and metal gently clashed. + </p> + <p> + Presently a song came up to him, through the garden below, from the house. + The notes seemed to keep time to the hand of the sickle-sharpener. He had + heard it before, but only in snatches. Now it seemed to pierce his senses + and to flood his nerves with feeling. + </p> + <p> + The air was sensuous, insinuating, ardent. The words were full of summer + and of that dramatic indolence of passion which saved the incident at + Magon Farcinelle’s from being as vulgar as it was treacherous. The voice + was Christine’s, on her wedding day. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Oh, hark how the wind goes, the wind goes + (And dark goes the stream by the mill!) + Oh, see where the storm blows, the storm blows + (There’s a rider comes over the hill!) + + “He went with the sunshine one morning + (Oh, loud was the bugle and drum!) + My soldier, he gave me no warning + (Oh, would that my lover might come!) + + “My kisses, my kisses are waiting + (Oh, the rider comes over the hill!) + In summer the birds should be mating + (Oh, the harvest goes down to the mill!) + + “Oh, the rider, the rider he stayeth + (Oh, joy that my lover hath come!) + We will journey together he sayeth + (No more with the bugle and drum!)” + </pre> + <p> + He caught sight of Christine for a moment as she passed through the garden + towards the stable. Her gown was of white stuff, with little spots of red + in it, and a narrow red ribbon was shot through the collar. Her hat was a + pretty white straw, with red artificial flowers upon it. She wore at her + throat a medallion brooch: one of the two heirlooms of the Lavilette + family. It had belonged to the great-grandmother of Monsieur Louis + Lavilette, and was the one security that this ambitious family did not + spring up, like a mushroom, in one night. It had always touched + Christine’s imagination as a child. Some native instinct in, her made her + prize it beyond everything else. She used to make up wonderful stories + about it, and tell them to Sophie, who merely wondered, and was not sure + but that Christine was wicked; for were not these little romances little + lies? Sophie’s imagination was limited. As the years went on Christine + finally got possession of the medallion, and held it against all + opposition. Somehow, with it on this morning, she felt diminish the social + distance between herself and Ferrol. + </p> + <p> + Ferrol himself thought nothing of social distance. Men, as a rule, get + rather above that sort of thing. The woman: that was all that was in his + mind. She was good to look at: warm, lovable, fascinating in her little + daring wickednesses; a fiery little animal, full of splendid impulses, + gifted with a perilous temperament: and she loved him. He had a kind of + exultation at the very fierceness of her love for him, of what she had + done to prove her love: her fury at Vanne Castine, the slaughter of the + bear, and the intention to kill Vanne himself; and he knew that she would + do more than that, if a great test came. Men feel surer of women than + women feel of men. + </p> + <p> + He sat down on the broad window-ledge, still sipping his whiskey and milk, + as he looked at her. She was very good to see. Presently she had to cross + a little plot of grass. The dew was still on it. She gathered up her + skirts and tip-toed quickly across it. The action was attractive enough, + for she had a lithe smoothness of motion. Suddenly he uttered an + exclamation of surprise. + </p> + <p> + “White stockings—humph!” he said. + </p> + <p> + Somehow those white stockings suggested the ironical comment of the world + upon his proposed mesalliance; then he laughed good-humouredly. + </p> + <p> + “Taste is all a matter of habit, anyhow,” said he to himself. “My own + sister wouldn’t have had any better taste if she hadn’t been taught. And + what am I? + </p> + <p> + “What am I? I drink more whiskey in a day than any three men in the + country. I don’t do a stroke of work; I’ve got debts all over the world; + I’ve mulcted all my friends; I’ve made fools of two or three women in my + time; I’ve broken every commandment except—well, I guess I’ve broken + every one, if it comes to that, in spirit, anyhow. I’m a thief, a + fire-eating highwayman, begad, and here I am, with a perforated lung, + going to marry a young girl like that, without one penny in the world + except what I stole! What beasts men are! The worst woman may be worse + than the worst man, but all men are worse than most women. But she wants + to marry me. She knows exactly what I am in health and prospects; so why + shouldn’t I?” + </p> + <p> + He drew himself up, thinking honestly. He believed that he would live if + he married Christine; that his “cold” would get better; that the hole in + his lung would heal. It was only a matter of climate; he was sure of it. + Christine had a few hundred dollars—she had told him so. Suppose he + took three hundred dollars of the five thousand dollars: that would leave + four thousand seven hundred dollars for his sister. He could go away south + with Christine, and could live on five or six hundred dollars a year; then + he’d be fit for something. He could go to work. He could join the Militia, + if necessary. Anyhow, he could get something to do when he got well. + </p> + <p> + He drank some more whiskey and milk. “Self-preservation, that’s the thing; + that’s the first law,” he said. “And more: if the only girl I ever loved, + ever really loved—loved from the crown of her head to the sole of + her feet—were here to-day, and Christine stood beside her, little + plebeian with a big heart, by Heaven, I’d choose Christine. I can trust + her, though she is a little liar. She loves, and she’ll stick; and she’s + true where she loves. Yes; if all the women in the world stood beside + Christine this morning, I’d look them all over, from duchess to danseuse, + and I’d say, ‘Christine Lavilette, I’m a scoundrel. I haven’t a penny in + the world. I’m a thief; a thief who believes in you. You know what love + is; you know what fidelity is. No matter what I did, you would stand by me + to the end. To the last day of my life, I’ll give you my heart and my + hand; and as you are faithful to me, so I will be faithful to you, so help + me God!’ + </p> + <p> + “I don’t believe I ever could have run straight in life. I couldn’t have + been more than four years old when I stole the peaches from my mother’s + dressing-table; and I lied just as coolly then as I could now. I made love + to a girl when I was ten years old.” He laughed to himself at the + remembrance. “Her father had a foundry. She used to wear a red dress, I + remember, and her hair was brown. She sang like a little lark. I was half + mad about her; and yet I knew that I didn’t really love her. Still, I told + her that I did. I suppose it was the cursed falseness of my whole nature. + I know that whenever I have said most, and felt most, something in me kept + saying all the time: ‘You’re lying, you’re lying, you’re lying!’ Was I + born a liar? + </p> + <p> + “I wonder if the first words I ever spoke were a lie? I wonder, when I + kissed my mother first, and knew that I was kissing her, if the same + little devil that sits up in my head now, said then: ‘You’re lying, you’re + lying, you’re lying.’ It has said so enough times since. I loved to be + with my mother; yet I never felt, even when she died—and God knows I + felt bad enough then! + </p> + <p> + “I never felt that my love was all real. It had some infernal note of + falseness somewhere, some miserable, hollow place where the sound of my + own voice, when I tried to speak the truth, mocked me! I wonder if the + smiles I gave, before I was able to speak at all, were only blarney? I + wonder, were they only from the wish to stand well with everybody, if I + could? It must have been that; and how much I meant, and how much I did + not mean, God alone knows! + </p> + <p> + “What a sympathy I have always had for criminals! I have always wanted, + or, anyhow, one side of me has always wanted, to do right, and the other + side has always done wrong. I have sympathised with the just, but I have + always felt that I’d like to help the criminal to escape his punishment. + If I had been more real with that girl in New York, I wonder whether she + wouldn’t have stuck to me? When I was with her I could always convince + her; but, I remember, she told me once that, when I was away from her, she + somehow felt that I didn’t really love her. That’s always been the way. + When I was with people, they liked me; when I was away from them, I + couldn’t depend upon them. No; upon my soul, of all the friends I’ve ever + had, there’s not one that I know of that I could go to now—except my + sister, poor girl!—and feel sure that no matter what I did, they’d + stick to me to the end. I suppose the fault is mine. If I’d been worth the + standing by, I’d have been the better stood by. But this girl, this little + French provincial, with a heart of fire and gold, with a touch of sin in + her, and a thumping artery of truth, she would walk with me to the + gallows, and give her life to save my life—yes, a hundred times. + Well, then, I’ll start over again; for I’ve found the real thing. I’ll be + true to her just as long as she’s true to me. I’ll never lie to her; and + I’ll do something else—something else. I’ll tell her—” + </p> + <p> + He reached out, picked a wild rose from the vine upon the wall, and + fastened it in his button-hole, with a defiant sort of smile, as there + came a tap to his door. “Come in,” he said. + </p> + <p> + The door opened, and in stepped Shangois, the notary. He carried a jug + under his arm, which, with a nod, he set down at the foot of the bed. + </p> + <p> + “M’sieu’,” said he, “it is a thing that cured the bishop; and once, when a + prince of France was at Quebec, and had a bad cold, it cured him. The + whiskey in it I made myself—very good white wine.” Ferrol looked at + the little man curiously. He had only spoken with him once or twice, but + he had heard the numberless legends about him, and the Cure had told him + many of his sayings, a little weird and sometimes maliciously true to the + facts of life. + </p> + <p> + Ferrol thanked the little man, and motioned to a chair. There was, + however, a huge chest against the wall near the window, and Shangois sat + down on this, with his legs hunched up to his chin, looking at Ferrol with + steady, inquisitive eyes. Ferrol laughed outright. A grotesque thought + occurred to him. This little black notary was exactly like the weird imp + which, he had always imagined, sat high up in his brain, dropping down + little ironies and devilries—his personified conscience; or, + perhaps, the truth left out of him at birth and given this form, to be + with him, yet not of him. + </p> + <p> + Shangois did not stir, nor show by even the wink of an eyelid that he + recognised the laughter, or thought that he was being laughed at. + </p> + <p> + Presently Ferrol sat down and looked at Shangois without speaking, as + Shangois looked at him. He smiled more than once, however, as the thought + recurred to him. + </p> + <p> + “Well?” he said at last. + </p> + <p> + “What if she finds out about the five thousand dollars—eh, m’sieu’?” + </p> + <p> + Ferrol was completely dumfounded. The brief question covered so much + ground—showed a knowledge of the whole case. Like Conscience itself, + the little black notary had gone straight to the point, struck home. He + was keen enough, however, had sufficient self-command, not to betray + himself, but remained unmoved outwardly, and spoke calmly. + </p> + <p> + “Is that your business—to go round the parish asking conundrums?” he + said coolly. “I can’t guess the answer to that one, can you?” + </p> + <p> + Shangois hated cowards, and liked clever people—people who could + answer him after his own fashion. Nearly everybody was afraid of his + tongue and of him. He knew too much; which was a crime. + </p> + <p> + “I can find out,” he replied, showing his teeth a little. + </p> + <p> + “Then you’re not quite sure yourself, little devilkin?” + </p> + <p> + “The girl is a riddle. I am not the great reader of riddles.” + </p> + <p> + “I didn’t call you that. You’re only a common little imp.” + </p> + <p> + Shangois showed his teeth in a malicious smile. + </p> + <p> + “Why did you set me the riddle, then?” Ferrol continued, his eyes fixed + with apparent carelessness on the other’s face. + </p> + <p> + “I thought she might have told you the answer.” + </p> + <p> + “I never asked her the puzzle. Have you?” + </p> + <p> + By instinct, and from the notary’s reputation, Ferrol knew that he was in + the presence of an honest man at least, and he waited most anxiously for + an answer, for his fate might hang on it. + </p> + <p> + “M’sieu’, I have not seen her since yesterday morning.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, what would you do if you found out about the five thousand + dollars?” + </p> + <p> + “I would see what happened to it; and afterwards I would see that a girl + of Bonaventure did not marry a Protestant, and a thief.” + </p> + <p> + Ferrol rose from his chair, coughing a little. Walking over to Shangois, + he caught him by both ears and shook the shaggy head back and forth. + </p> + <p> + “You little scrap of hell,” he said in a rage, “if you ever come within + fifty feet of me again I’ll send you where you came from!” + </p> + <p> + Though Shangois’s eyes bulged from his head, he answered: + </p> + <p> + “I was only ten feet away from you last night under the elm!” + </p> + <p> + Suddenly Ferrol’s hand slipped down to Shangois’s throat. Ferrol’s fingers + tightened, pressed inwards. + </p> + <p> + “Now, see, I know what you mean. Some one has robbed Nicolas Lavilette of + five thousand dollars. You dare to charge me with it, curse you. Let me + see if there’s any more lies on your tongue!” + </p> + <p> + With the violence of the pressure Shangois’s tongue was forced out of his + mouth. + </p> + <p> + Suddenly a paroxysm of coughing seized Ferrol, and he let go and staggered + back against the window ledge. Shangois was transformed—an animal. + No human being had ever seen him as he was at this moment. The fingers of + his one hand opened and shut convulsively, his arms worked up and down, + his face twitched, his teeth showed like a beast’s as he glared at Ferrol. + He looked as though he were about to spring upon the now helpless man. But + up from the garden below there came the sound of a voice—Christine’s—singing. + </p> + <p> + His face quieted, and his body came to its natural pose again, though his + eyes retained an active malice. He turned to go. + </p> + <p> + “Remember what I tell you,” said Ferrol: “if you publish that lie, you’ll + not live to hear it go about. I mean what I say.” Blood showed upon his + lips, and a tiny little stream flowed down the corner of his mouth. + Whenever he felt that warm fluid on his tongue he was certain of his doom, + and the horror of slowly dying oppressed him, angered him. It begot in him + a desire to end it all. He had a hatred of suicide; but there were other + ways. “I’ll have your life, or you’ll have mine. I’m not to be played + with,” he added. + </p> + <p> + The sentences were broken by coughing, and his handkerchief was wet and + red. + </p> + <p> + “It is no concern of the world,” answered Shangois, stretching up his + throat, for he still felt the pressure of Ferrol’s fingers—“only of + the girl and her brother. The girl—I saved her once before from your + friend Vanne Castine, and I will save her from you—but, yes! It is + nothing to the world, to Bonaventure, that you are a robber; it is + everything to her. You are all robbers—you English—cochons!” + </p> + <p> + He opened the door and went out. Ferrol was about to follow him, but he + had a sudden fit of weakness, and he caught up a pillow, and, throwing it + on the chest where Shangois had sat, stretched himself upon it. He lay + still for quite a long time, and presently fell into a doze. In those days + no event made a lasting impression on him. When it was over it ended, so + far as concerned any disturbing remembrances of it. He was awakened (he + could not have slept for more than fifteen minutes) by a tapping at his + door, and his name spoken softly. He went to the door and opened it. It + was Christine. He thought she seemed pale, also that she seemed nervous; + but her eyes were full of light and fire, and there was no mistaking the + look in her face: it was all for him. He set down her agitation to the + adventure they were about to make together. He stepped back, as if + inviting her to enter, but she shook her head. + </p> + <p> + “No, not this morning. I will meet you at the old mill in half an hour. + The parish is all mad about the Rebellion, and no one will notice or talk + of anything else. I have the best pair of horses in the stable; and we can + drive it in two hours, easy.” + </p> + <p> + She took a paper from her pocket. + </p> + <p> + “This is—the—license,” she added, and she blushed. Then, with + a sudden impulse, she stepped inside the room, threw her arms about his + neck and kissed him, and he clasped her to his breast. + </p> + <p> + “My darling Tom!” she said, and then hastened away, with tears in her + eyes. + </p> + <p> + He saw the tears. “I wonder what they were for?” he said musingly, as he + opened up the official blue paper. “For joy?” He laughed a little uneasily + as he said it. His eyes ran through the document. + </p> + <p> + “The Honourable Tom Ferrol, of Stavely Castle, County Galway, Ireland, + bachelor, and Christine Marie Lavilette, of the Township of Bonaventure, + in the Province of Lower Canada, spinster, Are hereby granted,” etc., + etc., etc., “according to the laws of the Province of Upper Canada,” etc., + etc., etc. + </p> + <p> + He put it in his pocket. + </p> + <p> + “For better or for worse, then,” he said, and descended the stairs. + </p> + <p> + Presently, as he went through the village, he noticed signs of hostility + to himself. Cries of Vive la Canada! Vive la France! a bas l’Anglais! came + to him out of the murmuring and excitement. But the Regimental Surgeon + took off his cap to him, very conspicuously advancing to meet him, and + they exchanged a few words. + </p> + <p> + “By the way, monsieur,” the Regimental Surgeon added, as he took his + leave, “I knew of this some days ago, and, being a justice of the peace, + it was my duty to inform the authorities—yes of course! One must do + one’s duty in any case,” he said, in imitation of English bluffness, and + took his leave. + </p> + <p> + Ten minutes later Christine and Ferrol were on their way to the English + province to be married. + </p> + <p> + That afternoon at three o’clock, as they left the little English-speaking + village man and wife, they heard something which startled them both. It + was a bear-trainer, singing to his bear the same weird song, without + words, which Vanne Castine sang to Michael. Over in another street they + could see the bear on his hind feet, dancing, but they could not see the + man. + </p> + <p> + Christine glanced at Ferrol anxiously, for she was nervous and excited, + though her face had also a look of exultant happiness. + </p> + <p> + “No, it’s not Castine!” he said, as if in reply to her look. + </p> + <p> + In a vague way, however, she felt it to be ominous. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0015" id="link2HCH0015"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XV + </h2> + <p> + The village had no thought or care for anything except the Rebellion and + news of it; and for several days Ferrol and Christine lived their new life + unobserved by the people of the village, even by the household of Manor + Casimbault. + </p> + <p> + It almost seemed that Ferrol’s prophecy regarding himself was coming true, + for his cheek took on a heightened colour, his step a greater elasticity, + and he flung his shoulders out with a little of the old military swagger: + cheerful, forgetful of all the world, and buoyant in what he thought to be + his new-found health and permanent happiness. + </p> + <p> + Vague reports came to the village concerning the Rebellion. There were not + a dozen people in the village who espoused the British cause; and these + few were silent. For the moment the Lavilettes were popular. Nicolas had + made for them a sort of grand coup. He had for the moment redeemed the + snobbishness of two generations. + </p> + <p> + After his secret marriage, Ferrol was not seen in the village for some + days, and his presence and nationality were almost forgotten by the + people: they only thought of what was actively before their eyes. On the + fifth day after his marriage, which was Saturday, he walked down to the + village, attracted by shouting and unusual excitement. When he saw the + cause of the demonstration he had a sudden flush of anger. A flag-staff + had been erected in the centre of the village, and upon it had been run up + the French tricolour. He stood and looked at the shouting crowd a moment, + then swung round and went to the office of the Regimental Surgeon, who met + him at the door. When he came out again he carried a little bundle under + his left arm. He made straight for the crowd, which was scattered in + groups, and pushed or threaded his way to the flag-staff. He was at least + a head taller than any man there, and though he was not so upright as he + had been, the lines of his figure were still those of a commanding + personality. A sort of platform had been erected around the flag-staff and + on it a drunken little habitant was talking treason. Without a word, + Ferrol stepped upon the platform, and, loosening the rope, dropped the + tricolour half-way down the staff before his action was quite comprehended + by the crowd. Presently a hoarse shout proclaimed the anger and + consternation of the habitants. + </p> + <p> + “Leave that flag alone,” shouted a dozen voices. “Leave it where it is!” + others repeated with oaths. + </p> + <p> + He dropped it the full length of the staff, whipped it off the string, and + put his foot upon it. Then he unrolled the bundle which he had carried + under his arm. It was the British flag. He slipped it upon the string, and + was about to haul it up, when the drunken orator on the platform caught + him by the arm with fiery courage. + </p> + <p> + “Here, you leave that alone: that’s not our flag, and if you string it up, + we’ll string you up, bagosh!” he roared. + </p> + <p> + Ferrol’s heavy walking-stick was in his right hand. “Let go my arm-quick!” + he said quietly. + </p> + <p> + He was no coward, and these people were, and he knew it. The habitant drew + back. + </p> + <p> + “Get off the platform,” he said with quiet menace. + </p> + <p> + He turned quickly to the crowd, for some had sprung towards the platform + to pull him off. Raising his voice, he said: + </p> + <p> + “Stand back, and hear what I’ve got to say. You’re a hundred to one. You + can probably kill me; but before you do that I shall kill three or four of + you. I’ve had to do with rioters before. You little handful of people here—little + more than half a million—imagine that you can defeat thirty-five + millions, with an army of half a million, a hundred battle-ships, ten + thousand cannon and a million rifles. Come now, don’t be fools. The + Governor alone up there in Montreal has enough men to drive you all into + the hills of Maine in a week. You think you’ve got the start of Colborne? + Why, he has known every movement of Papineau and your rebels for the last + two months. You can bluster and riot to-day, but look out for to-morrow. I + am the only Englishman here among you. Kill me; but watch what your end + will be! For every hair of my head there will be one less habitant in this + province. You haul down the British flag, and string up your tricolour in + this British village while there is one Britisher to say, ‘Put up that + flag again!’—You fools!” + </p> + <p> + He suddenly gave the rope a pull, and the flag ran up half-way; but as he + did so a stone was thrown. It flew past his head, grazing his temple. A + sharp point lacerated the flesh, and the blood flowed down his cheek. He + ran the flag up to its full height, swiftly knotted the cord and put his + back against the pole. Grasping his stick he prepared himself for an + attack. + </p> + <p> + “Mind what I say,” he cried; “the first man that comes will get what for!” + </p> + <p> + There was a commotion in the crowd; consternation and dismay behind + Ferrol, and excitement and anger in front of him. Three men were pushing + their way through to him. Two of them were armed. They reached the + platform and mounted it. It was the Regimental Surgeon and two British + soldiers. The Regimental Surgeon held a paper in his hand. + </p> + <p> + “I have here,” he said to the crowd, “a proclamation by Sir John Colborne. + The rebels have been defeated at three points, and half of the men from + Bonaventure who joined Papineau have been killed. The ringleader, Nicolas + Lavilette, when found, will be put on trial for his life. Now, disperse to + your homes, or every man of you will be arrested and tried by + court-martial.” + </p> + <p> + The crowd melted away like snow, and they hurried not the less because the + stone which some one had thrown at Ferrol had struck a lad in the head, + and brought him senseless and bleeding to the ground. + </p> + <p> + Ferrol picked up the tricolour and handed it to the Regimental Surgeon. + </p> + <p> + “I could have done it alone, I believe,” he said; “and, upon my soul, I’m + sorry for the poor devils. Suppose we were Englishmen in France, eh?” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0016" id="link2HCH0016"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XVI + </h2> + <p> + The fight was over. The childish struggle against misrule had come to a + childish end. The little toy loyalists had been broken all to pieces. A + few thousand Frenchmen, with a vague patriotism, had shied some harmless + stones at the British flag-staff on the citadel: that was all. Obeying the + instincts of blood, religion, race, and language, they had made a + haphazard, sidelong charge upon their ancient conquerors, had spluttered + and kicked a little, and had then turned tail upon disaster and defeat. An + incoherent little army had been shattered into fugitive factors, and every + one of these hurried and scurried for a hole of safety into which he could + hide. Some were mounted, but most were on foot. + </p> + <p> + Officers fared little better than men. It was “Save who can”: they were + all on a dead level of misfortune. Hundreds reached no cover, but were + overtaken and driven back to British headquarters. In their terror, twenty + brave rebels of two hours ago were to be captured by a single British + officer of infantry speaking bad French. + </p> + <p> + Two of these hopeless fugitives were still fortunate enough to get a start + of the hounds of retaliation and revenge. They were both mounted, and had + far to go to reach their destination. Home was the one word in the mind of + each; and they both came from Bonaventure. + </p> + <p> + The one was a tall, athletic young man, who had borne a captain’s + commission in Papineau’s patriot army. He rode a sorel horse—a + great, wiry raw-bone, with a lunge like a moose, and legs that struck the + ground with the precision of a piston-rod. As soon as his nose was turned + towards Bonaventure he smelt the wind of home in his nostrils; his hatchet + head jerked till he got the bit straight between his teeth; then, gripping + it as a fretful dog clamps the bone which his master pretends to wrest + from him, he leaned down to his work, and the mud, the new-fallen snow and + the slush flew like dirty sparks, and covered man and horse. + </p> + <p> + Above, an uncertain, watery moon flew in and out among the shifting + clouds; and now and then a shot came through the mist and the half dusk, + telling of some poor fugitive fighting, overtaken, or killed. + </p> + <p> + The horse neither turned head nor slackened gait. He was like a living + machine, obeying neither call nor spur, but travelling with an unchanging + speed along the level road, and up and down hill, mile after mile. + </p> + <p> + In the rider’s heart were a hundred things; among them fear, that + miserable depression which comes with the first defeats of life, the + falling of the mercury from passionate activity to that frozen numbness + which betrays the exhausted nerve and despairing mind. The horse could not + go fast enough; the panic of flight was on him. He was conscious of it, + despised himself for it; but he could not help it. Yet, if he were + overtaken, he would fight; yes, fight to the end, whatever it might be. + Nicolas Lavilette had begun to unwind the coil of fortune and ambition + which his mother had long been engaged in winding. + </p> + <p> + A mile or two behind was another horse and another rider. The animal was + clean of limb, straight and shapely of body, with a leg like a lady’s, and + heart and wind to travel till she dropped. This mare the little black + notary, Shangois, had cheerfully stolen from beside the tent of the + English general. The bridle-rein hung upon the wrist of the notary’s + palsied left hand, and in his right hand he carried the long sabre of an + artillery officer, which he had picked up on the battlefield. He rode like + a monkey clinging to the back of a hound, his shoulder hunched, his body + bent forward even with the mare’s neck, his knees gripping the saddle with + a frightened tenacity, his small, black eyes peering into the darkness + before him, and his ears alert to the sound of pursuers. + </p> + <p> + Twenty men of the British artillery were also off on a chase that pleased + them well. The hunt was up. It was not only the joy of killing, but the + joy of gain, that spurred them on; for they would have that little black + thief who stole the general’s brown mare, or they would know the reason + why. + </p> + <p> + As the night wore on, Lavilette could hear hoof-beats behind him; those of + the mare growing clearer and clearer, and those of the artillerymen + remaining about the same, monotonously steady. He looked back, and saw the + mare lightly leaning to her work, and a little man hanging to her back. He + did not know who it was; and if he had known he would have wondered. + Shangois had ridden to camp to fetch him back to Bonaventure for two + purposes: to secure the five thousand dollars from Ferrol, and to save + Nic’s sister from marrying a highwayman. These reasons he would have given + to Nic Lavilette, but other ulterior and malicious ideas were in his mind. + He had no fear, no real fear. His body shrank, but that was because he had + been little used to rough riding and to peril. But he loved this game too, + though there was a troop of foes behind him; and as long as they rode + behind him he would ride on. + </p> + <p> + He foresaw a moment when he would stop, slide to the ground, and with his + sabre kill one man—or more. Yes, he would kill one man. He had a + devilish feeling of delight in thinking how he would do it, and how red + the sabre would look when he had done it. He wished he had a hundred hands + and a hundred sabres in those hands. More than once he had been in danger + of his life, and yet he had had no fear. + </p> + <p> + He had in him the power of hatred; and he hated Ferrol as he had never + hated anything in his life. He hated him as much as, in a furtive sort of + way, he loved the rebellious, primitive and violent Christine. + </p> + <p> + As he rode on a hundred fancies passed through his brain, and they all had + to do with killing or torturing. As a boy dreams of magnificent deeds of + prowess, so he dreamed of deeds of violence and cruelty. In his life he + had been secret, not vicious; he had enjoyed the power which comes from + holding the secrets of others, and that had given him pleasure enough. But + now, as if the true passion, the vital principle, asserted itself at the + very last, so with the shadow of death behind him, his real nature was + dominant. He was entirely sane, entirely natural, only malicious. + </p> + <p> + The night wore on, and lifted higher into the sky, and the grey dawn crept + slowly up: first a glimmer, then a neutral glow, then a sort of darkness + again, and presently the candid beginning of day. + </p> + <p> + As they neared the Parish of Bonaventure, Lavilette looked back again, and + saw the little black notary a few hundred yards behind. He recognised him + this time, waved a hand, and then called to his own fagged horse. + Shangois’s mare was not fagged; her heart and body were like steel. + </p> + <p> + Not a quarter of a mile behind them both were three of the twenty + artillerymen. Lavilette came to the bridge shouting for Baby, the keeper. + Baby recognised him, and ran to the lever even as the sorel galloped up. + For the first time in the ride, Nic stuck spurs harshly into the sorel’s + side. With a grunt of pain the horse sprang madly on. A half-dozen leaps + more and they were across, even as the bridge began to turn; for Baby had + not recognised the little black notary, and supposed him to be one of + Nic’s pursuers; the others he saw further back in the road. It was only + when Shangois was a third of the way across, that he knew the mare’s + rider. There was no time to turn the bridge back, and there was no time + for Shangois to stop the headlong pace of the mare. She gave a wild whinny + of fright, and jumped cornerwise, clear out across the chasm, towards the + moving bridge. Her front feet struck the timbers, and then, without a cry, + mare and rider dropped headlong down to the river beneath, swollen by the + autumn rains. + </p> + <p> + Baby looked down and saw the mare’s head thrust above the water, once, + twice; then there was a flash of a sabre—and nothing more. + </p> + <p> + Shangois, with his dreams of malice and fighting, and the secrets of a + half-dozen parishes strapped to his back, had dropped out of Bonaventure, + as a stone crumbles from a bank into a stream, and many waters pass over + it, and no one inquires whither it has gone, and no one mourns for it. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0017" id="link2HCH0017"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XVII + </h2> + <p> + ON Sunday morning Ferrol lay resting on a sofa in a little room off the + saloon. He had suffered somewhat from the bruise on his head, and while + the Lavilettes, including Christine, were at mass, he remained behind, + alone in the house, save for two servants in the kitchen. From where he + lay he could look down into the village. He was thinking of the tangle + into which things had got. Feeling was bitter against him, and against the + Lavilettes also, now that the patriots were defeated. It had gone about + that he had warned the Governor. The habitants, in their blind way, blamed + him for the consequences of their own misdoing. They blamed Nicolas + Lavilette. They blamed the Lavilettes for their friend ship with Ferrol. + They talked and blustered, yet they did not interfere with the two + soldiers who kept guard at the home of the Regimental Surgeon. It was + expected that the Cure would speak of the Rebellion from the altar this + morning. It was also rumoured that he would have something to say about + the Lavilettes; and Christine had insisted upon going. He laughed to think + of her fury when he suggested that the Cure would probably have something + unpleasant to say about himself. She would go and see to that herself, she + said. He was amused, and yet he was not in high spirits, for he had + coughed a great deal since the incident of the day before, and his + strength was much weakened. + </p> + <p> + Presently he heard a footstep in the room, and turned over so that he + might see. It was Sophie Farcinelle. + </p> + <p> + Before he had time to speak or to sit up, she had dropped a hand on his + shoulder. Her face was aflame. + </p> + <p> + “You have been badly hurt, and I’m very sorry,” she said. “Why haven’t you + been to see me? I looked for you. I looked every day, and you didn’t come, + and—and I thought you had forgotten. Have you? Have you, Mr. + Ferrol?” + </p> + <p> + He had raised himself on his elbow, and his face was near hers. It was not + in him to resist the appealing of a pretty woman, and he had scarcely + grasped the fact that he was a married man, his clandestine meetings with + his wife having had, to this point, rather an air of adventure and + irresponsibility. It is hard to say what he might have done or left + undone; but, as Sophie’s face was within an inch of his own, the door of + the room suddenly opened, and Christine appeared. The indignation that had + sent her back from mass to Ferrol was turned into another indignation now. + </p> + <p> + Sophie, frightened, turned round and met her infuriated look. She did not + move, however. + </p> + <p> + “Leave this room at once. What do you want here?” Christine said, between + gasps of anger. + </p> + <p> + “The room is as much mine as yours,” answered Sophie, sullenly. + </p> + <p> + “The man isn’t,” retorted Christine, with a vicious snap of her teeth. + </p> + <p> + “Come, come,” said Ferrol, in a soothing tone, rising from the sofa and + advancing. + </p> + <p> + “What’s he to you?” said Sophie, scornfully. + </p> + <p> + “My husband: that’s all!” answered Christine. “And now, if you please, + will you go to yours? You’ll find him at mass. He’ll have plenty of + praying to do if he prays for you both—voila!” + </p> + <p> + “Your husband!” said Sophie, in a husky voice, dumfounded and miserable. + “Is that so?” she added to Ferrol. “Is she-your wife?” + </p> + <p> + “That’s the case,” he answered, “and, of course,” he added in a mollifying + tone, “being my sister as well as Christine’s, there’s no reason why you + shouldn’t be alone with me in the room a few moments. Is there now?” he + added to Christine. + </p> + <p> + The acting was clever enough, but not quite convincing, and Christine was + too excited to respond to his blarney. + </p> + <p> + “He can’t be your real husband,” said Sophie, hardly above a whisper. “The + Cure didn’t marry you, did he?” She looked at Ferrol doubtfully. + </p> + <p> + “Well, no,” he said; “we were married over in Upper Canada.” + </p> + <p> + “By a Protestant?” asked Sophie. + </p> + <p> + Christine interrrupted. “What’s that to you? I hope I’ll never see your + face again while I live. I want to be alone with my husband, and your + husband wants to be alone with his wife: won’t you oblige us and him—Hein?” + </p> + <p> + Sophie gave Ferrol a look which haunted him while he lived. One idle + afternoon he had sowed the seeds of a little storm in the heart of a + woman, and a whirlwind was driving through her life to parch and make + desolate the green fields of her youth and womanhood. He had loitered and + dallied without motive; but the idle and unmeaning sinner is the most + dangerous to others and to himself, and he realised it at that moment, so + far as it was in him to realise anything of the kind. + </p> + <p> + Sophie’s figure as it left the room had that drooping, beaten look which + only comes to the stricken and the incurably humiliated. + </p> + <p> + “What have you said to her?” asked Christine of Ferrol, “what have you + done to her?” + </p> + <p> + “I didn’t do a thing, upon my soul. I didn’t say a thing. She’d only just + come in.” + </p> + <p> + “What did she say to you?” + </p> + <p> + “As near as I can remember, she said: ‘You have been hurt, and I’m very + sorry. Why haven’t you been to see me? I looked for you; but you didn’t + come, and I thought you had forgotten me.’” + </p> + <p> + “What did she mean by that? How dared she!” + </p> + <p> + “See here, Christine,” he said, laying his hand on her quivering shoulder, + “I didn’t say much to her. I was over there one afternoon, the afternoon I + asked you to marry me. I drank a lot of liqueur; she looked very pretty, + and before she had a chance to say yes or no about it I kissed her. Now + that’s a fact. I’ve never spent five minutes with her alone since; I + haven’t even seen her since, until this morning. Now that’s the honest + truth. I know it was scampish; but I never pretended to be good. It is + nothing for you to make a fuss about, because, whatever I am—and it + isn’t much one way or another—I am all yours, straight as a die, + Christine. I suppose, if we lived together fifty years, I’d probably kiss + fifty women—once a year isn’t a high average; but those kisses + wouldn’t mean anything; and you, you, my girl”—he bent his head down + to her “why, you mean everything to me, and I wouldn’t give one kiss of + yours for a hundred thousand of any other woman’s in the world! What + you’ve done for me, and what you’d do for me—” + </p> + <p> + There was a strange pathos in his voice, an uncommon thing, because his + usual eloquence was, as a rule, more pleasing than touching. A quick + change of feeling passed over her, and her eyes filled with tears. He ran + his arm round her shoulder. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, come, come!” he said, with a touch of insinuating brogue, and kissed + her. “Come, it’s all right. I didn’t mean anything, and she didn’t mean + anything; and let’s start fresh again.” + </p> + <p> + She looked up at him with quick intelligence. “That’s just what we’ll have + to do,” she said. “The Cure this morning at mass scolded the people about + the Rebellion, and said that Nic and you had brought all this trouble upon + Bonaventure; and everybody looked at our pew and snickered. Oh, how I hate + them all! Then I jumped up—” + </p> + <p> + “Well?” asked Ferrol, “and what then?” + </p> + <p> + “I told them that my brother wasn’t a coward, and that you were my + husband.” + </p> + <p> + “And then—then what happened?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, then there was a great fuss in the church, and the Cure said ugly + things, and I left and came home quick. And now—” + </p> + <p> + “Well, and now?” Ferrol interrupted. + </p> + <p> + “Well, now we’ll have to do something.” + </p> + <p> + “You mean, to go away?” he asked, with a little shrug of his shoulder. She + nodded her head. + </p> + <p> + He was depressed: he had had a hemorrhage that morning, and the road + seemed to close in on him on all sides. + </p> + <p> + “How are we to live?” he asked, with a pitiful sort of smile. + </p> + <p> + She looked up at him steadily for a moment, without speaking. He did not + understand the look in her eyes, until she said: + </p> + <p> + “You have that five thousand dollars!” + </p> + <p> + He drew back a step from her, and met her unwavering look a little + fearfully. She knew that—she—! “When did you find it out?” he + asked. + </p> + <p> + “The morning we were married,” she replied. + </p> + <p> + “And you—you, Christine, you married me, a thief!” She nodded again. + </p> + <p> + “What difference could it make?” she asked. “I wouldn’t have been happy if + I hadn’t married you. And I loved you!” + </p> + <p> + “Look here, Christine,” he said, “that five thousand dollars is not for + you or for me. You will be safe enough if anything should happen to me; + your people would look after you, and you have some money in your own + right. But I’ve a sister, and she’s lame. She never had to do a stroke of + work in her life, and she can’t do it now. I have shared with her anything + I have had since times went wrong with us and our family. I needed money + badly enough, but I didn’t care very much whether I got it for myself or + not—only for her. I wanted that five thousand dollars for her, and + to her it shall go; not one penny to you, or to me, or to any other human + being. The Rebellion is over: that money wouldn’t have altered things one + way or another. It’s mine, and if anything happens to me—” + </p> + <p> + He suddenly stooped down and caught her hands, looking her in the eyes + steadily. + </p> + <p> + “Christine,” he said, “I want you never to ask me to spend a penny of that + money; and I want you to promise me, by the name of the Virgin Mary, that + you’ll see my sister gets it, and that you’ll never let her or any one + else know where it came from. Come, Christine, will you do it for me? I + know it’s very little indeed I give you, and you’re giving me everything; + but some people are born to be debtors in this world, and some to be + creditors, and some give all and get little, because—” + </p> + <p> + She interrupted him. + </p> + <p> + “Because they love as I love you,” she said, throwing her arms round his + neck. “Show me where the money is, and I’ll do all you say, if—” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, if anything happens to me,” he said, and dropped his hand + caressingly upon her head. He loved her in that moment. + </p> + <p> + She raised her eyes to his. He stooped and kissed her. She was still in + his arms as the door opened and Monsieur and Madame Lavilette entered, + pale and angry. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0018" id="link2HCH0018"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XVIII + </h2> + <p> + That night the British soldiers camped in the village. All over the + country the rebels had been scattered and beaten, and Bonaventure had been + humbled and injured. After the blind injustice of the fearful and the + beaten, Nicolas Lavilette and his family were blamed for the miseries + which had come upon the place. They had emerged from their isolation to + tempt popular favour, had contrived many designs and ambitions, and in the + midst of their largest hopes were humiliated, and were followed by + resentment. The position was intolerable. In happy circumstances, + Christine’s marriage with Ferrol might have been a completion of their + glory, but in reality it was the last blow to their progress. + </p> + <p> + In the dusk, Ferrol and Christine sat in his room: she, defiant, + indignant, courageous; he hiding his real feelings, and knowing that all + she now planned and arranged would come to naught. Three times that day he + had had violent paroxysms of coughing; and at last had thrown himself on + his bed, exhausted, helplessly wishing that something would end it all. + Illusion had passed for ever. He no longer had a cold, but a mortal + trouble that was killing him inch by inch. He remembered how a brother + officer of his, dying of an incurable disease, and abhorring suicide, had + gone into a cafe and slapped an unoffending bully and duellist in the + face, inviting a combat. The end was sure, easy and honourable. For + himself—he looked at Christine. Not all her abounding vitality, her + warm, healthy body, or her overwhelming love, could give him one extra day + of life, not one day. What a fool he had been to think that she could do + so! And she must sit and watch him—she, with her primitive + fierceness of love, must watch him sinking, fading helplessly out of life, + sight and being. + </p> + <p> + A bottle of whiskey was beside him. During the two hours just gone he had + drunk a whole pint of it. He poured out another half-glass, filled it up + with milk, and drank it off slowly. At that moment a knock came to the + door. Christine opened it, and admitted one of the fugitives of Nicolas’s + company of rebels. He saw Ferrol, and came straight to him. + </p> + <p> + “A letter for M’sieu’ the Honourable,” said he “from M’sieu’ le Capitaine + Lavilette.” + </p> + <p> + Ferrol opened the paper. It contained only a few lines. Nicolas was hiding + in the store-room of the vacant farmhouse, and Ferrol must assist him to + escape to the State of New York. + </p> + <p> + He had stolen into the village from the north, and, afraid to trust any + one except this faithful member of his company, had taken refuge in a + place where, if the worst came to the worst, he could defend himself, for + a time at least. Twenty rifles of the rebels had been stored in the + farmhouse, and they were all loaded! Ferrol, of course, could go where he + liked, being a Britisher, and nobody would notice him. Would he not try to + get him away? + </p> + <p> + While Christine questioned the fugitive, Ferrol thought the matter over. + One thing he knew: the solution of the great problem had come; and the + means to the solution ran through his head like lightning. He rose to his + feet, drank off a few mouthfuls of undiluted whiskey, filled a flask and + put it in his pocket. Then he found his pistols, and put on his greatcoat, + muffler and cap, before he spoke a word. + </p> + <p> + Christine stood watching him intently. + </p> + <p> + “What are you going to do, Tom?” she said quietly. “I am going to save + your brother, if I can,” was his reply, as he handed her Nic’s letter. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0019" id="link2HCH0019"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XIX + </h2> + <p> + Half an hour later, as Ferrol was passing from Louis Lavilette’s stables + into the road leading to the Seigneury he met Sophie Farcinelle, face to + face. In a vague sort of way he was conscious that a look of despair and + misery had suddenly wasted the bloom upon her cheek, and given to the + large, cow-like eyes an expression of child-like hopelessness. An apathy + had settled upon his nerves. He saw things as in a dream. His brain worked + swiftly, but everything that passed before his eyes was, as it were, in a + kaleidoscope, vivid and glowing, but yet intangible. His brain told him + that here before him was a woman into whose life he had brought its first + ordeal and humiliation. But his heart only felt a reflective sort of pity: + it was not a personal or immediate realisation, that is, not at first. + </p> + <p> + He was scarcely conscious that he stood and looked at her for quite two + minutes, without motion or speech on the part of either; but the dumb, + desolate look in her eyes—a look of appeal, astonishment, horror and + shame combined, presently clarified his senses, and he slowly grew to look + at her as at his punishment, the punishment of his life. Before—always + before—Sophie had been vague and indistinct: seen to-day, forgotten + tomorrow; and previous to meeting her scores had affected his senses, + affected them not at all deeply. + </p> + <p> + She was like a date in history to a boy who remembers that it meant + something, but what, is not quite sure. But the meaning and definiteness + were his own. Out of the irresponsibility of his nature, out of the moral + ineptitude to which he had been born, moral knowledge came to him at last. + Love had not done it; neither the love of Christine, as strong as death, + nor the love of his sister, the deepest thing he ever knew—but the + look of a woman wronged. He had inflicted on her the deepest wrong that + may be done a woman. A woman can forgive passion and ruin, and worse, if + the man loves her, and she can forgive herself, remembering that to her + who loved much, much was forgiven. But out of wilful idleness, the mere + flattery of the senses, a vampire feeding upon the spirits and souls of + others, for nothing save emotion for emotion’s sake—that was + shameless, it was the last humiliation of a woman. As it were, to lose + joy, and glow, and fervour of young, sincere and healthy life, to whip up + the dying vitality and morbid brain of a consumptive! + </p> + <p> + All in a flash he saw it, realised it, and hated himself for it. He knew + that as long as he lived, an hour or ten years, he never could redeem + himself; never could forgive himself, and never buy back the life that he + had injured. Many a time in his life he had kissed and ridden away, and + had been unannoyed by conscience. But in proportion as conscience had + neglected him before, it ground him now between the stones, and he saw + himself as he was. Come of a gentleman’s family, he knew he was no + gentleman. Having learned the forms and courtesies of life, having infused + his whole career with a spirit of gay bonhomie, he knew that in truth he + was a swaggerer; that bad taste, infamous bad taste, had marked almost + everything that he had done in his life. He had passed as one of the + nobility, but he knew that all true men, all he had ever met, must have + read him through and through. He had understood this before to a certain + point, had read himself to a certain mark of gauge, but he had never been + honestly and truly a man until this moment. His soul was naked before his + eyes. It had been naked before, but he had laughed. Born without real + remorse, he felt it at last. The true thing started within him. God, the + avenger, the revealer and the healer, had held up this woman as a glass to + him that he might see himself. + </p> + <p> + He saw her as she had been, a docile, soft-eyed girl, untouched by + anything that defames or shames, and all in a moment the man that had + never been in him until now, from the time he laughed first into his + mother’s eyes as a babe, spoke out as simply as a child would have spoken, + and told the truth. There were no ameliorating phrases to soften it to her + ears; there was no tact, there was no blarney, there was no suave + suggestion now, no cheap gaiety, no cynicism of the social vampire—only + the direct statement of a self-reproachful, dying man. + </p> + <p> + “I didn’t fully know what I was doing,” he said to her. “If I had + understood then as I do now, I would never have come near you. It was the + worst wickedness I ever did.” + </p> + <p> + The new note in his voice, the new fashion of his words, the new look of + his eyes, startled her, confused her. She could scarcely believe he was + the same man. The dumb desolation lifted a little, and a look of under + standing seemed to pierce her tragic apathy. As if a current of thought + had been suddenly sent through her, she drew herself up with a little + shiver, and looked at him as if she were about to speak; but instead of + doing so, a strange, unhappy smile passed across her lips. + </p> + <p> + He saw that all the goodness of her nature was trying to arouse itself and + assure him of forgiveness. It did not deceive him in the least. + </p> + <p> + “I won’t be so mean now as to say I was weak,” he added. “I was not weak; + I was bad. I always felt I was born a liar and a thief. I’ve lied to + myself all my life; and I’ve lied to other people because I never was a + true man.” + </p> + <p> + “A thief!” she said at last, scarcely above a whisper, and looking at him + with a flash of horror in her eyes. “A thief!” + </p> + <p> + It was no use; he could not allow her to think he meant a thief in the + vulgar, common sense, though that was what he was: just a common criminal. + </p> + <p> + “I have stolen the kind thoughts and love of people to whom I gave nothing + in return,” he said steadily. “There is nothing good in me. I used to + think I was good-natured; but I was not, or I wouldn’t have brought misery + to a girl like you.” + </p> + <p> + His truth broke down the barriers of her anger and despair. Something + welled up in her heart: it may have been love, it may have been inherent + womanliness. + </p> + <p> + “Why did you marry Christine?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + All at once he saw that she never could quite understand. Her stand-point + would still, in the end, be the stand-point of a woman. He saw that she + would have forgiven him, even had he not loved her, if he had not married + Christine. For the first time he knew something, the real something, of a + woman’s heart. He had never known it before, because he had been so false + himself. He might have been evil and had a conscience too; then he would + have been wise. But he had been evil, and had had no conscience or moral + mentor from the beginning; so he had never known anything real in his + life. He thought he had known Christine, but now he saw her in a new + light, through the eyes of her sister from whose heart he had gathered a + harvest of passion and affection, and had burnt the stubble and seared the + soil forever. Sophie could never justify herself in the eyes of her + husband, or in her own eyes, because this man did not love her. Even as he + stood before her there, declaring himself to her as wilfully wicked in all + that he had said and done, she still longed passionately for the thing + that was denied her: not her lost truth back, but the love that would have + compensated for her suffering, and in some poor sense have justified her + in years to come. She did not put it into words, but the thought was + bluntly in her mind. She looked at him, and her eyes filled with tears, + which dropped down her cheek to the ground. + </p> + <p> + He was about to answer her question, when, all at once, her honest eyes + looked into his mournfully, and she said with an incredible pathos and + simplicity: + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know how I am going to live on with Magon. I suppose I’ll have to + keep pretending till I die!” + </p> + <p> + The bell in the church was ringing for vespers. It sounded peaceful and + quiet, as though no war, or rebellion, or misery and shame, were anywhere + within the radius of its travel. + </p> + <p> + Just where they stood there was a tall calvary. Behind it was some + shrubbery. Ferrol was going to answer her, when he saw, coming along the + road, the Cure in his robes, bearing the host. In front of him trotted an + acolyte, swinging the censer. + </p> + <p> + Ferrol quickly drew Sophie aside behind the bushes, where they should not + be seen; for he was no longer reckless. He wished to be careful for the + woman’s sake. + </p> + <p> + The Curb did not turn his head to the right or left, but came along + chanting something slowly. The smell of the incense floated past them. + When the priest and the lad reached the calvary they turned towards it, + bowed, crossed themselves, and the lad rang a little silver bell. Then the + two passed on, the lad still ringing. When they were out of sight the + sound of the bell came softly, softly up the road, while the bell in the + church tower still called to prayer. + </p> + <p> + The words the priest chanted seemed to ring through the air after he had + gone. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “God have mercy upon the passing soul! + God have mercy upon the passing soul! + Hear the prayer of the sinner, O Lord; + Listen to the voice of those that mourn; + Have mercy upon the sinner, O Lord!” + </pre> + <p> + When Ferrol turned to Sophie again, both her hands were clasping the + calvary, and she had dropped her head upon them. + </p> + <p> + “I must go,” he said. She did not move. + </p> + <p> + Again he spoke to her; but she did not lift her head. Presently, however, + as he stood watching her, she moved away from the calvary, and, with her + back still turned to him, stepped out into the road and hurried on towards + her home, never once turning her head. + </p> + <p> + He stood looking after her for a moment, then turned and, sitting on a log + behind the shrubbery, he tore a few pieces of paper out of a note-book and + began writing. He wrote swiftly for about twenty minutes or more, then, + arising, he moved on towards the village, where crowds had gathered—excited, + fearful, tumultuous; for the British soldiers had just entered the place. + </p> + <p> + Ferrol seemed almost oblivious of the threatening crowd, which once or + twice jostled him more than was accidental. He came into the post-office, + got an envelope, put his letter inside it, stamped it, addressed it to + Christine, and dropped it into the letter-box. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0020" id="link2HCH0020"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XX + </h2> + <p> + An hour later he stood among a few companies of British soldiers in front + of the massive stone store-house of the Lavilettes’ abandoned farmhouse, + with its thick shuttered windows and its solid oak doors. It was too late + to attempt the fugitive’s escape, save by strategy. Over half an hour Nic + had kept them at bay. He had made loopholes in the shutters and the door, + and from these he fired upon his assailants. Already he had wounded five + and killed two. + </p> + <p> + Men had been sent for timber to batter down the door and windows. + Meanwhile, the troops stood at a respectful distance, out of the range of + Nic’s firing, awaiting developments. + </p> + <p> + Ferrol consulted with the officers, advising a truce and parley, offering + himself as mediator to induce Nic to surrender. To this the officers + assented, but warned him that his life might pay the price of his + temerity. He laughed at this. He had been talking, with his head and + throat well muffled, and the collar of his greatcoat drawn about his ears. + Once or twice he coughed, a hacking, wrenching cough, which struck the + ears of more than one of the officers painfully; for they had known him in + his best and gayest days at Quebec. + </p> + <p> + It was arranged that he should advance, holding out a flag of truce. + Before he went he drew aside one of the younger lieutenants, in whose home + at Quebec his sister had always been a welcome visitor, and told him + briefly the story of his marriage, of his wife and of Nicolas. He sent + Christine a message, that she should not forget to carry his last token to + his sister! Then turning, he muffled up his face against the crisp, harsh + air (there was design in this also), and, waving a white handkerchief, + advanced to the door of the store-room. + </p> + <p> + The soldiers waited anxiously, fearing that Nic would fire, in spite of + all; but presently a spot of white appeared at one of the loopholes; then + the door was slowly opened. Ferrol entered, and it was closed again. + </p> + <p> + Nicolas Lavilette grasped his hand. + </p> + <p> + “I knew you wouldn’t go back on me,” said he. “I knew you were my friend. + What the devil do they want out there?” + </p> + <p> + “I am more than your friend: I’m your brother,” answered Ferrol, + meaningly. Then, quickly taking off his greatcoat, cap, muffler and boots: + “Quick, on with these!” he said. “There’s no time to lose!” + </p> + <p> + “What’s all this?” asked Nic. + </p> + <p> + “Never mind; do exactly as I say, and there’s a chance for you.” + </p> + <p> + Nic put on the overcoat. Ferrol placed the cap on his head, and muffled + him up exactly as he himself had been, then made him put on his own + top-boots. + </p> + <p> + “Now, see,” he said, “everything depends upon how you do this thing. You + are about my height. Pass yourself off for me. Walk loose and long as I + do, and cough like me as you go.” + </p> + <p> + There was no difficulty in showing him what the cough was like: he + involuntarily offered an illustration as he spoke. + </p> + <p> + “As soon as I shut the door and you start forward, I’ll fire on them. + That’ll divert their attention from you. They’ll take you for me, and + think I’ve failed in persuading you to give yourself up. Go straight + on-don’t hurry—coughing all the time; and if you can make the dark, + just beyond the soldiers, by the garden bench, you’ll find two men. + They’ll help you. Make for the big tree on the Seigneury road—you + know: where you were robbed. There you’ll find the fastest horse from your + father’s stables. Then ride, my boy, ride for your life to the State of + New York!” + </p> + <p> + “And you—you?” asked Nicolas. Ferrol laughed. + </p> + <p> + “You needn’t worry about me, Nic. I’ll get out of this all right; as right + as rain! Are you ready? Steady now, steady. Let me hear you cough.” Nic + coughed. + </p> + <p> + “No, that isn’t it. Listen and watch.” Ferrol coughed. “Here,” he said, + taking something from his pocket, “open your mouth.” He threw some pepper + down the other’s throat. “Now try it.” + </p> + <p> + Nic coughed almost convulsively. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, that’s it, that’s it! Just keep that up. Come along now. Quick-not a + moment to lose! Steady! You’re all right, my boy; you’ve got nerve, and + that’s the thing. Good-bye, Nic, good luck to you!” + </p> + <p> + They grasped hands: the door opened swiftly, and Nic stepped outside. In + an instant Ferrol was at the loophole. Raising a rifle, he fired, then + again and again. Through the loophole he could see a half-dozen men lift a + log to advance on the door as Nic passed a couple of officers, coughing + hard, and making spasmodic motions with his hand, as though exhausted and + unable to speak. + </p> + <p> + He fired again, and a soldier fell. The lust of fighting was on him now. + It was not a question of country or of race, but only a man crowding the + power of old instincts into the last moments of his life. The vigour and + valour of a reconquered youth seemed to inspire him; he felt as he did + when a mere boy fighting on the Danube. His blood rioted in his veins; his + eyes flashed. He lifted the flask of whiskey and gulped down great + mouthfuls of it, and fired again and again, laughing madly. + </p> + <p> + “Let them come on, let them come on,” he cried. “By God, I’ll settle + them!” The frenzy of war possessed him. He heard the timber crash against + the door—once, twice, thrice, and then give away. He swung round and + saw men’s faces glowing in the light of the fire, and then another face + shot in before the others—that of Vanne Castine. + </p> + <p> + With a cry of fury he ran forward into the doorway. Castine saw him at the + same moment. With a similar instinct each sprang for the other’s throat, + Castine with a knife in his hand. + </p> + <p> + A cry of astonishment went up from the officers and the men without. They + had expected to see Nic; but Nic was on his way to the horse beneath the + great elm tree, and from the elm tree to the State of New York—and + safety. + </p> + <p> + The men and the officers fell back as Castine and Ferrol clinched in a + death struggle. Ferrol knew that his end had come. He had expected it, + hoped for it. But, before the end, he wanted to kill this man, if he + could. He caught Castine’s head in his hands, and, with a last effort, + twisted it back with a sudden jerk. + </p> + <p> + All at once, with the effort, blood spurted from his mouth into the + other’s face. He shivered, tottered and fell back, as Castine struck + blindly into space. For a moment Ferrol swayed back and forth, stretched + out his hands convulsively and gasped, trying to speak, the blood welling + from his lips. His eyes were wild, anxious and yearning, his face deadly + pale and covered with a cold sweat. Presently he collapsed, like a + loosened bundle, upon the steps. + </p> + <p> + Castine, blinded with blood, turned round, and the light of the fire upon + his open mouth made him appear to grin painfully—an involuntary + grimace of terror. + </p> + <p> + At that instant a rifle shot rang out from the shrubbery, and Castine + sprang from the ground and fell at Ferrol’s feet. Then, with a contortive + shudder, he rolled over and over the steps, and lay face downward upon the + ground-dead. + </p> + <p> + A girl ran forward from the trees, with a cry, pushing her way through to + Ferrol’s body. Lifting up his head, she called to him in an agony of + entreaty. But he made no answer. + </p> + <p> + “That’s the woman who fired the shot!” said a subaltern officer excitedly. + “I saw her!” + </p> + <p> + “Shut up, you fool—it was his wife!” exclaimed the young captain to + whom Ferrol had given his last message for Christine. + </p> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ETEXT EDITOR’S BOOKMARKS: + + After which comes steady happiness or the devil to pay (wedding) + All men are worse than most women + I always did what was wrong, and liked it—nearly always + Illusive hopes and irresponsible deceptions + Men feel surer of women than women feel of men + She lacked sense a little and sensitiveness much + To be popular is not necessarily to be contemptible + Who say ‘God bless you’, in New York! they say ‘Damn you!’ +</pre> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Pomp of the Lavilettes, Complete +by Gilbert Parker + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE POMP OF THE LAVILETTES, *** + +***** This file should be named 6217-h.htm or 6217-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/6/2/1/6217/ + +Produced by David Widger + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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