diff options
Diffstat (limited to '6247.txt')
| -rw-r--r-- | 6247.txt | 2288 |
1 files changed, 2288 insertions, 0 deletions
diff --git a/6247.txt b/6247.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..11c8527 --- /dev/null +++ b/6247.txt @@ -0,0 +1,2288 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook The Right of Way, by G. Parker, v5 +#74 in our series by Gilbert Parker + +Copyright laws are changing all over the world. Be sure to check the +copyright laws for your country before downloading or redistributing +this or any other Project Gutenberg eBook. + +This header should be the first thing seen when viewing this Project +Gutenberg file. Please do not remove it. Do not change or edit the +header without written permission. + +Please read the "legal small print," and other information about the +eBook and Project Gutenberg at the bottom of this file. Included is +important information about your specific rights and restrictions in +how the file may be used. You can also find out about how to make a +donation to Project Gutenberg, and how to get involved. + + +**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts** + +**EBooks Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971** + +*****These EBooks Were Prepared By Thousands of Volunteers***** + + +Title: The Right of Way, Volume 5. + +Author: Gilbert Parker + +Release Date: August, 2004 [EBook #6247] +[Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule] +[This file was first posted on October 24, 2002] + +Edition: 10 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + + + + + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE RIGHT OF WAY, PARKER, V5 *** + + + +This eBook was produced by David Widger + + + + + +THE RIGHT OF WAY + +By Gilbert Parker + +Volume 5. + + + +XLI. IT WAS MICHAELMAS DAY +XLII. A TRIAL AND A VERDICT +XLIII. JO PORTUGAIS TELLS A STORY +XLIV. "WHO WAS KATHLEEN?" +XLV. SIX MONTHS GO BY +XLVI. THE FORGOTTEN MAN +XLVII. ONE WAS TAKEN AND THE OTHER LEFT +XLVIII. "WHERE THE TREE OF LIFE IS BLOOMING--" +XLIX. THE OPEN GATE + + + + +CHAPTER XLI + +IT WAS MICHAELMAS DAY + +Not a cloud in the sky, and, ruling all, a sweet sun, liberal in +warmth and eager in brightness as its distance from the northern world +decreased. As Mrs. Flynn entered the door of the post-office she sang +out to Maximilian Cour, with a buoyant lilt: "Oh, isn't it the fun o' the +world to be alive!" + +The tailor over the way heard it, and lifted his head with a smile; +Rosalie Evanturel, behind the postal wicket, heard it, and her face swam +with colour. Rosalie busied herself with the letters and papers for a +moment before she answered Mrs. Flynn's greeting, for there were ringing +in her ears the words she herself had said a few days before: "It is good +to live, isn't it?" + +To-day it was so good to live that life seemed an endless being and +a tireless happy doing--a gift of labour, an inspiring daytime, and +a rejoicing sleep. Exaltation, a painful joy, and a wide embarrassing +wonderment possessed her. She met Mrs. Flynn's face at the wicket with +shining eyes and a timid smile. + +"Ah, there y'are, darlin'!" said Mrs. Flynn. "And how's the dear father +to-day?" + +"He seems about the same, thank you." + +"Ah, that's foine. Shure, if we could always be 'about the same,' we'd +do. True for you, darlin', 'tis as you say. If ould Mary Flynn could +be always "bout the same,' the clods o' the valley would never cover her +bones. But there 'tis--we're here to-day, and away tomorrow. Shure, +though, I am not complainin'. Not I--not Mary Flynn. Teddy Flynn used +to say to me, says he: 'Niver born to know distress! Happy as worms in a +garden av cucumbers. Seventeen years in this country, Mary,' says he, +'an' nivir in the pinitintiary yet.' There y'are. Ah, the birds do be +singin' to-day! 'Tis good! 'Tis good, darlin'! You'll not mind Mary +Flynn callin' you darlin', though y'are postmistress, an' 'll be more +than that--more than that wan day--or Mary Flynn's a fool. Aye, more +than that y'll be, darlin', and y're eyes like purty brown topazzes and +y're cheeks like roses-shure, is there anny lether for Mary Flynn, +darlin'?" she hastily added as she saw the Seigneur standing in the +doorway. He had evidently been listening. + +"Ye didn't hear what y're ould fool of a cook was sayin'," she added to +the Seigneur, as Rosalie shook her head and answered: "No letters, +Madame--dear." Rosalie timidly added the dear, for there was something +so great-hearted in Mrs. Flynn that she longed to clasp her round the +neck, longed as she had never done in her life to lay her head upon some +motherly breast and pour out her heart. But it was not to be now. +Secrecy was her duty still. + +"Can't ye speak to y're ould fool of a cook, sir?" Mrs. Flynn said +again, as the Seigneur made way for her to leave the shop. + +"How did you guess?" he said to her in a low voice, his sharp eyes +peering into hers. + +"By the looks in y're face these past weeks, and the look in hers," she +whispered, and went on her way rejoicing. + +"I'll wind thim both round me finger like a wisp o' straw," she said, +going up the road with a light step, despite her weight, till she was +stopped by the malicious grocer-man of the village, whose tongue had been +wagging for hours upon an unwholesome theme. + +Meanwhile, in the post-office, the Seigneur and Rosalie were face to +face. + +"It is Michaelmas day," he said. "May I speak with you, Mademoiselle?" + +She looked at the clock. It was on the stroke of noon. The shop always +closed from twelve till half-past twelve. + +"Will you step into the parlour, Monsieur?" she said, and coming round +the counter, locked the shop-door. She was trembling and confused, and +entered the little parlour shyly. Yet her eyes met the Seigneur's +bravely. "Your father, how is he?" he said, offering her a chair. The +sunlight streaming in the window made a sort of pathway of light between +them, while they were in the shade. + +"He seems no worse, and to-day he is wheeling himself about." + +"He is stronger, then--that's good. Is there any fear that he must go to +the hospital again?" + +She inclined her head. "The doctor says he may have to go any moment. +It may be his one chance. The Cure is very kind, and says that, with +your permission, his sister will keep the office here, if--if needed." + +The Seigneur nodded briskly. "Of course, of course. But have you not +thought that we might secure another postmistress?" + +Her face clouded a little; her heart beat hard. She knew what was +coming. She dreaded it, but it was better to have it over now. + +"We could not live without it," she said helplessly. + +"What we have saved is not enough. The little my mother had must pay for +the visits to the hospital. I have kept it for that. You see, I need +the place here." + +"But you have thought, just the same. Do you not know the day?" he +asked meaningly. + +She was silent. + +"I have come to ask you to marry me--this is Michaelmas day, Rosalie." + +She did not speak. He had hopes from her silence. "If anything happened +to your father, you could not live here alone--but a young girl! Your +father may be in the hospital for a long time. You cannot afford that. +If I were to offer you money, you would refuse. If you marry me, all +that I have is yours to dispose of at your will: to make others happy, +to take you now and then from this narrow place, to see what's going on +in the world." + +"I am happy here," she said falteringly. + +"Chaudiere is the finest place in the world," he replied proudly, and as +a matter of fact. "But, for the sake of knowledge, you should see what +the rest of the world is. It helps you to understand Chaudiere better. +I ask you to be my wife, Rosalie." + +She shook her head sorrowfully. + +"You said before, it was not because I am old, not because I am rich, not +because I am Seigneur, not because I am I, that you refused me." + +She smiled at him now. "That is true," she said. + +"Then what reason can you have? None, none. 'Pon honour, I believe you +are afraid of marriage because it's marriage. By my life, there's naught +to dread. A little giving here and taking there, and it's easy. And +when a woman is all that's good, to a man, it can be done without fear or +trembling. Even the Cure would tell you that." + +"Ah, I know, I know," she said, in a voice half painful, half joyous. +"I know that it is so. But, oh, dear Monsieur, I cannot marry you-- +never--never." + +He hung on bravely. "I want to make life easy and happy for you. I want +the right to do so. When trouble comes upon you--" + +"When it does I will turn to you--ah, yes, I would turn to you without +fear, dear Monsieur," she said, and her heart ached within her, for a +premonition of sorrow came upon her and filled her eyes, and made her +heart like lead within her breast. "I know how true a gentleman you +are," she added. "I could give you everything but that which is life +to me, which is being, and soul, and the beginning and the end." + +The weight of the revealing hour of her life, its wonder, its agony, its +irrevocability, was upon her. It was giving new meanings to existence- +primitive woman, child of nature as she was. All morning she had longed +to go out into the woods and bury herself among the ferns and bracken, +and laugh and weep for very excess of feeling, downright joy and vague +woe possessing her at once. She looked the Seigneur in the eyes with +consuming earnestness. + +"Oh, it is not because I am young," she said, in a low voice, "for I am +old--indeed, I am very old. It is because I cannot love you, and never +can love you in the one great way; and I will not marry without love. My +heart is fixed on that. When I marry, it will be when I love a man so +much that I cannot live without him. If he is so poor that each meal is +a miracle, it will make no difference. Oh, can't you see, can't you +feel, what I mean, Monsieur--you who are so wise and learned, and know +the world so well?" + +"Wise and learned!" he said, a little roughly, for his voice was husky +with emotion. "'Pon honour, I think I am a fool! A bewildered fool, +that knows no more of woman than my cook knows Sanscrit. Faith, a +hundred times less! For Mary Flynn's got an eye to see, and, without +telling, she knew I had a mind set on you. But Mary Flynn thought more +than that, for she has an idea that you've a mind set on some one, +Rosalie. She thought it might be me." + +"A woman is not so easily read as a man," she replied, half smiling, but +with her eyes turned to the street. A few people were gathering in front +of the house--she wondered why. + +"There is some one else--that is it, Rosalie. There is some one else. +You shall tell me who it is. You shall--" + +He stopped short, for there was a loud knocking at the shop-door, and the +voice of M. Evanturel calling: "Rosalie! Rosalie! Rosalie! Ah, come +quickly--ah, my Rosalie!" + +Without a look at the Seigneur, Rosalie rushed into the shop and opened +the front door. Her father was deathly pale, and was trembling +violently. + +"Rosalie, my bird," he cried indignantly, "they're saying you stole the +cross from the church door." + +He was now wheeled inside the shop, and people gathered round, looking +at him and Rosalie, some covertly, some as friends, some in a half- +frightened way, as though strange things were about to happen. + +"Shure, 'tis a lie, or me name's not Mary Flynn--the darlin'!" said the +Seigneur's cook, with blazing face. "Who makes this charge?" roared an +angry voice. No one had seen the Seigneur enter from the little room +beside the shop, and at the sound of the sharp voice the people fell +back, for he was as free with his stick as his tongue. + +"I do," said the grocer, to whom Paulette Dubois had told her story. + +"Ye shall be tarred and feathered before y'are a day older," said Mary +Flynn. + +Rosalie was very pale. + +The Seigneur was struck by this and by the strangeness of her look. + +"Clear the room," he said to Filion Lacasse, who was now a constable of +the parish. + +"Not yet!" said a voice at the doorway. "What is the trouble?" It was +the Cure, who had already heard rumours of the scandal, and had come at +once to Rosalie. M. Evanturel tried to speak, and could not. But Mary +Flynn did, with a face like a piece of scarlet bunting. Having finished +with a flourish, she could scarce keep her hands off the cowardly grocer. + +The Cure turned to Rosalie. "It is absurd," he said. "Forgive me," he +added to the Seigneur. "It is better that Rosalie should answer this +charge. If she gives her word of honour, I will deny communion to +whoever slanders her hereafter." + +"She did it," said the grocer stubbornly. "She can't deny it." + +"Answer, Rosalie," said the Cure firmly. + +"Excuse me; I will answer," said a voice at the door. The tailor of +Chaudiere made his way into the shop, through the fast-gathering crowd. + + + + +CHAPTER XLII + +A TRIAL AND A VERDICT + +"What right have you to answer for mademoiselle?" said the Seigneur, +with a sudden rush of jealousy. Was not he alone the protector of +Rosalie Evanturel? Yet here was mystery, and it was clear the tailor had +something important to say. M. Rossignol offered the Cure a chair, +seated himself on a small bench, and gently drew Rosalie down beside him. + +"I will make this a court," said he. "Advance, grocer." + +The grocer came forward smugly. + +"On what information do you make this charge against mademoiselle?" + +The grocer volubly related all that Paulette Dubois had said. As he +told his tale the Cure's face was a study, for the night the cross was +restored came back to him, and the events, so far as he knew them, were +in keeping with the grocer's narrative. He looked at Rosalie anxiously. +Monsieur Evanturel moaned, for he remembered he had heard Rosalie come in +very late that night. Yet he fixed his eyes on her in dog-like faith. + +"Mademoiselle will admit that this is true, I presume," said Charley. + +Rosalie looked at him intently, as though to read his very heart. It was +clear that he wished her to say yes; and what he wished was law. + +"It is quite true," answered Rosalie calmly, and all fear passed from +her. + +"But she did not steal the cross," continued Charley, in a louder voice, +that all might hear, for people were gathering fast. + +"If she didn't steal it, why was she putting it back on the church door +in the dark?" said the grocer. "Ah, hould y'r head, ould sand-in-the- +sugar!" said Mrs. Flynn, her fingers aching to get into his hair. +"Silence!" said the Seigneur severely, and looked inquiringly at +Rosalie. Rosalie looked at Charley. + +"It is not a question of why mademoiselle put the cross back," he said. +"It is a question of who took the cross away, is it not? Suppose it was +not a theft. Suppose that the person who took the relic thought to do a +pious act--for your Church, Monsieur?" + +"I do not see," the Cure answered helplessly. "It was a secret act, +therefore suspicious at least." + +"'Let your good gifts be in secret, and your Heavenly Father who seeth in +secret will reward you openly,"' answered Charley. "That, I believe, is +a principle you teach, Monsieur." + +"At one time Monsieur the tailor was thought to have taken the cross," +said the Seigneur suggestively. "Perhaps Monsieur was secretly doing +good with it?" he added. It vexed him that there should be a secret +between Rosalie and this man. + +"It had to do with me, not I with it," he answered evenly. He must +travel wide at first to convince their narrow brains. "Mademoiselle did +a kind act when she nailed that cross on the church door again--to make +a dead man rest easier in his grave." + +A hush fell upon the crowd. + +Rosalie looked at Charley in surprise; but she saw his meaning presently +--that what she did for him must seem to have been done for the dead +tailor only. Her heart beat hot with indignation, for she would, if +she but might, cry her love gladly from the hill-tops of the world. + +Alight began to break upon the Cure's mind. "Will Monsieur speak +plainly?" he said. + +"I did not see Louis Trudel take the cross, but I know that he did." + +"Louis Trudel! Louis Trudel!" interposed the Seigneur anxiously. "What +does this mean?" + +"Monsieur speaks the truth," interposed Rosalie. The Cure recalled the +death-bed of Louis Trudel, and the dying man's strange agitation. He +also recalled old Margot's death, and her wish to confess some one else's +wrong-doing. He was convinced that Charley was speaking the truth. + +"It is true," added Charley slowly; "but you may think none the worse of +him when you know all. He took the cross for temporary use, and before +he could replace it he died." + +"How do you know what he meant, or did not mean?" said the Seigneur in +perplexity. "Did he take you into his confidence?" + +"The very closest," answered Charley grimly. + +"Yet he looked upon you as an infidel, and said hard things of you on his +death-bed," urged the Cure anxiously. He could not see the end of the +tale, and he was troubled for both the dead man and the living. + +"That was why he took me into his confidence. I will explain. I have +not the honour to have the fulness of your Christian faith, Monsieur le +Cure. I had asked him to show me a sign from heaven, and he showed it by +the little iron cross." + +"I can't make anything of that," said the Seigneur peevishly. + +Rosalie sprang to her feet. "He will not tell the whole truth, +Messieurs, but I will. With that little cross Louis Trudel would have +killed Monsieur, had it not been for me." + +A gasp of excitement went out from those who stood by. + +"But for you, Rosalie?" asked the Cure. + +"But for me. I saw Louis Trudel raise an iron against Monsieur that day +in the shop. It made me nervous--I thought he was mad. So I watched. +That night I saw a light in the tailor-shop late. I thought it strange. +I went over and peeped through the cracks of the shutters. I saw old +Louis at the fire with the little cross, red-hot. I knew he meant +trouble. I ran into the house. Old Margot was beside herself with fear +--she had seen also. I ran through the hall and saw old Louis upstairs +with the burning cross. I followed. He went into Monsieur's room. When +I got to the door"--she paused, trembling, for she saw Charley's +reproving eyes upon her--"I saw him with the cross--with the cross raised +over Monsieur." + +"He meant to threaten me," interposed Charley quickly. + +"We will have the truth!" said the Seigneur, in a husky voice. + +"The cross came down on Monsieur's bare breast." The grocer laughed +vindictively. + +"Silence!" growled the Seigneur. + +"Silence!" said Filion Lacasse, and dropped his hand on the grocer's +shoulder. "I'll baste you with a stirrup-strap." + +"The rest is well known," quickly interposed Charley. "The poor man was +mad. He thought it a pious act to mark an infidel with the cross." + +Every eye was fixed upon him. The Cure remembered Louis Trudel's last +words: "Look--look--I gave--him--the sign--of . . . !" Old Margot's +words also kept ringing in his ears. He turned to the Seigneur. +"Monsieur," said he, "we have heard the truth. That act of Louis Trudel +was cruel and murderous. May God forgive him! I will not say that +mademoiselle did well in keeping silent--" + +"God bless the darlin'!" cried Mrs. Flynn. + +"--but I will say that she meant to do a kind act for a man's mortal +memory--perhaps at the expense of his soul." + +"For Monsieur to take his injury in silence, to keep it secret, was +kind," said the Seigneur. "It is what our Cure here might call bearing +his cross manfully." + +"Seigneur," said the Cure reproachfully, "Seigneur, it is no subject for +jest." + +"Cure, our tailor here has treated it as a jest." + +"Let him show his breast, if it's true," said the grocer, who, beneath +his smirking, was a malignant soul. + +The Cure turned on him sharply. Seldom had any one seen the Cure roused. + +"Who are you, Ba'tiste Maxime, that your base curiosity should be +satisfied--you, whose shameless tongue clattered, whose foolish soul +rejoiced over the scandal? Must we all wear the facts of our lives--our +joys, our sorrows, and our sins--for such eyes as yours to read? Bethink +you of the evil things that you would hide--aye, every one here!" he +added loudly. "Know, all of you, what goodness of heart towards a wicked +man lay behind the secret these two have kept, that old Margot carried to +her grave. When you go to your homes, pray for as much human kindness in +you as a man of no Church or faith can show. For this child"--he turned +to Rosalie-"honour her! Go now--go in peace!" + +"One moment," said the Seigneur. "I fine Ba'tiste Maxime twenty dollars +for defamation of character. The money to go for the poor." + +"You hear that, ould sand-in-the-sugar!" said Mrs. Flynn. "Will you let +me kiss ye, darlin'?" she added to Rosalie, and, waddling over, reached +out her hands. + +Rosalie's eyes were wet as she warmly kissed the old Irishwoman, and +thereupon they entered into a friendship which was without end. + +The Seigneur drove the crowd from the shop, and shut the door. + +The Cure came to Charley. "Monsieur," said he, "I have no words. +When I remember what agonies you suffered in those hours, how bravely you +endured them--ah, Monsieur!" he added, with moist eyes, "I shall always +feel that--that you are not far from the kingdom of God." + +A silence fell upon them, for the Cure, the Seigneur, and Rosalie, as +they looked at Charley, thought of the scar like a red cross on his +breast. + +It touched Charley with a kind of awe. He smiled painfully. "Shall I +give you proof?" he said, making a motion to undo his waistcoat. + +"Monsieur!" said the Seigneur reprovingly, and holding out his hand. +"Monsieur! We are all gentlemen!" + + + + +CHAPTER XLIII + +JO PORTUGAIS TELLS A STORY + +Walking slowly, head bent, eyes unseeing, Charley was on his way to +Vadrome Mountain, with the knowledge that Jo Portugais had returned. + +The hunger for companionship was on him: to touch some mind that could +understand the deep loneliness which had settled on him since that scene +in the postoffice. It was the loneliness of a new and great separation. +He had wakened to it to-day. + +Once before, in the hut on Vadrome Mountain, he had wakened from a grave, +had been born again. Last night had come still another birth, had come, +as with Rosalie herself, knowledge, revelation, understanding. To +Rosalie the new vision had come with a vague pain of heart, without +shame, and with a wonderful happiness. Pain, shame, knowledge, and a +happiness that passed suddenly into a despairing sorrow, had come to him. + +In finding love he had found conscience, and in finding conscience he was +on his way to another great discovery. + +Looking to where Jo Portugais' house was set among the pines, Charley +remembered the day--he saw the scene in his mind's eye--when Rosalie +entered with the letter addressed "To the sick man at the house of Jo +Portugais, at Vadrome Mountain," and he saw again her clear, unsoiled +soul in the deep inquiring eyes. + +"If you but knew"--he turned and looked down at the village below-- +"if you but knew!" he said, as though to all the world. "I have the +sign from heaven--I know it now. To-day I wake to know what life means, +and I see--Rosalie! I know now--but how? In taking all she had to give. +What does she get in return? Nothing--nothing. Because I love her, +because the whole world is nothing beside her, nor life, nor twenty +lives, if I had them to give, I must say to her now: 'Rosalie, it was +love that brought you to my arms, it is love that says, Thus far and no +farther. Never again--never--never--never!' Yesterday I could have left +her--died or vanished, without real hurt to her. She would have mourned +and broken her heart and mended it again; and I should have been only a +memory--of mystery, of tenderness. Then, one day she would have married, +and no sting from my going would have remained. She would have had +happiness, and I neither shame nor despair. . . . To-day it is all +too late. We have drunk too deep-alas! too deep. She cannot marry +another man, for ghosts will not lie for asking, and what is mine may not +be another's. She cannot marry me, for what once was mine is mine still +by ring and by book, and I should always be haunted by a torturing +shadow. Kathleen has the right of way, not Rosalie. Ah, Rosalie, +I dare not wrong you further. Yet to marry you, even as things are, +if that might be! To live on here unrecognised? I am little like my +old self, and year after year I should grow less and less like Charley +Steele. . . . But, no, it is not possible!" + +He stopped short in his thoughts, and his lips tightened in bitterness. + +"God in heaven, what an impasse!" he said aloud. + +There was a sudden crackling of twigs as a man rose up from a log by the +wayside ahead of him. It was Jo Portugais, who had seen him coming, and +had waited for him. He had heard Charley's words. + +"Do you call me an impasse, M'sieu'?" Charley grasped Portugais' hand. + +"What has happened, M'sieu'?" Jo asked anxiously. There was a brief +silence, and then Charley told him of the events of the morning. + +"You know of the mark-here?" he asked, touching his breast. + +Jo nodded. "I saw, when you were ill." + +"Yet you never asked!" + +"I studied it out--I knew old Louis Trudel. Also, I saw ma'm'selle nail +the cross to the church door. Two and two together in my mind did it. +I didn't think Paulette Dubois would tell. I warned her." + +"She quarrelled with mademoiselle. It was revenge. + +"She might have been less vindictive. She had had good luck herself +lately." + +"What good luck had she, M'sieu'?" + +Charley told Jo the story of the Notary, the woman, and the child. + +Jo made no comment. They relapsed into silence. Arriving at the house, +they entered. Jo lighted his pipe, and smoked steadily for a time +without speaking. Buried in thought, Charley stood in the doorway +looking down at the village. At last he turned. + +"Where have you been these weeks past, Jo?" + +"To Quebec first, M'sieu'." + +Charley looked curiously at Jo, for there was meaning in his tone. "And +where last?" + +"To Montreal." + +Charley's face became paler, his hands suddenly clinched, for he read the +look in Jo's eyes. He knew that Jo had been looking at people and places +once so familiar; that he had seen--Kathleen. + +"Go on. Tell me all," he said heavily. + +Portugais spoke in English. The foreign language seemed to make the +truth less naked and staring to himself. He had a hard story to tell. + +"It is not to say why I go to Montreal," he began. "But I go. I have my +ears open; my eyes, she is not close. No one knows me--I am no account +of. Every one is forgot the man, Joseph Nadeau, who was try for his +life. Perhaps it is every one is forget the lawyer who save his neck-- +perhaps? So I stand by the streetside. I say to a man as I look up at +sign-boards,' 'Where is that writing "M'sieu' Charles Steele," and all +the res'?' 'He is dead long ago,' say the man to me. 'A good thing too, +for he was the very devil.' 'I not understan',' I say. 'I tink that +M'sieu' Steele is a dam smart man back time.' 'He was the smartes' man +in the country, that Beauty Steele,' the man say. 'He bamboozle the jury +hevery time. He cut up bad though.'" + +Charley raised his hand with a nervous gesture of misery and impatience. + +"'Where have you been,' that man say--'where have you been all these +times not to know 'bout Charley Steele, hein?' 'In the backwoods,' +I say. 'What bring you here now?' he ask. 'I have a case,' I say. +'What is it?' he ask. 'It is a case of a man who is punish for another +man,' I say. 'That's the thing for Charley Steele,' he laugh. 'He was +great man to root things out. Can't fool Charley Steele, we use to say +here. But he die a bad death.' 'What was the matter with him?' I say. +'He drink too much, he spend too much, he run after a girl at Cote +Dorion, and the river-drivers do for him one night. They say it was +acciden', but is there any green on my eye? But he die trump--jus' like +him. He have no fear of devil or man,' so the man say. 'But fear of +God?' I ask. 'He was hinfidel,' he say. 'That was behin' all. He was +crooked all roun'. He rob the widow and horphan?' 'I think he too smart +for that,' I speak quick. 'I suppose it was the drink,' he say. 'He +loose his grip.' 'He was a smart man, an' he would make you all sit up, +if he come back,' I hanswer. 'If he come back!' The man laugh queer at +that. 'If he comeback, there would be hell.' 'How is that?' I say. +'Look across the street,' he whisper. 'That was his wife.'" + +Charley choked back a cry in his throat. Jo had no intention of cutting +his story short. He had an end in view. + +"I look across the street. There she is--' Ah, that is a fine woman +to see! I have never seen but one more finer to look at--here in +Chaudiere.' The man say: 'She marry first for money, and break her heart; +now she marry for love. If Beauty Steele come back-eh! sacra! that +would be a mess. But he is at the bottom of the St Lawrence--the courts +say so, and the Church say so--and ghosts don't walk here.' 'But if that +Beauty Steele come back alive, what would happen it?' I speak. 'His wife +is marry, blockhead!' he say. + +"'But the woman is his,' I hanswer. 'Do you think she would go back to a +thief she never love from the man she love?' he speak back. 'She is not +marry to the other man,' I say, 'if Beauty Steele is . . .' 'He is +dead as a door,' he swear. 'You see that?' he go on, nodding down the +street. 'Well, that is Billy.' 'Who is Billy?' I ask. 'The brother of +her,' he say. 'Charley, he spoil Billy. Billy, he has not been the same +since Charley's death-he is so ashame of Charley. When he get drunk he +talk of nothing else. We all remember that Charley spoil him, and that +make us sorry for him.' 'Excuse me,' I say. 'I think that Billy is a +dam smart man. He is smart as Charley Steele.' 'Charley was the +smartes' man in the country,' he say again. 'I've got his practice now, +but this town will never be the same without him. Thief or no thief, +I wish he is alive here. By the Lord, I'd get drunk with him!' He was +all right, that man," Jo added finally. + +Charley's agitation was hidden. His eyes were fixed on Jo intently. +"That was Larry Rockwell. Go on," he said, in a hard metallic voice. + +"I see--her, the next night again. It is in the white stone house on the +hill. All the windows are open, an' I can hear her to sing. I not know +that song. It begin, 'Oft in the stilly night'--like that." + +Charley stiffened. It was the song Kathleen sang for him the night they +became engaged. + +"It is a good voice-that. I see her face, for there is a candle on the +piano. I come close and closter to the house. There is big maple-trees +--I am well hid. A man is beside her. He lean hover her an' put his +hand on her shoulder. 'Sing it again, Kat'leen,' he say. 'I cannot to +get enough.'" + +"Stop!" said Charley, in a strained, harsh voice. "Not yet, M'sieu'," +said Portugais. "It is good for you to hear what I say." + +"'Come, Kat'leen!' the man say, an' he blow hout the candle. I hear them +walk away, an' the door shut behin' them. Then I hear anudder voice--ah, +that is a baby--very young baby!" + +Charley quickly got to his feet. "Not another word!" he said. + +"Yes, yes, but there is one word more, M'sieu'," said Jo, standing up and +facing him firmly. "You must go back. You are not a thief. The woman +is yours. You throw your life away. What is the man to you--or the +man's brat of a child? It is all waiting for you. You mus' go back. +You not steal the money, but that Billy--it is that Billy, I know. You +can forgive your wife, and take her back, or you can say to both, Go! +You can put heverything right and begin again." + +Anger, wild words, seemed about to break from Charley's lips, but he +conquered himself. + +The old life had been brought back to him with painful acuteness and +vividness. The streets of the town, the people in the street, Billy, the +mean scoundrel, who could not leave him alone in the grave of obscurity, +Kathleen--Fairing. The voice of the child--with her voice--was in his +ears. A child! If he had had a child, perhaps----He stopped short in +his thinking, his face all at once flooding with colour. For a moment he +stood looking out of the window down towards the village. He could see +the post-office like a toy house among toy houses. At last he turned to +Jo. + +"Never again while I live, speak of this to me: of the past, of going +back, or of--of anything else," he said. "I cannot go back. I am dead +and shamed. Let the dust of forgetfulness come and cover the past. I've +begun life again here, and here I stay, and see it out. I shall work out +the problem here." He dropped a hand on the other's shoulder. "Jo," +said he, "we are both shipwrecks. Let us see how long we can float." + +"M'sieu', is it worth it?" said Portugais, remembering his confession to +the Abbe, and seeing the end of it all to himself. + +"I don't know, Jo. Let us wait and see how Fate will play us." + +"Or God, M'sieu'?" + +"God or Fate--who knows" + + + + +CHAPTER XLIV + +"WHO WAS KATHLEEN?" + +The painful incidents of the morning weighed heavily upon Rosalie, and +she was glad when Madame Dugal came to talk with her father, who was +ailing and irritable, and when Mrs. Flynn drove her away with a kiss on +either cheek, saying: "Don't come back, darlin', till there's roses in +both cheeks, for y'r eyes are 'atin' up yer face!" + +She had seen Charley take the path to Vadrome Mountain, and to the +Rest of the Flax-beaters she betook herself, in the blind hope that, +returning, he might pass that way. Under the influence of the fresh air +and the quiet of the woods her spirits rose, her pulse beat faster, +though a sense of foreboding and sorrow hovered round her. The two-miles +walk to her beloved retreat seemed a matter of minutes only, so busy were +her thoughts. + +Her mind was one luxurious confusion, through which travelled a ghostly +little sprite, who kept tumbling her thoughts about, sneering, smirking, +whispering--"You dare not go to confession--dare not go to confession. +You will never be the same again--never feel the same again--never think +the same again; your dreams are done! You can only love. And what will +this love do for you? What do you expect to happen--you dare not go to +confession!" + +Her reply had been the one iteration: "I love him--I love him--I love +him. We shall be together all our lives, till we are old and grey. +I shall watch him at his work, and listen to his voice. I shall read +with him and walk with him, and I shall grow to think like him a little +--in everything except religion. In everything except that. One day he +will come to think like me--to believe in God." + +In the dreamy happiness of these thoughts the colour came to her cheeks, +the roses of light gathered in her eyes. In her tremulous ardour she +scarcely realised how time passed, and her reverie deepened as the +afternoon shadows grew and the sun made to its covert behind the hills. +She was roused by a man's voice singing, just under the bluff where she +sat. To her this voice represented the battle-call, the home-call, the +life call of the universe. The song it sang was known to her. It was as +old as Rizzio. It had come from old France with Mary, had been merged +into English words and English music, and had voyaged to New France. +There it had been sung by lovers in fair vales, on wide rivers, and in +deep forests: + + "What is not mine I may not hold, + (Ah, hark the hunter's horn!), + And what is thine may not be sold, + (My love comes through the corn!); + And none shall buy + And none shall sell + What Love works well?" + +In the walk back from Vadrome Mountain, a change--a fleeting change-- +had passed over Charley's mind and mood. The quiet of the woodland, +the song of the birds, the tumbling brook, the smell of the rich earth, +replenishing its strength from the gorgeous falling leaves, had soothed +him. Thoughts of Rosalie took a new form. Her image possessed him, +excluding the future, the perils that surrounded them. He had gone +through so much within the past twenty-four hours that the capacity for +suffering had almost exhausted itself, and in the reaction endearing +thoughts of Rosalie had dominion over him. It was the reassertion of +primitive man, the demands of the first element. The great problem was +still in the background. The picture of Kathleen and the other man was +pushed into the distance; thoughts of Billy and his infamy were thrust +under foot--how futile to think of them! There was Rosalie to be thought +of, the to-day and to-morrow of the new life. + +Rosalie was of to-day. How strong and womanly she had been this +morning, the girl whose life had been bounded by this Chaudiere, with a +metropolitan convent and hospital as her only glimpses of the busy world. +She would fit in anywhere--in the highest places, with her grace, and her +nobleness of mind, arcadian, passionate and beautiful. There came upon +him again the feeling of the evening before, when he saw her standing in +his doorway, the night about them, jealous affection, undying love, in +her eyes. It quickened his steps imperceptibly. He passed a stream, and +glanced down into a dark pool involuntarily. It reflected himself +clearly. He stopped short. "Is this you, Beauty Steele?" he said, and +he caught his brown beard in his hand. "Beauty Steele had brains and no +heart. You have heart, and your wits have gone wool-gathering. No +matter! + + What is not mine I may not hold, + (Ah, hark the hunter's horn!)'" + +he sang, and came quickly along the stream where the flax-beaters worked +in harvest-time, then up the hill, then--Rosalie. + +She started to her feet. "I knew you would come--I knew you would!" she +said. + +"You have been waiting here for me?" he asked breathless, taking her +hand. + +"I felt you would come. I made you," she added smiling, and, eagerly +answering the look in his eyes, threw her arms round his neck. In that +moment's joy a fresh realisation of their fate came upon him with dire +force, and a bitter protest went up from his heart, that he and she +should be sacrificed. + +Yet the impasse was there, and what could remove it--what clear the way? + +He looked down at the girl whose head was buried in happy peace on his +shoulder. She clung to him, as though in him was everlasting protection +from the sprite that kept whispering: "You dare not go to confession-- +your dreams are done--you can only love." But she had no fear now. + +As he looked down at her a swift change passed over him, and, almost for +the first time since he was a little child, his eyes filled with tears. +He hastily brushed them away, and drew her down on the seat beside him. +He was wondering how he should tell her that they must not meet like +this, that they must be apart. No matter what had happened, no matter +what love there was, it was better that they should die--that he should +die--than that they should meet like this. There was only one end to +secret meetings, and discovery was inevitable. Then, with discovery, +shame to her. For he must either marry her--how could he marry her? +--or die. For him to die would but increase her misery. + +The time had passed when it could be of any use. It passed that day in +the hut on Vadrome Mountain when she said that if he died, she would die +with him--"Where you are going you will be alone. There will be no one +to care for you, no one but me." Last night it passed for ever. She had +put her life into his hands; henceforth, there could never be a question +of giving or taking, of withdrawing or advancing, for all was +irrevocable, sealed with the great seal. Yet she must be saved. +But how? + +She suddenly looked up at him. "I can ask you anything I want now, can't +I?" she said. + +"Anything, Rosalie." + +"You know that when I ask, it is because I want to know what you know, so +that I may feel as you feel. You know that, don't you? + +"I know it when you tell me, wonderful Rosalie." What a revelation it +was, this transmuting power, which could change mortal dross into the +coin of immortal wealth! + +"I want to ask you," she said, "who was Kathleen?" His blood seemed to +go cold in his veins, and he sat without answering, shocked and dismayed. +What could she know of Kathleen? + +"Can't you tell me?" she asked anxiously yet fearfully. He looked so +strange that she thought she had offended him. "Please don't mind +telling me. I should understand everything--everything. Was it some one +you loved--once?" It was hard for her to say it, but she said it +bravely. + +"No. I never loved any one in all the world, Rosalie--not till I loved +you." + +She gave a happy sigh. "Oh, it is wonderful!" she said. "It is +wonderful and good! Did you--did you love me from the very first?" + +"I think I did, though I didn't know it from the very first," he answered +slowly. His heart beat hard, for he could not guess how she should know +of Kathleen. It was absurdly impossible that she should know. "But many +have loved you!" she said proudly. "They have not shown it," he +answered grimly; then added quickly, and with aching anxiety: "When did +you hear of--of Kathleen?" + +"Oh, you are such a blind huntsman!" she laughed. "Don't you know where +my little fox was hiding? Why, in the shop, when you held the note-paper +up to the light, and looked startled, and bought all the paper we had +that was water-marked Kathleen. Do you think that was clever of me? I +don't." + +"I think it was very clever," he said. + +"Then she-Kathleen--doesn't really matter?" she asked eagerly. "Of +course she can't, if you don't love her. But does she love you? Did she +ever love you?" "Never in her life." + +"So of course it doesn't matter," she rejoined. "Hush!" she added +rapidly. "I see some one coming in the trees yonder. It may be some one +for me. Father knows I come here sometimes. Go quickly and hide behind +the rocks, please. I'll stay and see who it is. Please go--dearest." + +He kissed her, and, keeping out of sight, got to a place of safety a few +hundred feet away. + +He saw the new-comer run to Rosalie, speak to her, saw Rosalie half turn +in his own direction, then go hastily down the hillside with the +messenger. + +"It is her father!" he exclaimed, and followed at a distance. At the +village he learned that M. Evanturel had had another seizure. + + + + +CHAPTER XLV + +SIX MONTHS GO BY + +Spring again--budding trees and flowing sap; the earth banks removed from +the houses, and outside windows discarded; the ice tumbling and crunching +in the river; the dormant farmer raising his head to the energy and +delight of April. + +The winter had been long and hard. Never had there been severer frost or +deeper snow, and seldom had big game been so plentiful. In the snug warm +stables the cattle munched and chewed the cud; the idle, long-haired +horses grew as spirited in the keen air as in summer they were sluggish +with hard work; and the farm-hands were abroad in the dark of the early +mornings with lanterns, to feed the stock and take them out to water, +singing cheerfully. All morning spread the clamour of the flail and the +fanning-mill, the swish of the knife through the turnips and the beets, +and the sound of the saw and the axe, as the youngest man of the family, +muffled to the nose, sawed the wood into lengths or split the knots. + +Night brought the cutting and stringing of apples, the shelling of the +Indian corn, the making of rag carpets. On Saturday came the going to +market with grain, or pork, or beef, or fowls frozen like stones; the +gossip in the market-place. Then again sounded jingling sleigh-bells as, +on the return road, the habitant made for home, a glass of white whiskey +inside him, and black-eyed children in the doorway, swarming like bees at +the mouth of a hive. + +This particular winter in Chaudiere had been full of excitement and +expectation. At Easter-time there was to be the great Passion Play, +after the manner of that known as The Passion Play of Ober-Ammergau. Not +one in a hundred habitants had ever heard of Ober-Ammergau, but they had +all shared in picturesque processions of the Stations of the Cross to +some calvaire; and many had taken part in dramatic scenes arranged from +the life of Christ. Drama of a crude kind was deep in them; it showed in +gesture, speech, and temperament. + +In all the preparations Maximilian Cour was a conspicuous and useful +official. Gifted with the dramatic temperament to a degree rare in so +humble a man, he it was who really educated the people of Chaudiere in +the details of the Passion Play to be produced by the good Catholics of +the parish and the Indians of the reservation. He had gone to the Cure +every day, and the Cure had talked with him, and then had sent him to the +tailor, who had, during the past six months, withdrawn more and more from +the life about him, practically living with shut door. No one ventured +in unless on business, or were in need, or wished advice. These he never +turned empty away. + +Besides Portugais, Maximilian Cour was the one man received constantly +by the tailor. With patience and insight Charley taught the baker, by +drawings and careful explanations, the outlines of the representation, +and the baker grew proud of the association, though Charley's face used +to haunt him in his sleep. Excitable, eager, there was an elemental +adaptability in the baker, as easily leading to Avernus as to Elysium. +This appealed to Charley, realising, as he did, that Maximilian Cour was +a reputable citizen by mere accident. The baker's life had run in a +sentimental groove of religious duty; that same sentimentality would, +in other circumstances, have forced him with equal ardour into the broad +primrose path. + +In the evening hours and on Sunday Charley had worked at his drawings for +the scenery and costumes of the Play, and completed his translation of +the German text, but there had been days when he could not put pen to +paper. Life to him now was one aching emptiness--since that day at the +Rest of the Flax-beaters Rosalie had been absent. On the very morning +after their meeting by the river she had gone away with her father to the +great hospital at Montreal--not Quebec this time, on the advice of the +Seigneur--as the one chance of prolonging his life. There had come but +one letter from her since that hour when he saw her in the Seigneur's +coach with her father, moving away in the still autumn air, a piteous +appeal in her eyes. The good-bye look she gave him then was with him day +and night. + +She had written him one letter, and he had written one in reply, and no +more. Though he was wholly reckless for himself, for her he was prudent +now--there was nothing else to do. To save her--if he could but save her +from himself! If he might only put back the clock! + +In his letter to her he had simply said that it were wiser not to write, +since the acting postmistress, the Cure's sister, would note the exchange +of letters, and this would arouse suspicion. He could not see what was +best to do, what was right to do. To wait seemed the only thing, and his +one letter ended with the words: Rosalie, my life is lived only in the +thought of you. There is no hour but I think of you, no moment but you +are with me. The greatest proof of love that man can give, I will give +to you, in the hour fate wills--for us. But now, we must wait--we must +wait, Rosalie. Do not write to me, but know that if I could go to you I +would go; if I could say to you, Come, I would say it. If the giving of +my life would save you any pain or sorrow, I would give it. + +Sitting on his bench at work, it seemed to Charley that sometimes she was +near him, and more than once he turned quickly round as though she were, +in very truth, standing beside him. He thought of her continually, and +often with an unbearable pain. He figured her in his mind as pale and +distressed, and always her eyes had the piteous terror of that last look +as she went away over the hills. + +But the weeks had worn on, then the Seigneur, who had been to Montreal, +came back with the news that Rosalie was looking as beautiful as a +picture. "Grown a woman in beauty and in stature; comely--comely as a +lady in a Watteau picture, my dear messieurs!" he had said to the Cure, +standing in the tailor's shop. + +Replying, the Cure had said: "She is in good hands, with good people, +recommended to me by an abbe there; yet I am not wholly happy about her. +When her trouble comes to her"--Charley's needle slipped and pierced his +finger to the bone--"when her father goes, as he must, I fear, there will +be no familiar face; she will hear no familiar voice." + +"Faith, there you are wrong, my dear Cure" answered the Seigneur; +"there'll be a face yonder she likes very well indeed, and a voice she's +fond of too." + +Charley's back was on them at that moment, of which he was glad, for his +face was haggard with anxiety, and it seemed hours before the Cure said: +"Whom do you mean, Maurice?" and hours before the Seigneur replied: +"Mrs. Flynn, of course. I'm sending her tomorrow." + +Mrs. Flynn had gone, and Charley had, in one sense, been made no happier +by that, for it seemed to him that Rosalie would rather that strangers' +eyes were on her than the inquisitively friendly eye of Mary Flynn. + +Weeks had grown into months, and no news came--none save that which the +Cure let fall, or was brought by the irresponsible Notary, who heard all +gossip. Only the Cure's scant news were authentic, however, and Charley +never saw the good priest but he had a secret hope of hearing him say +that Rosalie was coming back. Yet when she came back, what would, or +could, he do? There was always the crime for which he or Billy must be +punished. Concerning this crime his heart was growing harder--for +Rosalie's sake. But there was Kathleen--and Rosalie was now in the +city where she lived, and they might meet! There was one solution-- +if Kathleen should die! It sickened him that he could think of that with +a sense of relief, almost of hope. If Kathleen should die, then he would +be free to marry Rosalie--into what? He still could only marry her into +the peril and menace of the law? Again, even if Kathleen did not stand +in the way, neither the Cure nor any other priest would marry him to her +without his antecedents being certified. A Protestant minister would, +perhaps, but would Rosalie give up her faith? Following him without the +blessing of the Church, she would trample under foot every dear tradition +of her life, win the scorn of all of her religion, and destroy her own +peace; for the faith of her fathers was as the breath of her nostrils. +What cruelty to her! + +But was it, after all, even true that he had but to call and she would +come? In truth it well might be that she had learned to despise him; +to feel how dastardly he had been to take her love, given in blind +simplicity, bestowed like the song of the bird upon the listening fields +--to take the plenteous fulness of her life, and give nothing in return +save the empty hand, the hopeless hour, the secret sorrow. + +Nothing could quench his misery. The physical part of him craved without +ceasing for something to allay his distress. Again and again he fought +his old enemy with desperate resolve. To fall again, to touch liquor +once more, was to end all for ever. He fought on tenaciously and +gloomily, with little of the pride of life, with nothing of the old +stubborn self-will, but with a new-awakened sense. He had found +conscience at last--and more. + +The months went by and still M. Evanturel lingered on, and Rosalie did +not come. The strain became too great at last. In the week preceding +Easter, when all the parish was busy at Four Mountains, making costumes, +rehearsing, building, putting up seats, cutting down trees, and erecting +crosses and calvaries, Charley disclosed to Jo a new intention. + +In the earlier part of the winter Jo and he had met two or three times +a week, but now Jo had come to help him with his work in the shop--two +silent, devoted companions. They understood each other, and in that +understanding were life and death. For never did Jo forget that a year +from the day he had confessed his sins he meant to give himself up to +justice. This caused him no sleepless nights. He thought more of +Charley than of himself, and every month now he went to confession, and +every day he said his prayers. He was at his prayers when Charley went +to tell him of his purpose. Charley had often seen Jo on his knees of +late, and he had wondered, but not with the old pagan mind. "Jo," he +said, "I am going away--to Montreal." + +"To Montreal!" exclaimed Jo huskily. "You are going back--to stay?" + +"Not that. I am going--to see--Rosalie Evanturel." Jo was troubled but +not dumfounded. It had slowly crept into his mind that Charley loved the +girl, though he had no real ground for suspicion. His will, however, had +been so long the slave of the other man's that he had far-off reflections +of his thoughts. He made no reply in words, but nodded his head. + +"I want you to stay here, Jo. If I don't come back, and--and she does, +stand by her, Jo. I can trust you." "You will come back, M'sieu'--but +you will come back, then?" Jo asked heavily. + +"If I can, Jo--if I can," he answered. + +Long after he had gone, Jo wandered up and down among the trees on the +river-road, up which Charley had disappeared with Jo's dogs and sled. +He kept shaking his head mournfully. + + + + +CHAPTER XLVI + +THE FORGOTTEN MAN + +It was Easter morning, and the good sunrise of a perfect spring made +radiant the high hill above the town. Rosy-fingered morn touched with +magic colour the masts and scattered sails of the ships upon the great +river, and spires and towers quivered with rainbow light. The city was +waking cheerfully, though the only active life was in the pealing bells +and on the deep flowing rivers. The streets were empty yet, save for an +assiduous priest or the cart of a milkman. Here and there a window +opened and a drowsy head was thrust into the eager air. These saw a +bearded countryman with his team of six dogs and his little cart going +slowly up the street. It was plain the man had come a long distance-- +from the mountains in the east or south, no doubt, where horses were few, +and dogs, canoes, and oxen the means of transportation. + +As the man moved slowly through the streets, his dogs still gallantly +full of life after their hard journey, he did not stare about him after +the manner of countrymen. His movements had intelligence and freedom. +He was an unusual figure for a woodsman or river-man--he did not wear +ear-rings or a waist-sash as did the river-men, and he did not turn in +his toes like a woodsman. Yet he was plainly a man from the far +mountains. + +The man with the dogs did not heed the few curious looks turned his way, +but held his head down as though walking in familiar places. Now and +then he spoke to his dogs, and once he stopped before a newspaper office, +which had a placard bearing these lines: + +The Coming Passion Play In the Chaudiere Valley. + +He looked at it mechanically, for, though he was concerned in the Passion +Play and the Chaudiere Valley, it was an abstraction to him at this +moment. His mind was absorbed by other things. + +Though he looked neither to right nor to left, he was deeply affected by +all round him. + +At last he came to a certain street, where he and his dogs travelled +more quickly. It opened into a square, where bells were booming in +the steeple of a church. Shops and offices in the street were shut, +but a saloon-door was open, and over the doorway was the legend: Jean +Jolicoeur, Licensed to sell Wine, Beer, and other Spirituous and +Fermented Liquors. + +Nearly opposite was a lawyer's office, with a new-painted sign. It had +once read, in plain black letters, Charles Steele, Barrister, etc.; now +it read, in gold letters and many flourishes of the sign-painter's art, +Rockwell and Tremblay, Barristers, Attorneys, etc. + +Here the man looked up with trouble in his eyes. He could see dimly the +desk and the window beside which he had sat for so many years, and on the +wall a map of the city glowed with the incoming sun. + +He moved on, passing the saloon with the open door. The landlord, in his +shirt-sleeves, was standing in the doorway. He nodded, then came out to +the edge of the board-walk. + +"Come a long way, M'sieu'?" he asked. + +"Four days' journey," answered the man gruffly through his beard, looking +the landlord in the eyes. If this landlord, who in the past had seen him +so often and so closely, did not recognise him, surely no one else would. +It was, however, a curious recurrence of habit that, as he looked at the +landlord, he instinctively felt for his eye-glass, which he had discarded +when he left Chaudiere. For an instant there was an involuntary arrest +of Jean Jolicoeur's look, as though memory had been roused, but this +swiftly passed, and he said: + +"Fine dogs, them! We never get that kind hereabouts now, M'sieu'. Ever +been to the city before?" + +"I've never been far from home before," answered the Forgotten Man. + +"You'd better keep your eyes open, my friend, though you've got a sharp +pair in your head--sharp as Beauty Steele's almost. There's rascals in +the river-side drinking-places that don't let the left hand know what the +right does." + +"My dogs and I never trust anybody," said the Forgotten Man, as one of +the dogs snarled at the landlord's touch. "So I can take care of myself, +even if I haven't eyes as sharp as Beauty Steele's, whoever he is." + +The landlord laughed. "Beauty's only skin-deep, they say. Charley +Steele was a lawyer; his office was over there"--he pointed across the +street. "He went wrong. He come here too often--that wasn't my fault. +He had an eye like a hawk, and you couldn't read it. Now I can read your +eye like a book. There's a bit of spring in 'em, M'sieu'. His eyes were +hard winter-ice five feet deep and no fishing under--froze to the bed. +He had a tongue like a cross-cut saw. He's at the bottom of the St. +Lawrence, leaving a bad job behind him. + +"Have a drink--hein?" He jerked a finger backwards to the saloon door. +"It's Sunday, but stolen waters are sweet, sure!" + +The Forgotten Man shook his head. "I don't drink, thank you." + +"It'd do you good. You're dead beat. You've been travelling hard--eh?" + +"I've come a long way, and travelled all night." + +"Going on?" + +"I am going back to-morrow." + +"On business?" + +Charley nodded--he glanced involuntarily at the sign across the street. + +Jean Jolicoeur saw the look. "Lawyer's business, p'r'aps?" + +"A lawyer's business--yes." + +"Ah, if Charley Steele was here!" + +"I have as good a lawyer as--" + +The landlord laughed scornfully. "They're not made. He'd legislate the +devil out of the Pit. Where are you going to stay, M'sieu'?" + +"Somewhere cheap--along the river," answered the Forgotten Man. + +Jolicoeur's good-natured face became serious. "I'll tell you a place-- +it's honest. It's the next street, a few hundred yards down, on the +left. There's a wooden fish over the door. It's called The Black Bass +--that hotel. Say I sent you. Good luck to you, countryman! Ah, la; +la, there's the second bell--I must be getting to Mass!" With a nod he +turned and went into the house. + +The Forgotten Man passed slowly up the street, into the side street, +and followed it till he came to The Black Bass, and turned into the small +stable-yard. A stable-man was stirring. He at once put his dogs into +a little pen set apart for them, saw them fed from the kitchen, and, +betaking himself to a little room behind the bar of the hotel, ordered +breakfast. The place was empty, save for the servant--the household were +at Mass. He looked round the room abstractedly. He was thinking of a +crippled man in a hospital, of a girl from a village in the Chaudiere +Valley. He thought with a shiver of a white house on the hill. He +thought of himself as he had never done before in his life. Passing +along the street, he had realised that he had no moral claim upon +anything or anybody within these precincts of his past life. The place +was a tomb to him. + +As he sat in the little back parlour of The Black Bass, eating his frugal +breakfast of eggs and bread and milk, the meaning of it all slowly dawned +upon him. Through his intellect he had known something of humanity, but +he had never known men. He had thought of men in the mass, and despised +them because of their multitudinous duplication, and their typical +weaknesses; but he had never known one man or one woman from the subtler, +surer divination of the heart. His intellect had made servants and lures +of his emotions and his heart, for even his every case in court had been +won by easy and selfish command of all those feelings in mankind which +make possible personal understanding. + +In this little back parlour it came to him with sudden force how, long +ago, he had cut himself off from any claim upon his fellows--not only by +his conduct, but by his merciless inhuman intelligence working upon the +merciful human life about him. He never remembered to have had any real +feeling till on that day with Kathleen--the day he died. The bitter +complaint of a woman he had wronged cruelly, by having married her, had +wrung from him his own first wail of life, in the one cry "Kathleen!" + +As he sat eating his simple meal his pulses were beating painfully. +Every nerve in his body seemed to pluck at the angry flesh. There +flashed across his mind in sympathetic sensation a picture. It was the +axe-factory on the river, before which he used to stand as a boy, and +watch the men naked to the waist, with huge hairy arms and streaming +faces, toiling in the red glare, the trip-hammers endlessly pounding upon +the glowing metal. In old days it had suggested pictures of gods and +demi-gods toiling in the workshops of the primeval world. So the whole +machinery of being seemed to be toiling in the light of an awakened +conscience, to the making of a man. It seemed to him that all his life +was being crowded into these hours. His past was here--its posing, its +folly, its pitiful uselessness, and its shame. Kathleen and Billy were +here, with all the problems that involved them. Rosalie was here, with +the great, the last problem. + +"Nothing matters but that--but Rosalie," he said to himself as he turned +to look out of the window at the wrangling dogs gnawing bones. "Here she +is in the midst of all I once knew, and I know that I am no more a part +of it than she is. She and Kathleen may have met face to face in these +streets--who can tell! The world is large, but there's a sort of +whipper-in of Fate, who drives the people wearing the same livery into +one corner in the end. If they met"--he rose and walked hastily up and +down--"what then? I have a feeling that Rosalie would recognise her as +plainly as though the word Kathleen were stitched on her breast." + +There was a clock on the wall. He looked at it. "It will not be safe to +go out until evening. Then I can go to the hospital, and watch her +coming out." He realised with satisfaction that many people coming from +Mass must pass the inn. There was a chance of his seeing Rosalie, if she +had gone to early Mass. This street lay in her way from the hospital. +"One look--ah, one look!" For this one look he had come. For this, and +to secure that which would save Rosalie from want always, if anything +should happen to him. This too had been greatly on his mind. There was +a way to give her what was his very own, which would rob no one and serve +her well indeed. + +Looking at his face in the mirror over the mantel, he said to himself + +"I might have had ten thousand friends, yet I have a thousand enemies, +who grin at the memory of the drunken fop down among the eels and the +cat-fish. Every chance was with me then. I come back here, and--and +Jolicoeur tells me the brutal truth. But if I had had ambition"--a wave +of the feeling of the old life passed over him--"if I had had ambition as +I was then, I should have been a monster. It was all so paltry that, in +sheer disgust, I should have kicked every ladder down that helped me up. +I should have sacrificed everything to myself." + +He stopped short and stared, for, in the mirror, he saw a girl passing +through the stable-yard towards the quarrelling dogs in the kennel. He +clapped his hand to his mouth to stop a cry. It was Rosalie. + +He did not turn round but looked at her in the mirror, as though it were +the last look he might give on earth. + +He could hear her voice speaking to the dogs: "Ah, my friends, ah, my +dears! I know you every one. Jo Portugais is here. I know your bark, +you, Harpy, and you, Lazybones, and you, Cloud and London! I know you +every one. I heard you as I came from Mass, beauty dears. Ah, you know +me, sweethearts? Ah, God bless you for coming! You have come to bring +us home; you have come to fetch us home--father and me." The paws of one +of the dogs was on her shoulder, and his nose was in her hair. + +Charley heard her words, for the window was open, and he listened and +watched now with an infinite relief in his look. Her face was half +turned towards him. It was pale-very pale and sad. It was Rosalie as of +old--thank God, as of old!--but more beautiful in the touching sadness, +the far-off longing, of her look. + +"I must go and see your master," she said to the dogs. "Down--down, +Lazybones!" + +There was no time to lose--he must not meet her ere. He went into the +outer hall hastily. The servant was passing through. "If any one asks +for Jo Portugais," he said, "say that I'll be back to-morrow morning--I'm +going across the river to-day." + +"Certainly, M'sieu'," said the girl, and smiled because of the piece of +silver he put in her hand. + +As he heard the side door open he stepped through the front doorway into +the street, and disappeared round a corner. + + + + +CHAPTER XLVII + +ONE WAS TAKEN AND THE OTHER LEFT + +Rosalie carried to the hospital that afternoon a lighter heart than she +had known for many a day. The sight of Jo Portugais' dogs had roused her +out of the apathy which had been growing on her in this patient but +hopeless watching beside her father. She had always a smile and a +cheerful word for the poor man. A settled sorrow hung upon her face, +however, taking away its colour, but giving it a sweet gravity which made +her slave more than one young doctor of the hospital, for whom, however, +she showed no more than a friendly frankness, free from self- +consciousness. For hours she would sit in reverie beside her sleeping +father, her heart "over the water to Charley." As in a trance, she could +see him sitting at his bench, bent over his work, now and again lifting +up his head to look across to the post-office, where another hand than +hers sorted letters now. + +Day by day her father weakened and faded away. All that was possible to +medical skill had been done. As the money left by her mother dwindled, +she had no anxiety, for she knew that the life she so tenderly cherished +would not outlast the gold which lengthened out the tenuous chain of +being. This last illness of her father's had been the salvation of her +mind, the saving of her health. Maybe it had been the saving of her +soul; for at times a curious contempt of life came upon her--she who had +loved it so eagerly and fully. There descended on her then the bitter +conviction that never again would she see the man she loved. Then not +even Mrs. Flynn could call back "the fun o' the world" to her step and +her tongue and her eye. At first there had been a timid shrinking, but +soon her father and herself were brighter and better for the old +Irishwoman's presence, and she began to take comfort in Mrs. Flynn. + +Mrs. Flynn gave hopefulness to whatever life she touched, and Rosalie, +buoyant and hopeful enough by nature, responded to the living warmth and +the religion of life in the Irishwoman's heart. + +"'Tis worth the doin', ivery bit of it, darlin', the bither an' the +swate, the hard an' the aisy, the rough an' the smooth, the good an' the +bad," said Mrs. Flynn to her this very Easter morning. "Even the avil is +worth doin', if so be 'twas not mint, an' the good is in yer heart in the +ind, an' ye do be turnip' to the Almoighty, repentin' an' glad to be +aloive: provin' to Him 'twas worth while makin' the world an' you, to +want, an' worry, an' work, an' play, an' pick the flowers, an' bleed o' +the thorns, an' dhrink the sun, an' ate the dust, an' be lovin' all the +way! Ah, that's it, darlin'," persisted Mrs. Flynn, "'tis lovin' all the +way makes it aisier. There's manny kinds o' love. There's lad an' lass, +there's maid an' man. An' that last is spring, an' all the birds +singin', an' shtorms now an' thin, an' siparations, an' misthrust, an' +God in hivin bein' that aisy wid ye for bein' fools an' children, an' +bringin' ye thegither in the ind, if so be ye do be lovin' as man an' +maid should love, wid all yer heart. Thin there's the love o' man an' +wife. Shure, that's the love that lasts, if it shtarts right. Shure, +it doesn't always shtart wid the sun shinin.' 'Will ye marry me?' says +Teddy Flynn to me. 'I will,' says I. 'Then I'll come back from Canaday +to futch ye,' says he, wid a tear in his eye. + +"'For what's a man in ould Ireland that has a head for annything but +puttaties! There's land free in Canaday, an' I'm goin' to make a home +for ye, Mary,' says he, wavin' a piece of paper in the air. 'Are ye, +thin?' says I. He goes away that night, an' the next mornin' I have a +lether from him, sayin' he's shtartin' that day for Canaday. He hadn't +the heart to tell me to me face. Fwaht do I do thin? I begs, borrers, +an' stales, an' I reached that ship wan minnit before she sailed. There +was no praste aboord, but we was married six weeks afther at Quebec. And +thegither we lived wid ups an' downs--but no ups an' downs to the love of +us for twenty years, blessed be God for all His mercies!" + +Rosalie had listened with eyes that hungrily watched every expression, +ears that weighed eagerly every inflection; for she was hearing the story +of another's love, and it did not seem strange to her that a woman, old, +red-faced, and fat, should be telling it. + +Yet there were times when she wept till she was exhausted; when all her +girlhood was drowned in the overflow of her eyes; when there was a sense +of irrevocable loss upon her. Then it was, in her fear of soul and +pitiful loneliness, that her lover--the man she would have died for-- +seemed to have deserted her. Then it was that a sudden hatred against +him rose up in her--to be swept away as swiftly as it came by the memory +of his broken tale of love, his passionate words: "I have never loved any +one but you in all my life, Rosalie." And also, there was that letter +from Chaudiere, which said that in the hour when the greatest proof of +his love must be given he would give it. Reading the letter again, +hatred, doubt, even sorrow, passed from her, and her imagination pictured +the hour when, disguise and secrecy ended, he would step forward before +all the world and say: "I take Rosalie Evanturel to be my wife." Despite +the gusts of emotion that swayed her at times, in the deepest part of her +being she trusted him completely. + +When she reached the hospital this Sunday afternoon her step was quick, +her smile bright--though she had not been to confession as was her duty +on Easter day. The impulse towards it had been great, but her secret was +not her own, and the passionate desire to give relief to her full heart +was overborne by thought of the man. Her soul was her own, but this +secret of their love was his as well as hers. She knew that she was the +only just judge between. + +Soon after she entered the ward, the chief surgeon said that all that +could be done for her father had now been done, and that as M. Evanturel +constantly asked to be taken back to Chaudiere (he never said to die, +though they knew what was in his mind), he might now make the journey, +partly by river, partly by land. It seemed to the delighted and excited +Rosalie that Jo Portugais had been sent to her as a surprise, and that +his team of dogs was to take her father back. + +She sat by her father's bed this beautiful, wonderful Sunday afternoon, +and talked cheerfully, and laughed a little, and told M. Evanturel of the +dogs, and together they looked out of the window to the far-off hills, in +their golden purple, beyond which, in the valley of the Chaudiere, was +their little home. With her father's hand in hers the girl dreamed +dreams again, and it seemed to her that she was the very Rosalie +Evanturel of old, whose thoughts were bounded by a river and a hill, +a post-office and a church, a catechism and a few score of books. Here +in the crowded city she had come to be a woman who, bitterly shaken in +soul, knew life's sufferings; who had, during the past few months, read +with avidity history, poetry, romance, fiction, and the drama, English +and French; for in every one she found something that said: "You have +felt that." In these long months she had learned more than she had known +or learned in all her previous life. + +As she sat looking out into the eastern sky she became conscious of +voices, and of a group of people who came slowly down the ward, sometimes +speaking to the sick and crippled. It was not a general visitors' day, +but one reserved for the few to come and say a kindly word to the +suffering, to bring some flowers and distribute books. Rosalie had +always been absent at this hour before, for she shrank from strangers; +but to-day she had stayed on unthinking. It mattered nothing to her who +came and went. Her heart was over the hills, and the only tie she had +here was with this poor cripple whose hand she held. If she did not +resent the visit of these kindly strangers, she resolutely held herself +apart from the object of their visit with a sense of distance and cold +dignity. If she had given Charley something of herself, she had in turn +taken something from him, something unlike her old self, delicately non- +intime. Knowledge of life had rationalised her emotions to a definite +degree, had given her the pride of self-repression. She had had need of +it in these surroundings, where her beauty drew not a little dangerous +attention, which she had held at arm's-length--her great love for one man +made her invulnerable. + +Now, as the visitors came near, she did not turn towards them, but still +sat, her chin on her hand, looking out across the hills, in resolute +abstraction. She felt her father's fingers press hers, as if to draw her +attention, for he, weak man, was ever ready to open his hand and heart to +any friendly soul. She took no notice, but held his hand firmly, as +though to say that she had no wish to see. + +She was conscious now that they were beside her father's bed. She hoped +that they would pass. But no, the feet stopped, there was whispering, +and then she heard a voice say, "Rather rude!" then another, "Not +wanted, that's plain!"--the first a woman's, the second a man's. Then +another voice, clear and cold, and well modulated, said to her father: +"They tell me you have been here a long time, and have had much pain. +You will be glad to go, I am sure." + +Something in the voice startled her. Some familiar sound or inflection +struck upon her ear with a far-off note, some lost tone she knew. Of +what, of whom, did this voice remind her? She turned round quickly and +caught two cold blue eyes looking at her. The face was older than her +own, handsome and still, and happy in a placid sort of way. Few gusts of +passion or of pain had passed across that face. The figure was shapely +to the newest fashion, the bonnet was perfect, the hand which held two +books was prettily gloved. Polite charity was written in her manner and +consecrated every motion. On the instant, Rosalie resented this fine +epitome of convention, this dutiful charity-monger, herself the centre of +an admiring quartet. She saw the whispering, she noted the well-bred +disguise of interest, and she met the visitor's gaze with cold courtesy. +The other read the look in her face, and a slightly pacifying smile +gathered at her lips. + +"We are glad to hear that your father is better. He has been ill a long +time?" + +Rosalie started again, for the voice perplexed her--rather, not the +voice, but the inflection, the deliberation. + +She bowed, and set her lips, but, chancing to glance at her father, she +saw that he was troubled by her manner. Flashing a look of love at him, +she adjusted the pillow under his head, and said to her questioner in a +low voice: "He is better now, thank you." + +Encouraged, the other rejoined: "May I leave one or two books for him to +read--or for you to read to him?" Then added hastily, for she saw a +curious look in Rosalie's eyes: "We can have mutual friends in books, +though we cannot be friends with each other. Books are the go-betweens +of humanity." + +Rosalie's heart leapt, she flushed, then grew slightly pale, for +it was not tone or inflection alone that disturbed her now, but words +themselves. A voice from over the hills seemed to say these things to +her. A haunting voice from over the hills had said them to her--these +very words. + +"Friends need no go-betweens," she said quietly, "and enemies should not +use them." + +She heard a voice say, "By Jove!" in a tone of surprise, as though it +were wonderful the girl from Chaudiere should have her wits about her. +So Rosalie interpreted it. + +"Have you many friends here?" asked the cold voice, meant to be kindly +and pacific. It was schooled to composure, because it gave advantage in +life's intercourse, not from any inner urbanity. + +"Some need many friends, some but a few. I come from a country where one +only needs a few." + +"Where is your country, I wonder?" said the cold echo of another voice. + +Charley had passed out of Kathleen's life--he was dead to her, his memory +scorned and buried. She loved the man to whom she supposed she was +married; she was only too glad to let the dust of death and time cover +every trace of Charley from her gaze; she would have rooted out every +particle of association: yet his influence on her had been so great that +she had unconsciously absorbed some of his idiosyncrasies--in the tone of +his voice, in his manner of speaking. To-day she had even repeated +phrases he had used. + +"Beyond the hills," said Rosalie, turning away. + +"Is it not strange?" said the voice. "That is the title of one of the +books I have just brought--'Beyond the Hills'. It is by an English +writer. This other book is French. May I leave them?" + +Rosalie inclined her head. It would. make her own position less +dignified if she refused them. "Books are always welcome to my father," +she said. + +There was an instant's pause, as though the fashionable lady would offer +her hand; but their eyes met, and they only bowed. The lady moved on +with a smile, leaving a perfume of heliotrope behind her. + +"Where is your country, I wonder?"--the voice of the lady rang in +Rosalie's ears. As she sat at the window again, long after the visitors +had disappeared, the words, "I wonder--I wonder--I wonder!" kept beating +in her brain. It was absurd that this woman should remind her of the +tailor of Chaudiere. + +Suddenly she was roused by her father's voice. "This is beautiful--ah, +but beautiful, Rosalie!" + +She turned towards him. He was reading the book in his hand--'Beyond the +Hills'. "Listen," he said, and he read, in English: "'Compensation is +the other name for God. How often is it that those whom disease or +accident has robbed of active life find greater inner rejoicing and a +larger spiritual itinerary! It would seem that withdrawal from the ruder +activities gives a clearer seeing. Also for these, so often, is granted +a greater love, which comes of the consecration of other lives to theirs. +And these too have their reward, for they are less encompassed by the +vanities of the world, having the joy of self-sacrifice.'" He looked at +Rosalie with an unnatural brightness in his eyes, and she smiled at him +now and stroked his hand. + +"It has been all compensation to me," he said, after a moment. "You have +been a good daughter to me, Rosalie." + +She shook her head and smiled. "Good fathers think they have good +daughters," she answered, choking back a sob. + +He closed the book and let it lie upon the coverlet. "I will sleep now," +he said, and turned on his side. She arranged his pillow, and adjusted +the bedclothes to his comfort. + +"Good-night," he said, as, with a faint hand, he drew her head down and +kissed her. "Good girl! Goodnight!" + +She patted his hand. "It is not night yet, father." + +He was already half asleep. "Good-night!" he said again, and fell into +a deep sleep. + +She sat down by the window, in her hand the book he had laid down. A +hundred thoughts were busy in her brain--of her father; of the woman who +had just left; of her lover over the hills. The woman's voice came to +her again--a far-off mockery. She opened the book mechanically and +turned over the pages. Presently her eyes were riveted to a page. +On it was written the word Kathleen. + +For a moment she sat transfixed. The word Kathleen and the haunting +voice became one, and her mind ran back to the day when she had said to +Charley: "Who is Kathleen?" + +She sprang to her feet. What should she do? Follow the woman? Find out +who and what she was? Go to the young surgeon who had accompanied them, +ask him who she was, and so learn the clue to the mystery concerning her +lover? + +In the midst of her confusion she became sharply conscious of two things: +the approach of Mrs. Flynn, and her father's heavy breathing. Dropping +the book, she leaned over her father's bed and looked closely at him. +Then she turned to the frightened and anxious Mrs. Flynn. + +"Go for the priest," she said. "He is dying." + +"I'll send some one. I'm stayin' here by you, darlin'," said the old +woman, and hurried to the room of the young surgeon for a messenger. + +As the sun went down, the cripple went out upon a long journey alone. + + + + +CHAPTER XLVIII + +"WHERE THE TREE OF LIFE IS BLOOMING--" + +As Charley walked the bank of the great river by the city where his old +life lay dead, he struggled with the new life which--long or short--must +henceforth belong to the village of the woman he loved. . . . But as +he fought with himself in the long night-watch it was borne in upon him +that though he had been shown the Promised Land, he might never find +there a habitation and a home. The hymn he had mockingly sung the night +he had been done to death at the Cote Dorion sang in his senses now, an +ever-present mockery: + + "On the other side of Jordan, + In the sweet fields of Eden, + Where the tree of life is blooming, + There is rest for you. + There is rest for the weary, + There is rest for the weary, + There is rest for the weary, + There is rest for you." + +In the uttermost corner of his intelligence he felt with sure prescience +that, however befalling, the end of all was not far off. In the exercise +of new faculties, which had more to do with the soul than with reason, he +now believed what he could not see, and recognised what was not proved. +Labour of the hand, trouble, sorrow, and perplexity, charity and +humanity, had cleared and simplified his life, had sweetened his +intelligence, and taken the place of ambition. He saw life now through +the lens of personal duty, which required that the thing nearest to one's +hand should be done first. + +But as foreboding pressed upon him there came the thought of what should +come after--to Rosalie. His thoughts took a practical form--her good was +uppermost in his mind. All Rosalie had to live on was her salary as +postmistress, for it was in every one's knowledge that the little else +she had was being sacrificed to her father's illness. Suppose, then, +that through illness or accident she lost her position, what could she +do? He might leave her what he had--but what had he? Enough to keep her +for a year or two--no more. All his earnings had gone to the poor and +the suffering of Chaudiere. + +There was one way. It had suggested itself to him so often in Chaudiere, +and had been one of the two reasons for bringing him here. There were +his dead mother's pearls and one thousand dollars in notes behind a +secret panel in the white house on the hill, in this very city where he +was. The pearls were worth over ten thousand dollars--in all, there +would be eleven thousand, enough to secure Rosalie from poverty. What +should Kathleen do with his mother's pearls, even if they were found by +her? What should she do with his money did she not loathe his memory? +Had not all his debts been paid? These pearls and this money were all +his own. + +But to get them. To go now to the white house on the hill; to face that +old life even for an hour, a knocking at the door of a haunted house--he +shrank from the thought. He would have to enter the place like a thief +in the night. + +Yet for Rosalie he must take the risk--he must go. + + + + +CHAPTER XLIX + +THE OPEN GATE + +It was a still night, and the moon, delicately bright, gave forth that +radiance which makes spiritual to the eye the coarsest thing. Inside the +white house on the hill all was dark. Sleep had settled on it long +before midnight, for, on the morrow, its master and mistress hoped to +make a journey to the valley of the Chaudiere, where the Passion Play was +being performed by habitants and Indians. The desire to see the play had +become an infatuation in the minds of the two, eager for some interest to +relieve the monotony of a happy life. + +But as all slept, a figure in the dress of a habitant moved through the +passages of the house stealthily, yet with an assurance unusual in the +thief or housebreaker. In the darkest passages his step was sure, and +his hand fastened on latch or door-knob with perfect precision. He came +at last into a large hallway flooded by the moon, pale, watchful, his +beard frosted by the light. In the stillness of his tread and the +composed sorrow of his face he seemed like one long dead who "revisits +the glimpses of the moon." + +At last he entered a room the door of which stood wide open. In this +room had been begotten, or had had exercise, whatever of him was worth +approving in the days before he died. It was a place of books and +statues and tapestry, and the dark oak was nobly smutched of Time. This +sombre oaken wall had been handed down through four generations from the +man's great-grandfather: the breath of generations had steeped it in +human association. + +Entering, he turned for an instant with clinched hands to look at another +door across the hall. Behind that door were two people who despised his +memory, who conspired to forget his very name. This house was the +woman's, for he had given it to her the day he died. But that she could +live there with all the old associations, with memories that, however +bitter, however shaming, had a sort of sacredness, struck into his soul +with a harrowing pain. There she was whom he had spared--himself; whose +happiness had lain in his hands, and he had given it to her. Yet her +very existence robbed himself of happiness, and made sorrowful a life +dearer than his own. + +Kathleen lay asleep in that room--he fancied he could hear her breathing; +and, by the hospital on the hill, up beyond the point of pines, in a +little cottage which he could see from the great window, lay Rosalie with +sleepless eyes and wan cheeks, longing for morning and the stir of life +to help her to forget. + +For Rosalie he had come to this house once more. For her sake he was +revisiting this torture-chamber, from which he knew he must go again, +blanched and shaken, as a man goes from a tomb where his dead lie +unforgiving. + +He shut his teeth, went swiftly across the room, and beside a great +carved oak table touched a hidden spring in the side of it. The spring +snapped; the panel creaked a little and drew back. It seemed to him that +the noise he made must be heard in every part of the house, so sensitive +was his ear, so deep was the silence on which the sounds had broken. He +turned round to the doorway to listen before he put his hand within the +secret place. + +There was no sound. He turned his attention to the table. Drawing forth +two packets with a gasp of relief, he put them in his pocket, and, with +extreme care, proceeded to close the panel. By rubbing the edges of the +wood with grease from a candle on the table, he was able to readjust the +panel in silence. But, as the spring came home, he became suddenly +conscious of a presence in the room. A shiver passed through him. He +turned round-softly, quickly. He was in the shadow and near great +window-curtains, and his fingers instinctively clutched them as he saw a +figure in white at the door of the room. Slowly, strangely deliberate, +the figure moved further into the room. + +Charley's breath stopped. He felt his face flush, and a strange weakness +came on him. There before him stood Kathleen. + +She was in her night-gown, and she stood still, as though listening; yet, +as Charley looked closer, he realised that it was an unconscious, passive +listening, and that she did not know he was there. + +Her mind only was listening. She was asleep. Was it possible that his +very presence in the house had touched some old note of memory, which, +automatically responding, had carried her from her bed in this +somnambulistic trance? That subtle telegraphy between our subconscious +selves which we cannot reduce to a law, yet alarming us at times, +announced to Kathleen's mind, independent of the waking senses, the +presence once familiar to this house for so many years. In her sleep +she had involuntarily responded to the call of Charley's approach. + +Once, in the past, the night her uncle died, she had walked in her sleep, +and the memory of this flashed upon Charley now. Silently he came closer +to her. The moonlight shone on her face. He could see plainly she was +asleep. His position was painful and perilous. If she waked, the shock +to herself would be great; if she waked and saw him, what disaster might +not occur! + +Yet he had no agitation now, only clearness of mind and a curious sense +of confusion that he should see her en dishabille--the old fastidious +sense mingling with the feeling that she was now a stranger to him, and +that, waking, she would fly embarrassed from his presence, as he was +ready to fly from hers. He was about to steal to the door and escape +before she waked, but she turned round, moved through the doorway, and +glided down the hall. He followed silently. + +She moved to the staircase, then slowly down it, and through a passage to +a morning-room, where, opening a pair of French windows, she passed out +onto the lawn. He followed, not more than a dozen paces behind her. +His safety lay in getting outside, where he could easily hide among the +bushes, should someone else appear and an alarm be raised. + +She crossed the lawn swiftly, a white, ghostlike figure. In the middle +of the lawn she stopped short once as if in doubt what to do--as a +thought-reader pauses in his search for the mental scent again, ere he +rushes upon the object of his search with the certainty of instinct. + +Presently she moved on, going directly towards a gate that opened out on +the cliff above the river. In Charley's day this gate had been often +used, for it gave upon four steep wooden steps leading to a narrow shelf +of rock below. From the edge of this cliff a rope-ladder dropped fifty +feet to the river. For years he had used this rope-ladder to get down to +his boat, and often, when they were first married, Kathleen used to come +and watch him descend, and sometimes, just at the very first, would +descend also. As he stole into the grounds this evening he had noticed, +however, that the rope-ladder was gone, and that new steps were being +built. He had also mechanically observed that the gate was open. + +For an instant he watched her slowly moving towards the gate. At first +he did not realise the situation. Suddenly her danger flashed upon him. +Passing through the gateway, she must fall over the cliff. + +Her life was in his hands. + +He could rush forward swiftly and close the gate, then, raising an alarm, +get away before he was seen; or--he could escape now. + +What had he to do with her? A weird, painful suggestion crept into his +brain: he was not responsible for her, and he was responsible for a woman +up there by the hospital, whose home was the valley of the Chaudiere! + +If Kathleen were gone, what barrier would there be between him and +Rosalie? What had he to do with this strange disposition of events? +Kathleen was never absent from her church twice on Sundays; she was +devoted to work of all sorts for the church on week-days--where was her +intervening personal Providence? If Providence permitted her to die?-- +well, she had had two years of happiness with the man she loved, at some +expense to himself--was it not fair that Rosalie should have her share? +Had he the right to call upon Rosalie for constant self-sacrifice, when, +by shutting his eyes now, by being dead to Kathleen and her need, as he +was dead to the world he once knew, the way would be clear to marry +Rosalie? + +Dead--he was dead to the world and to Kathleen! Should his ghost +interpose between her and the death now within two-score feet of her? +Who could know? It was grim, it was awful, but was it not a wild kind of +justice? Who could blame? It was the old Charley Steele, the Charley +Steele of the court-room, who argued back humanity and the inherent +rightness of things. + +But it was only a moment's pause. The thoughts flashed by like the +lightning impressions of a dream, and a voice said in his ear, the voice +of the new Charley with a conscience: + +"Save her--save her!" + +Even as he was conscious of another presence on the lawn, he rushed +forward noiselessly. Stealing between Kathleen and the gate-she was +within five feet of it he closed and locked it. Then, with a quick +glance at her sleeping face-it was engraven on his memory ever after like +a dead face in a coffin--he ran along the fence among the shrubbery. A +man not fifty feet away called to him. + +"Hush--she is asleep!" Charley whispered, and disappeared. + +It was Fairing himself who saw this deed which saved Kathleen's life. +Awaking, and not finding her, he had glanced towards the window, and had +seen her on the lawn. He had rushed down to her, in time to see her +saved by a strange bearded man in habitant dress. His one glance at the +man's face, as it turned towards him, produced an extraordinary effect +upon his mind, not soon to be dispelled--a haunting, ghostlike +apparition, which kept reminding him of something or somebody, he could +not tell what or whom. The whispering voice and the breathless words, +"Hush--she is asleep!" repeated themselves over and over again in his +brain, as, taking Kathleen's hand, he led her, unresisting, and still +sleeping, back to her room. In agitated thankfulness he resolved not to +speak of the event to Kathleen, or to any one else, lest it should come +to her ears and frighten her. + +He would, however, keep a sharp lookout for the man who had saved her +life, and would reward him duly. The face of the bearded habitant came +between him and his sleep. + +Meanwhile this disturber of a woman's dreams and a man's sleep was +hurrying to an inn in the town by the waterside, where he met another +habitant with a team of dogs--Jo Portugais. Jo had not been able to bear +the misery of suspense and anxiety, and had come seeking him. There was +little speech between them. + +"You have not been found out, M'sieu'?" was Jo's anxious question. + +"No, no, but I have had a bad night, Jo. Get the dogs together." + +A little later, as Charley made ready to go back to Chaudiere, Jo said: + +"You look as if you'd had a black dream, M'sieu'." With the river +rustling by, and the trees stirring in the first breath of dawn, Charley +told Jo what had happened. + +For a moment the murderer did not speak or stir, for a struggle was going +on in his breast also; then he stooped quickly, caught his companion's +hand, and kissed it. + +"I could not have done it, M'sieu'," he said hoarsely. They parted, Jo +to remain behind as they had agreed, to be near Rosalie if needed; +Charley to return to the valley of the Chaudiere. + + + + +ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS: + +Good fathers think they have good daughters +Shure, if we could always be 'about the same,' we'd do + + + + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE RIGHT OF WAY, PARKER, V5 *** + +******** This file should be named 6247.txt or 6247.zip ********* + +This eBook was produced by David Widger + +Project Gutenberg eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the US +unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we usually do not +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + +We are now trying to release all our eBooks one year in advance +of the official release dates, leaving time for better editing. +Please be encouraged to tell us about any error or corrections, +even years after the official publication date. + +Please note neither this listing nor its contents are final til +midnight of the last day of the month of any such announcement. +The official release date of all Project Gutenberg eBooks is at +Midnight, Central Time, of the last day of the stated month. A +preliminary version may often be posted for suggestion, comment +and editing by those who wish to do so. + +Most people start at our Web sites at: +https://gutenberg.org or +http://promo.net/pg + +These Web sites include award-winning information about Project +Gutenberg, including how to donate, how to help produce our new +eBooks, and how to subscribe to our email newsletter (free!). + + +Those of you who want to download any eBook before announcement +can get to them as follows, and just download by date. This is +also a good way to get them instantly upon announcement, as the +indexes our cataloguers produce obviously take a while after an +announcement goes out in the Project Gutenberg Newsletter. + +http://www.ibiblio.org/gutenberg/etext03 or +ftp://ftp.ibiblio.org/pub/docs/books/gutenberg/etext03 + +Or /etext02, 01, 00, 99, 98, 97, 96, 95, 94, 93, 92, 92, 91 or 90 + +Just search by the first five letters of the filename you want, +as it appears in our Newsletters. + + +Information about Project Gutenberg (one page) + +We produce about two million dollars for each hour we work. The +time it takes us, a rather conservative estimate, is fifty hours +to get any eBook selected, entered, proofread, edited, copyright +searched and analyzed, the copyright letters written, etc. Our +projected audience is one hundred million readers. If the value +per text is nominally estimated at one dollar then we produce $2 +million dollars per hour in 2002 as we release over 100 new text +files per month: 1240 more eBooks in 2001 for a total of 4000+ +We are already on our way to trying for 2000 more eBooks in 2002 +If they reach just 1-2% of the world's population then the total +will reach over half a trillion eBooks given away by year's end. + +The Goal of Project Gutenberg is to Give Away 1 Trillion eBooks! +This is ten thousand titles each to one hundred million readers, +which is only about 4% of the present number of computer users. + +Here is the briefest record of our progress (* means estimated): + +eBooks Year Month + + 1 1971 July + 10 1991 January + 100 1994 January + 1000 1997 August + 1500 1998 October + 2000 1999 December + 2500 2000 December + 3000 2001 November + 4000 2001 October/November + 6000 2002 December* + 9000 2003 November* +10000 2004 January* + + +The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation has been created +to secure a future for Project Gutenberg into the next millennium. + +We need your donations more than ever! + +As of February, 2002, contributions are being solicited from people +and organizations in: Alabama, Alaska, Arkansas, Connecticut, +Delaware, District of Columbia, Florida, Georgia, Hawaii, Illinois, +Indiana, Iowa, Kansas, Kentucky, Louisiana, Maine, Massachusetts, +Michigan, Mississippi, Missouri, Montana, Nebraska, Nevada, New +Hampshire, New Jersey, New Mexico, New York, North Carolina, Ohio, +Oklahoma, Oregon, Pennsylvania, Rhode Island, South Carolina, South +Dakota, Tennessee, Texas, Utah, Vermont, Virginia, Washington, West +Virginia, Wisconsin, and Wyoming. + +We have filed in all 50 states now, but these are the only ones +that have responded. + +As the requirements for other states are met, additions to this list +will be made and fund raising will begin in the additional states. +Please feel free to ask to check the status of your state. + +In answer to various questions we have received on this: + +We are constantly working on finishing the paperwork to legally +request donations in all 50 states. If your state is not listed and +you would like to know if we have added it since the list you have, +just ask. + +While we cannot solicit donations from people in states where we are +not yet registered, we know of no prohibition against accepting +donations from donors in these states who approach us with an offer to +donate. + +International donations are accepted, but we don't know ANYTHING about +how to make them tax-deductible, or even if they CAN be made +deductible, and don't have the staff to handle it even if there are +ways. + +Donations by check or money order may be sent to: + +Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation +PMB 113 +1739 University Ave. +Oxford, MS 38655-4109 + +Contact us if you want to arrange for a wire transfer or payment +method other than by check or money order. + +The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation has been approved by +the US Internal Revenue Service as a 501(c)(3) organization with EIN +[Employee Identification Number] 64-622154. Donations are +tax-deductible to the maximum extent permitted by law. As fund-raising +requirements for other states are met, additions to this list will be +made and fund-raising will begin in the additional states. + +We need your donations more than ever! + +You can get up to date donation information online at: + +https://www.gutenberg.org/donation.html + + +*** + +If you can't reach Project Gutenberg, +you can always email directly to: + +Michael S. Hart <hart@pobox.com> + +Prof. Hart will answer or forward your message. + +We would prefer to send you information by email. + + +**The Legal Small Print** + + +(Three Pages) + +***START**THE SMALL PRINT!**FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN EBOOKS**START*** +Why is this "Small Print!" statement here? You know: lawyers. +They tell us you might sue us if there is something wrong with +your copy of this eBook, even if you got it for free from +someone other than us, and even if what's wrong is not our +fault. So, among other things, this "Small Print!" statement +disclaims most of our liability to you. It also tells you how +you may distribute copies of this eBook if you want to. + +*BEFORE!* YOU USE OR READ THIS EBOOK +By using or reading any part of this PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm +eBook, you indicate that you understand, agree to and accept +this "Small Print!" statement. If you do not, you can receive +a refund of the money (if any) you paid for this eBook by +sending a request within 30 days of receiving it to the person +you got it from. If you received this eBook on a physical +medium (such as a disk), you must return it with your request. + +ABOUT PROJECT GUTENBERG-TM EBOOKS +This PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm eBook, like most PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm eBooks, +is a "public domain" work distributed by Professor Michael S. Hart +through the Project Gutenberg Association (the "Project"). +Among other things, this means that no one owns a United States copyright +on or for this work, so the Project (and you!) can copy and +distribute it in the United States without permission and +without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, set forth +below, apply if you wish to copy and distribute this eBook +under the "PROJECT GUTENBERG" trademark. + +Please do not use the "PROJECT GUTENBERG" trademark to market +any commercial products without permission. + +To create these eBooks, the Project expends considerable +efforts to identify, transcribe and proofread public domain +works. Despite these efforts, the Project's eBooks and any +medium they may be on may contain "Defects". Among other +things, Defects may take the form of incomplete, inaccurate or +corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other +intellectual property infringement, a defective or damaged +disk or other eBook medium, a computer virus, or computer +codes that damage or cannot be read by your equipment. + +LIMITED WARRANTY; DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES +But for the "Right of Replacement or Refund" described below, +[1] Michael Hart and the Foundation (and any other party you may +receive this eBook from as a PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm eBook) disclaims +all liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including +legal fees, and [2] YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE OR +UNDER STRICT LIABILITY, OR FOR BREACH OF WARRANTY OR CONTRACT, +INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE +OR INCIDENTAL DAMAGES, EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE +POSSIBILITY OF SUCH DAMAGES. + +If you discover a Defect in this eBook within 90 days of +receiving it, you can receive a refund of the money (if any) +you paid for it by sending an explanatory note within that +time to the person you received it from. If you received it +on a physical medium, you must return it with your note, and +such person may choose to alternatively give you a replacement +copy. If you received it electronically, such person may +choose to alternatively give you a second opportunity to +receive it electronically. + +THIS EBOOK IS OTHERWISE PROVIDED TO YOU "AS-IS". NO OTHER +WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, ARE MADE TO YOU AS +TO THE EBOOK OR ANY MEDIUM IT MAY BE ON, INCLUDING BUT NOT +LIMITED TO WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR A +PARTICULAR PURPOSE. + +Some states do not allow disclaimers of implied warranties or +the exclusion or limitation of consequential damages, so the +above disclaimers and exclusions may not apply to you, and you +may have other legal rights. + +INDEMNITY +You will indemnify and hold Michael Hart, the Foundation, +and its trustees and agents, and any volunteers associated +with the production and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm +texts harmless, from all liability, cost and expense, including +legal fees, that arise directly or indirectly from any of the +following that you do or cause: [1] distribution of this eBook, +[2] alteration, modification, or addition to the eBook, +or [3] any Defect. + +DISTRIBUTION UNDER "PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm" +You may distribute copies of this eBook electronically, or by +disk, book or any other medium if you either delete this +"Small Print!" and all other references to Project Gutenberg, +or: + +[1] Only give exact copies of it. Among other things, this + requires that you do not remove, alter or modify the + eBook or this "small print!" statement. You may however, + if you wish, distribute this eBook in machine readable + binary, compressed, mark-up, or proprietary form, + including any form resulting from conversion by word + processing or hypertext software, but only so long as + *EITHER*: + + [*] The eBook, when displayed, is clearly readable, and + does *not* contain characters other than those + intended by the author of the work, although tilde + (~), asterisk (*) and underline (_) characters may + be used to convey punctuation intended by the + author, and additional characters may be used to + indicate hypertext links; OR + + [*] The eBook may be readily converted by the reader at + no expense into plain ASCII, EBCDIC or equivalent + form by the program that displays the eBook (as is + the case, for instance, with most word processors); + OR + + [*] You provide, or agree to also provide on request at + no additional cost, fee or expense, a copy of the + eBook in its original plain ASCII form (or in EBCDIC + or other equivalent proprietary form). + +[2] Honor the eBook refund and replacement provisions of this + "Small Print!" statement. + +[3] Pay a trademark license fee to the Foundation of 20% of the + gross profits you derive calculated using the method you + already use to calculate your applicable taxes. If you + don't derive profits, no royalty is due. Royalties are + payable to "Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation" + the 60 days following each date you prepare (or were + legally required to prepare) your annual (or equivalent + periodic) tax return. Please contact us beforehand to + let us know your plans and to work out the details. + +WHAT IF YOU *WANT* TO SEND MONEY EVEN IF YOU DON'T HAVE TO? +Project Gutenberg is dedicated to increasing the number of +public domain and licensed works that can be freely distributed +in machine readable form. + +The Project gratefully accepts contributions of money, time, +public domain materials, or royalty free copyright licenses. +Money should be paid to the: +"Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation." + +If you are interested in contributing scanning equipment or +software or other items, please contact Michael Hart at: +hart@pobox.com + +[Portions of this eBook's header and trailer may be reprinted only +when distributed free of all fees. Copyright (C) 2001, 2002 by +Michael S. Hart. Project Gutenberg is a TradeMark and may not be +used in any sales of Project Gutenberg eBooks or other materials be +they hardware or software or any other related product without +express permission.] + +*END THE SMALL PRINT! FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN EBOOKS*Ver.02/11/02*END* |