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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/8652-0.txt b/8652-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..7097256 --- /dev/null +++ b/8652-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,7019 @@ +Project Gutenberg's Crowded Out! and Other Sketches, by Susie F. Harrison + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Crowded Out! and Other Sketches + +Author: Susie F. Harrison + + +Release Date: August, 2005 [EBook #8652] +This file was first posted on July 29, 2003 +Last Updated: March 15, 2018 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CROWDED OUT! AND OTHER SKETCHES *** + + + + +Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Robert Prince and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team + + + + + + + +CROWDED OUT! + +And Other Sketches, + +By Seranus + + + +The Story of Monsieur, Madame, and the Pea-Green Parrot. The Bishop of +Saskabasquia. “As it was in the Beginning.” A Christmas Sketch. The +Idyl of the Island. The Story of Delle Josephine Boulanger. The Story of +Etienne Chezy d'Alencourt. “Descendez a l'ombre, ma jolie blonde.” The +Prisoner Dubois. How the Mr. Foxleys Came, Stayed, and Never Went Away. +The Gilded Hammock. + + + + +PREFACE. + + +I present these “Sketches” in all proper fear and humility, to my +Canadian public, hoping that the phases of colonial life they endeavor +to portray will be recognized as not altogether unfamiliar. Some of them +are true, others have been written through the medium of Fancy, which +can find and inhabit as large a field in Canada as elsewhere; for, to my +mind, there is no country, no town, no village, as there is no nation, +no class of society, nor individual existence, that has not its own deep +and peculiar significance, its own unique and personal characteristics +that distinguish it from the rest of the world. + +SERANUS. + + + + +Crowded Out. + + +I am nobody. I am living in a London lodging-house. My room is up three +pair of stairs. I have come to London to sell or to part with in some +manner an opera, a comedy, a volume of verse, songs, sketches, stories. +I compose as well as write. I am ambitious. For the sake of another, +one other, I am ambitious. For myself it does not matter. If nobody will +discover me I must discover myself. I must demand recognition, I must +wrest attention, they are my due. I look from my window over the smoky +roofs of London. What will it do for me, this great cold city? It shall +hear me, it shall pause for a moment, for a day, for a year. I will make +it to listen to me, to look at me. I have left a continent behind, +I have crossed a great water; I have incurred dangers, trials of all +kinds; I have grown pale and thin with labor and the midnight oil; I +have starved, and watched the dawn break starving; I have prayed on +my stubborn knees for death and I have prayed on my stubborn knees for +life--all that I might reach London, London that has killed so many of +my brothers, London the cold, London the blind, London the cruel! I am +here at last. I am here to be tested, to be proved, to be worn proudly, +as a favorite and costly jewel is worn, or to be flung aside scornfully +or dropped stealthily to--the devil! And I love it so this great London! +I am ready to swear no one ever loved it so before! The smokier it is, +the dirtier, the dingier, the better. The oftener it rains the better. +The more whimsical it is, the more fickle, the more credulous, the more +self-sufficient, the more self-existent, the better. Nothing that it +can do, nothing that it can be, can change my love for it, great cruel +London! + +But to be cruel to _me_, to be fickle to _me_, to be deaf to _me_, to be +blind to _me_! Would I change then? I might. As yet it does not know +me. I pass through its streets, touching here a bit of old black wall, +picking there an ivy leaf, and it knows me not. It is holy ground to me. +It is the mistress whose hand alone I as yet dare to kiss. Some day +I shall possess the whole, and I shall walk with the firm and buoyant +tread of the accepted, delighted lover. Only to-day I am nobody. I +am crowded out. Yet there are moments when the mere joy of being in +England, of being in London, satisfies me. I have seen the sunbeam +strike the glory along the green. I know it is an English sky above +me, all change, all mutability. No steady cloudless sphere of blue but +ever-varying glories of white piled cloud against the gray. Listen to +this. I saw a primrose--the first I had ever seen--in the hedge. They +said “Pick it.” But I did not. I, who had written there years ago,-- + + + I never pulled a primrose, I, + But could I know that there may lie + E'en now some small or hidden seed, + Within, below, an English mead, + Waiting for sun and rain to make + A flower of it for my poor sake, + I then could wait till winds should tell, + For me there swayed or swung a bell, + Or reared a banner, peered a star, + Or curved a cup in woods afar. + + +I who had written that, I had found my first primrose and I could +not pluck it. I found it fair be sure. I find all England fair. The +shimmering mist and the tender rain, the red wallflower and the ivy +green, the singing birds and the shallow streams--all the country; the +blackened churches, the grass-grown churchyards, the hum of streets the +crowded omnibus, the gorgeous shops,--all the town. God! do I not love +it, my England? Yet not my England yet. Till she proclaim it herself, +I am not hers. I will make her mine. I will write as no man has ever +written about her, for very love of her. I look out to-night from +my narrow window and think how the moonlight falls on Tintern, on +Glastonbury, on Furness. How it falls on the primrose I would not pluck. +How it would like to fall on the tall blue-bells in the wood. I see the +lights of Oxford St. The omnibuses rattle by, the people are going to +see Irving, Wilson Barrett, Ellen Terry. What line, of mine, what bar, +what thought or phrase will turn the silence into song, the copper into +gold?--I come back from the window and sit at the square centre table. +It is rickety and uncomfortable, useless to write on. I kick it. I would +kick anything that came in my way to-night. I am savage. Outside, a +French piano is playing that infernal waltz. A fair subject for kicking +if you will. But, though I would I cannot. What a room! The fire-place +is filled with orange peel and brown paper, cigar stumps and matches. +One blind I pulled down this morning, the other is crooked. The lamp +glass is cracked, my work too. I dare not look at the wall paper nor +the pictures. The carpet I have kicked into holes. I can see it though +I can't feel it, it is so thin. My clothes are lying all about. The soot +of London begrimes every object in the room. I would buy a pot of musk +or a silken scarf if I dared, but how can I? + +I must get my bread first and live for beauty after. Everything is +refused though, everything sent back or else dropped as it were into +some bottomless pit or gulf. + +Here is my opera. This is my _magnum opus_, very dear, very clear, +very well preserved. For it is three years old. I scored it nearly +altogether, by _her_ side, Hortense, my dear love, my northern bird! You +could flush under my gaze, you could kindle at my touch, but you were +not for me, you were not for me!--My head droops down, I could go to +sleep. But I must not waste the time in sleep. I will write another +story. No; I had four returned to-day. Ah! Cruel London! To love you +so, only that I may be spurned and thrust aside, ignored, forgotten. +But to-morrow I will try again. I will take the opera to the theatres, +I will see the managers, I will even tell them about myself and about +Hortense--but it will be hard. They do not know me, they do not know +Hortense. They will laugh, they will say “You fool.” And I shall be +helpless, I shall let them say it. They will never listen to me, though +I play my most beautiful phrase, for I am nobody. And Hortense, the +child with the royal air, Hortense, with her imperial brow and her hair +rolled over its cushion, Hortense, the _Châtelaine_ of _Beau Séjour_, +the delicate, haughty, pale and impassioned daughter of a noble house, +that Hortense, my Hortense, is nobody! + +Who in this great London will believe in me, who will care to know +about Hortense or about _Beau Séjour_? If they ask me, I shall say--oh! +proudly--not in Normandy nor in Alsace, but far away across a great +water dwells such a maiden in such a _château_. There by the side of +a northern river, ever rippling, ever sparkling in Summer, hard, hard +frozen in winter, stretches a vast estate. I remember its impenetrable +pinewood, its deep ravine; I see the _château_, long and white and +straggling, with the red tiled towers and the tall French windows; I +see the terrace where the hound must still sleep; I see the square side +tower with the black iron shutters; I see the very window where Hortense +has set her light; I see the floating cribs on the river, I hear the +boatmen singing-- + + + Descendez â l'ombre, + Ma Jolie blonde. + + +And now I am dreaming surely! This is London, not _Beau Séjour_, and +Hortense is far away, and it is that cursed fellow in the street I hear! +The morrow comes on quickly. If I were to draw up that crooked blind +now I should see the first streaks of daylight. Who pinned those other +curtains together? That was well done, for I don't want to see the +daylight; and it comes in, you know, Hortense, when you think it is +shut out. Somebody calls it _fingers_, and that is just what it is, long +fingers of dawn, always pale, always gray and white, stealing in and +around my pillow for me. Never pink, never rosy, mind that; always faint +and shadowy and gray. + +It was all caste. Caste in London, caste in _Le Bos Canada_, all +the same. Because she was a _St. Hilaire_. Her full name--_Hortense +Angelique De Repentigny de St. Hilaire_--how it grates on me afresh with +its aristocratic plentitude. She is well-born, certainly; better born +than most of these girls I have seen here in London, driving, walking, +riding in the Parks. They wear their hair over cushions too. Freckled +skins, high cheek-bones, square foreheads, spreading eyebrows--they +shouldn't wear it so. It suits Hortense--with her pale patrician outline +and her dark pencilled eyebrows, and her little black ribbon and amulet +around her neck. _O, Marie, priey pour nous qui avous recours a vous_! +Once I walked out to _Beau Séjour_. She did not expect me and I crept +through the leafy ravine to the pinewood, then on to the steps, and so +up to the terrace. Through the French window I could see her seated at +the long table opposite Father Couture. She lives alone with the good +Père. She is the last one of the noble line, and he guards her well and +guards her money too. + +“I do remember that it vill be all for ze Church,” she has said to me. +And the priest has taught her all she knows, how to sew and embroider, +and cook and read, though he never lets her read anything but works on +religion. Religion, always religion! He has brought her up like a nun, +crushed the life out of her. Until I found her out, found my jewel +out. It is Tennyson who says that. But his “Maud” was freer to woo than +Hortense, freer to love and kiss and hold--my God! that night while I +watched them studying and bending over those cursed works on the +Martyrs and the Saints and the Mission houses--I saw him--him--that old +priest--take her in his arms and caress her, drink her breath, feast +on her eyes, her hair, her delicate skin, and I burst in like a young +madman and told Father Conture what I thought. Oh! I was mad! I should +have won her first. I should have worked quietly, cautiously, waiting, +waiting, biding my time. But I could never bide my time. And now she +hates me, Hortense hates me, though she so nearly learned to love me. +There where we used to listen to the magical river songs, we nearly +loved, did we not Hortense? But she was a _St. Hilaire_, and I--I was +nobody, and I had insulted _le bon Pere_. Yet if I can go back to her +rich, prosperous, independent--What if that happen? But I begin to fancy +it will never happen. My resolutions, where are they, what comes of +them? Nothing. I have tried everything except the opera. Everything else +has been rejected. For a week I have not gone to bed at all. I wait and +see those ghastly gray fingers smoothing my pillow. I am not wanted. I +am crowded out. My hands tremble and I cannot write. My eyes fail and I +cannot see. To the window! + + * * * * * + +The lights of Oxford St. once more; the glare and the rattle without, +the fever and the ruin, the nerves and the heart within. Poor nerves, +poor heart; it is food you want and wine and rest, and I cannot give +them to you. + + * * * * * + +Sing, Hortense, will you? Sit by my side, by our dear river St. Maurice, +the clear, the sparkling. See how the floating cribs sail by, each with +its gleaming lights! It is like Venice I suppose. Shall we see Venice +ever, Hortense, you and I? Sing now for me, + + + Descendez à l'ombre, + Ma Jolie blonde. + + +Only you are _petite brune_, there is nothing _blonde_ about you, +_mignonne_, my dear mademoiselle, I should say if I were with you of +course as I used to do. But surely I _am_ with you and those lights are +the floating cribs I see, and your voice it is that sings, and presently +the boatmen hear and they turn and move their hands and join in--Now all +together, + + + Descendez à l'ombre, + + + * * * * * + +It was like you, Hortense, to come all this way. How did you manage it, +manage to cross that great water all alone? My poor girl did you grow +tired of _Le bon Père_ at last and of the Martyrs and the Saints and the +Jesuit Fathers? But you have got your amulet on still I hope. That is +right, for there is a chance--there is a chance of these things proving +blessings after all to good girls, and you were a good girl Hortense. +You will not mind my calling you Hortense, will you? When we are in _Le +Bas Canada_ again, in your own seignieury, it will be “Madamoiselle,” I +promise you. You say it is a strange pillow, Hortense? Books, my girl, +and manuscripts; hard but not so hard as London stones and London +hearts. Do you know I think I am dying, or else going mad? And no one +will listen even if I cry out. There is too much to listen to already in +England. Think of all the growing green, Hortense, if you can, where you +are, so far away from it all. Where you are it is cold and the snow is +still on the ground and only the little bloodroot is up in the woods. +Here where I am Hortense, where I am going to die, it is warm and green +full of color--oh! Such color! Before I came here, to London you know +London that is going to do so much for me, for us both, I had one +day--one day in the country. There I saw--No! They will not let me +tell you, I knew they would try to prevent me, those long gray fingers +stealing in, stealing in! But I _will_ tell you. Listen, Hortense, +please. I saw the hawthorne, pink and white, the laburnum--yellow--not +fire-color, I shall correct the Laureate there, Hortense, when I am +better, when I--publish!--It is dreadful to be alone in London. Don't +come, Hortense. Stay where you are, even if it is cold and gray and +there is no color. Keep your amulet round your neck, dear!--I count my +pulse beats. It is a bad thing to do. It is broad daylight now and the +fingers have gone. I can write again perhaps.--The pen--The +paper--The ink--God. Hortense! There is no ink left! And my heart--My +heart--Hortense!!! + + + Descendez à l'ombre, + Ma Jolie blonde. + + + + + +Monsieur, Madame and the Pea-Green Parrot + + + + +CHAPTER I. + + +I am an Englishman by birth. Having however lived for fourteen years out +in America or rather in Canada, I am only half an Englishman. All the +love for the dear old land which I am now revisiting is still there, +deep in my heart, but from so long a residence in another country +certain differences arise of character, habit and thought, not to be +easily shaken off. I was in the Civil Service in Canada and did very +well until I meddled with literature. Discovering that I had a faculty +for verse and story-telling, I was ambitious and at the same time +foolish enough to work so hard at my new pursuit that I was compelled to +“cut” the service, in other words to resign. Some other Englishman got +my post and I found myself, rather unexpectedly, it is true, free to +write to my heart's content. + +I got off a number of things, poems, sketches, etc., but my great work +turned out to be a comedy. I slaved at this all day and amused myself +by rehearsing it in my lodgings all night. I incurred the odium of the +landlady by coaxing the maid of all work to learn a part and act it with +me. Finally I resolved to take a great step. I would go down to New York +and get my comedy produced. That was exactly five years ago and though +the comedy was _not_ produced, I am still sanguine that it yet may be, +and perhaps not in New York after all, but in a much more important +creative centre. + +I was at the time of my visit to New York perfectly unacquainted with +the ways of a metropolis, and it was fortunate for me that I possessed +one friend there who if not exactly a friend _at court_ as we say, was +in truth a much more useful person to me, as, having once been young +and inexperienced himself, he knew the ropes well and handled them +thoroughly to his own satisfaction and with an eye to my comfort and +safety. + +In the matter of cheap dives, for instance, he was invaluable. Left to +myself I either drifted to the most expensive place, for a +meal short perhaps of Delmonicos, or else to a shabby and +altogether-to-be-repudiated den, where the meat would be rags as well +as the pudding. But under his guidance we invariably turned up in some +clean, bright, cheap and wholesome “oysterbar” or coffee room round the +corner or up a lane, and were as happy as kings over our _lager beer_. + +One day De Kock came to me (he is a grand-nephew or something, I +believe, of the great Frenchman) and said, with his knowing air, + +“You will please put on your best coat, your tall hat and a pair of +gloves, for we are going to _dine_ to-night.” + +“Have we not dined once to-day!” + +“Pish! Pshaw! You have had a soup, a mutton-chop, a triangle of pie, a +lager beer, but you have not dined. You are not starving, and yet you +have, from my present point of view, eaten nothing the whole of this +day. _Mon cher_, it is necessary that you should dine for once in your +life. _Allons_! We go to Giuseppe, Giuseppe Martinetti with the pale +wife and the pea-green parrot--_allons, allons_!” To Martinetti's +accordingly we went. I don't know what the dinner cost. It was dearer, +certainly, than it would have been in London, but it was quite as good. +We sat at a table formed for holding four at an open window, which, +filled with exotics, overlooked Union Square, lighted by hundreds of +incandescent lamps. The room contained about twenty of these small +tables, and was, I suppose, very much like other rooms of its kind to +_habitués_ of such places, but it was all new to me, and I stared and +wondered accordingly. The waiters seemed to be all foreigners, De Kock +addressing them in a mythical but magical language of his own. The +tables were all full, and the people at them were mostly foreigners as +well. + +“The Leicester Square of New York,” remarked De Kock, as he helped me to +the delicious Chiante wine out of a basket-covered bottle into a dainty +glass. The soup was excellent, I remember. So was the macaroni, served +in the best Italian method. I wondered to see De Kock manipulate it in +finished style, winding yards of it around his fork, and swallowing it +duly without any apparent effort. I cut mine at that time, although +I have learned better now. I recollect the asparagus, too: served by +itself on a great flat dish, and shining pale and green through the +clear golden sauce that was poured over it. I was just finishing my +first luscious, liquid stalk, and indulging in anticipations of my +second, when the highest, the shrillest, the most piercing, and most +unearthly voice I ever heard, shouted out-- + +“_And for goodness sake don't say I told you_!” + +It was electrifying, at least to me. I dropped my half eaten asparagus +stalk and fork at the same time, and looked up to see my companion +quietly going on as before. One or two others had stopped eating too, +but the majority appeared quite unruffled. I concluded that it was the +parrot to which my friend had referred. + +“The last comic song,” said the imperturbable De Kock. + +“But where is the beast!” I inquired. “It seemed to be over my head.” + +“Oh! Not so near as that. But take my advice and don't call it a beast, +although it is a nuisance undoubtedly. Besides, its master is not very +far away from your elbow.” + +“What of that?” said I, still injured, though in a lower tone. + +“What of that? Ah! You shall see. Look now! This short, stout person +with the diamond pin and the expansive shirt front is Giuseppe. Ah, he +sees me! Good evening, Giuseppe!” + +“Good evening, Monsieur, good evening, good evening! De friend not like +de _parrot_, eh?” + +The man was smiling at me with his hands crossed behind him. An Italian +Jew I dubbed him immediately. + +“On the contrary, he admires it very much,” said De Kock. + +Following their eyes presently I saw the cage hanging from the centre +of the room, and in it a parrot as nearly pea-green in hue as it is +possible for a parrot to be. + +“Tell my friend her name, Giuseppe,” said De Kock, beginning on some +more asparagus. + +Giuseppe stood in his patronizing way--quite the _grand seigneur_--with +the light falling on his solitaire, making it so brilliant that it +fascinated and at the same time fatigued my eyes. + +“The name of my parrot? Monsieur De Kock, he know that well. It is +Félicité--you catch--Fé-li-ci-té. It was the name of my wife.” + +Then his wife was dead. De Kock must have made a mistake. + +“It is an unusual name for a bird, is not it?” said I. + +“Monsieur is right. Not often--not often--you meet with a bird that +name. My first wife--my _first_ wife, gentlemen, she was English. _You_ +are English--ah. Yes. So was she. The English are like this.” Giuseppe +took a bottle out of the cruet-stand and set it on the table in front +of him. He went on, “When an Englishman an Englishwoman argue, they +say”--here he took the bottle up very slowly and gingerly and altered +his voice to a mincing and conventional tone--“Is it oil or is it +vinegare? Did you not say that it was vinegare? I thought that it was +oil Oh! Now I see that it is vinegare.” + +“Bravo!” exclaimed De Kock. “And so you did not get on with the +Englishwoman then I suppose, Giuseppe, and took Madame the next time?” + We were both laughing heartily at the man's mimicry when once again the +parrot shrieked. “But for goodness sake don't say I told you!” Giuseppe +walked off to speak to it and my friend and I were left alone. + +“Was Félcité the name of his first or second wife!” I asked. + +“Of his second, of course. Didn't you hear him say the first was +an Englishwoman? The second is a tall, rather good-looking pale +Frenchwoman. You may see her to-night, and on the other hand you may +not, she doesn't often appear in here. I wish she did, I am rather fond +of her myself, which is more than her husband is. It's pretty well known +that Mr. and Mrs. Joseph do _not_ get on comfortably. In fact, he hates +her, or rather ignores her, while she doats upon him and is tremendously +jealous of the parrot.” + +“What, that green thing?” + +“Well, its a lovely parrot, you must know, and the moment it came into +his possession--he has had it about three years--he seemed to transfer +whatever affection he had for his wife to that creature, with a great +deal beside. Why, he hugs it, and kisses it, and mows over it--look at +him now!” + +Sure, enough, there was Martinetti with the bird on his finger, kissing +it, and otherwise making a fool of himself. He finished by actually +putting it away inside his coat in a kind of breast pocket, I should +imagine. + +“All this is good for business, perhaps,” I said. + +“What, the parrot and so on? Oh, yes I daresay, that has something to do +with it. Still they are a queer couple. I come here mostly on account of +this Chiante wine; you can't get it so good in many places in New York, +and besides I confess Monsieur and his wife interest me somewhat. +And the people one see here are immensely funny. That is your English +expression, isn't it? There are three actresses over there at that table +with _amis intimes_; they are 'restin' now, and can cut about and dine +out as much as they please. There is a French dressmaker who lives on +the floor above and is to be found here every day. She is superbly built +and is hopelessly ugly, isn't she? There is young Lord Gurgoyle, an +Englishman like yourself, you see--what the devil is he staring at like +that?” + +From behind a _portière_ which fell across the end of the room came a +woman, tall, pale, and with a peculiar air of distinction about her. +Perhaps it was her very unusual pallor which so distinguished her for +there was nothing absolutely fine or handsome about the countenance. It +was a weak face I thought, with an ugly red mark over the upper lip, and +had she not been so very pale and so exceptionally well-dressed I should +not have looked at her twice. She wore a gown of black silk, dead-black, +lustrous, and fitting her slender figure to perfection. It was cut +square and low in the front and fell away in long folds upon the floor +at the back. What an apparition she made in the midst of this noisy +crowd, smoking, chatting, swearing, laughing! Especially so when I +noticed that as she walked very slowly down between the tables, her lips +were moving nervously and her hands clutching at her beautiful dress. As +for her eyes, they were everywhere in an instant. + +“'Tis Félicité. You are fortunate,” murmured De Kock. “And she is a +little worse than usual.” + +“What is it?” I demanded. “Drink?” “Hush-sh-sh! _Mon cher_, you are +stupid. It is jealousy, jealousy, my friend, with perhaps an occasional +over-dose of chloral. Chloral is the favorite prescription now-a-days, +you must remember that. But jealousy will do, jealousy will do. It will +accomplish a great deal, will jealousy; will destroy more, mark that! I +hope she will be quiet to-night for your sake.” + +“Is she violent?” I asked. + +“Poor thing, yes. When she finds him now with that creature inside his +coat; she will wring her hands and denounce him and threaten to kill +it--I wonder she doesn't--then her husband will march her off behind +the curtain and he will make love to the parrot again.” Precisely what +happened. The lady soon found her husband, raised her hands tragically +and broke out into excited French that was liberally sprinkled with +oaths both English and French. The mania was asserting itself, the +propensity overcoming her. It was a sad and at the same time an amusing +scene, for one could not help smiling at Giuseppe's fat unconcern as he +kept his wife off at arms' length, while all the time the parrot inside +his coat was shrieking in muffled tones “And for goodness sake don't say +I told you!” + +Finally Madame succumbed and was taken behind the curtain in a +dishevelled and hysterical condition which increased De Kock's pity for +her. We paid the waiter--or rather De Kock did--and left, not seeing +Giuseppe again to speak to, though he came in and removed the parrot, +cage and all. + +It was a lovely night outside, and I suggested sitting for a time in +Union Square. Finding an unoccupied bench, we each made ourselves happy +with a good cigar and watched the exquisite shadows of the trees above +as thrown by the electric light on the pavement. + +“Wonderful effect!” remarked my friends. “How did you enjoy your dinner? +That was a dinner, eh, and no mistake; rather have had it without the +'episode'? Oh! I don't know; you literary fellows must come in for that +sort of thing as well as the rest of the world; I should think it would +just suit you. Put them--the three of them--Monsieur, Madame and the +Pea-Green Parrot--into a book, or better still, on the stage. There's +your title ready for you too.” + +I was just thinking of the same thing. + +“They are undoubtedly originals, both of them--all three,” said I, “but +as far as I have seen them, there is hardly enough to go upon.” + +“What do you mean by 'enough'?” + +“I mean, for one thing, we do not understand the woman's mental and +moral condition sufficiently to make a study of her. You say it is +jealousy, and at the same time the use of chloral. That would have to be +understood more clearly. Then, one would like something to--” + +“Go on,” said my friend. “To--” + +“Happen,” said I, lighting a second cigar. + +Just then a couple of boys ran across the square. One of them stumbled +over my feet, picked himself up quickly and ran on again. Two or three +people now came, all running. De Kock jumped up. + +“Something is happening,” he said, “and with a vengeance too I fancy. +Hark!” + +The people now came fast and furious through the square, increasing in +numbers every moment, but through the bustle and hurry and clatter of +tongues, we could hear a woman's voice screaming in evident distress. +Mingled with it was another sound which may have mystified the general +crowd, but which De Kock and I could easily place. + +“It is the parrot!” I exclaimed, as we started to run. + +“You have your wish, _mon cher_, is it not so? But take it not so fast; +we will be there in time. _Ciel_! What a row!” + +The steps leading up to the restaurant were thronged with people, +including two or three policemen. The dining-room was ablaze with light, +and still full of visitors, most of whom, however, were moving about in +a state of agitation. The upper windows were also lighted and wide open. +The screaming suddenly ceased, but not the parrot. + +“For goodness sake don't say I told you!” It went on, louder than ever, +over and over again. + +“Damn the bird!” exclaimed De Kock. “Policeman excuse me, but I am +rather at home here. Let me go up, will you?” + +“It looks bad, sir. I'd better keep behind.” + +“Oh. It isn't murder or anything of that sort. I know them, pretty +couple, they are!” + +The next moment we were in a kind of sitting room over the restaurant +proper. Madame Martinetti lay as if exhausted on a sofa while the highly +excited parrot sang and screamed and tore at its cage as if for life. +Giuseppe was nowhere visible. “Now then where's the other?” demanded the +policeman who had just entered behind us, “There's always two at +this business. Show him up, now.” But Madame at first would deign no +explanation. Presently on the entry of policeman No. 2 she admitted +there had been a quarrel. Yes, she had quarrelled with her dear +Giuseppe, (the officers grinned) and had driven him away. Yes, he had +gone--gone forever, he had said so, never to come back, never, never! + +“And leave this fine business to you, eh? No fear of that. I guess Mr. +Martinetti'll turn up all right in the morning, however, let us make +a search, Joe.” But Giuseppe was not found; there were no traces of +a struggle, and the policemen having done all they could retired. My +friend and I, by what right I know not were the last to leave the room. +De Kock stood for some moments looking out of the window. I approached +the parrot who was still screaming. + +“If throwing a cloth over your head would stop you, I'd do it, my +dear,” said I. To my surprise, it ceased its noise directly, and became +perfectly quiet. Madame Martinetti looked around with a contemptuous +smile. + +“You have the secret as well,” said she. The bird turned to her and then +returned to me. I became quite interested in it. “Pretty Poll, pretty +bird; would you like a cracker?” + +De Kock laughed softly at the window. “A cracker to such a bird as that! +Ask it another.” I actually, though with a timid air, opened the door of +the cage and invited Polly to perch on my finger. She came, looking +at me intensely all the while. I petted her little, which she took +resignedly and with a faint show of wonder, then in answer to De Kock's +summons put her back in the cage. + +“I have the honour to wish madame a _bonsoir_,” said he, but the lady +was still sulky and vouchsafed no answer. + +We were soon out in the street. + +“Do you know,” said De Kock slowly, lighting a cigar and looking up at +the house, “Do you know, I thought something had happened.” + +“And don't you now.” + +“I am not sure,” answered my friend. + + + + +CHAPTER II. + + +We were pardonably curious to see the papers next morning. The affair +was dismissed in three lines, and although as De Kock swore, the case +was one for Gaboriau, it certainly was not our business to look into it +and in fact in a week's time I was back in Canada, and he up to his eyes +in commercial pursuits. The main point remained clear, however, that +Martinetti did _not_ come back, nor was he found, or traced or ever +heard of again. Somebody took the business out of hand, as they say, +and De Kock would occasionally write a P. S. to his letters like +this--“Dined at poor Martinetti's, Chiante as usual. Ever yours.” Or +it would be--“Drank to the production of your last new comedy at +Martinetti's.” Once he stated that shortly after that memorable night +Madame disappeared also, taking the parrot along. “I begin to think they +are a pair of deep ones and up to some big game” he wrote. For myself, I +never entirely forgot the circumstance, although it was but once vividly +recalled to my mind and that was in a theatre in Montreal. An American +company from one of the New York theatres was performing some farcical +comedy or other in which occurred the comic song, admirably sung and +acted by Miss Kate Castleton, “For goodness sake don't say I told you!” + The reminiscences forced upon me quite spoiled my enjoyment; I could +see that pale, nervous woman, hear her screams, and hear too the fearful +voice of the poor parrot. Where is it now, thought I? That same winter +I was much occupied in making studies of the different classes of people +among the French-Canadians. The latter turn up everywhere in Montreal, +and have a distinct “local color” about them which I was curious to +get and hope to preserve for use some future day. I went everywhere and +talked to everybody who might be of use to me; cabmen, porters, fruit +dealers and tobacconists. I found much to interest me in the various +Catholic institutions, and I was above all very fond of visiting the +large, ugly gray building with the air of a penitentiary about it called +the Grey Nunnery. Going through its corridors one day I took a wrong +turning and found I was among some at least quasi-private rooms. The +doors being open I saw that there were flowers, books, a warm rug on the +floor of one and a mirror on the wall of another. The third I ventured +to step inside of, for a really beautiful Madonna and child confronted +me at the door. The next moment I saw what I had not expected to see--a +parrot in a cage suspended from the window! I made quite sure that it +was not _the_ parrot before I went up to it. It was asleep and appeared +to be all over of a dull grey color, to match the Nuns, one might +have said. I stood for quite a little while regarding it. Suddenly it +stirred, shook itself, awoke and seeing me, immediately broke out into +frantic shrieks to the old refrain “And for goodness sake don't say I +told you.” + +So it was the parrot after all! Of that I felt sure, despite the changed +color, not only because of the same words being repeated--two birds +might easily learn the same song, but because of the bird's manner. For +I felt certain that the thing knew me, recognized me, as we say of human +beings or of dogs and horses. I felt an extraordinary sensation coming +over me and sat down for a moment. I seemed literally to be in the +presence of something incomprehensible as I watched the poor excited +bird beating about and singing in that way. The words of the song became +painfully and awfully significant--“for goodness sake don't say I told +you!” They were an appeal to my pity, to my sense of honor, to my power +of secrecy, for I felt convinced that the bird had seen something--in +fact that, to use De Kock's convenient if ambiguous phrase, _something +had happened_! Then to think of its recognizing me too, after so long an +interval! What an extraordinary thing to do! But I remembered, and hope +I shall never forget, how exceeding small do the mills of the gods +grind for poor humanity. I would have examined the creature at once +more closely had not two of the nuns appeared with pious hands lifted in +horror at the noise. They knew me slightly but affected displeasure at +the present moment. + +“Who owns this bird?” said I. It was still screaming. + +“The good Sister Félicité. It is her room.” + +“Can I see her?” + +“Ah! _non_. She is ill, so very ill. She will not live long, _cette +pauvre soeur_!” + +I reflected. “Will you give her this paper without fail when I have +written upon it what I wish?” + +“_Mais oui, Monsieur_!” + +In the presence of the two holy women standing with their hands devoutly +crossed, and of the parrot whom I silenced as well as I could, and in +truth I appeared to have some influence over the creature, I wrote +the following upon a leaf torn out of my scratch-book: “To the Soeur +Félicité. A gentleman who, if he has not made a great mistake, saw you +once when you were Mdme. Martinetti, asks you now if in what may be your +last moments, you have anything to tell, anything to declare, or anybody +to pardon. He would also ask--what _was done to the parrot_? He, with +his friend M. De Kock, were at your house in New York the night your +husband disappeared.” + +“Give her that,” said I to the waiting sister, “and I will come to see +how she is to-morrow.” + +That night, however, she died, and when I reached the nunnery next +day it was only to be told that she had read my note and with infinite +difficulty written an answer to it. + +“I am sorry I should have perhaps hastened her end,” said I. “Before you +give it to me, will you permit me to see her?” + +“_Mais oui, Monsieur_, if monsieur will come this way.” + +Until I gazed upon the dead I did not feel quite sure of the identity +of this pious Sister of Charity. But I only needed to look once upon the +ghastly pallor, the ugly lip mark and the long slender figure on the bed +before me to recognize her who had once been Mdme. Martinetti. + +“And now for the paper,” I said. + +“It will be in the room that was hers, if monsieur will accompany.” We +walked along several corridors till we reached the room in which hung +the parrot, I quite expected it to fly at me again and try to get rid +of its miserable secret But no! It sat on its stick, perfectly quiet and +rational. + +“I cannot find dat paper, it is very strange!” muttered the good sister, +turning everything over and over. A light wind playing about the room +had perhaps blown it into some corner. I assisted her in the search. + +“It surely was in an envelope?” I said to the innocent woman. + +“Yes monsieur, yes, and with a seal, for I got the _cire_--you call it +_wax_--myself and held it for her, _la bonne soeur_.” + +“It is not always wise to leave such letters about,” I put in as meekly +as I could “Where was it you saw it last?” + +“On dees little table, monsieur.” + +Now, “dees little table” was between the two windows, and not far, +consequently from the parrot's cage. My eye travelled from the table to +the cage as a matter of necessity, and I saw that the bottom of it was +strewn with something white--like very, very tiny scraps of paper. “I +think you need not look any further,” said I. “Polly, you either are +very clever, or else you are a lunatic and a fool. Which is it?” + +But I never found out The parrot had got the letter by some means or +other and so effectually torn, bitten and made away with it that nothing +remained of it for identification except the wax, which it did not touch +and left absolutely whole. The secret which had been the parrot's all +along belonged to the parrot still, and after having devoured it in +that fashion it became satisfied, and never--at least, as far as I +am aware--reverted morbidly to the comic refrain which has but one +significance for me. + +I took the bird and kept it. I have it now with me. It has been examined +hundreds of times; for a long time I was anxious to know the secret of +its changed color, but I have never deciphered it. It is healthy, in +good condition, sweet-tempered and very fond of me. It does not talk +much, but its talk is innocent and rational. No morbid symptoms have +ever appeared in it since I took it from the nunnery in Montreal. +Its plumage is soft and thick, and perfectly, entirely gray. My own +impression is that it was naturally a gray parrot and had at that time +of my sojourn in New York, either been dyed or painted that peculiar +pea-green which so distinguished it then. I wrote to De Kock before +leaving for England and told him something of the story. I have seen the +last of Madame; in all probability I shall see the last of the Pea-Green +Parrot, and I cannot help wondering when I enter a café or ride on +an omnibus whether I shall ever run across Giuseppe Martinetti in the +flesh, or whether the last of him was seen in truth, five years ago. + + + + + +The Bishop of Saskabasquia. + + +I have not a story, properly speaking, to tell about him. He, my Bishop, +is quite unconscious that I am writing about him, and would, I daresay, +be quite astonished if he knew that I could find anything that relates +to him to write about. But I will tell you just how I came to do so. I +went to see the “Private Secretary” some months ago. I had never been a +great admirer of clergymen as a sex (vide Frenchman's classification), +and I thoroughly enjoyed the capital performance of so clever a play. +Here, thought I, is a genuine and perfectly fair, though doubtless +exaggerated, portrait of the young and helpless curate. I quite lived on +that play. I used to go about, like many another delighted playgoer, +I expect, quoting the better bits in it, and they are many, and often +laughing to himself at its admirable caricature. However, to go on +with what I am going to tell you, about two months after I had seen the +“Private Secretary,” I had occasion to undertake a sea voyage. I had +to go out on business to Canada, and embarked one fine Thursday at +Liverpool. One of the first things you do on board an ocean steamer +is to find your allotted place at table, and the names, etc, of your +companions. I soon found mine, and discovered with a pang that I was six +seats from the Captain at the side, between a lady and her daughter +I had already met at the North-Western Hotel and did not like, and +opposite to the Bishop of Saskabasquia, his wife and sister and three +children. There was no help for it, I must endure the placid small talk, +the clerical platitudes, the intolerable intolerance born of a deathless +bigotry that would emanate from my _vis-a-vis_. What a fuss they made +over him, too! Only a Colonial Bishop after all, but when we were all +at the wharf, ready to get into the tender, we were kept waiting--we the +more insignificant portion of the passengers, mercantile and so on--till +“my lord” and his family, nine in number, were safely handed up, with +boys and bundles and baggage of every description. + +The Bishop himself was a tall thin man, rather priestly in aspect and +careworn. Mrs. Saskabasquia as I called her all through the voyage and +the seven children--seven little Saskabasquians--and Miss Saskabasquia, +the aunt, were all merry enough it seemed though dressed in the most +unearthly costumes I had ever seen. Where they had been procured I could +not imagine, but they appeared to be made of different kinds of canvas, +flannel shirting, corduroy, knitted wool and blankets. Of course we all +mustered at the lunch table that first day, people always do, and affect +great brightness and hysterical intellectuality and large appetites. I +took my seat with a resigned air. There was not a single pretty girl on +board. There were plenty of children, but I did not care much for the +society of children. The lady and her daughter between whom I sat, +presumably to hand them the dishes, did not like me any better than +I liked them. They were Canadians, that was easy to discover by their +peculiarly flat pronunciation, a detestable accent I hold, the American +is preferable. They were connected with the Civil Service in some way +through “papa” who figured much in their conversation and I fancy the +mother rather disliked the idea of such close contact with a member of +the commercial world. So much for colonial snobbery. The lunch was good +however, excellent, and we did justice to it. The Bishop did not appear +nor any of his family until we had almost finished. Then he entered +with his wife and the two eldest boys. The only vacant seats were those +opposite me which they took. I wondered they had not placed him next +the Capt., but divined that the handsome brunette and the horsey +broker, Wyatt and his wife of Montreal, fabulously rich and popular, had +arranged some time before to sit next the Capt. My Bishop was perhaps +annoyed. But if so, he did not show it. He and his wife ate abundantly, +it was good to see them. I involuntarily smiled once when the Bishop +sent his plate back the second time for soup, and he caught me. To my +surprise, he laughed very heartily and said to me: + +“I hope you do not think I am forgetting all the other good things to +come! I assure you we are very hungry, are we not, Mary?” + +Mrs. Saskabasquia laughed in her turn, and I began to perceive what a +very pretty girl she must have been once, and her accent was the purest, +most beautiful English. We seemed to warm up generally around the table +as we watched the Bishop eat. The boys behaved beautifully and enjoyed +their meal as well. Presently we heard a baby crying. It was evidently +the youngest of the seven young Saskabasquians. The Bishop stopped +directly. + +“Go on, go on with your dinner, my dear; I'll see to him, its only +James. Dropped his rattle and put his finger in his eye, I expect.” + +He jumped up and went, I suppose, to the stateroom. Mrs. Saskabasquia +laughed softly, and when she spoke she rather addressed herself to me. + +“My husband is very good, you know. And James is such a little monkey, +and so much better with him than with anyone else, so I just let him go, +but it does certainly look very selfish, doesn't it?” + +“Not at all,” I responded gallantly. “I am sure you need the rest quite +as much as he does, particularly if the ba--if the little boy is very +young and you--that is--” I was not very clear as to what I was going to +say, but she took it up for me. + +“Oh, James is the baby. He is just six months' old, you know.” + +“That is very young to travel,” said I. I began to enjoy the charming +confidences of Mrs. Saskabasquia, in spite of myself. + +“Oh, he was only _three_ months old when we left for England, quite a +young traveller as you say. But he is very good, and I have so many to +help me.” + +Here the Bishop returned and sat down once more to his lunch. We had +some further conversation, in which I learned that he and his wife had +gone out to the North-West just twelve years ago for the first time. +All their children had been born there, and they were returning to work +again after a brief summer holiday in England. They told me all this +with the most delightful frankness, and I began to be grateful for my +place at table, as without free and congenial society at meal-time, +life on board an ocean steamer narrows down to something vastly +uncomfortable. It was a bright and beautiful afternoon on deck, and I +soon found myself walking energetically up and down with the Bishop. +I commenced by asking him some questions as to his work, place of +residence and so on, and once started he talked for a long time about +his northern home in the wilds of Canada. + +“My wife and I had been only married two months when we went out,” said +he, with a smile at the remembrance. “We did not know what we were going +to.” + +“Would you have gone had you known?” I enquired as we paused in our walk +to take in a view of the Mersey we were leaving behind. + +“Yes, I think so. Yes, I am quite sure we would. I was an Oxford man, +country-bred; my father is still alive, and has a small living in Essex. +I was imbued with the idea of doing something in the colonies long after +I was comfortably settled in an English living myself, but I had always +fancied it would be Africa. However, just at the time of our marriage I +was offered this bishopric in Canada, and my wife was so anxious to go +that I easily fell in with the plan.” + +“Anxious to go out there?” I said in much surprise. + +“Ah! You don't know what a missionary in herself my wife is! Then, of +course, young people never think of the coming events--children and all +that you know. We found ourselves one morning at three o'clock, having +gone as far as there was any train to take us, waiting in a barn that +served as a station for the buckboard to take us on further to our +destination. Have you been in Canada yourself? No? Then you have +not seen a buckboard. It consists of two planks laid side by side, +lengthwise, over four antiquated wheels--usually the remains of a once +useful wagon. Upon this you sit as well as you can, and get driven and +jolted and bumped about to the appointed goal. I remember that morning +so well,” continued the Bishop. “It was very cold, being late in +November, and at that hour one feels it so much more--3 a.m., you +know. There was one man in charge of the barn; we called him the +station-master, though the title sat awkwardly enough upon him. He was a +surly fellow. I never met such another. Usually the people out there are +agreeable, if slow and stupid.” + +“Slow, are they?” said I in surprise. + +“Oh, frightfully slow. A Canadian laborer is the slowest person in +existence, I really believe. However, this man would not give us any +information, except to barely tell us that this buckboard was coming for +us shortly. It was pitch dark of course and the barn was lighted by one +oil lamp and warmed by a coal stove. The lamp would not burn well, so my +wife unstrapped her travelling bag and with a pair of tiny curved +nail scissors did her best, with the wick, the man remaining perfectly +unmoveable and taciturn all the while. At four o'clock our conveyance +arrived, and would you believe it--both the driver and the station +master allowed me to lift my own luggage into it as well as I could? +What it would not take I told the man in charge I would send for as soon +as possible. There was no sleighing yet, and that drive was the most +excruciating thing I ever endured over corduroy roads through wild and +dark forests, along interminable country roads of yellow clay mixed with +mud till finally we reached the house of the chief member of society in +my district where we were to stay until our own house was ready.” + +“How long did that take you?” I was quite interested. This was unlike +the other clergymen's conversation I remembered. + +“O, a matter of eight hours or so. We had the eggs and bacon--the _piece +de resistance_ in every Canadian farmhouse--at about half-past 12, for +which we were thankful and--hungry. But now you must excuse me for here +come two of the boys. Now, then, Alick, where's your mother? Isn't she +coming on deck with James? Run and fetch her and you, George, get one +of the chairs ready for her. And get the rugs at the same time Alick, do +you hear?” + +I excused myself in turn and watched the family preparations with much +amusement. Mrs. Saskabasquia came up from her state room with a baby in +her arms, and a big fellow he was, followed by the other six and their +aunt. The Bishop placed chairs for the two ladies and walked up and down +the deck I should think the entire afternoon, first with two children +and then with two more and finally with the baby in his arms. This was a +funny sight but still not one to be ridiculed, far from it. Well, every +day showed my new friend in an improved light. Who was it took all the +children, not only his own but actually the entire troop on board up to +the bow and down to the stern in a laughing crowd to see this or that or +the other? Now a shoal of porpoises, now a distant sail or an iceberg, +now the beautiful phosphorescence or the red light of a passing +ship--the Bishop. Who divined the innate cliquism of life on board ship +and cunningly got together in intercourse the very people who wanted +to know each other, and even brought into good temper those unfortunate +souls who thought only of their own dignity and station in life? The +Bishop. Who organized the Grand Concert and Readings in the saloon, +writing the programmes himself, pinning them on the doors, discovering +the clever and encouraging the timid and reading from the “Cricket on +the Hearth,” and the “Wreck of the Grosvenor,” as I had never imagined +a divine could read? The Bishop again. Who might be seen in the mid-day +hours when the cabin passengers were asleep, quietly and without +ostentation reading or talking to the steerage, ay, and Mrs. +Saskabosquia too with her baby on her arm, going about amongst those +poor tired folk, many of them with their own babies, not too well +fed and not too well washed nor clothed? Still the Bishop, always the +Bishop. They appeared as if they could not rest without helping on +somebody or something, and yet there was in Mrs. Saskabasquia at least, +a delightful sense of calm which affected all who came near her. I used +often to sit down by her, she with the inevitable baby on her lap and +two or three of the others at her feet on rugs, and she would talk most +frankly and unaffectedly of their strange life in Canada. I learnt that +she was the daughter of a clergyman in Essex, and had, of course, +been brought up in a refined and charming country home like an English +gentlewoman. What she had had to do in the new world seemed like a +dream. + +“What servants do I keep?” she said one day in answer to a question of +mine “Why, sometimes I am without any. Then Kathleen and I do the best +we can and the children they do the same and my husband takes what we +give him! Indeed, my house is a sort of dispensary you know. The most +extraordinary people come to me for the most extraordinary things. +Now for a bottle of medicine, now for some cast off clothing, now for +writing paper and old newspapers or a few tacks. So we have many wants +to relieve besides our own and really, that is good for us you know. One +Xmas dinner was an amusing one. Roast beef was out of the question, we +couldn't get any, and the old woman who usually brought us a turkey came +eight miles in the snow to bitterly lament the failure of her turkey +crop. The one she had intended for me had been killed and trussed and +then the rats which abound out there, got at it in the night and left +not a bone of it! So I got the poor old thing a warm cup of tea and +gave her some thick socks and sent her away relieved, resolved to spread +myself on the pudding. Do you remember Kathleen!” + +And Miss Saskabasquia did and smiled at the remembrance. + +“What was it like?” + +“The pudding? Oh! It was the funniest pudding! George--no--Ethel, was +the baby then and very troublesome. Yes, you were my dear and cutting +teeth. I was far from strong and in the act of stirring the pudding was +taken quite ill and had to give it up. Kathleen was naturally forced to +attend to me and the three children, and only for Henry, we should have +had no Xmas dinner at all! He went to work with a will, stirred it well, +put it into the cloth and was just I believe dropping it into the water +when the string broke and the poor pudding tumbled into the water! Of +course it was useless, and my husband scarcely knew what to do with +himself. Fancy what he did do, though! He went to work and made another +out of what he could find without telling us. He'll tell you about it if +you ask him, how puzzled he was at first. There was some suet over, +only not minced, you know. So he took that just as it was in a lump and +buried it in bread-crumbs, luckily we had plenty of bread. Then he broke +in the eggs, but when he came to look for the fruit, that was all in +the pot of hot water, not a raisin left. He just ladled them out and put +them in the second time. I think that was delicious of him don't you? +But he forgot the flour and there was so little sugar seemingly in the +bag (he didn't know where my Xmas stores were kept) that he took fright +and wouldn't use it but broke up some maple sugar instead, then tied +it up and got it safely launched the second time. And it was not at all +bad, though _very_ shapeless and unlike a trim plum pudding, with the +holly at the top.” + +And many another tale did she tell me of “Henry's” ceaseless activity, +and courage and patience. He had learnt three Indian dialects, the +_patois_ of the _habitant_, and the Gaelic of two Scotch settlements, +in order to converse freely with his people and understand their wants +properly. He could doctor the body as well as the soul, set a fractured +limb, bind a wound, apply ice for sunstroke and snow for chilblains. He +could harness a horse and milk a cow; paddle a canoe and shoot and fish +like an Indian, cook and garden and hew and build--indeed there seemed +nothing he could not do and had not done, and all this along with the +care of his office, as much a missionary one as any could be. Peril of +shipwreck and peril of fire, peril of frost and peril of heat, peril +of sickness, pain and death, peril of men, ignorant and wicked, of wild +beasts and wilder storms--all these he had braved with his wife and +little ones for the sake of his convictions added to a genuine love of +his fellow-man. I began to consider, and rightly I think, the unknown, +obscure Bishop of Saskabasquia one of the most interesting men of the +day. + +Our journey, however, could not always last. Our pleasant chats, our +lively table-talk, Mrs. Saskabasquia's pretty womanly confidences and +her husband's deep-voiced readings from Dickens which he told me were +of the utmost moral value to his people, all came to an end. We all felt +sorry to part, yet greatly relieved at seeing the mighty cliff of Quebec +draw nearer and nearer with each succeeding hour. I had been quite ill +for the last two days like nearly all the other passengers. Coming +up the Gulf of St. Lawrence that is sometimes the case, and we were +a miserable party that Friday, hardly anyone on deck except the +irrepressible Bishop and his family and myself. I was wretched, sick and +cold and trembling in every limb, undoubted _mal de mer_ had fastened +upon me. We were standing close by the railing of the promenade deck +when a something swept by on the water. “Child overboard!” I sang out +as loudly as I could. Instantly the steerage was in a state of +commotion--the child was missed. There didn't appear to be a sailor +on the spot. The Bishop looked at me, and I looked at the Bishop. Like +lightning he tore off his coat. I put my hand on his arm. + +“Dear sir, you will not do such a thing!” + +“What is it, Henry?” cried his wife. “Somebody must.” + +“I wish to God I could, sir!” In another moment he was over. + +How he ever recovered from that awful plunge I don't know, but a +boat was immediately lowered for him and the child--he had it safe, +miraculously enough. How I cursed my weakness which prevented my going +in his place. But when I saw the two lives saved I was glad I had not +gone, for in my weak state I could not even have saved the child. + +I am invited to a Christmas dinner, _whenever I like_, with the Bishop +of Saskabasquia, whom I count as perhaps the finest specimen of healthy +Christian manhood I have ever met, and although I can still laugh at +the fun of “The Private Secretary” I can say that even among her +clergy England can boast of heroes in these latter days as noble and +disinterested as in years gone by. + + + + + +“As it was in the Beginning.” + +A CHRISTMAS SKETCH. + + + + +CHAPTER I. + + +It is Christmas day in the morning. There is no doubt about it. The +shine of the sun, the frost on the trees, the voice of the birds, and +the unusual crow, and cackle and clatter and confusion outside the house +can leave no doubts upon the subject, to say nothing of the inside of +the house. Here it is Christmas day and no mistake. On what other day +is the larder so full?--Full is not expressive enough; crammed, rammed, +jammed full is more like the actual condition of things, so tightly +wedged are pheasants and partridges, grouse and quail, great roasts of +beef and haunches of venison, pork and pasty, mutton and fowl. On what +other day is the still-room so alluring, where cordials are at their +liveliest of brown and amber, and the white fingers of the lady of +the house gleam in and out of the piling of herbs and the stirring +of compounds--both innocent and inebriating? On what other day is the +kitchen so important? Why, the cook is actually thinner than she was the +yesterday! Christmas day in the morning is taking it out of her. “No +men cooks about me”, growls Sir Humphrey Desart, “we'll keep Sarah.” + So Sarah is kept, and though she be fat, aye, and getting on to three +score, yet her strength faileth not, as you may observe. Somewhat of a +martinet, yet kindly withal and leading the hubbub in the kitchen with +all the gusto of twenty years ago. My lady will descend presently to see +if all goes on properly, and Sarah must lose no time. Heavens, how +many eggs is she going to break? What are they all for? Will not the +resources of the farmyard fail her? This, then, explains all the crow +and cackle outside. Now what is she at? Lemons this time, and anon +giving a fine stimulus with her master-hand to the lumpy yellow contents +of a smooth yellow bowl. Ah! No lumps now; one turn and all resolved +into a perfect cadence. Anyone is an artist and a great one who can so +resolve a discordant measure. And now she is busy with the brandy! +Ah! Sarah, will no temptation accrue from the pouring of the warming +draught? “Out upon thee!” says Sarah. “Am I not already as warm over my +work as I want to be, and shall I not have my good glass of beer at my +dinner? Leave the quality upstairs their brandy,” says Sarah, “and let +me get to my work.” + +Well, and the upshot of all this is, that, despite all one may affirm to +the contrary, the one grand essential, the peculiar and individualizing +attribute of Christmas is--the dinner. The parson may think of his +preaching (and if he ever does so, surely most of all on this day) and +the virtuous may think of the poor; the old may remember the young, and +the young be pardoned for only remembering each other, but the chief +thought, the most blissful remembrance is still--The Dinner. + +If the parson preach a little better sermon than usual, it is because +his nine children have not been forgotten by Lady Bountiful, and are +actually going to have--A Dinner. + +My Lady Bountiful in her turn may go to church, and appear devoutly +removed from the _mundus edibilis_, yet if you could look into her +reflections, you would perceive that she has but one thought--The +Dinner. Do you suppose, much as the youths from Oxford and their friend +the captain, from London, are devoted to mamma and her daughters, they +are not at the same time being eaten up, as it were, devoured, by the +intense wish for the hour to come when they may partake of--That Dinner! + +Sir Humphrey has asked a particularly large party down this Christmas, +and seems to have forgotten nobody he ever knew. Not a poor relation but +has been remembered, and things are on a grander scale than usual. The +candles build famously, set in the chimney candelabra; the logs are +all of the biggest, and as for the Yule himself, he is a veritable +Brobdignag; the staircases drop flowers, and holly and mistletoe hang +all about. Everything shines, and gleams, and glows. There is to be +a boar's head, with, no lack of mustard and minstrelsy, and nothing +eatable or drinkable that pertains to Christmas will be wanting. Carols, +and waits, and contended tenants; merry chimes and clinking glasses; +twanging fiddles and the rush down the middle--nothing is spared and +nobody is forgotten. So the hour draws on, the guests pull through the +dreary day (for as I have said before, everything on Christmas day gives +place to the dinner), and at last the dinner becomes an absolute fact, +something to be apprehended, sat down to, and finally eaten. It _is_ +eaten, and everyone has come into the long hall, at one end of which the +Yule burns. There is merry talk, and it is easier now for the captain +to devote himself to the girls, having left the dinner behind; there is +talk, too, of a little wonder at the gorgeousness of the dinner, for Sir +Humphrey has not been so gay for years, yes, just twenty years, when it +is evident that Sir Humphrey is going to make a speech. He stands alone +in front of the fire, and this is what he says. If you want to know +what he looks like, you may think of an old man who is a gentleman, +white-haired, noble and resolute, but with a sense of broken fortunes +and deferred hopes upon him. + +“I have been young and now am old,” says Sir Humphrey, “and I have never +yet seen the house, known the family, or penetrated the life where +there did not exist some trouble or some secret. Therefore, if I refer +to-night to the skeleton in my own house,” he continues, with a slight +shudder, “I only do what perhaps each individual before me might also +do were there the like necessity. The necessity of such reference, in my +own case, does not make it less hard for me.” Here, Sir Humphrey pauses. +When he speaks again he is something straighter and firmer than before. +“But as at this season the Church and our good friend the parson would +teach us all to remember each other and to help those we can help, I am +about to speak. You have heard, all of you, how twenty years ago I sent +my two eldest sons out of the house. You have heard, all of you, that +they were foolish, and that I was hard, something about a girl and cut +off with a shilling, I suppose. Well, to-night you shall hear the true +story. I do not think even Lady Desart knows it. She was not their +mother, but, as you know, my adored and adoring second wife. I do not +know if many of you remember my boys. I can see Humphrey now--a man does +not easily forget his first-born, and Hugh was no less dear. My dear +friends, if I drove the lads from my house twenty years ago to-night, I +did it in obedience to the rules of my own conscience and with regard to +the laws of nature, which I should have put before my conscience, as +I have far greater respect for them. I did it, as we so often futilely +say, for the best. But how often, oh, my dear friends, how often since I +have thought that I may have made a terrible mistake.” + +“They were, Hugh and Humphrey, both madly in love with the same girl. +She was no pauper, as you may have been led to believe, but the Lady +Barbara Hastings. Her name is familiar to you. She was beautiful and +talented, never married, and you may remember that about a month ago +she died at the house of friends in London. I knew her, fortunately or +unfortunately, however, moving in society as the adopted daughter of a +refined gentlewoman, to be the child of a lunatic mother and a father +who drank his life away in a Continental retreat. Knowing this I would +not for a moment consent even to the thought of either of my sons +marrying her, although I knew her to be all that was gracious in +womankind. I could not tell them the reason: the secret was hers, poor +girl, and I did not betray it. I said 'No,' and each knew what that +meant. So we separated, but the worst of it was, my friends, that each +lad thought I had refused my consent to save the other the pain of +seeing his brother happy; so that greater than their anger with me was +their jealousy of one another. With murder in their hearts they fled +to America, I believe, pursuing in self-torture that phantom of revenge +which we have all seen sometime or another, and whose hot breath we must +have felt.” + +Sir Humphrey pauses oftener now. + +“I tell you all this because I want you to see how possible it may be +for a man to think he is doing the very best, the only right thing, and +then for perhaps an infinitely worse one to crop up. I read not long ago +in a wild Western paper a story of two Englishmen who fought a lonely +duel on some slope of those great mountains out there, and I think I +have not slept since I read it. To have exiled my boys only that they +might kill one another in foreign lands and sleep so far away from our +English ground!” + +Sir Humphrey's voice is failing now and his eyes grow moist A man, you +see, does not easily forget his first-born. + +“I tell you all this,” he continues, “that it may help you to be kind +and to think twice. I only thought once, and perhaps the worst may have +come of it. Then I tell it to you, too, because I am an old man now, and +my voice is not as strong as it was, and I can't get out to church as +regularly as I used to do, and I want you all to help me to remember +these absent ones and with them any of your own. There is virtue in the +holding up of many hands and the lifting up of many hearts. Whether I +see them again or not, that does not matter; but for the assurance that +they have not harmed each other, let us pray Almighty God this night.” + +Ah! Sir Humphrey, there are those who would give their life for yours, +but they cannot bring you that assurance to-night. Can you wait? + +“I can wait,” says Sir Humphrey. + + + + +CHAPTER II. + + +It is Christmas day in the morning. At least, so Almanack says, and +Almanack ought to know, though he is given in those days to such ornate +and emblazoned titivation of himself outwardly, putting himself in +the hands of fair Mistress Kate Greenaway at the head of a mischievous +throng, that he causes one to seriously consider whether his old head +be turned or no. A scholar and statistician buried in heaps of flowers, +with a rope of daisies round his neck, and a belt of primroses round +his waist; a sunflower in his buttonhole, and a singing bird upon his +shoulder; and, worst of all, the picture of a pink-frocked, pink-faced +girl next his heart--can he be relied upon? But he persists in his +claim to be listened to, and we must take his word for it that this is +Christmas day in the morning, although it just looks like any other day. +On any other day the sun is just as bright, and the air just as keen. On +other days the snow is just as white, just as deep--two feet where the +constant tramping has levelled its crystalline beauty, ten, twelve, +fifteen there where a great soft cloud of drift reaches halfway up the +side of a small wooden house. On other days there is just as much blue +in the sky, in the smoke, in the shadows of the pines, and the shadows +of the icicles. On other days the house looks just as neat, just as +silent, just as poor. The clearing is small, the house is small, a +small terrier suns himself on a pile of wood, and the only large object +apparently in existence is the tall, broad-shouldered, well-proportioned +man who presently emerges from the wooden house. His ear has just caught +the sound of a bell. It is not a bad bell for Muskoka, and it has a +most curious effect on this white, cold silent world of snow and blue +shadows. The owner of the house, who is also the builder of it, stands +a few moments listening. There is only the twitter of the snowbirds to +listen to, then the bell; more snowbirds, and then the bell again. + +“It has quite a churchy sound,” he remarks; “I never noticed how churchy +before, but it reminds me of some other bell. Ten years I have read +for them here, and I never noticed it before.” More twitter from the +snowbirds and the bell again. Time for church, although the functions +of the lay-reader will be this day laid aside, giving place to the more +exacting ones of the _rector chori_. This being Christmas day in the +morning, it devolves upon one clergyman to preach in four different +places, if not literally at once, at least on the same day. + +“It isn't possible,” thinks the tall man swinging along at a tremendous +pace, “that this bell--there it is again, confound it; yet no, not +confound it--can resemble that other bell I used to know. No, quite +impossible. Is it likely that anything here,” and the thinker spreads +both long arms out to take in the entire landscape, “can resemble or +remotely suggest the Old Country, or, as people call it, home? Home? +Why this is home. That four-roomed and convenient, if not commodious, +mansion I have just quitted is my home. Talking of commodiousness, it's +quite large enough, too. I have no wife, no children, no partner, not +even a sleeping one, no one ever comes to see me. So I do not need a +drawing-room, a nursery, a guest chamber, or a smoking-room. I have no +books, therefore I need no library; I indulge in no chemical pursuits, +therefore I need no laboratory; my music-room is the forest in summer +and the chimney in winter, while my studio, according to the latest +aesthetic fad--I think that is the word--opens off the music-room. + +“Now, if you take away art, science, literature, and society from +the daily life of a man, what do you leave? Simply the three radical +necessities of sleeping, eating, working. My work I do mostly in the +open air, so that, practically, I need but two rooms, one to cook in and +the other to sleep in. I have always felt convinced that to be happy I +only require two rooms, except on extra cold nights, when I find that +one suffices. That is when Tim and I lie near the kitchen fire to keep +warm. Home! Why of course it is home. Didn't I build the house myself? +What association is dearer than that? To come into a pile of half-ruined +towers, all gables and gargoyles, built somewhere about the fourteenth +century, and added to by every fool who liked, without the slightest +pretence to knowledge of architecture and civilization may be very +gratifying, but, strange as it may seem, I prefer the work of my +own hands. I am quite a Canadian, of course, though I once was an +Englishman. I array myself in strange raiment, thick and woollen, of +many colours; my linen is coarse and sometimes superseded by flannel; +I wear a cast-off fur cap on my head and moccasins on my feet. I have +grown a beard and a fierce moustache. I have made no money and won no +friends except the simple settlers around me here. And I shall grow old +and grey in your service, my Muskoka. I shall be forty-one on my next +birthday. Then will come fifty-one, another ten years and sixty-one. +All to be lived here? Yes, I have sworn it. Not Arcady, not Utopia, +only Muskoka, but very dear to me. There is the forest primeval! I +know everything in it from the Indian pipe--clammy white thing, but how +pretty!--to that great birch there with the bark peeling off in pieces a +yard wide. There is the lovely Shadow river. Masses of cardinal flowers +grow there in the summer, and when I take my boat up its dark waters I +feel that no human being has felt its beauty so before. I think, for a +small river it is the loveliest in the world. And as to my larder now, +why I am going to make my Christmas dinner off a piece or pork and ask +for nothing better! I shall have a glorious appetite, which is the main +point. The bell again!” + +Yes, and the snow birds, too, flying round the porch of the little +church. It is a very small and plain edifice and not over warm, and +the officiating clergyman, who has just driven eighteen miles with +the prospect of eighteen back after service, hurries the proceedings +somewhat. There is a harmonium played by the tall man, and there is +a choir consisting of himself and a small boy. In place of the usual +Anglican hymns two carols are sung by the choir, which have the +quaintest effect in such a place, and which appear to interest and even +excite one of the congregation. This is a man of middle age, most richly +dressed with a certain foreign air about him and evidently in a very +delicate state of health. He is accompanied by a lady whose dress is +also a marvel of beauty and costliness though hardly of fitness. The +broad bands of gold which adorn her wrists and neck would alone procure +for her the entire attention of the congregation were she seated in +a more conspicuous place. As it is they are seated near the stove for +increased comfort. “Good King Wenceslas” sings the choir, the small boy +finding the long word very trying, and coming utterly to grief in the +last two verses, for his companion appears to have lost his place. +With the last verse of the carol comes the close of the service, the +straggling congregation disperse and the jolly clergyman drives off +again. Then an important thing happens, and happens very quietly. +So quietly that the richly dressed lady who is a bright, shallow and +unsentimental Californian does not mind it at all. “Humphrey!” says the +tall man, “Hugh!” says the other, and all is said. There is not much +sentiment in the meeting, how can there be? Their ways have gone too far +apart. The years--nearly twenty, since they parted in Los Angeles--have +brought gold and kith and kin to the one, with an enfeebled constitution +and an uncertain temper. To the other, they have brought the glory of +health for his manhood's crown, content and peace unutterable. To +learn to subdue the ground is to learn one great lesson. So the strange +meeting is soon over. The Christmas spell may not always last and the +brothers separate once more. + + * * * * * + + + + +FINIS. + + +The bright little lady who is taking her husband for a winter's Canadian +tour gets restive in this silent snowy world. But before they part a +letter is written to a white-haired old gentleman' in England, who has +only a month to wait. + +“Whether I see them again or not does not matter,” says Sir Humphrey, +“but for the assurance that they have not harmed each other, I thank +Almighty God this night!” + + + + + +THE IDYL OF THE ISLAND. + + * * * * * + +Here lies mid-way between parallels 48 and 49 of latitude, and degrees +89 and 90 of longitude, in the northern hemisphere of the New +World, serenely anchored on an ever-rippling and excited surface, an +exquisitely lovely island. No tropical wonder of palm-treed stateliness, +or hot tangle of gaudy bird and glowing creeper, can compare with it; +no other northern isle, cool and green and refreshing to the eye +like itself, can surpass it. It is not a large island. It is about +half-a-mile long and quarter of a mile broad It is an irregular oval in +shape, and has two distinct and different sides. On the west side its +grey limestone rises to the height of twenty feet straight out of +the water. On the east side there occurs a gradual shelving of a +sumac-fringed shore, that mingles finally with the ever-rippling water. +For the waters in this northern country are never still. They are +perpetually bubbling up and boiling over; seething and fuming and +frothing and foaming and yet remaining so cool and clear that a quick +fancy would discover thousands of banished fountains under that agitated +and impatient surface. Both ends of the island are as much alike as its +sides are dissimilar. They taper off almost to a distinct bladepoint of +rock, in which a mere doll's flagstaff of a pine-tree grows; then +comes a small detached rock, with a small evergreen on it, then a still +smaller rock, with a tuft of grass, then a line of partially submerged +stones, and so out to the deep yet ever-bubbling water. This island +might seem, just the size for two, and there were two on it on a certain +July morning at five o'clock. One of these was a lady who lay at full +length and fast asleep upon a most unique couch. These northern islands +are in many places completely covered with a variety of yellowish-green +moss, varying from a couple of inches to a foot and a half in thickness; +and yielding to the pressure of the foot or the body as comfortably as a +feather bed, if not more so, being elastic in nature. A large square of +this had been cut up from some other part of the island and placed on +the already moss-grown and cushioned ground, serving as a mattress, +while two smaller pieces served as pillows. A sumac tree at the head +of the improvised couch gave the necessary shade to the face of the +sleeper, while a wild grapevine, after having run over and encircled +with its moist green every stone and stem on the island, fulfilled its +longing at length in a tumultuous possession of the sumac, making a +massive yet aerial patched green curtain or canopy to the fantastic bed, +and ending seemingly in two tiny transparent spirals curling up to the +sky. + +If there were a fault in the structure it was that it was too clever, +too well thought out, too rectangular, too much in fact like a bed. But +it told certainly of a skillful pair of hands and of a beautiful +mind and the union of art with nature perfectly suited the +charms--contradictory yet consistent--of the occupant. For being +anything but a beautiful woman she was still far from a plain one, which +though no original mode of putting it does convey the actual impression +she made upon a gentleman in a small boat who rowing past this island +at the hour of five o'clock in the morning was so much struck with this +curious sight, quite visible from the water below, that he was rude +enough to stand up that he might see better. The lady was dressed in +some dark blue stuff that evidently covered her all over and fitted +tightly where it could be seen. A small linen collar, worn all night and +therefore shorn of its usual freshness was round her neck, and she was +tucked up from the waist under a Scotch woollen rug. Her hair, of a +peculiar red-brown, was allowed to hang about her and was lovely; her +mouth sad; her nose, rather too prominent; her complexion natural +and healthy, but marred by freckles and moles, not many of either but +undeniably scattered over the countenance. All told but her eyes which, +if they proved to match with her hair, would atone for these other +shortcomings. The gentleman sat down again and reflected. + +“How still it is!” he said under his breath. “Absolutely not a thing +stirring. This is the time when the fish bite. I ought to be fishing I +suppose. Going to be warm by-and-bye.” + +It was indeed almost absolutely silent. The sun climbed higher but the +lady slept on, and the gentleman gazed as if fascinated. The only sound +that broke the beautiful early morning silence was the occasional weird +laugh of the loon. It came twice and then a third time. The sleeper +stirred. + +“If that thing out there cries again she will wake,” said the gentleman +to himself. “I must be off before that happens. But I _should_ like to +see her eyes. What a pretty picture it is!” Once more the loon gave its +maniacal laugh and the lady started, sat bolt upright and wide awake. +Her admirer had not time to retreat but he took his oars up and +confronted her manfully. It was an awkward moment. He apologized. The +lady listened very politely. Then she smiled. + +“Most of the islands in this lake are owned by private people,” she +said, “who use them during the summer months for the purpose of camping +out upon them. I should advise you, if you row about much here, to +keep to the open water, unless you wish to be seriously handled by the +fathers and mothers of families.” + +“Thank you very much,” returned the gentleman, standing up in his boat, +“I assure you I intended no rudeness, but I have never seen so charming +a summer couch before, and I was really fascinated by the--ah,--the +picture you made. May I ask what you mean by 'camping out'? Is it always +done in this fashion?” + +The lady stared “Have _you_ never camped out?” + +“Never in my life,” said the gentleman. “I am an Englishman, staying at +the hotel near the point for a day or two. I came out to see something +of the country.” + +“Then you should at least have camped out for a week or so. That is +a genuine Canadian experience,” said the lady with a frankness which +completely restored the equanimity of the Englishman. + +“But how do you live?” he went on in a puzzled manner that caused +the lady with the red-brown hair, still all hanging about her, much +amusement. + +“O, capitally! Upon fish and eggs, and gooseberry tarts, and home-made +bread and French coffee. Just what you would get in town, and much +better than you get at the hotel.” + +“O, that would be easy!” the gentleman groaned. “I eat my meals in a +pitch-dark room, in deadly fear and horror of the regiments of flies +that swarm in and settle on everything the minute one raises the green +paper blinds.” + +The lady nodded. “I know. We tried it for two or three seasons, but we +could not endure it; the whole thing, whitewash and all, is so trying, +isn't it? So we bought this lovely island and bring our tent here and +live _so_ comfortably.” The gentleman did not reply at once. He was +thinking that it was his place to say “Good morning,” and go, although +he would much have liked to remain a little longer. He hazarded the +remark: + +“Now, for instance, what are you going to breakfast on presently?” + +The lady laughed lightly and shook her red brown hair. + +“First of all I have to make a fire.” + +“Oh!” + +“But that is not so very difficult” + +“How do you do it?” + +“Would you like to know?” + +“Very much indeed. I should like to see, if I may.” + +The lady reflected a moment. “I suppose you may, but if you do, you +ought to help me, don't you think?” The gentleman much amused and +greatly interested. + +“Ah but you see, it is you I want to see make it. I am very useless you +know at that sort of thing, still, if you will allow me, I will try my +best. Am I to come ashore?” + +“Certainly, if you are to be of any use.” + +The lady jumped lightly off the pretty couch of moss and wound her +plentiful hair round her head with one turn of her arm. Her dress was +creased but well-fitting, her figure not plump enough for beauty but +decidedly youthful. She watched her new friend moor his boat and ascend +with one or two strides of his long legs up the side of the cliff that +was not so steep. He took off his hat. + +“I am at your service,” he said with a profound bow. The lady made him +another, during which all her long hair fell about her again, at which +they both laughed. + +“What do we do first?” said he. + +“O we find a lot of sticks and pieces of bark, mostly birch bark, and +anything else that will burn--you may have to fell a tree while you are +about it--and I'll show you how to place them properly between two walls +of stones, put a match to them and there is our fire. Will you come with +me?” + +He assented of course, and they were soon busy in the interior of +the little wood that grew up towards the centre of the island. I must +digress here to say that the gentleman's name was Amherst. He was known +to the world in latter life as Admiral Amherst, and he was a great +friend of mine. When he related this story to me, he was very particular +in describing the island as I have done--indeed he carried a little +chart about with him of it which he had made from memory, and he told +me besides that he never forgot the peculiar beauty of that same little +tract of wood. The early hour, the delicious morning air, the great +moss-grown and brown decaying tree trunks, the white, clammy, ghostly, +flower or fungus of the Indian Pipe at his feet, the masses of ferns, +the elastic ground he trod upon, and the singular circumstance that he +was alone in this exquisite spot with a woman he had never seen until +five minutes previously, all combined to make an ineffaceable impression +upon his mind. The lady showed herself proficient in the art of building +a fire and attended by Amherst soon had a fine flame rising up from +between the fortifications evidently piled by stronger hands than her +own. + +“What do we do now?” asked Amherst “I should suggest--a kettle.” + +“Of course, that is the next step. If I give it to you, you might run +and fill it, eh?' + +“Delighted!” and away went Amherst. When he returned the lady was not to +be seen. The place was shorn of its beauty, but he waited discreetly and +patiently, putting the kettle on to boil in the meanwhile. + +“It's very singular,” said he, “how I come to be here. I wonder who +are with her in her party; no one else appears to be up or about. That +striped red and white thing is the tent, I see, over there. Ah! That's +where she has gone, and now she beckons me! Oh! I'll go, but I don't +want to meet the rest of them!” + +But when he reached the tent, it was quite empty, save for rugs and +wraps, boxes, etc., and the lady was laughingly holding out a loaf of +bread in one hand and a paper package in the other. + +“You will stay and breakfast with me?” + +“What will you give me?” said Amherst, smiling. + +“I can only give you eggs, boiled in the kettle, coffee and bread and +butter. The fish haven't come in yet.” + +“What can be nicer than eggs--especially when boiled in the kettle, that +is, if you make the coffee first.” + +“Certainly I do.” + +“And it is really French coffee?” + +“Really. Café des Gourmets, you know; we--I always use it--do not like +any other.” + +Amherst was fast falling in love. He told me that at this point his +mind was quite made up that if it were possible he would remain in the +neighborhood a few days at least, in order to see more of this charming +girl. She seemed to him to be about twenty-six or seven, and so frank, +simple and graceful, one could not have resisted liking her. Her +hair and eyes were identical in colour and both were beautiful; her +expression was arch and some of her gestures almost childish, but a +certain dignity appeared at times and sat well upon her. Her hands were +destitute of any rings as Amherst soon discovered, and were fine and +small though brown. While she made the coffee, Amherst threw himself +down on the wonderful moss, the like of which he had never seen before +and looked out over the water. An unmistakeable constraint had taken the +place of the unaffected hilarity of the first ten minutes. A reaction +had set in. Amherst could of course only answer to me in telling this +for himself, but he divined at the time a change in his companion's +manner as well. + +“I hope you like your eggs,” she said presently. + +“They are very nice, indeed, thank you,” rejoined Amherst. + +“And I have made your coffee as you like it?” + +“Perfectly, thank you. But you--you are not eating anything! Why is +that?” + +As he asked the question he turned quickly around, in order to rise that +he might help her with the ponderous kettle that she was about lifting +off the camp-fire, when a long strand of her hair again escaping from +its coil blew directly across his face. Amherst uttered a radiant “Oh!”, +and taking it to his lips forgot himself so far as to press kiss after +kiss upon it. The lady stood as if transfixed and did not move, even +when Amherst actually swept all her hair down over one arm and turning +her face to his, pressed one long long kiss on her forehead. + +The moment he had done this his senses returned and he stepped back +in indignation with himself. But his companion was still apparently +transfixed. Amherst looked at her in dismay. She did not seem to see him +and had grown very pale. He touched her gently on the arm but she did +not show that she felt the touch. He retreated a few paces and stood +by himself, overcome with shame and contrition. What had he done? How +should he ever atone for such an unwarrantable action? Had it been the +outcome of any ordinary flirtation, he would have felt no such scruples, +but the encounter, though short, had been one of singular idyllic charm +until he had by his own rash act spoilt it. A few minutes passed thus in +self contemplation appeared like an eternity. He must speak. + +“If you would allow me--” + +But the lady put out her left hand in deprecation as it were and he +got no further. The silence was unendurable. Amherst took a step or two +forward and perceived great tears rolling down her cheeks. + +“Oh!” he began desperately, “won't you allow me to say a word to tell +you how very, very sorry I am, how grieved I am and always shall be? +I never--I give you my word of honor--I never do those sort of things, +have never done such a thing before! But I can't tell what it was, the +place is so beautiful, and when all that lovely hair came sweeping past +my face, I could not help doing as I did, it was so electrical! Any man +would have done the same. I know that sounds like a miserable, cowardly +excuse, but it is true, perfectly true.” The lady seemed to struggle to +appear calm and with a great effort she turned her face towards Amherst. + +“I know one man,” she said, in a voice choked with sobs, “who would not +have done it?” + +Amherst started. “I am sorrier than ever, believe me. I might have known +you were engaged, or had a lover--one so Charming”-- + +“It is not that,” said the lady. “I am married.” She was still +struggling with her emotion. + +Amherst recoiled. He was torn with conflicting thoughts. What if he had +been seen giving that involuntary salute? He might have ruined her peace +for ever. Who would believe in the truth of any possible explanation? + +“I will leave you at once;” he said stiffly, “there is nothing more to +be said.” + +“Oh! You will reproach me now!” said his companion, wiping her eyes as +the tears came afresh. + +“I will try not to;” said Amherst, “but you could so easily have told +me; I do not think it was--quite--fair.” Yet he could not be altogether +angry with the partner of his thoughtlessness, nor could he be entirely +cold. Her beautiful eyes, her despairing attitude would haunt him he +knew for many a day. She had ceased weeping and stood quietly awaiting +his departure. Amherst felt all the force of a strong and novel passion +sweep along his frame as he looked at her. Was she happy, was she a +loved and loving wife? Somehow the conviction forced itself upon him +that she was not. Yet he could not ask her, it must remain her secret. + +Amherst looked at his watch. It aroused her. + +“What is the time?” she said lifting her head for the first time since +he had kissed her. + +“Ten minutes past six,” Amherst replied. + +“You must go,” she said, with an effort at self-control. “I shall have +much to do presently.” + +He cast one look about and approached her. + +“Will you forgive me”--he began in a tone of repression, then with +another mighty and involuntary movement he caught her hands and pressed +them to his breast. “My God,” he exclaimed, “how I should have loved +you!” + +A moment after he flung her hands away and strode down the cliff, +unfastened his boat and rowed away in the direction of the hotel as +fast as he could. Rounding a sharp rock that hid what lay beyond it, he +nearly succeeded in overturning another boat like his own, in which sat +a gentleman of middle age, stout and pleasant and mild of countenance. +The bottom of the boat was full of fish. Amherst made an incoherent +apology, to which the gentleman answered with a good-natured laugh, +insisting that the fault was his own. He would have liked to enter into +conversation with Amherst, but my friend was only anxious to escape from +the place altogether and forget his recent adventure in the hurry of +departure from the hotel. Three days after he embarked at Quebec for +England, and never revisited Canada. But he never married and never +forgot the woman whom he always asserted he might have truly and +passionately loved. He was about twenty-eight when that happened and +perfectly heart-whole. Why--I used to say to him, why did you not learn +her name and that of her husband? Perhaps she is a widow now, perhaps +you made as great an impression upon her mind and affections as she did +upon yours. + +But my friend Admiral Amherst, as the world knew him, was a strange, +irrational creature in many ways, and none of these ideas would he ever +entertain. That the comfortable gentleman in the boat was her husband he +never doubted; more it was impossible to divine. But the cool northern +isle, with its dark fringe of pines; its wonderful moss, its +fragrant and dewy ferns, its graceful sumacs, just putting on their +scarlet-lipped leaves, the morning stillness broken only by the +faint unearthly cry of the melancholy loon, the spar-dyked cliffs of +limestone, and the fantastic couch, with its too lovely occupant, never +faded from his memory and remained to the last as realities which indeed +they have become likewise to me, through the intensity with which they +were described to me. + + + + + +The Story of Delle Josephine Boulanger + + + + +CHAPTER I. + + +Delle Josephine Boulanger, Miss Josephine Baker, Miss Josephine Baker, +Delle Josephine Boulanger. What a difference it makes, the language! +What a transformation! I thought this to myself as I stood on the +opposite side of the street looking at the sign. To be sure, it, was +only printed in French and sad little letters they were that composed +the name, but my mind quickly translated them into the more prosaic +English as I stood and gazed. Delle Josephine was a milliner and I had +been recommended to try and get a little room “_sous les toits_” that +she sometimes had to let, during my stay in the dismal Canadian village +with the grand and inappropriate name of _Bonheur du Roi_. Bonneroi, or +Bonneroy, it was usually called. Such a dismal place it seemed to be; +one long street of whitewashed or dirty wooden houses, two raw red brick +“stores,” and the inevitable Roman Catholic Church, Convent and offices, +still and orderly and gray, with the quiet priests walking about and +the occasional sound of the unmistakeable convent bell. I arrived on a +sleety winter's day early in December. Everything was gray, or colorless +or white; the people's faces were pinched and pale, the sky was a leaden +gray in hue, and I thought as I stood opposite to my future abode under +Delle Josephine's roof that the only bit of “local color” so far was to +be found in her window. I could distinctly see from where I stood the +most extraordinary _hat_ I had ever seen. I immediately crossed the road +to examine it. It was a triumph in lobster-color. In shape like a very +large Gainsborough, it was made of shirred scarlet satin with large bows +of satin ribbon of the same intense color and adorned with a bird of +paradise. I can see it now and can recall the images it suggested to my +mind at the time. These were of cardinals and kings, of sealing-wax and +wafers, of tropic noons and tangled marshes, of hell and judgment and +the conventional Zamiel. It looked fit to be worn by a Mrs. Zamiel, if +there be such a person. I looked so long and earnestly that I evidently +attracted the notice of the mistress of the shop, for I saw a hand push +back the faded red curtain that veiled the interior and a queer little +visage appeared regarding me with something I thought of distrust. Did +I look as if I might break the glass and run off with the hat? Perhaps I +did, so I entered the shop immediately and said in a reasoning tone, + +“I am looking for rooms in the village, Mademoiselle, and hear you have +one to let. Can I see it now, if not too much trouble?” + +“You come from Morréall?” + +This I learnt was meant for Montreal. + +“Yes,” I returned. + +“You are by yourself, Monsieur, you are sure? No ladees, eh?” + +“O dear! No” said I laughing. “I am making some studies--sketches--in +this locality and am entirely alone. Do you find ladies a trouble?” + +“Oh, perhaps not always. But there was one Mees I had. I did not like +her, and so I said--we will have no more Mees, but again and always +Messieurs.” She was frank enough but not unpleasant in her manner. A +little bit of a woman, thin and shrivelled, with one shoulder slightly +higher than the other, black beads for eyes, and the ugliest mouthful +of teeth that I had ever seen on any one. Had it not been that her +expression was honest and good natured and her manner bright and +intelligent, I should have recoiled before the yellow tusks of +eye-teeth, and the blackened stumps and shrunken gums revealed to me +every time she spoke. She wore a print dress made neatly enough which +was very clean, and a black crape ruff round her sallow neck. The shop +was small but clean and at the back I saw, a kind of little sitting +room. Into this I went while she ran up-stairs to prepare the room for +my inspection. The carpet was the usual horribly ingenious affair of red +squares inside green octagons, and green squares inside red octagons, +varied by lengthwise stripes of bright purple. The walls were plain +white, covered with many prints in vivid colors of the Crucifixion, the +Annunciation and the Holy Family; also three pictures of three wonderful +white kittens which adorn so many nurseries and kitchens. There were +no ornaments, but there was a large looking glass framed in walnut, and +over it a dismal wreath of roses and their leaves done in human +gray hair. The glass was opposite the door and I saw Delle Josephine +descending to meet me just as I was turning away from this suggestive +“in memoriam.” A crooked little stairway brought me to a small landing, +and three more steps to my room. I may call it that, for I took it on +the spot It was large enough for my wants and seemed clean and when +the paper blinds, yellow, with a black landscape on them, were raised, +rather cheerful. We were opposite the chief “_epicerie_,” the only +_“marchandise sèches_” and a blacksmith, whose jolly red fire I could +sometimes catch a glimpse of. + +Now, this is a really a true story of French Canadian life, or rather +let me say, a true story of one of my own French Canadian experiences, +and so I must confess that once installed in my little room _chez_ Delle +Josephine Boulanger, nothing whatever of any interest took place until +I had been there quite a week. I lived most regularly and monotonously; +rising at eight I partook of coffee made by my landlady, accompanied by +tinned fruit for which I formed a great taste. Then I went out, getting +my mid-day meal where I could, eggs and bacon at a farmhouse, or tough +steak at the hotel, and sometimes not getting anything at all until I +returned ravenously hungry to my lodging. On these occasions the little +Frenchwoman showed herself equal to the extent of cooking a chicken or +liver and bacon very creditably and then I would write and read in my +own room till eleven. I must not forget to say that I never failed to +look at the wonderful scarlet hat in the window every time I went out +or came in. Purchasers for it would be rare I thought; I half formed the +idea of buying it myself when I went away as a “Souvenir.” + +One day I came home very tired. After walking about, vainly waiting for +a terrific snowstorm to pass over that I might go on with my work--the +frozen fall of Montmorenci, framed in the dark pines and somber rocks +that made such a back ground for its glittering thread of ice, I gave +it up, chilled in every limb, and began to consider whether I was not +a fool for pains. Although I started quite early in the afternoon on +my homeward walk, the snow, piled in great masses everywhere along the +route, impeded my progress to such an extent that it was nearly seven +o'clock and pitch-dark when I got into the village. Bonneroy was very +quiet. Shutters were up to every shop, nobody was out except a dog or +two and the snow kept falling, falling, still in as persistent a fashion +as if it had not been doing the same thing for six hours already. I +found the shop shut up and the door locked. I looked everywhere for a +bell or knocker of some description. There was neither, so I began to +thump as hard as I could with my feet against the door. In a minute or +two I heard Delle Josephine coming. Perhaps I had alarmed the poor soul. +She did look troubled on opening the door and admitted me hurriedly, +even suspiciously, I thought. The door of the little sitting-room was +closed, so fancying that perhaps she had a visitor I refrained from much +talking and asking her to cook me some eggs presently and bring them up, +I went to my room. + +These cold days I had to keep a fire in the small open “Franklin” stove +going almost constantly. She had not forgotten to supply it with +coals during my absence, and lighting my two lamps I was soon fairly +comfortable. How it did snow! Lifting the blind I could actually look +down on an ever-increasing drift below my window and dimly wonder if +I should get out at all on the morrow. If not, I proposed to return to +Montreal at once. I should gain nothing by being confined in the house +at Bonneroy. Delle Josephine appeared with eggs and tea--green tea, alas +for that village shortcoming--there was no black tea to be found in it, +and I looked narrowly at her as she set it down, wondering if anything +was amiss with her. But she seemed all right again and I conjectured +that I had simply interrupted a _tête-a-tête_ with some visitor in the +sitting-room at the time of my return. When I had finished my tea I sat +back and watched my fire. Those little open “Franklin” stoves are almost +equal to a fireplace; they show a great deal of fire and you can +fancy your flame on an English hearth very easily--if you have any +imagination. As I sat there, it suddenly came home to me what a curious +life this was for me; living quite alone over a tiny village shop in _Le +Bos Canada_, with a queer little spinster like Delle Josephine. Snowed +up, with her too! To-morrow I would certainly have to go and shovel that +snow away from the front door and take down the shutters and discover +again to the world the contents of the one window, particularly that +frightful hat! I would--here I started it must be confessed almost out +of my seat, as turning my head suddenly I saw on a chair behind the door +the identical hat I was thinking about! I sat up and looked at it. It +must have been there all the time I was eating my tea. I still sat and +looked. I felt vaguely uncomfortable for a moment, then my common sense +asserted itself and told me that Delle Josephine must have been altering +it or something of that kind and had forgotten to take it away. I +wondered if she sat in my room when I was away. I had rather she did +not. Just as I was about to rise and look at it more closely, a tap came +at my door. I rose and admitted Delle Josephine. She took the tea-things +away in her usual placid manner, but came back the next moment as if +she had forgotten something, clearly the hat. With a slight deprecatory +laugh she removed it and went hurriedly down the stair. Whatever had she +been doing with it, I thought, and settled with a sigh of satisfaction +once more to my work, now that the nightmare in red, a kind of mute +scarlet “Raven,” was gone from my room. How very quiet it was. Not a +single sleigh passed, no sounds came from the houses opposite or from +next door, the whole world seemed smothered in the soft thick pillows +of snow quietly gathering upon it. After a while, however, I could +distinctly hear the sound of voices downstairs. Delle Josephine had a +visitor, undoubtedly. Was it a man or a woman? Not a large company I +gathered; it seemed like one person besides herself. I opened my door, +it sounded so comfortably in my lonely bachelor ear to catch in that +strange little house anything so cheerful as the murmur of voices. My +curiosity once aroused, did not stop here. I went outside the door, not +exactly to listen, but as one does sometimes in a lazy yet inquisitive +mood, when anything is going on at all unusual. This was an unusual +occurrence. If Delle Josephine had visitors often, I was not aware of +it. Never before had I noticed the slightest sound proceed from her +sitting-room after dusk. So I waited a bit listening. Yes there was +talking going on, but in French. As I did not understand her _patois_ +very clearly, I thought there would be no harm in overhearing, and +further I thought I should like to have a peep at her and her companion. +I could see that the door was partly open. Taking off my slippers, I +ran softly down and found it wide enough open to admit of my seeing the +entire room and occupants in the looking-glass, that being opposite. +It was quite dark in the little hall and I should be unobserved. So I +crept--most rudely I am willing to say--into the furthest shadow of this +hall and looked straight before me. + +I saw none but Delle Josephine herself. But she was a sight for +the gods. Seated on a kind of ottoman, directly in front of the +looking-glass, she was holding an animated conversation with _herself_, +wearing a large white antimacassar--one of those crocheted things all in +wheels--pinned under her chin and falling away at the back like a cloak, +and upon her head--the wonderful scarlet hat! I was amazed, startled, +dismayed. To see that shrivelled little old woman so travestying her +hideous charms, smiling at and bowing to herself, her yellow skin +forming a frightful contrast to the intense red of her immense hat +and her bright black eyes, was a pitiful and unique spectacle. I had +intended but to take a peep at the supposed visitor and then go back to +my room, but the present sight was one which fascinated me to such an +extent that I could only look and wonder. She spoke softly to herself in +French, appearing to be carrying on a conversation with her image in the +glass. The feathers of the bird of paradise swept her shoulder--the one +that was higher than the other--and mingled with the wheels of the white +antimacassar. I looked as long as I dared and then, fearing from her +movements that the strange scene would soon be over I went softly up +again to my room. But I thought about it all evening, all night in fact. +The natural inquiry was--was the poor girl a maniac? Even if only a +harmless one, it would be well to know. As I sat down again by my fire +I considered the matter in every light. It was a queer prospect. Outside +the snow still fell. Inside, the fire languished and the time wore on +till at half-past ten I really was compelled to call on my landlady for +more coal. I could hear the muttered French still going on, but I did +not know where the coal was and could not fetch it myself. I must break +in upon her rhapsodizing. + +“Delle Boulanger!” I called from my open door. “Delle Boulanger!” + +The talking stopped. In a few moments Delle Josephine appeared, calm and +smiling, _minus_ the hat and the antimacassar. “Coming, _monsieur_” + +“I shall want some more coal,” said I, “It is getting colder, I think, +every minute!” + +“_Mais oui, monsieur; il fait fret, il fait bien fret ce soir_, and +de snow--oh! It is _comme_--de old winter years ago, dat I remember, +_monsieur_, but not you. _Eh! bien_, the coal!” + +I discovered nothing morbid about her manner; she was amiable and +respectful as usual, if a little more garrulous. The French will talk at +all times about anything, but our conversation always came to a sudden +stop the moment one of us relapsed into the mother tongue. As long as +a sort of common maccaronic was kept to we managed to understand one +another. After I made up my fire I sat up till long past twelve. I heard +no more talking downstairs but I could fancy her still arrayed in those +festive yet ghastly things, seated opposite her own reflection, intent +as a mummy and not unlike one restored in modern costume. Pulling +the blind aside before going to bed, I could see with awe the arching +snowdrifts outside my window. If it went on snowing, I should not be +able to open it on the morrow. + + + + +CHAPTER II + + +My prediction was verified in the morning. The snow had ceased falling, +but lay piled up against the lower half of my window. On the level there +appeared to be about three feet, while the drifts showed from six to +twenty feet I had never seen anything like it, and was for sometime lost +in admiration. Across the road the children of the _epider_ and the good +man himself were already busy trying to shovel some of it away from the +door. It seemed at first sight a hopeless task and I, looking down at +Delle Josephine's door, wondered how on earth we were ever to get out of +it when not a particle of it was to be seen. Not all that day did I get +out of the house, and but for the absorbing interest I suddenly found +centred in Delle Josephine I would have chafed terribly at being so shut +up. Trains, were blockaded of course, it was the great fall of '81, and +interrupted travel for half of a week. All that day I waited so to speak +for the evening. Snow-boys there were many; customers none. The +little Frenchwoman brought me some dinner at one o'clock, pork, tinned +tomatoes, and a cup of coffee. About five o'clock I strolled down into +the shop, it was lighted very meagrely with three oil lamps. Delle +Josephine was seated on a high chair behind the one counter at work on +some ribbon--white ribbon. She was quilling it, and looked up with some +astonishment as I walked up to her. + +“Do you object to a visitor Miss Josephine?” said I with the most +amiable manner I could muster. Poor soul! I should have thought she +would have welcomed one. + +“_Mais non Monsieur_ but I speak so little English.” + +“And I so little French. But we can manage to understand each other a +little, I think. What do you say to the weather? When shall I be able to +go out?” + +Delle Josephine laughed. She went on quilling the ribbon that looked so +white against her yellow hands. + +“O _Monsieur_ could go out dis day if he like, but de snow ver bad, very +thick.” + +“Do you ever go out, Miss Josephine?” + +“_Non Monsieur_. I have not been out for what you call a valk--it will +be five years that I have not been.” + +“But you go to church, I suppose?” + +“_Mais oui Monsieur_, but that is so near. And the good _Père Le +Jeune_--he come to see me. He is all the frien Delle Josephine has, ah! +_oui Monsieur_.” + +“Ah! Bonneroi isn't much of a place, is it? Have you ever been to Quebec +or Montreal?” + +“Ah! _Quebec--oui_, I live there once, many years ago. I was taken when +I was ver young by _Madame de la Corne de la Colombière pour une bonne; +vous comprenez_?” + +“Oh! _bonne_, yes, we use that word too. It means a nursemaid, eh! Were +there children in the family?” + +Delle Josephine dropped her ribbon and threw up her hands. + +“_Mon Dieu! les enfants! Mais oui, Monsieur_, they were nine children! +There was _Maamselle Louise_ and _Maamselle Angelique_ with the tempaire +of the _diable_ himself _oui Monsieur_, and François and Réné and +_l'petite Catherine_, and the rest I forget _Monsieur_. And dey live in +a fine _château_, with horse and carridge and everything as it would be +if they were in their own France. _Monsieur_ has been in France?” + +Only in Paris, I told her; a spasmodic run across the Channel--Paris in +eight hours. Two days there then return-- + +“That does not give one much idea of France.” + +“_Nou, non, Monsieur_. But there is no countree like France dey say dat +familee--and that is true, eh, _Monsieur_?” + +“I am afraid I cannot agree with you, Delle Josephine,” said I. “To +me there is no country like England, but that may be because I am an +Englishman. Tell me how long did you live in Quebec with this family?” + +“I was there ten year _Monsieur_. Then one day, I had a great +accidence--oh! a ver sad ting, ver sad!” The Frenchwoman laid down +the ribbon and went on. “A ver sad ting happen to me and the _bébé +Catherine_. We were out _l'ptite_ and me, for a valk, and we come to a +part of the town ver slant, ver hilly. _L'ptite Catherine_ was in her +carridge and I let go, and she go all down, _Monsieur_, and I too +over the hill--the cleef, you call it--but the _bébé_ was killed and I +_Monsieur_, I was alive, but like this!” showing her shoulder. “And what +did they do?” + +“At the _château_? Ah, _figure-toi, monsieur_, the agony of dat _pauvre +dame_! I was sent away, she would not see me, and I left _Quêbec_ at +once. I was no more _bonne_, monsieur; Delle Josephine was enough dat. +I could make de hats and de bonnets for de ladees, so I come away out +to Bonneroi, and I haf made de hats and de bonnets for the ladees of +Bonneroi for twenty year.” + +“Is it possible?” I said, much touched by the little story. “And the +ladies of Bonneroi, are they hard to please?” + +Delle Josephine, who had spoken with the customary vim and gesture of +the French while--telling her tale, resumed her quilling and said, with +a shrug of one shoulder, + +“They do not know much, and dat is true.” I laughed at the ironical +tone. + +“And you--you provide the _modes_?” + +“I haf been to Quêbec” she said quietly. + +“Twenty years ago,” I thought, but had too much respect for the queer +little soul to say it aloud. + +“I see amongst other things,” I went on, “a most--remarkable--a very +pretty, I should say--hat in your window. The red one, you know, with +the bird of paradise.” + +Delle Josephine looked up quickly. “Dat is not for sale, _monsieur_.” + +“No? Why, I had some idea of perhaps purchasing it for a friend of mine. +Did you make that hat yourself?” + +She nodded with a sort of conscious pride. Yet it was not for sale! I +wondered why. The strange scene of the foregoing evening came into my +mind, and I began to understand this singular--case of monomania. It +must be that having lived so many years in almost solitary confinement, +one might say, her mind had slightly given away, and she found her +only excitement and relaxation in posing before the glass in that +extraordinary manner. I hardly knew whether it would be an act of +kindness to remove the hat; she talked quite rationally and cheerfully, +and remembering the innate vanity of the French as a nation, I +concluded to let the matter rest That night I heard no talking in the +sitting-room. I slept profoundly, and woke up later than usual We were +not dug out yet, though two snow-boys with their shovels were doing +their best to unearth us. I waited some time for Delle Josephine to +appear with the tray; but she too was late, evidently, for at ten +o'clock she had not come. I dressed and went down stairs. As I passed +the sitting-room I saw her tricked out as before in the hat and the +antimacassar seated on the ottoman in front of the looking-glass. +Heavens, she looked more frightful than ever! I made up my mind to speak +to her at, once, and see if I could not stop such hideous mummery. But +when I advanced I perceived that indeed I had come too late. The figure +on the ottoman was rigid in death. How it ever held itself up at all +I could never think, for I gave a loud cry, and rushing from the room +knocked against the open door and fell down senseless. + +Outside, I suppose, the snow-boys shovelled away as hard as ever. When I +came to myself I did not need to look around; I knew in a flash where +I was, and remembered what had happened. I ran to the shop door and +hammered with all my might. + +“Let me out!” I cried. “Open the door! open the door! for Heaven's +sake!” Then I ran upstairs, and did the same at my window. It seemed +years upon years of time till they were enabled to open the door and let +me out. I rushed out bareheaded, forgetful of the intense cold, thinking +first of all of the priest _Père Le Jeune_, so strong is habit, so +potent are traditions. I knew where he lived, up the first turning in a +small red brick house next the church of St. Jean Baptiste. I told him +the facts of the case as well as I could and he came back at once with +me. There was nothing to be done. Visitation of God or whatever the +cause of death Delle Josephine Boulanger was dead. The priest lifted his +hands in horror when he saw the ghostly hat. I asked him what he knew +about her, but he seemed ignorant of everything concerning the poor +thing, except the _aves_ she repeated and the number of times she came +to confession. But when we came to look over her personal effects in the +drawers and boxes of the shop, there could be no doubt but that she had +been thoroughly though harmlessly insane. We found I should think about +one hundred and fifty boxes: from tiny little ones of pasteboard to +large square ones of deal, full of rows and rows of white quilled +ribbon, similar to the piece I had seen her working at on that last +night of her life on earth. Some of the ribbon was yellow with age, +others fresher looking, but in each box was a folded bit of paper with +these words written inside, + + _Pour l'ptite Catherine_. + +“What money there was, _Père Le Jeune_ must have appropriated for I saw +nothing of any. After the dismal funeral, to which I went, I gathered my +effects together and went to the hotel. The first day I could proceed, I +returned to Montreal and have not visited Bonneroi since. The family +of _de la Corne de La Colombière_ still reside somewhere near Quebec, I +believe. The _château_ is called by the charming name of Port Joli, and +perhaps some day I may feel called upon to tell them of the strange fate +which befell their poor Josephine. Whether the melancholy accident which +partly bereft her of her reason was the result of carelessness I cannot +say but I shall be able, I think, to prove to them that she never forgot +the circumstance, and was to the day of her death occupied in making +ready for the little coffin and shroud of her '_p'tite Catherine_.' My +sketch of the frost bound Montmorenci was never finished, and indeed +my winter sketching fell through altogether after that unhappy visit +to Bonneroy. I was for weeks haunted by that terrible sight, half +ludicrous, half awful, and I have, now that I am married, a strong +dislike to scarlet in the gowns or head-gear of my wife and daughter.” + + + + + +The Story of Etienne Chezy D'Alencourt + + + + +CHAPTER I. + + +As my friends know, I was born an Englishman, spending the first +twenty-four years of my life in England. On my twenty-fifth birthday I +set foot on the shore of the great North American Continent, destined +for a time to be my home. Two days afterwards I entered the office set +apart for me in the handsome Government Buildings at Ottawa, and began +my duties. A transfer had recently been effected between the Home +and Canadian Civil Service, and I had been chosen to fill the vacant +colonial post. Having no ties or obligations of any kind I had nothing +to lose by the transaction except the pleasure and advantage of living +in England, which, however, had ceased for one or two reasons to be dear +to me. + +I did not, however, remain very long in the Service. I found it pleasant +work but monotonous, and receiving shortly after I went out a legacy +bequeathed by a widowed aunt I had almost forgotten, determined to leave +it and devote myself to study and travel. Like many Englishmen, I had +taken no trouble to ascertain the real points of interest about me. I +had been content with mastering and getting through my work, and with +mingling out of hours with the small but thoroughly charming set I had +found ready to welcome me on my arrival as the “new Englishman.” On the +whole, I was popular, though one great flaw--_i.e._--lack of high birth +and desirable home connections, weighed to an alarming extent with the +dowagers of the Capital. + +I had, on leaving the Service, made up my mind to study the people of +the Dominion. The English Canadians were easily disposed of in this +way; most of them were Scotch, and the rest appeared to be Irish. I +then began on the Indian population. But this was not so easy. It seemed +impossible to find even a single Indian without going some distance. + +At last I unearthed one descendant of the Red man who kept a small +tavern in the lower part of the town; a dirty frame tenement almost +entirely hidden by an immense sign hanging outside, having the figure, +heroic size of an Iroquois in full evening dress, feathers, bare legs +and tomahawk. + +This place was known as “Tommy's.” But Tommy himself was only half +an Indian, and swore such bad swears in excellent English, that I was +forced to leave after a minute's inspection. + +Then I began on the French-Canadians. There were plenty of them. In the +Buildings, on the streets, in the markets, in shops, they were all +over. Some of the most charming people I know were French-Canadians. +My landlady and her husband, quiet, sober devout people, were +French-Canadians. + +What I wanted to find, though, was a genuine unadulterated +French-Canadian of the class known as the _habitans_. I could recollect +many dark-eyed, fierce-mustached men whom I had seen since my residence +in Canada, and whom I conjectured must have been _habitans_. Up the +Gatineau and down the St. Lawrence, it would be easy to find whom I +wanted, but I preferred to wait on in town. I had many a disappointment. +One day it would be a cabman, another day a clerk. Though they all +_looked_ French, they invariably turned out to be English or Scotch. My +notions of hair and skin and eyes were being all turned upside down; +my favorite predispositions annulled, my convictions changed to +fallacies--in short I was thoroughly bewildered. I could not find my +_habitant_. At the same time, when I did find him, he would have to know +how to speak some English, for I could only speak very little French. +I read it well of course, wrote it quite easily, but on essaying +conversation was always seized with that instinctive horror of making a +fool of myself, which besets most Englishmen when they would attempt a +foreign language. Besides, the _patois_ these people spoke was vastly +different from ordinary French, as taught in schools and colleges, and +what it might be like I had not in those days the faintest idea, not +having read Rabelais. + +The worst _désillusionnement_ I suffered I will recount. One day I +noticed an elderly man clad in corduroy trousers, shabby brown velveteen +coat, conical straw hat and dirty blue shirt, lounging about a wharf I +sometimes frequented where, at one time, would lay from thirty to fifty +barges laden with lumber. Bargetown it might have been called; it was +a veritable floating colony of French and Swede, Irish and Scotch, +jabbering and smoking by day and lying quietly at night under the stars, +save for the occasional jig and scrape of the fiddle of some active +Milesian. Here, had I fully known it, was my chance for observation, +but I was ignorant at that time of the ways of these people and did not +venture among them. But the man in the velvet coat interested me. He +gesticulated the whole time most violently, waved his arms about and +made great use of his pipe, which he used to point with. I could not +hear what he was saying for his back was turned to me and the wind +carried all he said to the bargemen, as he wished it to do I suppose. + +How splendidly that coat becomes him, thought I. The descendant of some +fine old French settler, how superbly he carries himself! + +The conical becomes on him a cocked hat and in place of ragged fringe +and buttons hanging by a single string, I see the buckles and bows, the +sword and cane of a by-gone age! + +I made up my mind to address him, when to my disgust he got into one of +the barges, which moved off slowly, transporting him, as I supposed, to +his northern home. + +The next morning the bell of my front door attracted my attention by +ringing three or four times. Evidently my landlady was out. I sauntered +to the door and found my _habitant_ of the velveteen coat and duty blue +shirt! + +Gracious heaven! I was overcome! By what occult power had he been driven +here to deliver himself into my hands? Before I could speak, he said: + +“Av ye plaze, sorr, will yez be having any carrpets to bate? I'm taking +orders against the sphring claning, sorr.” + +“Oh! are you?” said I. I began to feel very sorry for myself, very +sorry, indeed, at this supreme instant. “Do you live near here?” I +further inquired. + +“Shure and I do, sorr. Jist beyant yez. I pass yez every day in the +week. Me number's 415”--He was about handing me a greasy bit of paper, +when I slammed the door in his face and retired to my own room to +meditate on the strange accent and peculiar calling of this descendant +of the “fine old French settler.” + +My next choice, however, proved a fortunate one. I got into a street-car +one evening late in the month of March. It was the winter street-car, a +great dark caravan, with a long narrow bench down either side and a mass +of hay all along the middle, with a melancholy lamp at the conductor's +end. Although fairly light outside, it was quite dark inside the +caravan, so the conductor set about lighting the lamp. This is the way +he did it. Opening the door he put his head in, looked all around, shut +the door and stopped his horses. Then he opened the door again and put +his head in again, keeping the door open this time that we might inhale +the fresh March night air. I say we, because when I grew accustomed to +the dark, I saw there was another occupant of the car, a man seated on +the opposite seat a little way down. The conductor felt under the seat +for something which I suppose was the can which, taken presently by him +to the corner grocery before which we had stopped, came back replenished +with coal oil. After he had filled the lamp, he lit in succession three +matches, persistently holding them up so that they all went out one +after the other. He felt in his pockets but he had no more. Then he +asked me. I had none. Then he asked the other man. The other man laughed +and replied in French. I did not understand what he said but saw him +supply the conductor with a couple of matches. When the lamp was finally +lighted I looked more closely at him. He was a working man from his +attire: colored shirt, coat of a curious bronze colour much affected by +the Canadian labourer, old fur cap with ears, and moccasins. At his feet +stood a small tin pail with a cover. His face was pale and singularly +well-cut. His hair was black and very smooth and shiny; a very slight +moustache gave character to an otherwise effeminate countenance and his +eyes were blue, very light blue indeed and mild in their expression. We +smiled involuntarily as the conductor departed. The man was the first to +speak: + +“De conductor not smoke, surely,” he said, showing me his pipe in one +hand. “I always have the matches.” + +“So do I, as a general thing,”. I rejoined. “One never knows when a +match may be wanted in this country.” I spoke rather surlily, for I +had been getting dreadfully chilled while the conductor was opening and +shutting the door. The man bent forward eagerly, though without a trace +of rudeness in his manner. + +“You do not live here, eh?” + +“Oh! yes, I do now, but I was thinking of England when I spoke.” + +“That is far away from here, surely.” + +“Ah! yes,” I sighed. So did the man opposite me. We were silent then for +a few moments when he spoke again. + +“There is a countree I should like to see and dat is France. I hear, +sir, I hear my mother talk of dat countree, and I tink--I should like to +go there. But that is far away from here, too far away, sure.” + +My heart leapt up. Here, if ever, must be the man I was in search of. + +“You are a French-Canadian, I suppose?” + +“Yes, Sir, I am dat.” + +“And where do you live?” said I. + +“I work in de mill; de largess mill in the Chaudière. You know dat great +water, the fall under the bridge, dat we call the Chaudière.” + +“I know it well,” said I, “but I have never gone properly over any of +the mills. I should like to go some day very much. Should I see you +anywhere if I went down?” + +He stared, but gave me the name of his mill. It belonged to one of the +wealthiest lumber kings of the district. I resolved to go down the next +day. + +“What is your name,” I asked. The man hesitated a minute before he +replied, + +“Netty.” + +“Netty!” I repeated “What a curious name! You have another name, I +expect. That must only be a nickname.” + +“_Mais oui Monsieur_. My name is much longaire than dat. My whole name +is Etienne Guy Chèzy D'Alencourt, but no man call me dat, specially in +de mill. 'Netty'--dey all know 'Netty.'” + +It was a long name, truly, and a high-sounding one,--but I preferred +thinking of him by it than by the meaningless soubriquet of “Netty.” At +the next corner he got out, touching his cap to me quite politely as he +passed. + +I was in high spirits that evening, for I believed I had found my +_habitant_. I went down to the Chaudière the following day, and got +permission to go over Mr. ----'s mill I found it very interesting, but +my mind was not sufficiently centered on planks and logs and booms +to adequately appreciate them. I wanted “Netty.” After I had made the +complete round of the mill I came upon him hard at work in his place +turning off planks in unfailing order as they whizzed along. The noise +was deafening, of bolts and bars, and saws and chains, with the roar of +the great cascade outside. He saw me and recognized me on my approach, +but he could not speak for some time. It was most monotonous work, +I thought. No conversation allowed, not even possible; the truly +demoniacal noise, yet just outside on the other side of a small window, +the open country, the mighty waters of the ever-boiling “Kettle,” or +Chauldron, and the steep spray-washed cliff. Standing on my toes I +could, looking out of Netty's small window, discover all this. The +ice was still in the river, half the fall itself was frozen stiff, and +reared in gabled arches to the sky. I watched the two scenes alternately +until at 6 o'clock the wheels ran down, the belts slackened and the men +knocked off. + +Netty walked out with me at my request, and learning that he had to +return in an hour I proposed we should have a meal together somewhere +and a talk at the same time. He must have been greatly astonished at +a complete stranger in another walk of life fastening upon him in this +manner, but he gave no hint of either surprise or fear, and maintained +the same mild demeanour I had noticed in him the day before. + +It was darkening rapidly and I did not know where to go for a meal. +Netty told me he ought to go to St. Patrick St. I knew the locality and +did not think it necessary to go all that way, “unless anybody will be +waiting for you, expecting you.” + +“Oh! not dat I live in a boarding house, my mother--she in the countree, +far from here.” + +“Then, 'I said,' you can go where you like. Do you know any place near +here where we can get a cup of tea and some eggs? What will do for you, +I daresay, and I hardly want as much.” + +But he knew of no reliable place and after walking about for a quarter +of an hour we finally went to the refreshment room at the station and +ordered beer and tea and sandwiches. + +“I daresay you wonder at my bringing you out here with me. You'd get a +better meal perhaps at your boarding-house. But do you know I've taken +a fancy to you and, I want to see a little more of you and learn how you +live, if you will kindly tell me. I am interested in your people, the +French-Canadians.” + +This sounds very clumsily put and so it did then, but I was obliged to +explain my actions in some way and what is better than the truth? Lies, +I have no doubt to some people, but I was compelled to be truthful +to this man who carried a gentle and open countenance with him. No +gentleman could have answered me more politely than he did now. + +“Sir I am astonish--_oui un peu_, but if there is anyting I can tell +you, anyting I can show you I shall be ver glad. The mill--how do you +find dat, Sir? + +“I like to watch you work very much, but the noise”-- + +Netty laughed, showing his radiant white teeth. + +“_Mais oui_, de noise is bad, but one soon custom to dat. I am in +de mill for four year. I come from up in de north--from the Grand +Calumet--do you know there, Sir?” + +“That is an island is it not? Yes, I know where it is, near Allumette, +but I have never been so far up on the Ottawa. And the Gatineau, that is +a river, is it not? What pretty names these French ones are! Gatineau!” + I repeated thinking. “That comes, I fancy having heard somewhere, from +Demoiselle Marie Josephe Gatineau Duplessis, wife of one of the first +French settlers. By the way your name is a curious one. Say it again.” + +Netty very gravely repeated, “Etienne Guy Chézy D'Alencourt.” + +“Was your father a native Canadian?” + +“_Oui Monsieur_.” + +“The name seems familiar to me,” I remarked. “I daresay if you cared +to look the matter up, you might find that your great grandfather was +something or other under the Intendant Bigot or Vaudreuil, or earlier +still under Maisonneuve the gallant founder of Montreal. Ah! how +everybody seems to have forgotten those old days. Even in Canada, you +see, there is something to look back upon.” + +My companion seemed rather puzzled as I talked in this strain. Very +probably it was over his head. I found he could neither read nor write, +had been reared in the pine-clad and icy fastnesses of Grand Calumet +Island all alone by his mother--an old dame now about seventy. He +himself was about thirty he judged, though he was far from sure. He was +a good Catholic in intention, though very ignorant of all ritual. From +his youth he had been employed on the rafts and lumber-slides of the +Ottawa river until his four years' session at the mill, where he had +picked up the English he knew. He had made no friends he told me. The +more I conversed with him the more I was impressed with his simple and +polite manners, his innate good breeding, and his faith and confidence +in the importance of daily toil and all honest labour. He smoked a +little, drank a little, but never lost his head became obtrusively +familiar, noisy or inquisitive. I felt ashamed to think how deliberately +I had sought him out, to pry into the secrets and facts of his daily +life, but solaced myself into the assurance that it could not at least +bode him harm and it might possibly do him some service. + +When we returned to the mill, I was astonished at the weirdness of the +scene. The entire premises were flooded with the electric light and the +men were working away, and the saws, belts and bars all in motion as if +it were the middle of the day. What a pandemonium of sound and colour +and motion it was! The strong resinous odor of the pine-wood mingled +with the fresh air blown in from the river, and I inhaled both eagerly. + +It was almost powerful enough to affect the head, and I fancied I caught +myself reeling a little as I walked out on to the bridge, swaying just +the least bit as the torrent of angry water swept under it I had said +“_Bonsoir_” to my friend the Frenchman and was free to go home. But I +lingered long on the heaving bridge, though it was cold and starless, +and I got quite wet with the dashed-up spray. + +Up the river gleamed the icy masses of the frozen fall, beyond that the +northern country of the northern waters stretched away up to the North +Pole with little, if any, human interruption. + +Down the river on the three superb cliffs, rising high out of the water, +sparkled the many lights in the Gothic windows of the buildings. On +either side were the illuminated mills with their rushing logs and +their myriad busy hands piling, smoothing and sawing the monsters of the +forest helpless under the fetters of leather and steel. + + + + +CHAPTER II. + + +For the events which followed, I hold myself alone and altogether +responsible. Nearly every evening I spent at the Chaudière, either +watching my new friend at his work or lounging on the bridge, and always +finishing the day by walking home with him to his boarding house. Thus +I got to know him very well, and I soon discovered one thing that he +was far from strong. Even a life-long residence among the purifying and +strengthening airs of the keen fresh North had not protected him from +the insidious ravages of that dread complaint--consumption. I fancied +the hereditary taint must be on his father's side, for he always alluded +to his mother as being exceptionally healthy. On Sundays I accompanied +him to Church in the morning at the Basilica; in the afternoons we used +to walk all over the town in various directions. Of course, on all +these excursions, I did most of the talking. He was a good listener, and +readily improved in understanding and appreciation. Noticing that he +was particularly fond of any story connected with the life of the early +French in Canada, I read up all the works I could find on the subject, +going often to the Parliamentary Library for that purpose, and retailing +the more interesting and intelligible facts to him afterwards. Crusoe +did not watch over and educate Friday any more carefully than I my mild +and gentlemanly “Shantyman” in his blue shirt and canvas trowsers. + +I grew at last, after three months' intimacy with him, quite to love +him, and I am sure my affection was reciprocated for he ever welcomed +me with a strong, clinging pressure of my hand and a smile which was a +brighter one than that which his face had worn when I met him first. A +strange friendship, but one which I felt to be so absorbing that I could +not have endured other friends. April passed, and May, and with the hot +weather Etienne, whose health gave way all at once, would have to return +for a short visit to the old mother all by herself on the island of +Grand Calumet. + +I feared to let him go, he looked more delicate in my eyes every day, +but I knew it would be good for him in many ways. So a day came that saw +my friend D'Alencourt go back to his northern home. He would not ask me +to go and visit him, he had too much natural pride for that, but I made +up my mind to find him out, for all that. As may be supposed I was like +the traditional fish out of the traditional water for some time after +his departure. + +I read and amused myself in any way that offered, but cared not to +experiment on any more French-Canadians. + +In my reading I read for two, and made notes of anything I thought would +interest Etienne. One day I came across the same name as his own, borne +by a certain young soldier, a sprig of the French _noblesse_ who had +followed in the train of Bigot, the dissolute and rapacious Governor +of New France. I meditated long over this. The name was identical--Guy +Chézy D'Alencourt. In the case of my friend the mill-hand there was +simply the addition of Etienne, the first Christian name. Could he +possibly be the descendant of this daring and gallant officer, of whose +marriage and subsequent settling in Canada I could find no mention? +The thing seemed unlikely, yet perfectly possible. I had predicted it +myself. As if to fasten my thoughts even more securely on the absent +Etienne that very day arrived a letter from Grand Calumet. It was +addressed to me in a laboured but most distinct hand. I thought that +Etienne had commissioned the priest doubtless to write for him or some +other friend, but when I opened it I found to my great surprise that it +was from Etienne himself and in his own handwriting, the result he told +me of work at home in his Lower Town boarding-house. + +I dropped the letter. He had taught himself to, write! This was the +first fruit of my intimacy with him, and I hardly knew whether I was +pleased or not. But I clearly saw that this night-work added to the +arduous toil and late hours imposed upon him by his place in the mill +had probably been the cause of undermining his bodily strength. The +letter itself ran: + + “Dear Sir,--The frend of Etienne D'Alenconrt, he can write you--he + can send you a _lettre_ from the Grand Calumet, his island that + is green, Monsieur, and full of sweet berries. If you would come, + Mossier, you would find Etienne and his mother reddy to do all they + can. Still, Monsieur shall in this please alway himself, the friend + and benefactor of Etienne Chézy D'Alencourt.” + + + GRAND CALUMET ISLAND. + + “It was at night, when Monsieur had gone home, that I learnt myself + to write and thank him for all teaching from the books beside.” + + “E.” + +Of course, I would accept the invitation. I decided to go in a week's +time and wrote to that effect. I wished to reprimand him for having +overtaxed his strength as I was sure he had done in sitting up teaching +himself how to write, but respect for the dear fellow's perseverance and +ability restrained me. + +Only when I got him again, I said to myself, I would stop that. I took +with me a gun, fishing rods and tackle, a mosquito net, plenty of cigars +and a hamper of tinned meats, tea, coffee and biscuits. + +My journey was nearly altogether by water and I enjoyed every inch of +the beautiful river. After I reached the landing stage, a place called +Lichfield, I had to wait an hour before proceeding in the direction +which I had found out it would be necessary to follow in order to find +Etienne and his mother. + +I shall never forget the delight of that one hour passed in rambling +through the lonely green wood that covered the island down to the shore. +The ferns were young and freshly unfurled, the moss was everywhere, +green and close and soft like velvet and star-clustering, gray and +yellow. The surviving flowers were the large white blossoms of the +woodland lily, and the incoming _Linnæa_ began to show the faint pink of +its twin bells, afterwards to be so sweet and fragrant. + +I thought of that passage in the letter which told of “the island that +was green and full of sweet berries.” Not a bad description for a person +whom the world must perforce term an illiterate man. + +When my conveyance arrived, it proved to be a stage of antiquated type +and I suffered horribly during the journey of three hours. At the end +of that time, I was set down with my luggage at the gate of a small log +hut, with a little garden in front, bordered with beautiful pink and +green stones, the like of which I had never seen before. A snake fence +ran in front of this and on two sides, at the back was a thick wood. + +Etienne was ready for me at which I rejoiced, fearing to make myself +known to the dame his mother. + +Once more I felt that honest and affectionate hand grasp, once more I +met those clear and steady blue eyes, and I noted the flush of pride +which overspread his face when I told him that I had received his letter +and marvelled at it. + +“Mossieu know so much and Etienne so ver little.” But when the flush had +died away, I was pained exceedingly to see the pallor of his cheeks and +the prominence of his high cheekbones. His walk was unsteady too, he +put his feet down, I noticed, as if they were light instead of solid +supports for his body, a sure sign of great physical weakness. My worst +fears were realized when I saw on the deal table in the front room, +furnished with home-made rugs drawn from woolen rags dyed all colors and +some plain deal furniture stained brown, a little pile of books. There +were two copy-books, two dictionaries, a small “Histoire de Canada” and +some illustrated magazines. I saw that he could read, too, pretty well, +for he presently drew my attention to a very old book indeed, that lay +on a shelf, a little Roman Catholic missal with tarnished gold clasps +and scarlet edges. + +“Dat was belong to my fader,” he said, “for many a year; and it was from +his fader he get it.” + +I looked at it eagerly all over. The fly-leaf bore no inscription, but +up in one corner, in faded red ink, was something that looked like a +monogram with a device underneath. I would have examined it at once but +that Etienne was anxious to read me a little of the Latin which he had +picked out with infinite patience, I should think. I promised to help +him a little occasionally, but told him that he was not looking well and +had better be content with ignorance in this lovely summer weather. + +“When the winter comes and you are back at the mill, you can study as +much as you like.” + +The old dame was sallow and sunken from a life of incessant hard work. +The climate itself, so changeable as well as inclement in these northern +wilds, is enough to pinch the face and freeze the blood, although at the +time of my visit it was hot, intensely hot for so early in the +summer. Moreover, the old dame was not given to talking. So taciturn a +Frenchwoman I never met elsewhere. They are usually characterized by a +vivacious loquacity which is the seal of their nationality. But this one +was silent in the extreme and had, as her son told me, never once held +a conversation with him on any subject whatever. Of his father he knew +literally only this fact--that he had been a “shantyman” in his time +too, and was killed by a strained rope striking him across the middle. +Etienne did not remember him. The time sped on. They made me as +comfortable as they could in the front or “best” room, but, when I +thought it would not offend them, I slept outside--“_couchant à la belle +etoile_” as Rousseau has it--and beautiful nights those were I spent +in this manner. We had plenty of fruit--wild strawberries and +raspberries--pork and beans and potatoes forming the staple articles of +diet. There was no cow, no horse, no dog belonging to the house. Fish +we could get ourselves in plenty, and eggs made their appearance in +a farmer's wagon about twice a week. Etienne and I spent entire days +out-of-doors, shooting, fishing, walking, reading. I tried to take his +mind off his books, but it was of no use. He had got so attached to +his studies and new pursuits in life that one day he startled me by +asserting that he did not intend to go back to the mill in future. I +remonstrated gently with him, reminding him that as yet his education +was very incomplete, that few situations of the kind he probably aspired +to would be open to him for some time to come, and that in the meantime +he must suffer from want of money, and thus be the cause of seeing his +mother suffer as well. But he startled me further in reply by stating +that he knew himself to be slowly dying of consumption and that he +would shortly be of little use to anyone. His wish was to leave Canada +altogether and die in--France! France, the country of his dreams, the +goal of his dying ambition, the land of the golden _fleur de lis_, +of the chivalrous soldiers, the holy women and the pious fathers who +colonized the land of his birth! + +I remonstrated with him as I have said. I expostulated in every key; I +took his mother into my confidence as well as I could since she knew not +a word of English; I laughed at him, I wept over him, I endeavoured by +every argument in my power to make him change my mind, but-- + +I failed. Then when I understood how firmly his mind was set upon this +extraordinary idea, I made up my mind to accompany him, in fact, not to +leave him at all until he either grew wiser and stronger, or else died +the death he predicted for himself. I found that the old dame had quite +a store of money saved by her little by little every year from Etienne's +earnings, and from what she made by selling the rugs I mentioned. These +sold for a dollar and upwards according to the size. Putting some of my +own to this fund of hers, I calculated she had enough to go upon for at +least a year. Wants are few in that district. Then I turned my attention +to Etienne. He was growing worse; he would lie for hours reading or +attempting to read with great beads of perspiration mounting on his +brow. The heat was excessive and proved very bad for him. I judged he +would be better in town and after I had been on the island for about two +months, I begged him to return with me. I promised him that once there, +I would not leave him for a day, and would even consider the possibility +of taking him across the ocean. He still maintained his calm and perfect +manners and insisted upon paying his fare down the river which I let him +do, knowing that soon his stock of money would be exhausted and he would +then be at my mercy. No sign of cupidity was apparent in his demeanor, +yet I wondered how he ever thought to reach France unless I paid his +way. Like all consumptives, he had a trick of rallying now and then and +appearing better than he really was. This occurred on our arrival in +town. He took long walks with me again daily and seemed so much stronger +that I again dared to suggest the propriety of his returning to the +mill, but to no purpose. He drooped at the very thought, and I perceived +that his apparent recovery was but a delusion, I soon saw he was weaker +than ever. But whenever he was at all able, he persisted in reading what +he could understand and really his progress was a marvel to me. So it +came about that one evening, towards the close of September where we had +sometimes to light the lamp as early as half-past six, I returned to my +rooms about that hour of the day (we shared rooms together, so fond +had I grown of him, and I trust, he of me) to find him poring over the +little Catholic Missal. + +“In this light? This will never do. And you could not light the lamp +yourself, my poor Etienne!” + +When it was lighted, I saw indeed from his weak and excited appearance +that he was unable to do anything for himself. Lying on my sofa, he had +in one hand the scarlet-edged missal, and in the other the book I have +referred to, which contained a short sketch of Guy Chézy D'Alencourt the +handsome and reckless lieutenant of _La Nouvelle France_. + +He could hardly speak but through his gasping I could gather that he +wished me to examine the words in the corner of fly-leaf I had once +noticed before and believed to be a monogram. I quieted him a little, +then bringing the lamp-light to bear upon the faded ink, I was able +to decipher the device, which comprised a crown, three _fleurs-de-lis_ +under, and a lamb bearing a banner, with the letters I.H.S. upon it. + +“The arms of Rouen!” I exclaimed “and above them, some initials, yes, a +monogram!” + +My companion sat up in his excitement. + +“Ah! dat is what I cannot make quite out! Tree letter--_oui, vite, cher +mosdieu, vite_!” + +I had to look very closely indeed to decipher these, but with the aid of +a small lens I found them to be “G. C. D'A.” + +There could be little doubt but that Etienne was the lineal descendant +of Guy Chézy D'Alencourt, native of Rouen, who came to Canada in the +same year as Bigot. I told him so and wondered what his thoughts could +be, for clasping my hands with as much force as he possessed--and that +is at times a wonderful force in the clasp of the dying--he said with a +great effort: + +“If dat is so, _mossieu_, if dat is so, I have _O le bon Dieu_--I +have--_mossieu_, I have--O if dat is true”-- + +He fell back and I caught no more. The excitement proved too much for my +poor friend. When I spoke to him, he was unconscious and he never fully +recovered his senses. Alas! he lay in a few weeks, beneath the sod of +Grand Calumet Island, and France is ignorant of the fact that a true +aristocrat and simple-hearted gentleman existed in the humble person +of my friend the _habitant_, Etienne Guy Chézy D'Alencourt, _alias_ +“Netty.” + + + + + +Descendez a L'Ombre, ma Jolie Blonde. + + +The Honourable Bovyne Vaxine Vyrus refused to be vaccinated. Stoutly, +firmly and persistently refused to be vaccinated. Not even the +temptation of exposing to the admiring gaze of a medical man the superb +muscles and colossal proportions of an arm which had beaten Grace and +thrashed (literally) Villiers of the Guards, weighed with him. + +“It's deuced cool!” he said, to his cousin Clarges, of Clarges St. +Mayfair, a fair, slight fellow, with a tiny yellow moustache. “Haven't +I been six times to India, and twice to Africa; that filthy Algiers, you +remember, and Turkey, and New Orleans, and Lisbon, and Naples? and +now, when I was done only eight years ago at home, here I am to be done +again, where, I am sure, it all looks clean enough and healthy! It makes +me ill, and I _won't_ be done; laid up for a week and lose all the fun I +came for!” + +“Bovey, though you _are_ the strongest fellow in England, you're no less +a coward!” + +Young Clarges looked up as he spoke, seriously: “_I_ shall be done!” + +“You? Well, so I should expect from a baby like you, Arthur! You will +never grow up, never learn to think for yourself! Now let me alone on +the subject, and let us look up this country place we were told about!” + But Clarges was not easily silenced. + +“Think of Lady Violet, Bovey! If anything were to happen to you out +here, and the children, Bovey,--Rex and Florence, you know!” + +“Oh! cut it, now, Arthur; I tell you it's of no use!” + +Young Clarges looked out across the river, and bit the tiny yellow +moustache. “Then I won't be done, either!” said he to himself. “It's +borne in upon me that one of us has got to get this accursed thing, and +if I can prevent it, it shan't be Bovey!” What a strange scene it was +beneath, around, above and opposite them! Beneath flowed the river, +solid with sawdust, the yellow accumulation of which sent up a strong +resinous smell that almost made them giddy; to the left the tumultuous +foam of the Chaudière cast a delicate veil of spray over the sharp +outlines of the bridge traced against a yellow sky; to the right, the +water stretched away in a dull gray expanse, bordered by grim pines and +flat sterile country. Around them the three mighty cliffs on which +the Capital is built, above them the cold gray of an autumnal sky, and +opposite them the long undulations of purplish brown hills that break +the monotony of the view, and beyond which stretch away to an untrodden +north the wastes and forests of an uncleared continent. + +“Are we looking due north, now, Arthur, do you know?” + +“I suppose so,” returned Clarges. He was astride a cannon and still +biting the tiny moustache. “Yes, by the direction of the sunset we must +be, I suppose. I say, if we are, you know, I should like to be able to +tell between what two trees--it would have to be between two of those +trees there--we should have to walk to get to the North Pole.” + +The Hon. Bovyne looked around suddenly and laughed. He was fishing +apparently in his pockets for a paper or something of the kind, as he +had a number of letters in his hand, looking them over. + +“What two trees? Where? Arthur, you _are_ a donkey. What are you talking +about?” + +“I say,” returned Clarges, “that it is perfectly true that as we sit +here, facing due north, all we have to do is to walk straight over this +river--” + +“On the sawdust?” + +“Certainly, over those hills and between two of those trees in order +to get to the North Pole. Curious, isn't it? If you look awfully close, +real hard, you know, you can almost count their branches as they stand +up against the sky. Like little feathers--huff-f-f-f--one could almost +blow them away!” + +The Honorable Bovyne laughed again. Clarges was a mystery to him, as +to many others. Half-witted he sometimes called him, though on other +occasions he stood in awe of his bright, candid, fearless nature, and +his truthful and reckless tongue. + +“I say,” went on Clarges excitedly, shading his eyes with his hand. +“There are two trees out there in a straight line from this very cannon +that--that I should know again, Bovey! Do look where I point now like a +good fellow. Don't you see there, following the chimney of that big red +place, factory or other, right in a line with that at the very top of +the hill at its highest point, two trees that stand a little apart from +the others and have such funny branches--Oh! you must be able to see +them by those queer branches! One crooks out on one side just as the +other does on the other tree. That isn't very lucid, but you see what I +mean can't you? They make a sort of--of--lyre shape.” + +The Hon. Bovyne shaded his eyes with his hand and looked out over the +river and distant hills. “I see a line of trees, feathery trees, you +aptly call them my dear Arthur, but I can't make out your particular +two. How is it possible, at such a distance, to see anything like a +_lyre_ of all things? Come along, I've found the address I wanted. It +reads most peculiarly. It seems there are still a great number of French +people around here, in fact, all over this Province which they sometimes +call Lower Canada. Do you remember much of your French?” I spoke a lot +in Algiers of course but I fancy it isn't much like this jargon. Our +destination is or appears to be, _c/o Veuve Peter Ross, Les Chats_, +pronounced _Lachatte_, so Simpson told me. + +“Who told you about the place?” enquired young Clarges getting off the +cannon? “Simpson? What sort of a fellow is he?” + +“Who? Simpson?” said his cousin in turn. “Um--not bad. Been out here too +long, though. Awfully quiet, goes in for steady work and takes hardly +any exercise. I wonder why it is the fellows here don't walk more! New +country and all that; I should have thought they would all go in for +country walks and shooting and sports of all kinds. They don't, you +know, from some reason or other. It can't be the fault of the country.” + +“You forget the roads, Bovey, and the fences, and the interminable +distances and the immense rivers, and the long winter. I say, it looks +like snow to-night, doesn't it?” + +“What do you know about snow!” rejoined the Hon. Bovyne. “Let us get +on, there's a good fellow--confound you! don't stare at those imaginary +trees any longer, but come along.” + +Certainly young Clarges was possessed with the queerest fancy about +those trees. “I say, Bovey, they were funny, though, to strike me like +that, out of all the others! I am sure I should know them again. Perhaps +some day we'll take a fly and go out there--I wonder if there's an inn? +Does what's her name, your old Scotch lady, keep an inn, or is it a farm +we're going to?” + +“Scotch? Why do you say Scotch? She's French, I tell you. Simpson says +she can't speak a word of English.” + +“But 'Peter Ross' is Scotch, isn't it? At least you can't make it +French, however you twist it.” + +“I'm not anxious to twist it. Don't you see, Arthur, she is evidently +a Frenchwoman who married a man called Peter Ross; she is the _veuve_, +widow, you know! of the lamented Scotchman. Now do you understand? But +it _is_ peculiar.” + +“Very,” said Clarges. “When do we start?” + +“There's a train to-morrow morning at eight o'clock, but I thought we +had better hire a trap, and a man to bring the trap back, and put all +our things, tents and so on, into it, and go out comfortably so as to +see the country.” + +“All right!” said Clarges. “By Jove, what a splendid night it's going +to be, stars out already, Bovey! Don't you hope it'll be like this +tomorrow? Shall we camp out the first night and think of--of--Lady +Violet by our camp fire, and Rex and Florence--how they'd like to see +us, wouldn't they? And they can't, you know, they're three thousand +miles away, trying to make out each other's faces in the November fog, +eh! Bovey? I say, what shall we get to eat out there, at Lachatte, you +know, the country always makes me desperately hungry.” + +“Oh! we shall do well enough. Simpson says she is a capital old woman, +lives entirely alone; will cook for us, wait on us, make us pancakes, +I expect, and give us plenty of that stuff we had this morning at the +hotel.” + +“Sweet stuff?” asked Clarges. “_I_ know. Syrup, maple syrup, that'll +do.” + +Simpson, the authority, thrice quoted by the elder of the two +Englishmen, appeared at dinner with them that evening. He was a +hard-working, stodgy son of person who had come out to the Canadian +Civil Service fifteen years, ago, lived much by himself until he took a +wife out of a Canadian village, a phlegmatic, stolid, unimaginative +sort of a girl, who was nevertheless a good wife and an excellent +housekeeper. Simpson sniffed at the dinner. It wasn't as good as his +own. He felt ill at ease in the presence of the two men, whose airy +talk and loud laughter struck him with a keen sense of its novelty. They +joked about everything. Clarges particularly was in high feather. The +wine, which came partly from the hotel and partly from the Hon. Bovyne's +hamper, flowed often and freely, and Simpson, who was a very moderate +fellow, wondered at the quantity his friends seemed to be able to +imbibe. “Without showing any traces of it, either,” he said to himself. +“All this vivacity is natural; I remember the type; in fact, I was +something like it myself ten or twelve years ago.” + +After dinner, Clarges rushed up stairs and down again with a small +silk plush packet of photographs tied with ribbons. The men were in the +smoking room. + +“I say, I want Simpson to see Lady Violet, Bovey.” + +“All right, and the children too? You sentimental ass, Arthur!” Clarges +laughed. It was a funny laugh, a kind of inane ripple that nevertheless +tickled everybody who heard it. “But it's too smoky here. Come up stairs +to the drawing room. There's a jolly big drawing room with a piano, and +we can say what we want to, everyone stares here so!” + +“I should think they would,” said Simpson quietly. “Why do you get +yourself up like that, simply because you're in Canada? A knitted +waistcoat, three sizes too large for you--” + +“That's to admit of heavy underclothing,” said Clarges, not in the least +perturbed. “Knickerbockers,” continued Simpson, “that are certainly one +size too small; a cap that looks like a hangman's, and a coat that must +have come off Praed St.” + +The Hon. Bovyne laughed long and loud. “Oh, Arthur, Arthur!” he said. +But young Clarges did not mind in the least. Indeed, had he but known +it, and be it remembered to his merit that he did not know it, he made +a fair and manly picture as he stood under the light of the chandelier. +His slim, well-knit figure was more prepossessing than the herculean +proportions of his cousin, “the strongest man in England;” his crisp +fair hair brushed boyishly up on one side and his well-trimmed moustache +of silky yellow, his keen gray eyes and delicate features, all went far +in point of attractiveness, especially when added to these mere physical +details, rang the infectious laugh, clear, hearty and youthful, and +spoke the natural, honest, unrestrained tongue. + +In the drawing room Clarges established himself on a sofa between the +other two. “Now, Simpson,” he said, “you must excuse me calling you +Simpson so freely, by the way, but you know, Bovey always calls you +Simpson--you don't mind, do you? You bang away at my clothing all you +like, and in return I'll call you Simpson. Now I'm going to show +you Lady Violet. You know who she is, she is Bovey's wife, _and_ the +loveliest woman in England. Loveliest woman in England, look at that!” + Clarges held up very carefully, out at arm's length, a very fine +photograph of an undeniably beautiful woman. “Bovey's wife.” he +ejaculated again. “You never saw her, so you don't know what beauty +is, do you? But here's the next best thing, her photograph, and such a +photograph! Now, you be good, as we say to the children, and I'll show +you that again after all the others.” Next he showed him in a sort of +ecstasy, Bovey's children. + +“Rex and Florence,” he said, in an awe-struck tone. Bovey laughed, so +did Simpson. So would anybody have done. + +“What are you laughing at,” said young Clarges, solemnly. “Oh, at me! +that's all right, everybody laughs at me. I knew it couldn't be the +children. Now here's another lovely girl,” and then there was another +and still another, and then a group in hunting attire just after +the breakfast; then pretty interiors with dainty rooms and women +and children and dogs, a capital likeness of Fred Burnaby, Vyrus' +fellow-officer, autographs of Gordon and Wolseley, a garden party at +Clarges Mount, a water-party at Richmond, photograph's and sketches +taken in Algiers, Cairo, Damascus, Bombay and Edinburgh. Simpson sat +through all this slightly bored and confused. What had he to do with +this kind of life? Once he had had some gleams of it, it is true, +but that was years ago, before his modest little establishment was in +existence, presided over by the plain, but virtuous Matilda of his later +days. + +“Well, now,” said he, preparing to take his leave, “is there anything +further you want to know about your plans, for I suppose I shall +scarcely see you again before you leave if you get off tomorrow morning +as you intend. One thing--of course you've been vaccinated?” + +The Hon. Bovyne muttered, “bah!” Clarges began putting the photographs +away, all but Lady Violet. + +“Then you haven't been done, eh?” said Simpson, interrogatively. “I +would if I were you. You can't tell where you're going or whom you'll +meet. Why, you can 'do' yourself if you object to a medical man fussing +around.” + +“Can you?” said Clarges. + +“I don't object,” said Bovey, loftily; “but I must say I think it is +making a ridiculous and most unnecessary fuss about the matter. Why, +there are half a dozen diseases as virulent as the small-pox stalking +about in every large town, and we don't take those! Why should we take +the small-pox when we don't take the cholera, or the--the--” + +“Yes,” observed Simpson, in his quiet manner, “I thought you would stick +for want of details. The fact is, that you can inoculate for small-pox, +and you can't as yet, for cholera or leprosy, and so wise people accept +the fact, the revelation if you will, and get vaccinated. However, as +far as your immediate surroundings go, you're safe enough. Old Mrs. Ross +will do all she can for you, and it isn't far, only twenty two miles +from town after all. You'll be walking in in a day or two for another +tent or a barrel of whiskey. Nothing like whiskey, Canadian whiskey, out +in camp on cold nights.” Simpson got up. + +“I wonder,” said he, suddenly, “how you escaped being done on the train. +You came up from Quebec _via_ St. Martin's Junction, didn't you?” + +“Oh! your importunate Inspector did make an effort on my behalf, but I +was firm. Nearly had a lodging in the Police Station though, but I told +him who we were and swore to having marks the size of flat-irons on both +arms, so he let me go.” + +“And you,” said Simpson, turning to Clarges. “Me! oh! I shall be done. +I say, couldn't I walk out with you now and see a doctor about it? I +believe I will, Bovey, if you can spare me. For look you, Simpson, I am +the plaything of his leisure hours, a kind of Yorick, you know, and he +might be dull.” + +The Hon. Bovyne looked grave for a second, “I believe I _should_ be dull +without you, dear boy, though you are a crank. Let me see, how old are +you, Arthur?” + +“Twenty-two,” answered Clarges. “Good heaven!” exclaimed the Hon. +Bovine, “and I am getting perilously near to forty. We'll change the +subject. I'm very sleepy. Don't expect to find me up when you come +in, Arthur; to-morrow night, remember, we may be sleeping on the cold +ground, I shall get all the rest I can to-night.” Clarges and the other +man took their leave. + +“Once more, Bovey,” said the former, “won't you be done? Simpson, make +him! See here, look once more at Lady Violet, speak with _her_ lips, +look with _her_ eyes--the loveliest woman in England!” + +“Go and get 'done,' as you call it, for heaven's sake, and let me +alone!” was all he got in reply. + +But Clarges did not get done. He had an idea and this was his idea: To +walk to some doctor recommended by Simpson and procure an instrument +suitable for the purpose, and the necessary material, and to vaccinate +his cousin himself. The first part was easy enough. Simpson vaguely +wondering at his light-hearted talk, left him at a doctor's surgery +door, and Clarges, who could always get what he wanted from anybody in +any part of the world, soon persuaded the doctor to give him a “point” + and all necessary instructions. + +“A small lancet is really a better thing,” said that gentleman, “but you +will manage all right, I daresay. We must really take every precaution +we can. Good evening.” + +All this was easy; now arose the difficulty, how best to tackle Bovey. + +“He's such a giant of a fellow,” thought Clarges. “But if he is only +asleep as he hinted he would be, there'll not be much difficulty. +What will he do when he finds it out in the morning, supposing I am +successful in operating upon him to-night? What a suggestive word! I am +quite the surgeon. But I'll do it--Arthur Clarges, see that you _do_ do +it, by all you hold dear and sacred in old England!” + +On his return, however, to the hotel, he found that his cousin was +clearly wide-awake again. + +“Hang it all!” he said to himself, “why isn't he asleep?” But the Hon. +Bovyne was not in the least sleepy. He rallied Arthur on his poor +arm but fortunately did not ask to look at it. He ordered up a sherry +cobbler apiece and brought out some of his rarest weeds. “I say, what do +you think of Simpson, Bovey?” said Clarges, suddenly. + +“Think? why, that there's nothing in him to think about.” + +“Did you know he was married?” + +“No; is he?” Bovey was always laconic. + +“Yes, and he has four children. Just think, four! Two boys and two +girls.” + +“How interesting!” The two men smoked silently for a few minutes, then +Clarges said, “It must be a beautiful thing to be married, you know.” + +“Well, I _ought_ to know,” returned his cousin. + +Clarges put his cigar down and went on. “To have somebody that belongs +to you, and to know that you belong to somebody; that's marriage, and I +think it must be very beautiful. Of course, you belong to other people +too, just the same, and they belong to you, but not so much, not in the +same way. You don't go to church all in a tremble with your father and +your mother, or your sister or your brother. You don't wear a ring--a +beautiful, great broad band of gold, you know, always shining there +on your finger--or you don't put one on for anybody else save just the +person that belongs to you in that way, in the way of marriage, you +know. And to be able to think wherever you are, 'Well, there is that +person, anyway, thinking of me, waiting for me; the whole world doesn't +matter if that person is really there, anywhere, thinking of me, waiting +for me.' Now, you know, _I'll_ never feel that, never, in this world. +What good is there in me? I may be Arthur Clarges, of Clarges, of +course, but without money, that means nothing. I say, Bovey, it's rather +ghastly, but it's perfectly true. I haven't a single soul in the world +but you and Lady Violet to think of me at all, or for me to think of.” + +“I don't suppose you have,” said the Hon. Bovyne, thoughtfully. “You are +a lone beggar, Arthur, but a cheery one nevertheless.” + +“So you see,” Clarges went on, “If in accompanying you around the world +in search of new pleasures and exciting experiences, anything happens to +me, you know, Arthur Clarges, of Clarges, nobody need mind. There isn't +anybody to mind.” + +“All this because Simpson has got four children! Well, I hope you'll +get married yet, Arthur, you queer fish, and have six, two more than +Simpson. I know what you are driving at, however. You think me a selfish +brute. You can't understand how I can leave Lady Vi., and the two kids, +and go off annually on tours of exploration and so forth. I tell you, +I am the better for it, and she is the better for it, and nobody is any +the worst for it, unless it be yourself. Men who have knocked about as +I have done, will continue to knock about as long as they live. In the +army, out of the army, all the same. Lady Vi. understands me, and I her, +and you forget, Arthur, that you are very--young.” + +“Then may I never get any older,” said Charles, almost rudely. + +Not long afterwards his cousin, slightly heavy with wine, went to bed. +Clarges, abnormally wakeful, tried to read _Bell's Life_ which lay +before him and waited until Bovey was fast asleep. They occupied the +same room, a large double-bedded one, which opened into a bathroom and +parlour _en suite_. When he was perfectly certain that his cousin was +sound asleep, so sound that “a good yelp from the county pack, and a +stirring chorus of 'John Peel' by forty in pink could not wake him,” + thought Clarges, the latter undertook his delicate task and accomplished +it. He did it quickly and skilfully with a tiny lancet he found in his +cousin's well-appointed travelling bag. Bovey never stirred. Clarges +next undertook to “do” himself. Then a strange thing happened. He +had gone to the glass and bared his left arm when a sudden faintness +overcame him. He tried to shake it off and sat down. Presently it left +him and he felt quite as usual. Then he made a second attempt. The same +thing occurred again. This time it was worse, and sight and strength +failing, he sank on his own bed, fainting. By a tremendous effort he +prevented entire unconsciousness from taking place and lay there half +dressed and tremulous. + +“Well, I _am a fool_! I can't help it. I can't try any more to-night, +for I am as weak and sleepy--if I can get up and undress it's as much +as I am capable of. But Bovey's all right. There's Lady Violet”--turning +his eyes to the photograph he had stuck in the looking glass +frame--“she'd thank me if she knew.” Sweet Lady Vi--so good to all +around her--so good to me--dear Lady Vi, the loveliest woman in England! + +When Clarges awoke he was chilled and dazed, couldn't remember where +he was and what he had done. When he did recollect, he rose quietly, +extinguished the gas and made the room as dark as possible, in hopes +that Bovey might outsleep himself in the morning. Then he went to bed +properly, putting as a final precaution, his watch an hour in advance. +It thus happened that by Clarges' watch it was a quarter past ten when +he awoke. He rose first and bullied his cousin to that extent that the +latter tumbled out of bed and flung on his clothes without indulging in +his usual bath. At eleven the trap was due and Bovey was all on fire, +bundled his things around recklessly and swore a little at Clarges for +keeping him up the night before. Clarges was nervous, but up to the +present time was master of the situation. At breakfast, Bovey discovered +the mistake, but attributed it to Clarges' carelessness in such matters +aggravated by a probable bad arm. + +“Why I took your watch for an authority instead of my own, I don't +know,” said he. “But last night I thought you were the clearer of the +two, in fact, I don't recollect winding mine at all, and it seems now +that _you_ were the delinquent.” + +“Yes, I must have been,” said Clarges, self-reproachfully. + +At eleven the trap came, and by noon they were half-way to their +destination. The road winding higher and higher as it followed the +magnificent curves of the Gatineau was very beautiful, and revealed at +each turn a superb panorama of water, and wood and sky. For a long time +the Buildings were visible, towering over trees and valleys. Once the +sun came out and lit up the cold, gray scene. + +“Pull up, Johnny,” said the Hon. Bovyne, “I want to see this. Why, its +immense, this is! Arthur, how's your arm?” + +But Clarges was evidently struck with something. “I say, over there, +is where we were yesterday, Bovey, I can imagine I see the very spot, +cannon and all.” + +“Just as then you imagined you saw a couple of trees here, eh? Now go +along, Johnny, and sit down, Arthur. It doesn't agree with you to be +vaccinated. I'm afraid you're too imaginative already my boy. By the +way, how _is_ your arm?” + +“Its a novel situation,” thought Clarges. “_He's_ the one, not me. Its +_his_ arm, not mine. But my turn will come to-night; pretty soon he'll +find it out for himself.” + +Arrived at the house of _Veuve_ Peter Ross, they found it clean and +inviting; warmed by a wood stove and carpeted with home-made rugs. The +old woman took a great interest in their arrival and belongings and +jabbered away incessantly, in French. Did they but request her to +“cherchez un autre blankette!” or fry an additional egg, up went her +hands, her eyes and her shoulders, and such a tirade of excited French +was visited upon them that they soon forebore asking her for anything +but went about helping themselves. At first they thought she was +angry when these outbreaks took place, but Bovey, who could partially +understand her, gathered that she was far from offended, but given over +to the national habit of delivering eloquent and theatrical monologues +on the slightest provocation. She had no lodgers at the present moment; +a Frenchman had left the day before, and the prospect was in every way +favorable, to the comfort of the two friends. + +When the dusk fell, Bovey made a camp-fire. + +“It's what we came for,” he said, “and we can't begin too early or have +enough of it, and I feel chilly, queer, quite unlike myself to-night. +It's a depressing country just about here.” + +“It is,” said Clarges, anxious to keep his friend a little longer in the +dark. “We'll be all right when it's really night, you know, and the fire +blazes up. What a jolly tent and what glorious blankets? We ought to +go to bed early, for it was awfully late the last night There! now its +getting better. Hoop-la! more sticks Bovey! Throw them on, make it blaze +up. Here we are in the primeval forest at last, Bovey, pines and moss, +and shadows and sounds--What's that now? Is that on the river?” + +For suddenly they heard the most wonderful strain coming from that +direction. The river was about three or four hundred yards away across +the road, in front of them, and upon a raft slowly passing by were a +couple of _habitans_ singing. What strain was this, so weird, so solemn, +so earnest, yet so pathetic, so sweet, so melodious! + + + “Descendez à l'ombre + Ma jolie blonde.” + + +Those were the words they caught, no more, but the tune eluded them. + +“It's the queerest tune I ever heard!” ejaculated Clarges. He had a +smattering of music, and not a bad ear. + +“Can't get it for the life of me. It's like--I tell you what it's +like Bovey, its got the same--you know--the same intervals--that's the +word--that the priests chant in! And then, just when you're thinking it +has, off it goes into something like opera bouffe or those French rounds +our nurse used to sing. But isn't it pretty? I say--where's Lady Violet +now, Bovey, eh? Don't you wish she could see us, see you there, quite +the pioneer, looking like Queen Elizabeth's giant porter in this queer +light? and how she would catch up that tune and bring it out on the +piano, and make ever so much more of it with her clever fingers, first +like a battle-cry, men marching and marching you know, and then put in a +wonderful chord that would make us all creep and sigh as she would glide +into the loveliest nocturne, you know--I say, what a nocturne we're +having, eh! Do you think it's any livelier now?” + +“My boy,” said the Hon. Bovyne, solemnly, “You are right, it is a +nocturne and a wonderful one. I'm not given to expressing myself +poetically as you know, so I shall content myself with saying that +its immense, and now will you pass the whiskey? I certainly feel shaky +to-night, but I shall sleep out here all the same. What are you going to +do?” + +“I prefer to try the house, I think,” answered Clarges, and so he did. +When he was going to bed, heartily grateful that his cousin was as yet +ignorant of his interference, he looked long and earnestly from his one +window in the roof at the scene outside before he attempted again the +process of self-vaccination. He could see the mighty flames of Bovey's +camp-fire, a first-class fire, well planned and well plied. He could see +the pale outline of the tent and the dark figure of his cousin wrapped +in rugs and blankets by the side of the fire. He could see the tall +pines and the little firs, the glistening line of river and the circles +of gleaming white stones that marked the garden beds in front. The +first snow of the year was just beginning to fall in tiny flakelets that +melted as soon as they touched the ground. + +“When they're all covered with snow, it must be pretty,” thought +Clarges. “Like all the Christmas trees in the world put together! The +winter is beginning, the long cold, constant Canadian winter we have +heard so much about. Good-bye, dear Lady Violet, good-bye, dear old +England!” Clarges sat on the side of the bed with his arm ready. But +the faintness came again, this time with a sickening thrill of frightful +pain and apprehension, and he rolled over in a deathly swoon with his +own words ringing in his ears. + +When the morning broke, it broke in bright sunshine and with an inch or +so of snow on the ground. The Hon. Bovyne, though feeling unaccountably +ill and irritable, was delighted. + +“Still I fear we are too late in the season for much camping,” he said, +“I must see Arthur about it.” + +He waited till ten, eleven, half-past eleven. No Arthur, not even the +old woman about. He wondered very much. He approached the house, +and finding nobody coming at his knock, opened the door and went in. +Something wrong. He knew that at once. The air was stifling, horrible, +with an unknown quantity in it, it seemed to him. He threw open +the front room door. _Veuve_ Peter Ross was in her bed, ill, and of +small-pox. He could tell her that, for certain. He rushed up-stairs and +found Clarges on his bed, raving, delirious. + +What was it he heard? + +“Bovey's all right! Bovey's all right?” This was all, repeated over and +over. + +The Hon. Bovyne was neither a fool nor a coward. He tore off his coat +and looked at his arm, then he dragged his cousin out of the room, down +the stairs and out of the fatal house. Propping him up against a sturdy +pine and covering him with all available warm clothing, he sped like +wind to the nearest house. But neither the swift, keen self-reproaches +of Bovey, nor the skill of the best physician to be found in the town, +nor the pure, fresh pine-scented air, nor the yearning perchance of +a dead yet present mother could prevail. The young life went out in +delirium and in agony, but “thank God,” thought Bovey, “in complete +unconsciousness.” + +When he set about removing his tent and other camping apparatus some +time later, he was suddenly struck with the appearance of the tree +against which poor Clarges had been propped. He looked again and +again. “I must be dreaming,” said the Hon. Bovyne. “That tree--oh! +its impossible--nevertheless, that tree has its counterpart in the one +opposite it, and both have extraordinary branches! They bend upward, +making a kind of--of--what was it Arthur saw in those imaginary trees of +his only--_yesterday_--my God--it is true--a kind of lyre shape! There +it is, and the more I look at it the clearer it grows, and to think he +has _died_ there--!! And beneath there he is buried, and the raftsmen +will pass within a few hundred yards of him where he lies, and will sing +the same strain that so fascinated him, but he will not hear it, and +learn it and bring it back for Lady Violet, the loveliest woman in +England! For he has gone down into the eternal shadow that no man ever +penetrates.” + + + + + +The Prisoner Dubois. + + +Miss Cecilia Maxwell was the only child of Sir Robert Maxwell, K. C. +M. G., member of the Cabinet, chief orator of the Liberal party, and +understudy for the part of Premier, who, although a Scotchman by birth, +was a typical Canadian--free, unaffected, honest and sincere. His bushy +iron-gray hair, his keen gray eyes, his healthy florid color, and the +well-trimmed black moustache, which gave his face an unusually youthful +appearance for a man of his age, went with a fine stalwart physique and +a general bodily conformation apparently in keeping with the ideas of +early rising, cold ablutions and breakfasts of oatmeal porridge that the +ingenuous mind is apt to associate with Scotch descent and bringing-up. +His daughter was a very beautiful girl. Born in the shadow of the pines, +she had been educated successively in Edinburgh, Brussels and Munich, +had been presented at Court, been through two London seasons, spent half +of one winter in South America, another in Bermuda, had been ogled by +lords, worshipped by artists, and loved by everybody. + +Once more in Canada, she took her place in the limited yet exacting +political circles of the Capital, of Toronto, and of distant Winnipeg. +Life was full of duties, and she shirked none, though on days when they +were put away earlier than usual she would fall to musing of the country +place down the river she had not seen for years, with the beautiful +woods, and the simple, contented French, and the evenings on the water. + +“That great, lonely river,” she thought on one occasion, looking idly +out of her window. “What other river in the world is like it?--and the +tiny French villages with the red roofs and doors, and the sparkling +spires and the queer people. Delle Lisbeth, and _veuve_ Macleod, and +Pierre--poor Pierre. I have never forgotten Pierre, with his solemn eyes +and beautiful brown hair. And how he knew the flowers in the wood, and +what were those songs he used to sing?” And Cecilia sang a couple of +verses of: + + “Un Canadian errant, + Banni de ses foyers.” + +When Sir Robert entered later he found her listless and preoccupied. +“You mustn't look like that to-night,” he said. “Don't forget that this +is your first important dinner-party: three French members and their +wives, and La Colombière, the new Minister of Finance, to whom you must +be as charming as possible. This North-West business is quickening as +fast as it can. The Métis are really up, there's no doubt about it.” + +“In rebellion?” asked Cecilia breathlessly. There was an added interest +in life directly to the imaginative girl. + +“Ay,” said her father, “there's a rascal at the bottom of it we've been +after for a long time; but now, run away and look bright at dinner, like +a good girl.” + +The small clique of Frenchmen and their wives could not but have been +charmed with their reception that evening. The dinner was good, and not +too heavy nor long, the wines excellent (for Sir Robert did not as yet +favor the “Scott” Act), and the suavity of his manner combined with the +appearance and grace of his daughter, in a delicate dress of primrose +and brown, with amber in her beautiful golden plaits and round her +whitest neck, left nothing to be desired. And yet on that very first +night in her capacity as hostess, Cecilia found she had to learn to play +a part, the part of woman, which all women who have just left off being +girls find so hard to play at first. For naturally the report of the +Métis revolt had spread. Sir Robert did a brave thing. He referred to it +directly they were seated, and then everybody felt at ease. Now it could +be talked about if anybody chose--and Cecilia did so choose. + +“Who is this young Frenchman,” she asked of La Colombière, “that is +identified with this new rising? I have been away, and am ignorant of it +all.” + +“His name is Dubois--Pierre Dubois,” returned La Colombière with +a gleaming smile. “He calls himself the representative of the +French-Canadian party. Bah! such men!” But Cecilia's heart had given a +mighty leap and then stopped, she almost thought, for ever. + +“Pierre--Pierre Dubois?” she reiterated in her surprise. Her fan of +yellow feathers dropped from her lap, and her face showed extraordinary +interest for a moment. + +“You know him M'lle.?” said La Colombière, returning her the fan. For +an instant she was the centre of attention. Then with a flutter of +the yellow feathers that subjugated the four impressionable Frenchmen +completely, she resumed her usual manner. + +“I know the name, certainly. There was somebody of that name living at +Port Joli where we go in the Summer you know.” + +“Oh!” said Laflamme carelessly, a little man with a bald head and a +diplomatist's white moustache, “Dubois is not a new offender. He has +been recognized as an agitator for three or four years. He has the +eyes of the ox and the wavy hair of the sculptor. He is to be +admired--_vraiment_--and has the gift of speech.” + +When the dinner was over Cecilia played for them in the drawing-room. +Somehow or other, she wandered into the tender yet buoyant melody of the +_chanson_ she had hummed earlier in the day. + + “Un Canadien errant, + Banni de ses foyers.” + +“Hum-hum,” trolled little Laflamme. “So you know our songs? _Ca va +bien_!” + +“That was taught me” said Cecilia, “once down the river at Port Joli.” + But she did not say who had taught her. Later on when the guests were +gone and Sir Robert was preparing to go back to the office, his daughter +said very quietly. + +“Papa do you remember that young man at Port Joli who was staying with +the curé for his health, the one who was so kind and showed me so +many things, the woods, you know and the water, and who talked so +beautifully?” + +“I remember the one you mean, I think, but not his name. Why, dear +child?” + +“His name was Dubois,” returned Cecilia. “Pierre Dubois!” + +“Dubois? Are you sure? That is very singular” said her father. “And he +talked beautifully you say? It must be _this_ one.” + +“That is what I think” said Cecilia, seeing her father to the door. + +Then ensued a period of hard work for Cecilia. She read the papers +assiduously, going up every day to the Parliamentary reading-rooms for +that purpose that she might lose no aspect of the affair. She followed +every detail of the rebellion, even possessing herself of many of her +father's papers bearing on the matter. Those details are well known; how +the whisper ran through our peaceful land, breathing of war and battle +and blood-shed; how our gallant men marched to the front in as superb a +faith and as perfect a manhood as ever troops have shown in this country +or the Old; how some fell by the way, and how others were reserved to be +clasped again to the bosoms of wife and mother and how some met with +the finest fate of all, or at least the most fitting fate for a true +soldier--death on the battle-field. For a month the country was in +a delirium. Then joy-bells rang, and bonfires blazed, and hands were +struck in other hands for very delight that the cause of all the +mischief, the rebel chief, the traitor Dubois was taken. Cecilia alone +sat in her room in horror. + +“What will they do with the prisoner Dubois?” she said with a vehemence +that dismayed Sir Robert. + +“The prisoner Dubois? Why, they will hang him of course. He has caused +too much blood to be shed not to have to give some of his own.” Cecilia +writhed as if in extreme pain. Her beauty, her grace, her youth all +seemed to leave her in a moment, and she stood faded and old before her +father. + +“Oh, they will not do that! Imprison him or send him away--anything, +anything save that! See, they do not know him--poor Pierre, so kind, so +good--they do not know him as I knew him. Father, he could not hurt a +thing--he would step aside from the smallest living thing in the path +when we walked together that summer, and he helped everybody that wanted +help, there was nothing he could not do. And he loves his country--at +least he did so then. There is that song, _'O mon cher Canada_,' he used +to sing, and he told me of the future of his country, and how he had +prayed to be allowed to aid it and push it forward. And he does not hate +the English, only how can he help loving the French more when he is one +of them, and has good French blood in his veins--better than many of the +so-called English! And he was born to be a leader and to bring men away +from their home into battle and make war for them, and where in that +does he differ from other heroes we are taught to love and admire? If +you had ever heard him talk, and had seen the people all gathered round +him when he spoke of all these things--as for his church and the Virgin, +and the priests, it would be well if you and all of us thought as much +about our religion, and loved and revered it as he did his!” + +Cecilia broke down into incoherent sobs. Sir Robert sat aghast at this +startling confession. No need to tell him that it was prompted by love. + +“But what if he be insane, my dear?” he asked very quietly. + +“Then it is still bad--it is worse,” said Cecilia. “Will hanging an +insane man bring back the others that are slain? Will it make foul fair +and clean still cleaner? Will it bring peace and friendliness, and right +feeling, or will it bring a fiercer fire and a sharper sword than our +country has yet seen--a hand-to-hand fight between rival races, a civil +war based on national distinction!” + +“What would you do?” said her father, walking up and down the room. +“What can I or anybody do? It is common law and common justice; if he be +found guilty he must swing for it. Personal intercession--” + +“Might save him!” said the girl. + +“Must not be thought of!” said her father. + +“You mean, _you_ may not think of it. But others may--_I_ may. I am a +woman, free and untrammelled by either party or personal considerations +of any kind. Father, let _me_ try!” + +“Cecilia, it is madness to take such a thing upon yourself. How is it +possible? What are your plans?” + +“I do not know. I have not thought. All is in a haze through which I see +that vision of the hangman and the rope Father, let me try!” + +Sir Robert thought for a moment, then he said: “Very well, my dear, you +shall try, on one condition; that first of all you have an interview +with Dubois himself. In fact, for your purpose it is absolutely +necessary that you should see him, in order to identify him with the +other Dubois you used to know. After that interview, if you still +persist in your course, I promise--rash as it certainly seems--to help +you. Now hold yourself in readiness to start for the North-West at a +moment's notice. I have private information that tells me Dubois will be +hung and any intervention on your part or that of anybody else must be +set on foot immediately, do you see?” + +A few days afterwards Cecilia, unveiled, and dressed in an +irreproachable walking costume of gray, was taken to the gloomy prison +outside the little northern town of ----, where the prisoner Dubois was +confined. There was a bit of tricolor in her hat and her cheeks were +very pale--As the beautiful daughter of Sir Robert Maxwell her way was +sufficiently paved with politeness as she presented her private order +to see the prisoner. Her heart was beating tumultuously and the +blood surged round her temples. The turnkey showed her into a small +whitewashed room, opposite the cell in which Dubois spent his time and +informed her that in compliance with strict orders he would have to be +present during the interview, to which Cecilia bent her head in assent; +she could not have spoken just then. “It is a strange thing that I am +doing,” she thought, “but I shall see Pierre--poor Pierre.” Approaching +footsteps were soon heard and the prisoner Dubois entered, escorted by +two warders. He started when he saw his visitor, and--stared. + +“Mademoiselle,--” he said, evidently trying to recall her name and +failing. + +“Cecile,” she said, eagerly, “Ma'amselle Cecile you always called +me, and I liked it so much better than Cecilia. I think I like it +still--Pierre--I--.” + +The prisoner Dubois frowned. + +“If Mdme. Dubois had ears through these walls, you had not called me +'Pierre.' But--” laying his hand on his heart and bowing low, “Pierre +himself is flattered--_oui, mademoiselle_--by your attention--_oui, +vraiment_--and he is rejoiced to know that his image is still cherished +in that heart so fair, so _Anglaise_, so pure, so good. _Belle-enfant, +Je n'ai pas oublié nos amours_!” + +The three men in the room suppressed a smile. Dubois stood with his head +thrown back, his arms folded and his soft dark eyes fixed on Cecilia. +She was still standing, indeed there was no chair in the room, and her +eyes were fixed on him as his upon herself. It was Pierre, and yet not +her Pierre. Rather an exaggerated growth--of the man she had once known. +The same soft brown hair, only thicker and rougher, one drooping wave +looking tangled and unkempt--the dreamy eyes with the latent sneer +in them dreamier than ever and yet the sneer more visible, the +thin sensitive nose thinner, the satisfied mouth more satisfied and +conscious, the weak chin fatally weaker. And he was married, too! Mdme. +Dubois--that must be his wife! How strange it was! Cecilia's brain was +in a frightful state of doubt and fever and hesitation. It was necessary +for her to explain her presence there, however, for she could not but +resent the opening speech of the prisoner Dubois. She was growing very +tired of standing, moreover, but she would have died rather than have +demanded a chair. At length the turnkey observed her fatigue and sent +one of the warders for a chair. + +“Fetch two,” interposed Dubois, with a flourish of his hand. “I myself +shall sit down.” When the man returned, bringing only one chair on the +plea that he could not find another, Cecilia, whose nerve was returning, +offered it to Dubois. He accepted it calmly and sat down upon it, +waiting to hear what she had to say. At this signal instance of arch +selfishness Cecilia felt her heart tighten and her temples grow cold as +if fillets of fire had been exchanged for ribbons of snow. + +“Sir,” she began, “I am sorry to find you here.” Dubois smiled the smile +of a great man who listens with condescension to what an inferior has +to say. “I am glad you have not forgotten me, because all the time I +was away, and it has been a long time, I never--it is quite true--forgot +you--I mean (for Dubois smiled again) I never forgot that summer you +spent near us at Port Joli, and the things you talked about, about your +future. When I came home I found you had gone so much further than I +know you ever intended to, and have been the cause of so much trouble, +and the death of brave men, and I was very sorry.” Cecilia leant on the +bare table before her, and felt that every moment as it passed brought +with it a cooling of the once passionate feeling she had entertained for +the Dubois of her childhood. But if the lover were gone, there remained +the man, husband and father, maybe the leader, the orator, the martyr, +the dear human being. + +“So I thought that if it were possible at all, some step should be +taken to--to prevent the law from taking its course--its final course +perhaps.” Cecilia felt her throat tighten as she spoke. “You have plenty +of friends--you must have--all the French will help and many, many +English, for it is no cause to die for, it is no cause at all! There +should never have been bloodshed on either side!” + +Dubois uncrossed his long legs at last and said in his loftiest tone: + +“_Chère enfant_, the French will not let me die. I--I myself--Pierre +Dubois--allowed to hang by the neck until I am dead! That will never +happen. _Voyez-vous donc chérie_, I am their King, their prophet, their +anointed, their fat priests acknowledge me, their women adore me!” + +Cecilia shrunk together as she listened. She had sought and she had not +found, she had expected and it had been denied her. At this moment, the +turnkey signified that time was up. She felt her heart burning in an +agony of undefined grief and disappointment in which was also mingled +the relief of resignation. The prisoner Dubois bowed low with his hand +on his heart and then pressing her own hand lingeringly, gave her a +tenderly insinuating glance. As she turned away she heard him exchange +a laugh and a jest with one of the wardens, and her cheeks flamed with +indignant anger. “Were he a good or suffering man as I dreamed he was, I +would have bent low and kissed his hand; as it was, I am sorry I let him +take mine.” + +She was calm when she reached her carriage in which sat her father +waiting. He divined at once that his plan had been successful. “You look +tired, my dear,” was all he said. + +“Yes, I have been standing for some time,” Cecilia returned in a +peculiar voice. + +“Could they not find you a chair in the establishment?” + +“They found one,” she said grimly, “and that was appropriated by the +prisoner Dubois.” + +“The prisoner Dubois!” thought Sir Robert. “It is well. We shall hear no +more of Pierre.” + +Two days before Christmas the prisoner Dubois underwent the extreme +penalty of the law. Cecilia sat in her room all that day. She never +quite made up her mind as to whether Pierre had been a lunatic or +a fanatic, a martyr or a fiend, an inspired criminal or a perverted +enthusiast. Perhaps he was a mixture of all. + + + + + +How the Mr. Foxleys Came, Stayed and Never Went Away. + + + + +CHAPTER I. + + +There flows in Western Canada, by which I mean a region east of the +Saskatchewan and west of the Thousand Islands, a singular and beautiful +stream. It is beautiful because it is narrow, undulating and shallow, +because it has graceful curves and rounded bends, because its banks are +willow-clad and its bed boulder-strewn, because it flows along between +happy farms and neat white villages, because at one spot, it boasts +a picturesque and ruined mill and a moss-covered bridge and +because--chiefly because--it is above all things--placid. The mind +familiar with our Canadian streams will easily understand then, that +if these be its attributes of beauty, they also attest to its claim +of singularity. For the Canadian river is seldom placid, but oftener +seething and steaming and foaming; or else deep and dark and dangerous +with many a mighty gorge and tumbling cascade, wide and lonely and +monotonous for the most part; pine hung down to the very edge, black +and lowering, or displaying waving wisps of dry gray foliage that only +resembles human hair. What a contrast, then, does this cherished river +I speak of, afford! No local Laureate has as yet written it up, though +picnic parties used to gather themselves together on its banks and in +its well-wooded shades, defiling everything they touched from bark to +beach, leaving bits of bread here, dead pie there, buttering the leaves, +peppering the grass, salting the stones, and scattering greasy crumpled +paper--PAPER--PAPER--everywhere. That is what picnic parties do all over +the world, and with such gusto all of them, even the Sunday-schools, +Dorcases, W. C. T. U's. and all the rest of them, that I really think it +must be intended as a serious part of the Picnicker's Ritual and forms +very likely a peace-offering or sacrifice of propitiation towards some +unknown God. I don't think the Druids left paper about underneath their +oaks. But presumably they left worse. Well, if as yet, this river I love +so well has not been immortalized in fiction, travels or verse, it has +however attracted the attention of several gifted members of the Royal +Academy--Royal Canadian of course, who have from time to time +invaded its peaceful shores and stuffing themselves into adjacent +if inconvenient farmhouses, sketched it in water and oil, in the +common-place pencil, and the more ambitious charcoal. The results are +charming and you may see them any day in the studios of our foremost +artists or in the picture dealers' windows or haply on the terra-cotta +tinted walls of our esteemed collectors, the retired grocers of +Montreal, or the aesthetic lawyers of a more western and more ambitious +city. Still though the sketches are charming both in conception and +execution, I, were I a Canadian artist, eager to secure Canadian +subjects for my pencil, would hardly choose this particular river as one +likely to give the most correct idea of Canadian scenery. No, I would +chose the St. Maurice or the Richelieu, the Lièvre or the Saguenay, the +Ottawa or portions of the St. Lawrence, with the grim Azoic rocks, the +turbulent rapids and the somber pines. What a superb river system it is! +Tell them off on your fingers and you'll have to go on borrowing from +them afterwards and then all over again. Think of all those rivers that +cluster in the French Canada and feed the mighty Gulf of St. Lawrence. +There are the Ottawa, the Gatineau, the Rideau, the Richelieu, the +Lièvre, the Matanne, the Metapedia, the Métis, the Saguenay. Those are +the ones we know. Then look at the Peribonka, the Maniconagan, all the +Ste. Anne's, all the Rouge or Red rivers, the Du Moine, the Coalonge, +the Vermilion, the St. Francis. Then, look at that cluster of great +Saxon named streams, the Churchill, the Nelson, the Severn, the English, +the Albany! Lastly, glance at the magnificent Saskatchewan with the +historic streams of Battle and Qu'Appelle Rivers! And now I have omitted +the Athabasca, the Peace, the Moose and the Assiniboine! There is no end +to them; they defy enumeration while they invite it. + +Now, most of these Canadian rivers are Azoic in character; hence their +grim and formidable beauty. But my river has nothing the least Azoic +about it. It belongs to a more recent, a more comfortable, more placid, +more satisfying a formation. It is as idyllic a stream as any English +one that Tennyson noted in a contemplative ramble to work up later into +the “Brook.” + +Crossing the moss-grown bridge I have alluded to, a gradual ascent +presents itself on the opposite side, of firm white road well +macadamized and leading through small neat low houses, each with a +little garden in front, to a church with a needle-like spire on the +top of the hill, and the parson's house adjoining. On a June day, +for example, it made a pleasant picture. Pastoral and prosperous the +landscape, contented the people on foot, in the fields, at the windows, +and most delightful of all--a certain Old World haze hanging over it. + +This is what struck the Mr. Foxleys, driving out slowly from the town +one Saturday afternoon. George, the elder, pale with dark hair, lay back +in the phaeton with folded arms. Joseph, the younger, fair-haired +and freckled, sat up, driving. They had hardly exchanged a word since +entering the phaeton. For eight miles they had proceeded in almost +perfect silence. This did not mean that they were out of sorts, or not +on pleasant terms with one another. On the contrary, it proved that they +were the very best of friends, and never bored each other. I may as well +say at once that they were Englishmen, which was easy to gather from +their picturesque and unusual attire of neat gray small-clothes meeting +gray stockings at the knee, low white shoes, a striped blue and white +flannel shirt and canoe-shaped hats of gray, each bearing a snow-white +“puggree” with blue and gold fringed ends. Such was the outward adorning +of the Mr. Foxleys. Behind the phaeton ran a pretty brown retriever +answering to the name of “Bess,” and laid across the floor of the little +carriage were a couple of walking canes, a couple of fishing rods and +a gun case strapped together, while under the seat was a medium-sized +portmanteau, and a peculiar long box with a leather handle. The eight +miles having been traversed by them in silence, George, the elder, broke +it by remarking, as they slackened their pace, before advancing over the +bridge, “This is better.” + +“Very much so. Rather. I should think so,” answered Joseph, the younger, +who had a slightly more lively manner than his brother, and very +laughing eyes. “It looks a little more like the--the Old Country.” + +The elder brother made no reply. A kind of weary smile flitted across +his face instead. + +“It's a little bit after--Devonshire, don't you think?” went on Joseph, +surveying the green meadows, the neat painted fences, the sleeping cows, +the rising uplands in the distance leaning lovingly next the sky, +the bridge, the distant church, and the placid narrow river with the +overhanging willows and the stony amber floor. + +“A long way after,” said George, without unfolding his arms or looking +around him at all. He was gazing straight before him. + +“But you don't half see the beauty of it,” said the younger brother, +stopping the horse and standing up in the phaeton, “especially after +that horrid eight miles of half-cleared ugly-stumpy stubble! This is +really beautiful, such soft lines you know and little corners--oh! +quite English!” Some of his enthusiasm reached the quieter brother, who +apparently roused himself and looked around as directed. A faint pink +came into his pale cheeks, a new gleam into the weary eyes, “Well, it is +_better_, as I said before--you'll remember, I noticed it first--but not +English.” + +“Well, not English altogether of course, I know,” said Joseph gathering +up his reins, “but its a jolly spot enough whatever it is, and--I say, +look at that now, that oak, on the other side of the road, in front of +that little cottage, we'll be up with it now in a minute.” + +“By Jove, what a splendid tree!” Now I do not in the least wonder at the +Mr. Foxleys stopping opposite this mighty oak to admire it, because I +myself am quite familiar with it and have seen it scores of times, and +must agree with them in pronouncing it one of the finest trees I have +ever seen anywhere. Of course it has no story attached to it that the +world knows, at least it never talked that I am aware of, never hid or +screened anybody of importance--or anything of that sort--so naturally +it has little or no interest about it. And yet, for that very reason, +it is so much easier to think of it as a tree, to consider it and admire +it, and learn to love and understand it just as a tree. So the Mr. +Foxleys thought, as they gazed at its monstrous trunk, its glorious +branches of deep, dark glossy green with here and there an upstart arm +of glowing bronze or a smaller shoot of younger yellow. + +“It might have grown in the _Manor Park_!” said the younger brother +airily with a keen sense of pleasure in the suggestion. + +“It might have grown in the _Manor Park_, as you say”, rejoined the +elder brother gravely. + +Then they went on again, slowly up the hill, that they might the better +examine the church, the parsonage and the road beyond. What they wanted +now was an Inn. Presently they espied one, just on the other side of a +tiny bridge spanning a tinier brook. It was no upstart brick building of +flaring red with blind white windows and a door flush with the street, +a dirty stable at one side and a ragged kitchen garden at the other. But +low and white and irregular with a verandah running along in front, it +had red curtains that would draw over the lower halves of the windows +and hints of chintz at the upper portions; the door was open and +revealed a tall clock in the hall, a stand of flowers, and a cat asleep +in a large round chair; at one side a flight of steps led down to the +kitchen door at which a buxom maid in bare arms stood in a pink gown and +a pinker face, and at the other side was the boarded square that held +the pump--the village pump--around which were gathered five or six +bare-footed children, the hostler of the Inn, the village butcher, +tailor, and cobbler. A sign swung out from the verandah. + +“The Ipswich Inn, by M. Cox,” said the younger Mr. Foxley. Then he +looked at his brother. His brother looked at him. They understood one +another at once, and Joseph pulled up in good style at the door. The +hostler, dressed in old corduroy and with a fiddle under his arm, sprang +forward to assist them. He dropped his H's. “Delightful,” cried Mr. +Joseph. So did the landlady, a cheery person of about fifty in a silk +apron. The brothers were so content that they remained all night, “to +look at the place.” + +Next morning, endless surprises awaited and greeted them. They found +that the large room in front was a kind of drawing-room, in which +rose-leaves, china-bowls, old engravings, a shining mahogany book-case, +and a yellow-keyed piano atoned for the shortcomings of funeral +horsehair and home-made carpets. They thought it on the whole a charming +room, only to be eclipsed by the kitchen. For the kitchen, which was +underneath the ground floor and nearly the entire size of the house, was +therefore very spacious and comfortable, possessing three large +pantries and an out-house or summer kitchen; besides, moreover, it was +dark-raftered, ham-hung, with willow-pattern slates in a neat dresser, +and peacock feathers over the high mantel; with, in one corner--the +darkest--a covered well, into which I used to see myself the beautiful +golden pats of butter lowered twice a week in summer time. One window, +a small one, curtained with chintz and muslin drawn on a string, looked +out on a small terraced garden at the back leading to an orchard; the +other window, large and long, with twelve small panes and no curtains at +all, adjoined the door opening on the court or yard at the side of the +house. This yard was paved irregularly with grey stone slabs, between +which the grass had wedged itself, with an occasional root of the +persistent and omnipresent dandelion; it contained a cistern, a table +with flower-pots, a parrot in one cage, a monkey in another, garden +implements, rods, buckets, tins and tubs! A pleasant untidiness +prevailed in the midst of irreproachably clean and correct surroundings, +and the Mr. Foxleys having finished their breakfast up-stairs in the +public dining-room--a bare, almost ugly apartment, devoid of anything +in furniture or appointments to make it homelike, except a box of +mignonette set in the side-window, looked longingly out at the little +paved court-yard beneath. They had had the most delicious rasher of +ham, eggs _sans peur et sans reproche_, some new and mysterious kind of +breakfast cake, split and buttered while hot, and light and white inside +as it was golden and glazed outside, and three glasses of fresh milk +each! They had been waited on by the buxom girl in a blue gown this +time, against which her arms looked pinker than ever, and during the +meal the landlady of the inn had looked in, with her hands too floury +and her mind too full of coming loaves to do more than inquire generally +as to their comfort. Looking over the mignonette, Mr. Joseph Foxley +espied her presently talking to the parrot and tending the monkey. This +was more than the frivolous Mr. Joseph could stand. He took his brother +and made a tour of the house accordingly, discovering in turn as I +have said the drawing-room, the kitchen, the court-yard, the garden and +orchard and lastly the bar! _That_ proved the most comfortable, most +enticing room of all. More red curtains, at the windows and over one +door, an old-fashioned hearth paved with red brick and bearing even +in June a couple of enormous logs against the possible cold of a +rainy evening, two cases of stuffed birds, a buffalo's head over the +fireplace, colored prints of Love Lies Bleeding, Stocks and Bachelor's +Buttons, and over all, that odour of hot lemons and water, with +something spirituous beyond, that completely won the refractory heart +of the elder Mr. Foxley and caused him to drop down in a chair by the +hearth with an incoherent expression of wonder and relief that did not +escape his brother. + +“How long shall we say, George,” he asked. “She will want to know, +because there are other men who come out here from town occasionally it +seems, and of course it's only fair to let her know about the room. + +“What shall I say?” Mr. George Foxley crossed his long legs in evident +comfort and took in the entire room in a smiling gaze before he +answered. Outside it was beautifully quiet, in front of the house. From +the back there came the faintest sounds of crow and cackle and farm-yard +stir just audible, from the kitchen rose cheerful laughter, and merry +voices, the smell of baking, and a fainter odor of herbs. Milly, the +girl, in the blue gown, passed with a milk pail in either hand. She +looked in shyly. Mr. Joseph waved his hand gallantly then laughed. Then +Mr. George said, very slowly. + +“Say? Oh, say that we will take the room--the one we have now, you +know--for the rest of the Summer.” + +“That is, you will take it, and remain here, while I knock about in town +and come out on Saturdays or whenever I can,” said Joseph. + +“Exactly,” said his brother. + +That afternoon Mr. Joseph returned to town in the neat hired phaeton +leaving his brother in full possession of the charming and comfortable +Inn. In a couple of days he came back, this time in the stage that +passed through Ipswich three times a week, and bringing with him a +couple of English trunks and a stout portmanteau. Thus the Mr. Foxleys +entered upon life in earnest in this dear placid little village, not far +from the river described in the beginning of my story. + + + + +CHAPTER II. + + +The Mr. Foxleys, after a week's sojourn or so at the Ipswich Inn, made a +mutual discovery. This was, that not only were the landlady of the Inn, +her son and the ostler all of English origin and descent, but that the +entire village appeared to be populated by people of English extraction. +The butcher was a Englishman, the blacksmith was a Cockney answering to +the name of 'Enry Ide, the cobbler was from South Devon somewhere, +and the parson was an undergraduate of Oxford. The farmers were mostly +Scotch, and the village store-keeper was David Macpherson. The driver +of the stage was an Irishman, and the sexton of the pretty church on +the hill was an odd product of that odd corner of the world known as +the Isle of Man. Certainly the two brothers found and made themselves at +home. Milly perhaps was the only native Canadian that came in their way. +It was a thoroughly British settlement, and it is a noteworthy fact +that the only well-to-do man in the place was an American. It was he +who lived in the square, red brick house with white blinds always pulled +down, even in soft welcome spring days, and with plaster casts of lions +and deer couchant on futile little wooden pedestals in the garden. It +was he who owned the new and prosperous mill which had superseded the +worn-out one lower down the stream, the old mill that the artists loved, +and that reminded the Mr. Foxley's of home. It was he who owned the only +family carriage in the neighborhood, other people had “buggies.” It was +his daughter who had been sent to New York for her education--who now +appeared in church on Sundays, in muslin costumes garnished with a +greater number of yards of ribbons in myriads of bows and ends than the +village store had ever possessed at one time in its life. It was he who +once or twice a year walked as far as the Inn and sitting down stiffly +in the stiff dining room would hold a short conversation with the +landlady on village matters and subjects in general. On these occasions +the good woman was secretly amused and not a little bored. She knew +gentlemen when she saw them and he was not one--that is, he was not one +according to her knowledge of types. The aristocracy of money was as +yet a phase unknown to her simple English mind accustomed to move in +traditional and accepted groves. So not much interchange of civilities +took place between the mill and the Inn. Not for Mr. Simon P. Rattray +did the oleanders blossom in the big green tubs and the wall-flowers and +mignonette in the windows. Not for him did the Jessamine climb and the +one hawthorn tree at the back gate leading to the orchard yield its +sweet white May, not for him did the tall clock strike and the parrot +talk. Talk!! Why, the only time the creature was ever known to be quiet +was when Mr. Simon P. Rattray made his portentous visits twice or three +times a year. And as for the hidden sweetness of the drawing-room or +the comforts of the kitchen or the fascinations of the bar, Mr. Simon P. +Rattray knew nothing whatever about them. He was a total abstainer you +see, and the blue ribbon appeared in his buttonhole on certain important +ceremonial days and even on Sundays, and he was known to be interested +in the fortunes of a cold, dismal little place built of plaster and +presided over by a male Methodist just outside the village limits, known +as a “Temperance Hotel.” It will be easily gathered that the advent +of the Mr. Foxleys did not affect the fortunes of such a person as +Mr. Simon P. Rattray, nor was their subsequent career as residents +in Ipswich affected in any way by his existence, prejudices or +peculiarities. But to the remaining portions of the village, their +arrival proved full of interest The landlady took them to her heart at +once. They were _gentlemen_, she said, and that was enough for her. Her +son, a heavy lout, unlike his mother, accepted them as he did everything +and everybody by remaining outwardly profoundly unconscious of their +existence; the hostler adored them, especially Mr. Joseph; when the +latter was there, which he was every Saturday till Monday, he would +stroll over the stable with Squires--that was the hostler's name--joking +incessantly, and treating the latter to an occasional cigar. Urbane +Mr. Joseph would joke with anybody, Mr. George was more severe and had +according to the landlady, the most perfect and distinguished manners. + +“What they call _hawtoor_ in the Family Herald,” she told Milly, “only +I never see it gone too far with.” Milly of course was in love with them +both. + +In time, the entire village succumbed to the charms of the Mr. Foxleys. +The parson called, accompanied by his eldest daughter who was the +organist of the choir and chief promoter of the Sunday-school. They +found the objects of their social consideration seated outside the +kitchen in the little paved yard that had rapidly grown dear. When the +brothers appeared upstairs in the drawing-room into which rose-scented +and chintz-hung apartment the reverend Mr. and Miss had been shown in +appreciation of their station, Mr. Joseph had tuned his laughing eye to +a decorum as new as it was unnatural. It was a hot day in August and Mr. +George was so excessively languid and long and speechless that but for +his brother conversation would have been an impossibility. But he and +the parson soon discovered mutual friends at home, a cousin in the +Engineers, and a friendly coach at the University. + +“Charles James Foxley? Oh! I knew him well, very well” said the Rev. Mr. +Higgs, referring to the latter. “It is a somewhat--ah--unusual name. +The only other time I remember meeting with the name was once--let me +see--it was a meet, I think, at Foxley Manor, in Derbyshire it was, and +a very beautiful place.” + +“In Nottinghamshire,” said Mr. Joseph smiling. “Yes, that is--or +was--our home. My father still resides there.” + +“Indeed?” said Mr. ----. “Is it possible! And you have come out here? +Really, it is most interesting, most fortunate that you should +have chosen our little village, should have pitched your tent so to +speak--ah! quite so.” + +“My brother likes the country,” said Mr. Joseph. + +“Ah! yes, quite so. And there is much to see in this new country, in +Canada, much to see. You will remain some time?” + +“We will remain as long as it suits my brother,” said Mr. Joseph. “At +present, we can hardly tell.” + +“Quite so, quite so. I hope--I am sure my daughter concurs in the hope, +that we shall see you in church as often as you can come and also--ah! +at the Rectory. Such society as we can give you here you may be assured +we will endeavor to give with all our--ah! heart to the best of our +ability.” + +“Thanks very much” returned Mr. Joseph. “I am sure my brother and I will +be exceedingly glad to go and see you at the Rectory. About church I +will say that we never go very regularly anywhere, but when it isn't too +hot, too hot, you know, or too cold, or anything of that sort, I am sure +we'll try to turn up there as well.” + +The rector, smiled indulgently. No call to be hard on the Mr. Foxleys, +of Foxley Manor. Miss Maria left the Inn smitten for the fiftieth time. + +“I knew I should marry an Englishman,” she exclaimed ecstatically up the +road with her father. + +“The dark one, oh! the dark one!” + +“They are somewhat peculiar young men I fancy, Maria. Of course Mrs. +Cox is a very careful and a very good woman and--ah! her place is a very +respectable and comfortable one, and the order of travellers one meets, +that is, one would meet if one went there, is quite proper indeed, +but still, I thought, mind I do not say anything, I do not express any +opinion Maria, I simply say, I _thought_, that they would have smoked +for instance in the dinning-room or the bar, or on the verandah +instead of in that very conspicuous manner just outside the kitchen +door.” But this was the first and last stricture that the rector made +as to the conduct of the Mr. Foxleys, for by appearing in church two +Sundays after his call and spending an evening on the vine-covered +verandah of the pretty Rectory, they were speedily entered in the very +best books kept by that worthy if slightly common-place gentleman and +his gushing daughter. + +The next persons of distinction in the village were the Miss Dexters, +who lived with their father, at one time a prominent medical man, in +the little cottage graced by the presence of the mighty oak which had so +charmed the strangers when they first beheld it. Their father was +old, very old indeed, and slightly shaken in his mind. He was also an +Englishman and the daughters, not daring to enter upon life in town +with their small income and a helpless old man on their hands into the +bargain had retired to the country some ten years before the advent +of the Mr. Foxleys. Charlotte the elder was now forty and Ellen over +thirty-five. Neither of them had ever been beautiful and now they +were, more or less pinched and worn in their aspect, but they were +gentlewomen, neat and sweet spoken, and capable of offering small +evening entertainments of cribbage and hot weak tea with bread and +butter with a gracious and well bred air that marked them off as people +who had seen “better times.” God help such all over the world and thank +Him too for the colonies, where such people can retreat without being +said to hide, and live down their misfortunes or their follies or their +weaknesses, and be of some use to others after a while! It would be hard +to say why the Mr. Foxleys went as often as they did, especially Mr. +Joseph--to the Miss Dexters for tea. Perhaps the oak had much to do with +it. + +It had something I am sure, for indeed, it was the most beautiful tree +for miles around and it was worth a good deal to sit under its cool +shade in the Summer afternoons or to look up into its dark vault in the +slowly dusking twilights. I can't defend Mr. Joseph further than this. +For between cribbage and choir practice, Sunday rambles in the woods and +rows on the river, the lending of books and the singing of songs, the +handing of bread and butter and the drinking of tea, Mr. Joseph had +caused both the Miss Dexters to fall hopelessly and indeed fatally in +love with him. When the Xmas holidays came, Joseph, who had a clerkship +in town, spent his vacation naturally at the Inn with his brother, and +then ensued a period of very mixed delight for the Miss Dexters. + +For the callous Joseph made as violent love to the unresisting Miss +Higgs over the Xmas tree and carols as she herself would have chosen to +make to Mr. George had she been given the chance. + +As for Mr. George, he was just as languid and silent as ever. He hardly +ever went into the town at all, but preferred to remain on quietly at +the inn, fishing, shooting and taking long walks in the summer days when +it was fine, and when it rained, lounging in Mrs. Cox's kitchen. Here he +always had his meals, for the kind friend he had found in his landlady +gratified every whim, and any fancy he chose to profess, and cooked +for him, washed for him and waited on him with unceasing and in fact +ever-increasing devotion. Mr. Foxley's shirts and Mr. Foxley's socks, +Mr. Foxley's white coats and Mr. Foxley's jane boots, his dog, his gun, +and his effects generally were all sacred, all in irreproachable order, +all objects of the greatest value and interest to Mrs. Cox and her +niece. You see there were no children in this comfortable _ménage_ +and really, when the baking and the washing and the preserving and +the churning were all done with early in the day or in the week there +remained a good deal of time on Mrs. Cox's hands, which in her earnest +womanly heart she felt she must fill up in some way. So it came that +all this time and energy and devotion were after a while centred on Mr. +George Foxley, late of Foxley Manor, Notts. As for Mr. Joseph, the good +woman oftener told him to “go along!” than anything else, for though +she liked him, his love of mischief and several practical jokes he had +played her which she termed “his ways,” had rendered her cautious and a +little distrustful of him. Such an existence proved very charming to +all parties concerned, excepting perhaps the Miss Dexters, and their +companion in misery, at the rectory. For the worst of it was, Xmas +passed and Easter came, and another spring dawned for the pretty little +village of Ipswich and found the Mr. Foxleys still there. They never +spoke of going away and nobody hinted it to them. The impression, +natural in the extreme, that they were a couple of wealthy young +Englishmen going about for pleasure, who just happening to come to +Ipswich and being taken with it had stayed a little longer than they +intended, was fast giving way to another. For it was a well-known fact +that the Mr. Foxleys did not spend too much money either on themselves +or on other people. They paid their way and that was all one could say +about them. Squires was not included in this arrangement, however, but +was forced to remain content with cigars, cast-off studs and a present +at Christmas-time of a collie pup. I grieve to think of those poor Miss +Dexters--foolish souls--going without butter on their bread and sugar +in their tea that they might have both to offer Mr. Joseph when he might +come in airily for a cup, and making their already too thin gowns last +another winter, that they might spend a little money on a smoking cap +for the same gentleman and a pair of knitted wristlets for his brother. +All these tokens of friendship and attachment the brothers accepted +in the most charming and unconcerned way and never troubled themselves +about returning the compliment as we say. It was quite true that they +had not much money, but a little management of what they did possess +would have left a small sum over each year, which might have been +expended on say a pair of fur-lined gloves for Charlotte or a canary +for Ellen, who was fond of pets and used to keep Bess with her for days, +feeding the unconscious animal for its master's sake better than she +was fed herself. And all this time Mr. Joseph never proposed and never +hinted at his prospects or affairs in any way whatever! + +The second summer of his stay saw old Mr. Dexter die. After his death +Ellen drooped visibly. General disgust at life, insufficient food and +sleep, and a hopeless passion for Mr. Joseph sapped a naturally weak +constitution, and her sister soon realized another bitter shock when she +helped Ellen to her bed one sultry September night from which she never +rose again. The windows of the little cottage were open, and the unhappy +girl could see the giant oak outside their door. How often she had sat +there with her cruel friend, her hand on his shoulder, and her eyes +fixed on his sharp, clear-cut features and laughing eyes! He had seemed +so gentle, so earnest, so winning--had talked so cleverly, so hopefully, +so gleefully. He had been the sunshine of her life, and alas!--of +Charlotte's too! Each knew the other's secret, but by intuitive sympathy +they had never alluded to it. They referred to him only as “Mr. Joseph,” + and on her death-bed Ellen sent her “kindest wishes to Mr. Joseph.” She +lingered till near the Christmas season, and then one day a small packet +per English mail arrived. They occasionally heard from friends in +the Old Country, and this special parcel contained a couple of silk +handkerchiefs and a sprig of holly. Charlotte took them up to her in the +evening, spreading them out on the bed. Ellen sat up, eagerly pressing +the holly to her lips. Alas! what were the recollections it brought that +the poor, weak frame and the poor, tired spirit could not brook them? +Perhaps--not perhaps--O most certainly, most truly of home and of +England; of the mother so long vanished, dimly remembered, almost +forgotten; of winding green lanes and of ivied walls, of little solemn +churchyards--in none of which she would never lie; of peeps of blue sea +from the middle of a wood; of a primrose at the foot of a tree; of the +crowded coach and the sounding horn; and lastly of the recreant one whom +she could not even call her lover, but who had made her love him so that +her very life was eaten away by sickness of fear, of apprehension, of +despair! + +With the holly pressed to her lips, Ellen Dexter passed out of this +world into another. + +Did Mr. Joseph Foxley care? Who knows? I should know if anybody ever +did, but I do not hold Mr. Joseph so very much to blame after all. For +a man is often innocent of love-making at the very moment a woman is +fancying herself violently in love with him, and fancying, moreover, +that he is in love with her. Can anything be more fatal, more +pernicious, more terrible? And yet I believe there is nothing more +common. There are some men who press more tenderly than the requirements +of ordinary social intercourse call for or allow, the hand of every +woman they meet They are not necessarily flirts. Perhaps they never go +farther than that clinging hand-pressure. It is a relic of the customs +of the days of chivalry--a little more and this man will kiss the +hand. Let the lady be beautiful, gracious, the hour dusk, or close on +midnight, the room a pretty one, and the environment pleasing, he will +bend over the hand, and if he does not kiss it he will retain it just +long enough to make her wish he had kissed it. If she is a woman of the +world she will laugh as she returns the pressure, making it purposely as +thrilling as she can--then she will forget it completely the next moment +as she dispenses five o'clock tea or late coffee and cake to her husband +or brother. But if she be not a woman of the world, then God help her +on her tear-wet pillow, or before her slowly-dying fire as she thinks +of that hand-pressure. It is enough to last her all her life, she +thinks--and yet, should it not come again? But--_should_ it come again! +And the pillow is wet with fresh tears, or the brow is prematurely +wrinkled watching the decaying embers, while the man--let us do him +justice--is as blindly unconscious--unconscious! Why, at that very +moment he is making love--what _he_ calls making love--to the woman of +his choice, his wife, his mistress, or his _fiancée_! These are the +men who do the most mischief in the world. Your brute, your beast, your +groveller in ditches, is not nearly so dangerous. Women recoil from him. +They understand him. But the man who presses their hand awakes them, +rouses their susceptibility, causes the tender trouble to steal over +them that so often ends in grief, or despair, or death! And this is +because neither sex is as yet properly trained in the vital duty of +responsibility, by which I mean that faculty of self-repression which +will cause a woman to try and understand what a man means when he +presses her hand, and cause the man to try and understand what a woman +feels when he does so. As for poor Ellen Dexter, it is dear that she was +not a woman of the world; but her sister Charlotte and Miss Maria at +the Rectory, if not precisely women of the world, were yet made of +much sterner stuff than she had been, and consequently, after much +reflection, decided that they were not going to be made fools of, in +village parlance. Miss Maria had, of course, long ago given up Mr. +George Foxley altogether. + +“He is not human,” she said to her father, “and I don't believe he _is_ +one of the Foxleys of Foxley Manor at all.” + +“There can be no doubt about that, my dear,” answered the actor. +“Difficulties I should say--ah--difficulties have brought these young +men out here, but we must do our duty by them, we must do our duty. +Their father is a fine old gentleman, and well off, and a stanch Tory, +my dear. Patience, my dear Maria. The photographs are quite correct and +the seals bear quite the proper crest--ah--quite so.” + +So Miss Maria transferred her affections to Mr. Joseph. The second +Christmas passed away, and a third spring dawned for Ipswich. The Inn +was just as comfortable as ever and so were apparently the two Mr. +Foxleys but for one fact and that was, Mr. George's health was not as +good as it had been. Always delicate, he had gradually failed, growing +more and more languid, more and more whimsical in spite of his +comfortable abode and the diligent care of his landlady. Poor Milly! How +she worked for him too, between hours, after hours, before hours! When +the attacks of pleurisy, painful in the extreme, from which he suffered, +came on either in the night or during the day, Milly was always near +with her strong young arms, not quite so pink as they used to be, and +her quick young eyes, a shade more subtle than they used to be, ready to +apprehend and quiet the pain before it came. How Miss Maria at the +Rectory and Charlotte Dexter in her lonely cottage would have envied her +had they known, but though there were gossips in plenty in the village, +nothing that occurred in the rose-scented drawing-room ever went out +into that tattling little Ipswichian world. + +“Are your young gentlemen with you yet, Mrs. Cox? And one of 'em not +over strong? Deary me! that makes it hard for you and the young gal But +you be standing it remarkable well. And gentlemen born you say! They +do say that the other one wi' the specked skin be making fools of Miss +Maria up at the Rectory and old Miss Dexter at the cottage. Well! well! +Poor Miss Ellen was gone afore we knew it like, poor soul, that was so +kind!” + +Much of this cunning volubility sprung upon Mrs. Cox in pumping fashion +failed to extort from her anything but good-humoured smiles and laughs. +If I have not taken the trouble to describe this beloved Mrs. Cox to you +before this, it is because I fear you will say the picture is Unreal, no +such landlady, no such woman could exist out of England But why not? My +story, remember, deals with people and things as they were twenty years +ago. Twenty years ago there were such Inns, though few at number, to be +found in Western Canada--ay--and as English as any that a certain Mrs. +Lupin presided over in fascinating fiction, and much more English than +many Inns of the present day in England. Twenty years ago there was +such a landlady, rosy and plump and cheerful, wearing a flowered gown, +a black silk apron and a cap with a purple pansy in it and broad and +comfortable lappets, who, when her work was done, would sit in her +small private room opposite the bar also hung with red curtains, +making patchwork quilts or playing a demure rubber with the Scotch +store-keeper, or Irish stage driver, or an occasional gentleman from +town. Such was Mrs. Cox, widow of Captain Cox, able seaman, but bad lot, +who died when they had been five years in Canada, leaving her with her +one child. The public business had attracted her after her loss and she +accordingly went into it on the advice of her numerous friends. People +who despise her calling need not listen to me if I allude to--for I have +not time to recount--all her kindness, her cheerfulness, her powers of +dispensing comfort, and warmth, and happiness, and promoting the direct +and indirect welfare of everyone who came in her path. By what strange +coincidence the brothers Foxley had been led to her glowing fireside +and her motherly arms brimming over with zeal and kindness for the whole +human race, does not matter. It is sufficient that they found her +and found with her a sense of comparative peace and security which +compensated for the one big slice of trouble Fortune had treated them to +before their departure from England. For them did the wall flowers bloom +and the mignonette at the window, for them did the oleander blossom +and the old clock strike, for them did the jessamine climb and the one +hawthorn tree yield its annual soft white drift of snow, and yet who +shall say that they were altogether unworthy, even, if with that picture +of poor Ellen Dexter in my mind, I have to say that they did not deserve +it? + + + + +CHAPTER III. + + +If Mr. Joseph Foxley had but known the sentiments animating the couple +of maiden breasts that awaited his Saturday visits in Ipswich, he would +have been genuinely surprised. The truth is Mr. Joseph was rather +what is termed a general lover. He liked the sex in its entirety. +Collectively he loved all women and belonged to that hand-pressing +section of humanity which I have alluded to as mischievous. Were there +not at least five young ladies in town, at whose houses he visited, and +who were more or less interested in the young Englishman as he in them? +Did Miss Charlotte dream of them or Miss Maria at the rectory? If so, +they never dared to ask Mr. Joseph to give any account of his doings +in town, although they managed to glean what he did with himself in the +village. He respected Charlotte Dexter enough to intend at some future +day to tell her a little more about himself and his brother than he had +yet done; as for Miss Maria, she only bored him and fed his contempt. + +“When a rather elderly old girl giggles after everything she says, +conversation is difficult and sympathy out of the question,” he had said +to his brother! When Mr. Joseph had known these young ladies for four +years, Miss Maria took her revenge in _her_ way, that was by marrying +the younger brother of Mr. Simon P. Rattray, partner in the mill and the +red brick house by the river. The vision of becoming the cherished wife +of an English aristocrat and going home to reside in a manor house built +in the sixteenth century, with occasional visits to London and glimpses +of the Royal Family had gradually faded, and she accepted the less +rose-coloured lot that Mr. Lyman B. Rattray offered her, sitting in her +father's study, with his hair very much brushed up on one side and very +much flattened down on the other, a white tie and light-yellow duster +adorning his spare person. + +Such was the American of those days--twenty years ago--there are none +such now I allow. + +Miss Maria, who was considered “very English,” shuddered as she regarded +him. It so fell out that it being Saturday, Mr. Joseph was just then +passing--“kind of happening along” Mr. Rattray would have said--_en +route_ to the Inn and his brother, on foot in spite of the dusty road +and the hot August sun, clad in trim tight knickerbockers and carrying +an immense bunch of red field lilies, a gun, and a leather satchel over +his shoulder. Slight and straight and cool, he looked the picture of a +contented cheerful energetic young English man. Along the road he came +whistling an old country tune. Miss Maria who had sighted him afar off, +begged her visitor's pardon and went to the window to arrange the blind. +How her heart warmed to that cruel Mr. Joseph, how she loved him +then just for that last moment! Her heart--that foolish old maid's +heart--beat quickly, beat thickly, she remembered to have read something +somewhere about people who could will other people to look at them, to +speak to them, to even think of them, to move across a room at their +pleasure. If she could but do that! She did try, with her fingers +clenched on the blind, and her eyes fixed on Mr. Joseph, she did wish +with all her might that he would turn his head and see her at the +window and wave his hand gallantly as he had done on one or two previous +occasions. Then she would beckon and he would run across and entering +the room disconcert this odious Mr. Lyman B. Rattray and put an end to +his stony wooing. But alas! for Miss Maria and her mesmeric powers! The +harder she tried, the less she succeeded. On came Mr. Joseph, supremely +unconscious of the injured heart beating behind the windowpane. At one +moment it seemed as if he were about to turn and look in her direction. +A very brilliant wild yellow canary crossed over his head and lit on a +small shrub just inside the garden paling. Had it remained there, would +Miss Maria have ever become the wife of Mr. Lyman B. Rattray? No one +knows, for the canary flew away again to the other side of the road and +Mr. Joseph's eyes followed it In a moment he was past, and the chance +was gone for ever. Miss Maria left her window and sat down opposite her +visitor. There was nothing to keep her now, nothing to give her courage +and hope for the future, new fire for her faded eyes, new strength for +her jaded limbs. Yet she was only thirty-four. How strange it is that +some unmarried women are old at that age, even while living in luxury +and surrounded by every care and all affection, while many a married +woman, though beset with trials and weaknesses and perhaps a brood of +restless little ones to pull her gown and get in the way of her busy +feet, retains her figure and her step, her smile and her complexion, her +temper and her nerves! + +It but remained for Charlotte Dexter to take her revenge in her way. +Going very seldom out of her house, and never visiting at the Inn she +was really very ignorant of the doings of either Mr. George or Mr. +Joseph Foxley. Towards the one she had never been greatly drawn, for the +other she felt all the passion that only a supremely lonely woman can +feel in middle age for a man younger than herself who charms her as +a child, while he captivates her as a lover. Of Mrs. Cox and Milly +moreover, she hardly ever thought, and in fact had not seen the latter +for a long time. If she had it is not likely she would even have +recognized in the tall pale shapely young woman with braids of dark hair +and white linen cuffs fastened--must I tell it? with a pair of antique +monogram studs, the plump little handmaiden of four years back. As it +was, she only waited on day after day, to hear Mr. Joseph speak. Instead +of Mr. Joseph however appeared another and less welcome confidante. This +was the most malignant gossip in the village, Mrs. Woods, the wife of +the butcher, a tall red faced woman with high cheek-bones on which the +color seemed to have been badly smirched, watery eyes and a couple of +protruding yellow teeth. She looked more like a butcher than the butcher +himself who was a mild little man with soft silky fair hair and small +nervous fluttering hands. Yet he managed to summon sufficient character +to go on a tremendous burst--I know of no other word, every third or +fourth month and disappear for a week When these periodical eclipses +took place, his wife would come flying into the Inn with her bonnet +hanging round her neck and a large green and red plaid shawl streaming +out behind her. + +“Where's Woods?” She would say. “Where's Woods? Give me Woods! Give 'im +up, I tell you; give 'im up now!” + +But Woods was never found inside Mrs. Cox's neat dwelling, nor indeed +anywhere, although it had been whispered on, one occasion that he had +been seen in the back room of the little “Temperance Hotel” with the +male Methodist in attendance. This, of course, was clearly impossible. + +It was this Mrs. Woods then that stopped at Dexter's Oak one Friday +morning with her donkey-cart and a small piece of the neck of mutton +in it. She was not an entirely bad woman, though a downright cunning +virago, and perhaps some inkling of the nature of the blow that was +about to fall on Miss Dexter's head caused her to come prepared by an +acceptable present to somewhat mitigate its appalling approach. + +“I be at the Inn bright and early this morning Miss,” she began, “and +brought 'em their bit of fresh meat. And I'm bringin' you a bit as was +over, and it is'nt a bad piece for a stew, if you like a stew, Miss, +with an onion or two.” + +“Thank you very much, Mrs. Woods,” said Charlotte, who had come out to +the front door and now stood on the lower step, looking over the cart. +“I'm afraid I can't settle with you just at present,” she said further, +with some effort, “you can call some other time when you are passing. +Will that do? and is it weighed?” + +“It is, miss, and I'll not say a word about the payin'! Six pound and a +'alf, and Woods gone agen--I weighed it myself.” + +“Oh! I am sorry to hear that,” said Charlotte. “Your husband gives you a +great deal of trouble. I am very sorry, and he is not at the inn?” + +If Charlotte was guilty at that moment of purposely leading the +conversation up to this always for her most enthralling, most engrossing +subject, she soon enough received her punishment. On she went to her own +destruction. + +“At the inn!” repeated the butcher's wife, with ineffable scorn on her +cruel mouth. She wiped her watery eyes and settled the refractory bonnet +before going on. + +“No miss, he's not at the inn, and if he was sober, he wouldn't be at +the inn, and you'll never see him, nor me, nor 'Ide yonder, nor anyone +on us at all no more at the inn. For the inn's changed 'ands, miss. +There's an end of Mrs. Cox, who was a mother to many, if not to Woods. +There's an end to good old times and dancin' and singin', and honest +Robert, though he was a cross 'un--there's an end to it all now, miss, +for the inn's changed 'ands, and I'm the first in the village as knows +it.” + +“Good gracious. Is it possible?” said Charlotte, genuinely surprised. +“Who can have succeeded Mrs. Cox and why? I thought she was so popular +and making so much money, and what--what will become of the Mr. +Foxleys?” + +Mrs. Woods gave a triumphant grin. “It's them, theirselves, miss; it's +them that 'as it now. And the younger one will be marrying Milly in a +little while and settling down comfortable in the inn. It's gentlefolks +and aristocrats we'll have now at the inn, miss, and 'ard workin' people +like me and Woods may trudge all day and freeze all night, and never a +pot of beer or a warm at the kitchen fire and meat paid regular for year +in, year out!” + +Charlotte stood aghast. The woman's injured volubility rushed past her +as a scene outside a railway car rushes past us, leaving only one idea, +one word caught at, as from the window through which we apprehend the +landscape, one scene or portion of a scene enchains the eye and lingers +in the mind though other scenes fly past in varied succession. + +“Marry?” she repeated. “Marry! Milly, did you say? That is the girl, +isn't it, Mrs. Cox's niece? Which--” + +“Ay,” said the woman, “that's Milly, the 'ired girl; she's no I more +than that, if she be her aunt's niece. And 'ard work for one's niece. +Me and Woods, if we'd 'ad one, would have done better for her nor that, +makin' her work like a slave or a dummy. Cows, and pigs, and poultry, +and dish-washing, and scrubbing, and lamps, and starched fronts, and +fine gentlemen--but she's well paid, she's well paid. She's to marry one +of the fine gentlemen, Mr. Joseph it is, and they're to live on at the +Inn with Milly as mistress, and her fine husband behind the bar, very +like. Well, good-mornin', Miss Dexter; I wish you joy of the mutton. Me +and Woods often says--we'll take this or that little Dexter's Oak, but +it's most times forgot, for Woods is 'alf crazed, Miss Dexter, and I've +got to do the whole. Good-mornin'.” + +Having adjusted her bonnet and the donkey-cart to her satisfaction, Mrs. +Woods drove off rather disappointed on the whole at Miss Dexter's calm +demeanour. Astonishment, perplexity, doubt, contempt and disgust she had +undoubtedly shown, but not a single sigh of weakness. Charlotte Dexter +was not the woman to swoon or lament or even turn pale as her sister +Ellen would have done. But when she came into her house and sat down in +her lonely parlour, she enacted a scene which would have petrified with +astonishment any inhabitant of the prosy little village in which she had +dwelt so long and indeed many other people as well, for when you and I, +dear reader, go to see one of these emotional plays in which the +French actress writhes on the sofa; grovels on the floor, rolls up her +handkerchief into a ball or tears it into strips, prays, weeps, curses, +censures, implores, looks at herself in the glass until she is on the +point of going mad, and strides about the stage as no woman in real +life has ever been seen to stride, ending by throwing herself across an +arm-chair as rigid as marble thereby assuring the audience that she +is in a “dead faint”--I say, that when we see all this performed by a +travelling “star,” and her truly eclectic Company, comprising a Diva, a +Duenna, a Diner-out and a Devil, we are apt to look around at the placid +Canadian or the matter-of-fact American audience and wonder if they +understand the drift of the thing at all, the situations, the allusions, +even in the slightest degree, forgetting that perhaps the most placid, +most commonplace person in the theatre has gone through some crisis, +some tragedy as thrilling, as subtle and as terrible as the scene +we have just witnessed. “Not out of Paris,” we say, “can such things +happen?” Do we know what we are saying? Is it only in Paris that hearts +are won and tossed aside this night--as in the play? Is it only in Paris +that honor is forgotten and promises are broken this night--as in the +play? Is it only in Paris that money allures and rank dazzles, and a +dark eye or a light step entrances, this night--as in the play? Is it +only in Paris that nature is human and that humanity is vile, or weak, +or pure, or firm, as this night in the play? Oh! in that obscure little +Canadian village, a lonely old maid locked her door that morning and +pulled down her blind that the daylight might not come in and see +her misery, might not mock even more malignantly than the ignorant, +impertinent and hard-hearted woman who had dealt her this blow. Like +most women in such a crisis, she lost the habit of thought. Reason +entirely deserted her, and she never dreamed but that it was true. For +when a women has to own to herself that she holds no dominion over a +man, that it is only too perfectly clear that the impulse of loving is +all on her side and that she has neither anything to expect nor anything +to fear from him, since indifference is the keynote of his attitude +to her, she will all the more readily believe that he loves elsewhere, +worthily or unworthily the same to her. A woman is not a noble object in +such a situation. All trusting feminine instincts, all sweet emotions of +hope, all sentiment, all passion even, retreat and fall away from her, +leaving either a cold, bitter, heartless petrifaction, in a woman's +clinging robe, or the Fury that is the twin sister of every little +red-lipped, clear-eyed girl born into the world. She never dreamed +but that this story was true. In fact so entirely had her woman's wit +deserted her, she said to herself of _course_ it was true. Her brain +could work sufficiently to conjure up hints, phrases, words, looks, +events, accidents that all bore testimony to the truth of the +extraordinary tale. For it was extraordinary. Miss Dexter herself was +the great grand-daughter of an Admiral, and the grand-daughter of a +judge, and as such, respected all these accidents of birth which we +are supposed to ignore or at least not expected to recognize in a new +country. That such men as the Mr. Foxleys could make themselves as +completely at home in the Inn as rumor had frequently asserted, and with +truth, seemed at all times monstrous to her. She had lived so long out +of England, over thirty years now, that she had forgotten the sweet +relations that prevailed there between the aristocracy or landed gentry +and their inferiors. The Mr. Foxleys were simply doing in Canada what +they would have done had they been still in England, only they were +assisted in so doing by the unusually English surroundings in which they +found themselves. Miss Dexter looked around her in the yellow inclosed +light. There was a sampler in a frame, worked by herself when a little +child, another exactly similar, worked by Ellen, a couple of fine old +family portraits in heavy gilt frames, half a dozen ivory miniatures +scattered about on the walls, some good carvings in ivory, a rare old +Indian shawl festooned over the wooden mantle-board, a couple of skins +on the floor, a corner piece of furniture known as a “whatnot” crowded +with bits of egg-shell china, birds' eggs and nests, a few good +specimens of spar and coral and a profusion of plants everywhere. It was +all neat, respectable, even dignified, superior. There was no such other +room in the village. In the village? There were not many at that time +even in the town. Sooner than part with the eggshell china or the Indian +shawl the Miss Dexters had suffered the pains of poverty and hunger; +these cherished reminders of an absent father and an artistic youth +could never be lost or borne away by the hands of a stranger. And how +glad those foolish Miss Dexters had been to possess such beautiful and +interesting objects when it pleased Mr. George Foxley to drink tea out +of the cups on summer afternoons on the verandah of the little cottage +looking up into the splendid vault of the mighty oak, or when Mr. Joseph +would wind the Indian shawl round his silly head in the winter evenings +when the draughts of cold air would rush in through the thin walls. +These and other memories crowded into Charlotte Dexter's brain as +she looked around her room, crowded thick and fast, crowded fast and +furious, surged, broke, leaving an empty moment of perfect blankness, +then crowded again thicker, faster, surged and seethed and then broke +again, leaving in the void of perfect blankness this time a fixed idea, +a resolve, a determination, seen in the dark like a luminous point of +phosphorus. + +That afternoon as Farmer Wise was driving slowly along the road, the +main road leading through Ipswich to the town, he was accosted by Miss +Dexter from her verandah. She had her jacket on and held her bonnet in +her hand. + +“Can you give me a seat as far as the Albion?” said she. “I would have +sent a message to you yesterday if I had known I was going. But if it +will not trouble you--” + +“Oh! no trouble no trouble at all, Miss Dexter,” replied Farmer Wise. +“I'm sorry I've only the waggon to offer ye. But I'm takin' in apples as +you see, nine barrel of 'em, and only a waggon will do for them.” + +“Certainly, certainly,” said Miss Dexter, hurriedly trying on her +bonnet. “Can you wait a moment? I won't be longer, Mr. Wise, it is just +to lock the back door.” + +The farmer nodded and drew up under the shade of Dexter's oak. It was +a beautiful afternoon late in November, characterized by the clear +cold air, the blue and gold of the sky, and the russet coloring of the +foliage that mark the close of the Autumnal season. He looked in at +Miss Dexter's little garden, admirably neat and well-trimmed; dahlias, +hollyhocks, sweet William and asters, though done with blossoms, still +bore their green leaves unsmitten by the frost. The windows appeared +full of flowers too, but the blinds were skimp and faded and drawn down +behind them. He started when he noticed this, for he knew the outer +aspect of the house well, and had never seen such a thing before, except +in case of sickness or death. The honest farmer thought and thought +until Miss Dexter reappeared and assisted by him, got up in her place +beside him. Even after that he went on thinking, and I must here tell +you that it was not the first time Farmer Wise's thoughts had dwelt so +persistently upon his companion and her house and personal history. +For twelve years he had nursed a kind of mild distant passion for Miss +Dexter at the Oak, unguessed at by her and his family, and only half +understood by himself. He could not have said he was in love with her. +He had been in love once when he married his first wife, who bore him +a triad of splendid sons, one “keeping store” in the Western States and +the other two at home on the farm, all three great giants of fellows, +handsome in the fields or at barn-doors or in market-waggons, but plain +on Sundays in black coats or at evening dances in the big ball-room +at the Inn, when they would shuffle noisily through cotillons or labor +clumsily through a Highland Schottische. + +For himself, Farmer Wise was an honest, sincere, good-hearted man, a +maker of money and a spender thereof--witness the fine red ploughs, +the painted barns, the handsome team, Kentucky bred, and the inner +decorations of his house, situated about five miles out of Ipswich, on +the main-road. After Mr. Simon P. Rattray, he was the representative man +of the district, although he did not come so closely into contact with +the villagers. This _penchant_ for the elder Miss Dexter had been a +gradual, a slow but very sure and steady thing. Her father's death had +increased it, so had that of Ellen her sister, and the farmer lived too +far away to know as much as other people knew about the advent of the +Mr. Foxleys. Had there been a sister or a daughter, or a wife or a +mother, or an aunt or a cousin about the farm, he would have known very +quickly. As it was, the girl who did the housework on the farm was as +ignorant of gossip, its existence and the laws which govern its nature, +as any male farm hand could be. When Farmer Wise put up his horses +at the Inn three or four times a year, and sat down in the cheerful +bar-room to drink a glass of whisky with his feet to the fire if it were +winter, or a taller glass of Belfast ginger ale if it were summer, did +he never notice Mrs. Cox? Mrs. Cox, well-to-do and popular herself, +fresh, blooming and hearty, a young woman yet, and just the woman one +would say, for him, and above all, the woman who thought most of him +and ran to change her cap--the black one with the knot of rusty widow's +crape--for the smart new one that held the velvet pansy when she saw the +team coming. There's where he should have chosen the second time, there +was the woman he should have noticed instead of poor, proud, foolish +Charlotte Dexter, whom he half feared as a “lady born,” and who held +in her heart, had he only knew it, the image of Mr. Joseph Foxley. The +farmer got on with the English gentlemen at the Inn whenever he saw them +“first-rate,” and it was of them he began most unsuspiciously to talk +when he and Miss Dexter had crossed the bridge, ascended the hill on +the other side of the river, and the team were settling to their work +as they entered upon the dreary eight miles called the Plains which lay +between them and the city. The farmer was consciously happy as he moved +his ponderous body slightly nearer to his companion and tucked her in +with his great hands, a single touch of one of them hurting her thin +frame as if they were made of iron or stiff rope. He thought he was +gentle too--poor man--but long years of manual labor had changed the +natural soft flesh to the consistency of leather, in which immense +muscles and joints seemingly of marble had been imbedded. + +Besides, there was the delicate touch of another hand, as fine, as soft +as a woman's and yet almost as strong as the farmer's, in her mind, +a hand whiter than her own, though somewhat freckled, a hand that had +taper fingers and well-kept nails, a hand that bore an antique seal ring +and a fine pearl, a hand alas that had often retained her own in its +warm clinging pressure, and once--only once, and that was three years +ago--clasped her unresisting waist for a moment in the dark under the +Oak while her sister fumbled at the gate. And just as she cherished +these memories of Mr. Joseph, so did the widowed farmer retain the few +occasions in his mind on which he had met Miss Dexter, spoken with her, +given her a “lift” into town or up the road to the village store, for +this was not the first use she had made of his gallant good nature and +the Kentucky team. + +He looked down at her now as they drove along in silence and noticed her +thin black gown, her short jacket, her bit of black veil drawn over her +bonnet, and her dingy travelling-bag with its tarnished clasp, and he +heaved a sigh. + +Charlotte was a “sizeable woman” thought Farmer Wise “and wants a good +live garment sometimes, to bring her figure out and make more of it and +do justice to it. A shawl now! How much would a good shawl be? I miss +a woman round the place; I wouldn't know what to ask for. I might ha' +stopped nigh the Inn and asked Mrs. Cox.” Ay, you might Farmer Wise, and +have done another mischievous thing, upsetting Mrs. Cox for a week as +she waited for a parcel from town and breaking her heart altogether as +day after day followed and no parcel arrived. + +“I ha' never seen the ekil of those Mr. Foxleys yonder,” began the +honest farmer as something to start a conversation with. “I ha' never +seen their ekil.” + +“Oh!” said Miss Dexter. “Yes? In what way?” + +“So gentle and so funny as they be. Gentlemen both of them with delicate +hands and fine clothes--” + +“Yes, yes,” murmured Miss Dexter under her breath, clutching at her bag +and closing her eyes. + +“And not above anybody or anything going. I see the pale one this day, +and pale he is and weak they say, enough to be walked about on the +girl's shoulder--I see him to-day as I passed the Inn, he was on a long +chair out in the bit of paved yard, you know Miss Dexter, and when he +saw me he raises his head and says 'Farmer Wise, is that you?'” May be +you don't remember just how he speaks. He speaks better now nor when he +came, and his brother too. At first It was all in a jumble like one word +run into the other and hard to understand at least for us country folks. +But now 'tis a bit clearer, more as you speak, begging your pardon, +Miss Dexter, for noticing that or anything else that concerns you, Miss +Dexter. And I says, stopping these fellows a bit. “Yes it's me. I'm on +my way to town with nine barrels of apples.” + +“How many?” he calls out again. + +“Nine,” I replies. + +“Let's taste one,” he says. + +“A barrel?” I says, and Milly, the girl, she come oat by the door, with +another quilt to put over him, laughing, and showing her teeth, rare +ones too, they be and says she. “Throw us down one, Farmer Wise,” and I +did, for I had a couple in my pocket, and here's the tother, “now Miss +Dexter, if you see your way to eatin' it now in the waggon alongside of +me, or will you wait till we get to the Albion?” Charlotte Dexter put +her hand out mechanically and took the apple, a large red one, from +the farmer who again managed to hurt her as his great wrist touched her +fingers for an instant. He blushed perceptibly and moved a little nearer +still. And how unconscious Charlotte Dexter was of his mere presence, +let alone tender thoughts, except when he hurt her! + +“I have heard this morning, that is I believe everyone has known for +some time, though it is only spoken about generally today, for the +first time, that Mrs. Cox is giving up the Inn. Her niece, the girl +you mention, is going to be married--indeed, it is one of those +gentlemen--the Mr. Foxleys--whom she is to marry, and they will take the +Inn out of Mrs. Cox's hands.” + +The farmer was as surprised as she had been. + +“Well,” he ejaculated “didn't I say I'd never seen their ekil? Milly's +going to marry one of the Mr. Foxleys? Which--” + +“It is Mr. Joseph,” returned Miss Dexter, staring down at the apple in +her lap. “The youngest one, you know. He is a very merry young gentleman +and always has something to say. I daresay it will be a very comfortable +arrangement.” + +“But it's a great thing for Milly,” said her companion, “it'll be a +great thing for her. She'll live in the tone, no doubt and may be cross +the ocean to see his home and his parents--it'll be a great thing for +Milly. A gentleman born! Ay, ay; ay, ay!” + +“No, no,” said Miss Dexter, irritably. “Don't I tell you, Farmer Wise, +that they will live on at the Inn? These young gentlemen like comfort, +like being waited upon. They do this in order to insure--in order +to--oh! it is difficult to explain my meaning, but you must see, Farmer +Wise, that it is not a proper marriage at all, it is a very sad thing +for the girl, I should consider, and some one--some friend should tell +her so. She can never be a lady, and what kind of life will it be for +him, a gentleman born, as you say, when he could have chosen too, +where he liked. My great grandfather, Mr. Wise, was an Admiral, and +my grandfather was a Judge. My father was a member of a respected +profession, although not brought up to it in early life, and _none_ +of my relations, or ancestors _ever_ married out of their own proper +circle, except my poor father. He made a most perverse and foolish +marriage, Farmer Wise, which though only lasting a few years, brought +sorrow and trouble and poverty and oppression to his family.” + +“Ay, ay,” said the farmer, softly. He was thinking still about those +down-drawn blinds. + +“Ay, ay. You're right in the main, Miss Dexter--yes, you're right in the +main. Now, I thought I'd ask ye--I said to myself this morning, when I +see Miss Dexter the next time, her as is a lady, and no mistake, I'll +ask her--what would you say, or what your sister have said if someone +here right in this village, that is, there in Ipswich, I mean of course, +someone who wanted to just be kind and lend an 'elpin 'and, had asked +ye--or her--say her--had asked her anytime to marry him, startin' +fair, startin' fair, with a year to think on it. And a comfortable 'ome +awaitin' 'er with two 'ired girls to do the work and plenty of hands +on the farm and the best of cheese and butter and the Harmonium in the +parlor and drives to and fro' the Church and behind it all a--solid +man--a solid man--what do ye think she'd 'uv said?” + +Was ever man more in earnest, now that it had suddenly broken from him +after all these years, than honest Farmer Wise? The team jogged on, but +the reins were lying loosely in their owner's hands. + +“I thought I'd ask ye,” he repeated looking away from his companion. “I +thought I'd ask ye.” + +Miss Dexter had hardly gathered the import of his speech. She looked up +startled. + +“My sister?” she said with increased irritability. “Ask my sister? +What do you mean? I never knew that anybody here, in the village, had +proposed to her, or dared--dared to think of her at all as a possible +mate--wife, whatever it is you mean. Surely you don't mean yourself, +Farmer Wise! It would never enter your head, I am sure, to propose to my +sister!” + +“No it never did,” said the farmer quietly. + +“Then it is someone else? Really, you must tell me, if you know anything +about it, Farmer Wise. But I think you are making some mistake, it is +quite impossible that anyone in the village--any native of the village, +or indeed any native of this country should so far forget himself as to +propose to my sister.” + +“Of course,” said the farmer as quietly, “it is quite impossible. No one +'ud 'av done it. No one did do it, that I know on. But I thought I'd ask +ye. And about yourself, too? There'd be no gettin' ye to forget all--all +that has been and to take up with things as they be, to be makin' a new +start, startin' fair, as I said, startin' fair, both parties agreed to +think a year on it, and one party to save up and buy nothin' till the +year 'd be out and then the other party to give the word for both to +take 'ands and make the start together! For what's past is past, and +what's done is done, and ye can't make this out the old country any more +nor ye can bring back those that are gone, which they wouldn't be, I +'low to say, if they'd stayed behind in it. This” said the farmer, in +a louder firmer voice, indicating with his whip the dreary pine forests +that bordered the road on either side, “isn't the old country. I come +from it myself, and I know it taint. Them rustlin' leaves ain't the old +country, heaps of brown and yella up to your knees after a while, nor +yet this road, nor that sky, nor this waggon, nor them apples, nor them +horses. Nor me myself. I'm no longer old country. I'm fond of it--sho! +I'm fonder of it now than I was forty years ago, when I come away from +it, I'm fonder of it every year that goes by. But it's the New Country +that's made me, that's give me all I have and more than all I want, and +accordin' I'm grateful to it, and wouldn't turn my back on it. No Miss +Dexter I wouldn't, and so I says, to all as come out to it, it's better +to try and forget the past, or at least as much of it as 'll bear +forgetting in order to let you live, and to take up with things as they +be, and not lookin' always to things as they were, and to make the +best of what the New World has to offer to ye And I don't think that in +England--God bless her--to-day, you 'll find a finer team, nor redder +apples, nor an easier going waggon, nor even a prettier sky, than that +there yella light breakin' all over the landscup like!” + +There was perfect silence after that. It had suddenly dawned upon +Charlotte Dexter with accession of disgust and embittered hostility that +the farmer's words related to himself. What new and hateful complication +was this to be reminded by such an ill-timed declaration of the ironical +in her life which had always been near enough to her apprehensions! +Anything and everything but what she wanted, she could have. It had +always been so. A dark frown gathered on her forehead, she clutched her +bag and drew herself away from the side of the honest farmer. + +“I do not know what you are talking about,” she cried. “Such words can +have nothing to do with me. I could not disgrace myself and my father's +family by allying myself with anybody out here, least of all, one of the +working classes, or a farmer. You are very inconsiderate, Farmer Wise, +and I must ask you to distinctly understand that even conversation on +such a subject is quite out of the question. I cannot even discuss +it with you or with anyone in your position. I have told you what my +connections are; what my family is, you have now, I hope, some correct +idea, and you will see how utterly impossible it is that I should, even +to better my circumstances which I admit are somewhat precarious, make +such a _mésalliance_--such a mistake, I mean, as you refer to. + +“Well,” said the farmer very quietly this time. “You're right in the +main, Miss Dexter, you're right in the main. But I thought I'd ask ye, I +thought I'd ask ye. Far from harm bein' done, there's only good, there's +only good, for now you understand me and I understand _you_ and thank ye +for your confidences and there's an end on it.” + +So begun, so ended the honest man's wooing. Did he suffer disappointment +as Miss Dexter's contemptuous eye and her irritated tone showed him--ah! +how plainly--she was forever out of his reach? Was an idol broken, a +dream dissolved, a blossom nipped, or hope murdered, just as much, in +the case of this comfortable placid unimaginative elderly farmer as in +the case of younger, warmer, more impetuous, more idealistic men? If +so, Farmer Wise was as self-contained as the best actor among them and +handed Miss Dexter out at the Albion with as gallant, though cautious +politeness and sat as far away from her at the hotel tea table and met +her in the hall afterwards with as severe an air, as if the situation +were perfectly pleasant and completely ordinary. He asked her when she +would be going back, and learnt that she would pass the night at the +Albion, returning to the village by the Saturday's stage. + +“Then shall I take a seat for ye?” asked the willing farmer. + +“No” said Miss Dexter, who appeared to be in a great hurry, “I can +arrange in the morning, thank you.” + +“In any case, ye're sure ye won't want a 'lift' again, Miss Dexter,” + said the farmer respectfully, though there might have been the least +tinge of irony in the tone. “I'm not goin' back myself till to morrow.” + +“No, thank you,” returned Miss Dexter for the last time. + +The Albion was a small hotel or tavern situated just on the outskirts of +the town, which did a flourishing business with the country people. Two +roads, the Ipswich and the Richmond, formed a sort of junction before +its door, one leading into the fine agricultural district or valley +of Richmond, Guernsey and Trenton, and the other following, the dreary +Plains through Ipswich to Orangetown, a thriving little community of +mills and saws and booms and planks picturesquely situated on the Upper +Orange River. + +There was always a knot of farmers round the Albion, all of them English +or Scotch or native Canadians born of British parents. A French-Canadian +would have been hoisted on a table and examined minutely all over, hair, +eye, skin and costume, had one been present. But though the men were +respectable and decent and hard-working and most of them earned a good +income and few of them drank or gambled it away, they were noisy, smoky, +staring fellows for companions and Miss Dexter, having walked some +distance to a shop, made a purchase, and returned to the parlor of the +hotel while it was yet light, uncertain what to do with herself or +where to go to escape the bustle and clatter of tongues. Farmer Wise +was smoking in the bar, she had seen him as she passed in, and the mere +sight of him, with his head up against the counter, and his legs out +on a chair made her shudder. She sat in the parlor listening to the +intolerable noise, heavy delf and cutlery being momentarily banged down +on tables and chairs, an occasional broken plate and whirling pewter mug +or kitchen spoon reaching her ear with more than usual reverberation. +Then would come a volley of laughter, oaths, and bets on next week's +races from the bar, then more breaking of china from the scullery, the +stamping of horses in the stable, then the bar door would be closed and +comparative silence ensue. In one of these intervals, the girl who had +waited at the tea-table appeared in the parlor and inquired of Miss +Dexter if she would like a fire put in the wood stove that stood on a +square of zinc in the middle of the room. It came as a relief from +the nervous broodings that were settling down on her mind occupied in +introspection neither healthy nor cheerful, and she eagerly assented. + +When the fire burned up, she opened the door that she might see the +blaze and spread out her thin hands to it and put her cold feet to its +warmth. Then for the first time she unclasped her bag and taking out her +purchase, looked at it. The shop she had gone into was a druggist's, and +her purchase had been a small bottle of a bluish fluid that she now held +up to the light and looked at long and steadily but with no change in +her countenance. The bar-door opened with a creak and closed with a +bang. She started and replaced the bottle in the bag and put the bag +over her arm as before. For a long time she sat before the fire warming +first one foot, then the other and never looking away from the blaze. +When half-past ten came, so did the girl with a lamp and two damp towels +for Miss Dexter who took them without opening her mouth much to the +astonishment of the girl, who though taciturn herself was well used to +speech and “language” from all she came in contact with, and who was +also struck with the fact that the strange lady had never removed her +bonnet or jacket “since she come in the house.” + +She would have had additional ground for surprise had she known that the +strange lady did not remove them even upon reaching her own room, but +lowering the lamp, lay down fully dressed upon the bed still clasping +her small travelling bag in her hands, and slept until seven o'clock +in the morning. She then rose and hastily straightening her attire, +descended to the dining-room, partook of ham and eggs. Upon the close +of this meal, she went up again to the parlor and sat slightly back from +the window that overlooked the main road until twelve o'clock, when she +partook of the dinner served to the travellers at the Albion, including +Farmer Wise who had sold his apples and soon after dinner hitched up +ready to go homewards. After dinner she went up as before to the parlor +and sat there again. Two o'clock came, half past two, three o'clock, and +Miss Dexter began to look along the road in the direction of the town. +Half-past three found her, still looking along the road. Four o'clock +came, half-past four, then five. She grew visibly uneasy, walked to and +fro in the little parlor, sat down again. Half-past five, the clatter +in the kitchen which had been silent for a little while renewed itself. +Six!! The men stumped into their tea, and the girl ascending asked Miss +Dexter if she was coming down to hers. + +“No,” said Miss Dexter, “I expect to have a late tea at home, thank you. +And I am just going in a moment or two.” + +Ten minutes past six. The late November afternoon had almost entirely +faded, it would soon be dark. A quarter past six and Miss Dexter, +looking continuously out of her window perceived the figure she had +waited for so long at length approaching. Gay, Mr. Joseph, you +have thrown off the fetters of town and work and dull care and +responsibility, and here you are free and untrammelled as the air, +good humored, cheerful, humming your Old Country tunes as usual, brisk, +_débonnair_, untouched by thought of present trouble or evil, unthinking +and unsuspecting! Gay Mr. Joseph, urbane Mr. Joseph, what have you got +in your hand this time? Last time it was a bunch of the red field lily. +Now it is, or it looks like--yes, it is--a genuine florist's bouquet. +Something to open the eyes of the Ipswich villagers. A gorgeous wired +platoon of roses, and smilax tuberose and mignonette--Mr. Joseph, Mr. +Joseph, what does this mean, who is this for? On he came, brisker, more +_débonnair_, more smiling than Miss Dexter had ever seen him in her +life. Her breath came fast as he neared the window. Exchanging a word +with the hostler and a couple of laboring men who stood almost in the +centre of the road Mr. Joseph passed on, looking down with a smile at +the bouquet in his hand. Miss Dexter then arose and quietly settling her +bonnet at a glass walked out of the hotel having paid her small bill at +dinner-time. + +She walked steadily on in the direction of Ipswich in the wake of Mr. +Joseph who did not appear to be walking as fast as usual himself. So by +straining every nerve as we say--in reality, walking as she had never +attempted to and dreamt of walking in her life--she slowly but surely +gained upon the unconscious Mr. Joseph. They were about in the middle of +the plains, that dreary bit of road bordered by pine forests on either +side when Miss Dexter found she could distinguish the _clink, clink_ or +jingle of his watch-chain, a thing of steel links which she knew well by +sight as well as by sound as it struck against the buttons of his coat. +Slowly Miss Dexter gained on him, until it was necessary either to +accost him or pass him. Which did she mean to do? Dark as it was rapidly +growing, Mr. Joseph, in half turning his head to observe something in +the trees or sky, became conscious of a figure close behind him. The +path was narrow, for he had left the middle of the road since passing +the Albion, and he stepped aside with his usual ready politeness to +allow the lady room to go on before him. But in a moment he recognized +Miss Dexter. She waited for him to speak. + +“I--really, why--is it possible it is you, my dear Miss Dexter? I never +knew you took such lonely walks so far from home. You don't mean to say +you've walked out from town?” + +For an answer, Miss Dexter, who had previously unclasped her bag and +taken out the bottle, lifted her right hand and threw the contents over +Mr. Joseph. + +“In the name of God!” shrieked the unfortunate man, warding off as he +imagined a second attack. But Miss Dexter had done her work and stood +rigid, unmovable, stony as marble, the bag fallen at her feet, her hands +fallen straight down at her sides. Mr. Joseph had sunk upon the ground +moaning and writhing, but through all the torture of the terrible pain +he was suffering, he thought of nothing but the inconceivable brutality +of the act itself. Why had she done it? + +“I suppose it is vitriol,” he gasped. “Was it an accident--or--did +you--mean--to--do it? How have--I--injured--you? Oh--say--say--” + +He could get no further for a few moments in the appalling consciousness +of that living fire which had burnt into his poor eyes and played round +his poor temples. Otherwise he was not injured, for Miss Dexter's aim +had been a faulty one and nearly all the contents of the bottle had in +reality descended on the ground. + +“Say--say” he went on. “Which it is? My--dear--Miss Dexter--I +am--sorrier for you--than--for--myself, and cannot imagine--oh! Good +God, I shall be blind, blind--ah!!--” + +Charlotte Dexter still stood in the rapidly darkening air, a stem, +rigid, immovable figure. It was too soon for remorse. That would come in +good time. But a certain pity stole over her as she gazed at the huddled +mass on the ground before her, which a short time ago, had been the gay, +laughing, upright Mr. Joseph. + +“Are you suffering very much?” She said at length in her ordinary voice. + +“Good God! How--how--can you ask? Again--tell me--was it--an accident?” + +“No,” she replied still in her most ordinary voice. “No. It was no +accident. It _is_ vitriol, and I _did_ mean to throw it.” + +“It is horrible,” groaned Mr. Joseph, still in agony on the ground where +he had sunk at first. “And you will not--fiend that you appear now +to be--though Heaven knows--I thought you sweet and womanly enough +once--you will not--tell me why! It is infamous!” + +“Yes, it _is_ infamous,” returned Charlotte Dexter. “It _is_ horrible, +and I am a fiend. I am not a woman any longer. I once was, as you say, +sweet and womanly enough for--for what? Joseph Foxley. For you to come +to any house and my sister's house, and blast _her_ life and strike +_her_ down as you thought you would strike me, for this and that and for +much more, but not enough for truth and honesty and an offer of marriage +in fair form, not enough for common respect and decent friendship.” + +“My dear lady,” said Mr. Joseph with great difficulty, “there was no one +I--” + +“And all that time, when I thought you at least free, at least your own +master, at least unbiased and unbound, for unlike a gentleman you never +hinted to me of these--other ties--you were engaged to this miserable +girl, this common drudge, the scullery-maid of a country inn. You, you, +you!” + +“My dear lady,” said Mr. Joseph again with greater difficulty than +before, “I--upon my word--I have--I--” + +Charlotte Dexter, suddenly regaining the use of her limbs, bent down +quickly and peered into the poor sightless face. Mr. Joseph had fainted. +She owned no fear yet however, though it was now quite dark, and five +miles lay between them and her own door. Pity was just giving away to +remorse. What if she had killed him? She bent down again but found +that there was no fear of that and even consciousness appeared to be +returning. At this moment the sound of wheels struck her ear. Nearer +and nearer it came and she soon descried a waggon coming along the road +sharply in which sat one man. The rest of the waggon was empty and as it +was proceeding in the direction of the village, into that, she made up +her mind, should Mr. Joseph be put. As it drew near, she stepped out of +the dark shade of the pines and bade the man stop. + +“Whose there!” said he, “What's here? What's the matter? Why, if it +ain't Miss Dexter!” + +“Yes,” said she, stooping to assist her unfortunate companion. “How do +you do, Farmer Wise! I--do you know Mr. Foxley--Mr. Joseph Foxley--is +here--can you just see him--if you have a lantern, or, will you help me +to get him into the waggon?” + +Farmer Wise forgot Miss Dexter and her family pride in an instant, +though at first sight the feeling of injury had somewhat revived, and +he made haste to come to her relief. He found Mr. Joseph just coming to +himself. + +“Why, why, what's the matter?” said the Farmer. “It minds me of old +times, this, when highway-men and tramps were a-infestin' the road and +a-lyin' in wait for honest travellers--in the Old Country of course, +Miss Dexter, not here, not here. Yet somethin's been at work here, eh! +Mr. Joseph, or else I'm much mistaken. Here, lend an 'and, Miss Dexter; +now, sir, can you see me?” + +“Not very well,” gasped poor Mr. Joseph. “It's dark, I know,” said the +farmer, “and I hadn't begun carrying my lantern yet. Never mind Here, +now, place your foot there--are ye hurt anywhere that I may touch +ye--tell me where I hurt ye, if I do--now then, the other foot-- + +“There, now it's done! Miss Dexter, ma'am there's an old blanket at the +back there, lie him on that. Put his head down and let him look straight +up at them stars and he'll soon get himself, I warrant. If I knew where +ye were hurt, perhaps I could bind ye up. There's no wound,” anxiously. + +“No,” said Mr. Joseph. “Thank you, Farmer Wise. I am--much--better--really. +I was unconscious!” + +“Ay,” said the farmer, “A little, and can you stand the joltin' now, are +ye sure? For if ye are, we'll drive on.” + +“Stay a moment,” said Mr. Joseph. “I had some flowers--a bouquet--in my +hands when I--fell. I can't see--very well--in this light--look for me, +will you!” + +“I do spy somethin' white on yonder ground where you was when I came up. +Maybe it's a pocket-handkerchief, may be it's the flowers you dropped.” + +The former sprang down and returned with two articles one of which--the +bouquet he gave to Mr. Joseph, the other, a small bottle--he put in his +own pocket The bouquet was as fresh and untumbled as when it emerged +from the careful florist who had prepared it. Not a single drop of the +fiery liquid had fallen upon it nor scorched its fragrant beauty and it +presently lay upon the face of the suffering man, healing with its cool +moist sweet leaves and petals his poor scarred skin. + +“I won't ask him,” thought the farmer, “I won't ask him. But what are +they doin' here together? Well, I won't ask that neither. And why did +not she came out by the stage as she said? I won't ask that neither. +There's three things I needn't go for to enquire into. But a little +general conversation in a nice kind of way, neither spyin' nor lyin' may +do him good and not be altogether despised by the--the other party.” He +looked back and could dimly see Mr. Joseph sitting up on the blanket. He +had removed his hat, and his hands were pressed to his head. Charlotte +Dexter was in the furthest corner of the waggon, a dark, stern, ominous +figure. + +“Strange that you and me _are_ goin' home together, Miss Dexter, after +all,” said the farmer. + +“Miss Dexter drove in to the Albion alongside of me yesterday, sir, +and I ask her if so be she need a second lift back to-day, and she said +'no.'” + +“Ah!” said Mr. Joseph. “Yesterday, did you say? I was--to have--come +out--yesterday--in answer to my brother's note--but I could not +manage--it. I wish,” with a grim attempt at the old humor--“I had, 'pon +my soul I do.” + +“Your brother is well, I hope, sir?” said the farmer. “Don't talk too +much, I beg of ye, Mr. Joseph. To see ye with yer hands like that!” + +“It is--better--easier--that way,” returned Mr. Joseph. “My brother +is well for him, thank you. You know, he is--not strong +he--is--never--perfectly well.” + +“D--” said the farmer to himself. “Of course, of course, I know. I see +him yesterday morning, pale like and weak, but smiling and lookin' happy +enough too, I tell ye.” + +“Ah, yes” said Mr. Joseph, again lying down and pressing the flowers to +his hot lips. “I--these flowers--are for him and--her.” + +“Her!” said the farmer. + +“Milly, you know. Ah--perhaps you haven't heard. My brother is going +to--marry Milly, Mrs. Cox's niece, you know.” + +An absolutely death-like stillness prevailed in the waggon. The Kentucky +team jogged on. The stars shone down on poor Mr. Joseph turning up his +sightless orbs to their beauty and majesty, and on the passion of grief +and remorse that now surged in Miss Dexter's suffering breast. + +“It may be vanity,” thought Farmer Wise as the bridge and the river +and Dexter's Oak came in sight one after the other, “it may be vanity, +though I'm too old a man to be much given to that, but I can't help +thinkin' I'm a wiser man than I was yesterday by a good lot. I don't +half know what's happened, but somethin's goin' on, whether it's +understandable or not to me and the likes of me, I don't know as yet, +and I don't think I'll try to find out. If ifs bad it'll come out fast +enough, and if it's good, leavin' it alone maybe will make it a little +better. But here we are,” he continued aloud, “at Dexter's Oak. What's +to be done, Miss Dexter, now, and with you, Mr. Joseph? Of course, I'll +take you straight to the Inn--as for Miss Dexter--” + +“I will get out at once,” said the unhappy woman. “You are sure you can +take him to the Inn all right and--and--lift--that is--without--” + +“Oh, I guess so,” said the farmer, grimly relapsing into an Americanism +that was just beginning to leaven the whole country. “I guess I'll +take care on him, and as for gettin' him out at the Inn, there's plenty +there. Good-night Miss Dexter, take care there!--now you're all right” + +Charlotte Dexter, with a long look at the prostrate form of Mr. Joseph, +leapt from the waggon and sped through the gate up to her desolate +dwelling. + +“Ah!” sighed the farmer to himself, one great long sigh that stirred his +hardy frame to its centre. He never sighed like that again either for +Charlotte Dexter or any other woman. + +The next mile they traversed in silence broken only by occasional moans +from Mr. Joseph which moved the old farmer to wonder and dismay that +almost unnerved him. + +Presently Mr. Joseph murmured some word the farmer did not catch all at +once. + +“Is he out of his mind on top of it all!” he said to himself, and +listened. + +“Farmer Wise,” said the same low voice, “are we near the Inn?” + +“Just there, Mr. Joseph.” + +“On the little bridge yet?” + +“Just come on it, Mr. Joseph.” + +“Ah! Can you--stop your horses?” + +“Certainly. There! Now what is it?” Mr. Joseph sat up. + +“I am in your waggon--the market waggon, Farmer Wise, I think?” + +“Yes, Mr. Joseph. You can't tell where we are, I see, being so much +shook.” + +“No. That's not it,” said Mr. Joseph. “I--are you on the seat--the front +seat, Farmer Wise?” + +“Yes, Mr. Joseph. You can't make me out by this queer light, and I don't +wonder. The stars is beautiful, but they don't make up for havin' no +moon.” + +“No. That's not it either, Farmer Wise. Did you say the stars were +shining? Orion, I suppose, and the Bull and the rest of them! Can't +you--try--like a dear old fellow--can't you--tell what's the matter with +me? You say you are sitting on the front seat, and I--have no doubt but +that you are, but your voice sounds so much further away--so very much +further away than that--and when one--can't--see you, Farmer Wise,--” + +A frightful pause. + +“Can't see me, can't see me! Mr. Joseph, Mr. Joseph! Not blind--God +forgive me for sayin' the word out to ye like that! But I thought it, I +thought it, and so, out it come! But it is'nt that! Ye'll forgive me for +sayin' the word out to ye like that! It isn't that!” + +“I'm afraid it is, Farmer Wise. It can be--nothing--else.' + +“If, as you say, the stars are shining and to be sure they generally are +about--this time--of night, and if, as you say, you are sitting directly +opposite me on the front seat of your waggon, and I have no reason +to doubt it, if this is so, and I--can see neither--these stars +shining--nor you--yourself--dear old fellow--on the seat before me--it +can be, I fear--nothing else.” + +“And how--” + +“Ah! I can't--quite remember. Some time, perhaps, I'll tell you +how--shall I go to my brother or--how can I?” + +“Mr. Joseph,” entreated the farmer, seizing one of those delicate hands +and patting it as if it had been his own. “Will you come with me? I'll +make you comfortable, and have ye seen to and we'll find out about it +and what can be done, and that'll save your brother, look, and he not +strong! Come, Mr. Joseph! Lie down there as you was, just as ye was--God +forgive me for tellin' you to look up at them stars--and I'll speak a +word for you at the Inn, as we're passing. Won't that do, nor be better +than goin' in like that? Not knowin' either just what is the matter. +Come, Mr. Joseph! I'll drive straight home after that and make ye +comfortable for the night, and there'll be no--womankind, or, or anyone +to disturb ye, just me and the two boys--come, Mr. Joseph!” + +“I am willing enough to go, old fellow,” answered Mr. Joseph with a +groan. “Willing enough to go anywhere, but where my brother--my poor +brother--is. Yes, it will be best. Drive on.” + +The warm cheery Inn soon appeared in view. The firelight from the +bar and the lamp-light from the other rooms beamed out from the +red-curtained windows. The scrape of a fiddle came from the kitchen. +“Squires,” murmured Mr. Joseph, feebly. “He's always at it.” The farmer +pulled up the team at the pump corner one instant and looking around +descried not a soul in view. He got down and went to the side door +leading to the bar and opening it put his head in. Mrs. Cox herself was +dispensing early gin and water to three or four indolent but talkative +gentlemen before the fire. But she was not so busy as not to perceive +the farmer. Had she already had that cap on in which bloomed the violet +velvet pansy, Mr. Joseph's whereabouts might have been discovered, for +invariably on those occasions she accompanied the farmer not only to the +door but even to the very feet of the horses as he straightened up one +thing or loosened another and would often joke about the empty waggon or +the purchases made in the town which might happen to fill it. + +But Farmer Wise left her no time even to adjust her head-dress, far from +changing it. + +“Good evening, ma'am,” said he, with his head in the door. “No. Don't +trouble about Squires. He's hard at work, I can hear, and besides, I +don't want him. I'm late, and the boys will wait for their supper. I +just have to tell ye that I see Mr. Foxley in town, Mr. Joseph Foxley, +and he says how he can't come out till--say--Monday. He was stuck full +of work--he was indeed--and said positive--he couldn't come. But he +give me this for his brother and for--her,” producing the bouquet, which +caused a thrill of amazement and awe to pervade the loungers in the bar. +“For his brother and for--her,” said the farmer, taking a long stride +across the little room and giving it to Mrs. Cox. “I congratulate you, +ma'am, I do indeed.” + +Before she could well answer, he had shut the door and mounting the +waggon drove away as quickly as he could. He was too full of thoughts +and plans concerning Mr. Joseph to notice that quick as he was, Mrs. +Cox, not waiting this time to change her cap, had come out to the door +and with her hand shading her eyes, was looking wistfully after the +departing team. + + + + +CHAPTER IV. + + +It was as Mr. Joseph had said. His brother, George Albert Dacre Foxley, +of Foxley Manor, Notts, was indeed contemplating marriage with Milly, +niece of Mrs. Cox, landlady of the Ipswich Inn. If it seem strange, +remember that he had passed the meridian of his years, health was gone, +life rapidly passing away and it was impossible now for him to make any +new departure in his life or habits. He had become firmly attached +to Mrs. Cox's comfortable _ménage_ and wanted nothing more. Never in +England, even while in the enjoyment of fairly good health and luxurious +surroundings had he ever felt so completely at rest, satisfied with +himself and his small immediate world, every want cared for, every wish +guessed at, and the best of company to his idea--company that called +for nothing but pure naturalness. He could smoke for hours in Mrs. Cox's +kitchen, or in her neat yard or even in the chintz-hung drawing-room +and no one would interrupt him with dissertations on politics, art or +literature. Like all Englishmen of the quiet country-loving stamp, he +cared little about politics except when some general crisis assented +itself, and knew less about art or literature. He thought Wilkie and +Landseer about the summit of the one and Byron the chief modern pillar +of the other. Twenty years ago, Tennyson had not made a very deep +impression on a mind of his calibre. Yet this handsome, quiet, delicate +gentleman when he did choose to talk had such an audience as is not +given to many men, for Mrs. Cox would leave her work (if she dared) and +Milly would listen with her young eyes fastened in a kind of ecstasy +on the dark ones turned to hers, and Squires would come along with his +hands in his trousers pockets and his fiddle under his arm, and Bess +would put her paws upon her master's knees and devour him with her own +dark eyes--a quintette of friends unsurpassed in the world for loyal +attachment and generous devotion. What if what he had to tell was but +some simple story of hunting England, or some bald description of London +life seen under the surveillance of a tutor fifteen or twenty years +previous to the time of narration--he was their oracle, prophet, God, +what you will, and they were his dearest, yes, his very dearest friends. +When Mr. Joseph appeared as one of this happy circle, it became more +boisterous of course though not necessarily any happier, for it +was already as happy as it could be. But the news from town and the +occasional English mail, flowers and a cheap new novel--these were some +of the simple delights that Mr. Joseph used to bring with him. During +the first couple of years, both the brothers would saunter out to the +Miss Dexters' or to the Rectory, Mr. Joseph in particular, never failing +to appear on Saturday nights at choir-practice and Sunday evening +service--but Mr. George gradually discontinued his visits as I have +hinted and towards the fourth year of his stay hardly ever went beyond +the Inn. For at the back the small terraced garden met the orchard, and +the orchard sloping down met a small pebbly brook, and the brook flowing +along in sweet rippling fashion met the most charming of wheat covered +golden meadows in which it was pleasant and good to stroll and which +moreover all belonged to that matchless paragon among landladies, Mrs. +Cox. In those days people grew their own kitchen stuff, and their own +fruit and their own grain, fed their own live stock, made their own +butter and cheese, cured their own hams, laid their own eggs, even +brewed their own beer. Now, everything is different, and let no +confiding Englishman, allured by my tempting picture come out to Canada +today in search of such a Utopia for he will not find it. Moreover all +this pleasant prospect of wood and stream and meadow and orchard lay +well _behind_ the Inn, let it be understood, and it was perfectly +possible for Mr. George Foxley to have all the air, walking and +exploration he desired and even a little shooting and fishing if he +wanted them without, as I have said, going beyond it. When he grew +really weak, he was obliged to give up both the latter occupations of +course, but he still walked or strolled a great deal, generally with +Milly by his side. She would leave anything she was at when he called +her and opening the little gate by the one hawthorn tree leading into +the orchard, see him safe down the slope to the side of the little brook +where she would give him her arm, and thus their walk would commence in +earnest. Four years had brought a great change in Milly. New ideas, new +habits, association with such thorough and high-bred gentleman and +the natural desire to improve and grow worthy of such dearly esteemed +company, had altered her completely. Where before she had been pink, +now she was pale; thin, where she had been plump; her features actually +aquiline from the girlish snub of the rounded contour four years back, +her hair, three shades darker, her dress, almost that of a lady. The +most perfect sympathy appeared to exist, and really did, between these +two strangely met natures. + +One day, they had sat down at the side of the brook as a couple of +children would have done to cast in sticks and leaves and watch them +float by. Sometimes these would get caught in the numberless little +eddies that such a stream possesses and be whirled round and round until +it was necessary to dislodge them and send them on their way after the +others. One fine yellow leaf on this November day attracted Mr. Foxley's +attention particularly, for it was obstinate in returning again and +again to a cosy little bay formed by a couple of large stones. Often +as he poked it out, back it came into the bay and anchored itself +contentedly on the calm water. + +Milly laughed. + +“He has found a haven,” said Mr. George. “Yes, without doubt he has +found his haven. What do you think, Milly?” + +“I think so, sir.” + +“Don't call me sir, child. What makes you do so?” + +“There is nothing else I can call you, is there,--sir.” + +“Ah!” said Mr. Foxley. He lay back at full length on the grass and put +his hands over his eyes. The river rippled on and Milly watched him +anxiously. “Is the leaf there still, Milly?” + +“Yes, sir.” + +“Now!” said Mr. Foxley in a warning tone. “I tell you I won't have it.” + +“No, sir--I beg your pardon, Mr. George.” + +“Nor that either,” said Mr. Foxley, slowly rising into a sitting posture +again. He had another poke at the yellow leaf. “Call me Dacre, my child, +will you?” Milly no longer watched him with those loving, anxious, eyes. +She was trembling from head to foot and had she spoken, she must have +wept. Mr. Foxley's voice was of itself enough to make any woman weep, it +was so soft, so tender, so subdued and indrawn. Once more he said, “Call +me Dacre, my child!” That pleading voice, so low, so musical, and that +it should plead to her? They were so close together that he could +feel her tremble. Weak as he was, he was the stronger of the two for +a moment, and turning slightly towards her met her rapturous eyes, and +heard her call him the name he wanted to hear. The same instant they +kissed, a long thrilling dark-enfolding kiss that was the first Milly +had ever known from a man and might have been, for its purity and +restraint, the first also that he had ever given to a woman. + +“Have I found my haven too, like the wise leaf of autumn? Have I! Tell +me, my child, my darling!” + +“O sir, dearest sir--I mean, dear Dacre, it is I who have found mine. If +indeed you care for me, sir!” + +Mr. Foxley laid his head just on her shoulder, then let it slide into +her lap, taking her trembling hands and putting them over his eyes. + +“I do more than care for you, my child. I love you. Stoop and kiss me. +There. Don't take your head away again like that. Leave it. Your face +against mine. Your lips on mine. Is it a haven, child? Truly, yes or +no?” + +“Dear Dacre!” + +“Well!” + +“You know it is. And I have always wanted so much to--to--care for you, +but I did not dare.” + +“Dare! There is no dare about it my child. If you will give me your +young life--how old are you now, love?” + +“Nineteen,” whispered Milly into his ear. + +“Only nineteen, and such a tall girl, with such long hair--if you will +give it to me and be happy in giving it, child, that must be thought of, +there is no one else--” + +“You know there is not, sir.” + +“Then I will do all I can to deserve it. And nobody must call you Milly +any more. You are Mildred now. Miss Mildred if you like and soon, very +soon, to bear another name, mine. It is a good one, child.” + +“I am sure of it, dear Dacre, and too good--far too good--for me.” + +“Do you know how old I am, my child?” + +“I heard your brother say.” + +“And did he dare? What did he say it was, my age?” + +“He said--you were forty-one.” + +“Then he was out. It is more than that I am exactly forty-three; I say +exactly, for, Milly, this is my birthday, and--I cannot hope--neither of +as must dare to hope, child--that I shall see many more. You will marry +me whenever I say, my love?” + +The girl bent over him in a passion of weeping. + +“There is nothing I would not do for you, dear sir--” + +“Except call me by my dearly-beloved third name!” + +It began to turn cold as they sat by the stream and Milly or Mildred as +she is henceforth to be called, drying her eyes, fell into a fever over +her lover and besought him to return to the house. + +Standing face to face, he put her arms around his neck. + +“Before we go, dear child, you are sure you love me?” + +“O do not ask me again, dear Dacre!” + +“That is right. And you know how old I am?” + +Another assent. + +“And that you are to marry me whenever I say?” + +“If I can.” + +“Of course you can. And that you are to give me all the love you +possibly have to give and more and more. I shall be exacting!” + +“Dear Dacre!” + +“Very well. Remember all those clauses, and now take me back to the +house. And some day, my child, I will tell you all my life and what it +was--or rather who it was--that sent me out of England, dear England--” + +“Ah! you love it still,” murmured Mildred, looking at the ground. + +“I shall always love it _now_, since I have found my happiness in +Canada, but once I hated it, Milly, yes, I hated it!” + +So was accomplished the wooing of Mr. George Foxley. He was earnestly +and sincerely in love. The girl had grown up under his eye as it +were and was in fact almost a part of himself already. Marriage would +complete the refining and gilding process. The tones of her voice, +her accent, her pronunciation, her habits of sitting, of standing, of +walking were all more or less unconsciously imitated from him, she had +modelled herself upon him, she was indeed his “child” as he loved to +call her. For a month these two people enjoyed as pure and perfect and +isolated an happiness as can be experienced on earth. Then it became +necessary to inform Mr. Joseph and worthy Mrs. Cox. As if Mr. Joseph and +Mrs. Cox didn't know! There are two things that nothing can hide in +this life. One is, the light in the eyes of a girl who has found herself +loved by the man she adores, and the other is, the unutterable content +in the mien of that man himself. And there is no phase of passion +sweeter, nor purer, nor warmer, nor more satisfying, than that which is +the result of a young girl's affection for a man many years older than +herself. + +As for the telling, Mr. George, though he could talk fast enough and +fluently enough to Mildred, hated much talk or fuss about anything and +so made everything the easier by informing his brother, Mr. Joseph, by +note. A few lines sufficed as preparation for the news and he ended +by requesting him to purchase some small and inexpensive gift as from +himself in appreciation of the occasion. Mr. Joseph with characteristic +good taste and delicate feeling, concluded that flowers, though +perishable, were the most appropriate purchase he could light upon, and +consequently walked out from town a certain Saturday afternoon late in +November with a monster affair in smilax and roses in his hand. When +it was placed, though not by himself, in Mildred's hands she felt a +disappointment she could not altogether conceal. + +“Never mind,” said Mr. George at full length on a sofa with Milly beside +him on a chair. He did indeed prove a most exacting lover. For a long +time her share of daily work in the Inn and out of it, had been growing +less and less, until now she hardly did anything at all besides wait on +her master, lover and friend, prepare what he eat, read to him, and +sit by him for hours, never leaving him in the evenings till long after +twelve and then it was understood that in case of night attacks of the +dreadful pleurisy and asthma combined that were slowing killing him, she +would always be at hand to come at the sound of his bell--or indeed his +voice, for Milly, sleeping in the room opposite his own, always left +both doors open and would lie fully dressed on her bed night after +night, listening in the dark, with wide open eyes and strained ears, for +the slightest cough or sigh that came from that worshipped one across +the narrow hall. + +“Never mind,” said he on that Saturday night “My brother _is_ busy just +now. Don't you remember, he found it difficult to come out last week. +It's an awful grind for Joseph, poor Joseph! But he enjoys life, I +think; at the present moment I expect he is flirting audaciously in town +with some charming girl. Or some fearfully plain one. You never know who +next, with my brother. He'll turn up on Monday.” + +And Mr. Joseph did turn up on Monday. Farmer Wise had fetched some +doctor from Orangetown on Sunday, who after examining his injury, +pronounced it incurable. Mr. Joseph was as stoical as Englishmen are +generally expected to be and saw that it was absolutely imperative to +tell his brother. + +“I brought it on myself” he said to the farmer, “At least I try to +believe I did. By Jove! to think--to think of some men! Well, I _must_ +tell my brother.” + +When he did tell him late on Monday night, having been driven over by +Farmer Wise himself, with his poor eyes bandaged and the sturdy farmer's +hand to guide him into the little back parlor where Mr. George and +Mildred sat alone, for Mrs. Cox had been ordered out by that exacting +gentleman as early as eight o'clock. Nothing but the presence of Mildred +herself and the love divine and human that filled Mr. George's breast to +overflowing could have saved him from succumbing to the painful shock. + +“Well, I should think you are cured now, my poor Joseph!” said his +brother presently. + +“Of what, in heaven's name?” said poor Mr. Joseph. “By Jove to think--to +think of some men, George! What had I done, what had I done?” + +“I do think of them,” said Mr. Foxley gravely. “I do think of them. +And but for my happiness here,” touching Mildred's dress reverently, +“I could wish--” wistfully, “That we had never come here--'twas I who +brought you my poor Joseph, 'twas I, 'twas I.” + +“Oh! that's rubbish!” pronounced Mr. Joseph energetically. “The main +point is now, how am I to get my living. God! I am perfectly useless! +They won't take me back in town there.” + +“Dear Mr. Joseph,” said Mildred, with her eyes shining on the brother of +her lover. “You will live with us of course, with--Dacre, Dacre and me, +and my aunt. We all love you--see,” and Milly rose, first pressing Mr. +George's fingers as they touched her dress in passing and giving him a +look which was meant to keep him in order for a few moments, “no one can +nurse you as well as I can--ask Dacre--let me take off that bandage and +put it on again more comfortably for you! Will you, dear Mr. Joseph?” + Mr. Joseph groaned and hid his face against Milly's heaving breast. + +“She is to be your angel as well as mine, perhaps,” murmured his +brother. + +“I have always been so active,” groaned poor Mr. Joseph, “What is to +become of me? To live here with you would have been beautiful, but +now--the simple thought of existence at all anywhere is unbearable! And +the money--good God, George, how can I Help giving way!” + +Some few other such scenes had naturally to be gone through before any +course could be suggested to Mr. Joseph. Mrs. Cox had been taken into +confidence, and Farmer Wise made to understand that nothing must be said +about the unhappy affair. Mr. Joseph wrote into town explaining in some +way his resignation of the rather important clerkship he had but just +begun to fill creditably, and sending for all his belongings took to +Mrs. Cox's remaining little room under the roof in the character of an +invalid. The secret was admirably kept, even by the doctor who had been +written to and who had seen a similar case some years ago. + +“A jealous devil, I suppose,” said he, when he read Mr. George Foxley's +note. + +“Well, he might have come off worse. But I should like to know who the +country lass was that he'd been sparkin', and who revenged herself like +that.” + +A few weeks afterwards Mildred was married to George Albert Dacre +Foxley, of Foxley Manor, Notts, by the Rev. Mr. Higgs in the village +church. Her lover looked wonderfully well and strong on the occasion +and was so happy that he was actually mischievously inclined during the +ceremony, nearly causing his bride to laugh out audibly. Handsome and +distinguished and aristocratic a gentleman as he looked, Mildred was not +unworthy of him, as a straighter, firmer, more composed and more smiling +a bride never entered a church. The girl was too happy to know what +nervousness meant nor self-consciousness. She sat with her lover after +he was dressed and had lain down a few moments to rest, until it +was time to start in the carriage which Mr. Rattray had in the most +unexpected manner offered them and which Mr. George accepted with the +easy languid grace that characterized his acceptance of most things in +this world excepting Milly. He had plenty of force and passion and to +spare concerning _that_ gift. Stipulating that “Squires” must sit on +the box seat, he and Milly and Mrs. Cox, an ideal little wedding party, +drove off in actually high glee, laughing and chatting and joking +immoderately to the amazement of the villagers, prominent among whom +were Mrs. Woods and “Woods” himself, rescued in a dazed condition from +the back premises of the “Temperance Hotel” according to popular local +tradition, and Mrs. Lyman, B. Rattray, _née_ Maria Higgs. Mr. Joseph +alas! could not be present. + +In the year that followed this remarkable marriage, the relative +positions of the Mr. Foxleys underwent a great change. So much love and +so much care lightened the elder brother's existence so materially, +that his health actually improved, and by the end of the sixth month +of marriage he was able to shoot and fish once more, and walk with his +adoring wife without the help of her strong arm and shoulder. Indeed it +was she who about this time began to need his assistance during those +long strolls by the side of the brook or through the tall grain +grown meadows--a matter which astonished them both to the extent of +stupefaction. Mr. George took his trouble to Mrs. Cox. + +“I don't know what you expected, Mr. George, I don't indeed,” said she, +secretly amused at his simplicity. “You went and got married, as was +only natural, and now you are frightened at the results, as is only +natural.” + +“But, my dear lady,” expostulated the perplexed gentleman, “it involves +so many things, all manner of complications. For instance, money. I +shall have--I really believe, my dear good Mrs. Cox--I shall have to +make some money.” + +“You!” ejaculated Mrs. Cox. + +“I know. It appears hopeless. I never turned a penny, honest or +otherwise in my life. Joseph you see--ah! poor Joseph!” + +Poor Joseph indeed, darkness for light, solitude for society, enforced +idleness for long-continued habits of activity, who could enjoy life +under these circumstances--and careful of him as Mildred was, and +sympathetic as his brother was, these two were too intensely absorbed +in each other to give him all the amusement and attention he craved. +He grew thin and weak and slightly perverse and seemed to care more for +Mrs. Cox's company than for his brother's. And yet there was nothing +wrong with him except his terrible affliction. Mrs. Cox was sure he +had something on his mind, and one day she ventured to tell him so. He +flushed all over his pale freckled skin, and feeling for her motherly +hands took them in his own. + +“There is,” he said. “I wonder no one has ever guessed it. Miss Dexter, +where is she? Does anyone ever see her?” + +“My poor boy, my dear Mr. Joseph,” cried Mrs. Cox. “You did not really +care for her, did you? Surely! You did not care for her!” + +“No,” said he decidedly. “No, I did not care for her--I didn't, never +could have cared for her as George cares for Mildred, say--but she was +a lady and kind to me, and I liked to go there, and the fact is--I miss +her--and I am so sorry for her! and yet, you know, I am half frightened +of her too and afraid to go out, thinking she may meet me and I wouldn't +see her coming, you know! Yet she wouldn't do it again, I think!” + +“Heaven save us, no, Mr. Joseph! And you so forgiving! Mercy me, and +people say men make all the trouble!” + +“It's half-and-half, Mrs. Cox, dear old soul,” muttered Mr. Joseph, +leaning back on his cushions. “I suppose we were both to blame. I can't, +for the life of me, fall to talking of it as a judgment, for before +heaven, I had done nothing. Yet I forgot how lonely she was and how +proud, and I forgot too, that Ellen--that Ellen--” + +“Ay, Mr. Joseph. It was Ellen too. Poor Ellen, that passed away out of +it all!” + +“And she--Miss Dexter--is still here, still living by herself in the +cottage by the oak! I remember so well, Mrs. Cox, the first time my +brother and I ever saw that oak!” + +“I daresay, Mr. Joseph, I daresay. Yes, she is still there, living in +her cottage unloved and unheeded, Mr. Joseph. And may she ever continue +so!” + +“Oh! don't say that, dear old soul! Don't say that! Do you know, I +should like to see her--I mean--meet her once again!” + +Mrs. Cox was certain he was not in “his right head” as she said to +herself. + +“See her again! Meet her, talk to her! The woman who served ye like +this! what can you be thinking of? Let me call your brother. There he is +coming along the road, brown and bonny, with his wife on his arm, bless +them both?” + +“Did you say he was brown, Mrs. Cox? My brother brown! What a change! He +looks so well then, dear old soul!” + +“If you could but see him, Mr. Joseph, you would see how well.” + +“Well and brown! And Mildred, she is pale, I suppose, and with her +eyes turned up to his and her lips brushing his shoulder every now and +then--O I can see them--I suppose they go on a worse than ever.” + +“Indeed and they do, Mr. Joseph. After, breakfast this morning I sent +them up into the drawing-room to be out of the way of the drover's +meeting to be held in the bar, and when I went up to ask them about the +lunch they would take with them on the river this afternoon I heard no +sound like and just whispered at the door a bit if I might come in. When +I went in, there was your brother standing behind her in a chair, with +all her hair down, and a brush in his hand and his wife fast asleep! +He looked frightened for a minute when he saw me and I besought him to +bring her to, thinking he'd mesmerized her. He'd been brushing it and +playing with it and the morning over warm--she had fallen asleep. And +I left them, Mr. Joseph, I left them, for they love each other so. And +when I think of the honor he has done my girl, and how particular he is +that she shall be called Mrs. Foxley--it--” + +“Well, well, Mrs. Cox, ours is a good name, and I do not think my +brother would have ever allowed any but a good girl to bear it. And if +a girl is lovely and gentle and pure-minded, and innocent, and neat, and +clean, and refined as your niece was, it matters not about her birth. +Birth! O my dear old soul, I am sick of the word! Miss Dexter now, is a +lady, you know.” + +“Ay.” + +“And I must see her again,” enforced Mr. Joseph, brought back to his one +idea. “I must see her again.” + +Mrs. Cox communicated this intelligence to her niece, Mrs. Foxley. + +“I think I can understand why,” said she, lying back in her husband's +arms one hot summer night under the trees at the back of the blouse. “It +seems a hard wish to understand and a harder one to comply with, but it +may have to be done. Dacre--” + +“What my darling!” + +“When are you going to tell me about your life in England +and--and--about the woman who sent you out of it?” + +“The woman! I never told you about a woman, child!” + +“No. But I guessed. It is sure to have been a woman, Dacre.” + +“Well, I don't mind when I tell you. Nothing of all that time is +anything to me now. Shall I tell you now?” + +“If you please, dearest Dacre. For I must be close to you when I listen +to that, and must not have you see me, for I know I shall cry.” + +“Dearest child! Well then, it shall be now, for you could scarcely be +closer to me than you are now? And if you cry, as you must try not to +do, you shall be allowed to cry here upon my breast and I will not look. +I can hardly see you as it is, it is so dark. Let me think, how I shall +begin. You know Joseph--our poor Joseph--is my only brother and I never +had any sisters. My father--you know this too--is an English country +gentleman living in one of the most beautiful seats in England. If I +were to describe the old place to you, you would want to go, and I +could not spare you, so I will only say--well, you have seen those +photographs?” + +“Yes, dearest Dacre.” + +“They only give you a faint idea of what it is. It is Tudor you know--do +you know what Tudor is, Mrs. Foxley--and all red brick, weathered all +colors, and terraced, with lots of little windows and some big ones with +stained glass in them, and urns on the terrace, and a rookery, and an +old avenue of poplars, haunted too, and so on, and so on--there's no end +to it, Mildred! Yes, it's a fine old place, without doubt Well, that +is where I was born. I don't remember my mother. I wish I did. She died +when Joseph was born, he is just four years younger than I am. Our youth +was passed there--at the Manor, of course, and we had the usual small +college education not extending to a university career that gentleman's +sons have in England, you know. I didn't make many friends at school, +and where we lived, there was no one to visit, and we had very few +relations. It is quite unusual I believe for two boys to grow up as we +did, in comparative isolation. My father was a kind of Dombey--you know +Dombey, Mildred--wrapped up in his old place and the associations of +his youth and in his family pride. The Foxleys are better born I believe +than half of the aristocracy; we go back to the Conquest on my father's +side--a thing which he never permits himself to forget for an instant. +Well, Milly, it was a dull life for two lively, affectionate lads like +Joseph and me, wasn't it, and had it not been for all this, child, +nature, you know, and the trees and the streams and the out-door sports +I love so well, I could never have got on at all. Then when I was +nineteen--just your age, love--came a change. I, being the elder and +heir to the estate was sent off to town--I mean, London, my dear--and +the Continent, with a tutor. Joseph--well, I believe I have never fully +understood what became of Joseph during the four years I was away, but +I suppose he amused himself. He has a knack of doing that I never had, +except when I am in the country. Well, this tutor wasn't a bad sort of +a fellow and at first we got on splendidly, living in town in chambers, +going to the plays and the opera, and dining all over, just wherever +I liked or he knew, and excursions oat of London, you know--oh! jolly +enough for a little while! Then we went across to Paris--” + +“Yes, dearest Dacre?” + +Mr. Foxley stopped a moment to lift his wife's face closer to his own. +He kissed it--a long long kiss that entranced them both to the degree of +forgetting the story. + +“If you would rather not go on--” said Mildred. + +“Oh! I must now. Well, we did Paris, and then the other capitals and +Nice--Nice was just then coming into vogue, and ran down into Italy--I +remember I liked Genoa so much--and then we came back to Paris, for +Harfleur--that was the tutor's name, and it doesn't sound like a real +one, does it--preferred Paris to any other European town and of course +so did I. About this time, his true character began to show itself. He +went out frequently without me, smoked quite freely, would order in +wine and get me to drink with him, and was very much given to calling +me fresh, green, and all that you know. I began to think he was right. I +was past twenty-one, and I had never even had a glimpse into the +inside of life. Women, now and all that kind of thing--I was positively +ignorant of--but to be sure, one quickly learns in Paris.” + +For one night, Harfleur asked me in his usual sneering tone how I was +going to spend my evening. + +“I am going out to a charming _soirée_ at the house of Madame de +L'Estarre, the most charming woman in Paris,” said he. + +“'Then I shall accompany you,' I said, fired by his insulting tone. And +I went, Mildred. I suppose I was good-looking, eh, my child--and had +sufficient air of distinction about me to impress Madame de L'Estarre, +for she left the crowd of waxed and perfumed Frenchmen and devoted +herself entirely to me. Although she was--beautiful--she was not tall, +and I, standing at her side all that evening, never took my eyes off her +dazzling face and her white uncovered bosom. In a week, my child, I had +learnt to know and love every feature in that dazzling face and began +to dream of the day when I should be allowed to kiss that bosom. Yes, I +certainly loved her.” + +“I am sure you loved her, Dacre my darling. And how could she help +loving you, dear, in return?” + +“Oh that is another thing entirely, quite another thing. After that +night, Harfleur showed me more respect than he had done for some time +previously and we began to hit it off again better. I went to her +_hotel_--her house you know, every day. At first she would always +receive me alone, sending anybody away who happened to be there and +refusing to admit anybody who came while we were together.--It is +difficult, even to my wife, to explain what kind of a woman she was. All +that first time, when we would be alone, she would--make love, I suppose +it must be called--with her eyes and her hands, and her very skirts +and her fan, and the cushion, and the footstool. The room was always +beautiful and always dim, and she would greet me with outstretched hands +and a shy smile, making room for me beside her on the sofa--she always +sat on a sofa. We would talk of nothing at all perhaps but look into +each other's eyes, until the force of her look would draw me close, +close to her till we were almost in one another's arms, and I could feel +her breath coming faster every moment when just as I imagined she would +sink upon my shoulder--she would draw herself up with a laugh and push +me away, declaring somebody was coming. Then, if nobody came, she would +go through the same farce again. This would happen perhaps two or three +times a day. In the evening, I was again at her side, night after night +regarding her with a devotion that amazed even my friend Harfleur. + +“She treats you like a dog. It will kill you yet, George. Come away.” + But of course I would not go. I accompanied her to the theatre, to the +Bois, to the shops, to church--yes, even to church, Mildred, think of +that--and she was very careful and circumspect and all that. I even +believe as far as direct actions go, she may have been a virtuous woman, +for she certainly, had no other lover when I knew her. She was a widow, +enormously rich and nothing to do. Therefore, I suppose she went in for +the torturing business as a profession. Her Frenchmen did not mind; that +was the secret of her charm with them--so clever, they called her, but +it nearly killed me, her cleverness. I grew pale and worn--sleep--I +never slept. All my life I had lived without natural affection, and +now I was pouring forth upon this woman the love I might have rendered +friends, sister, brother, mother, as well as the passion of a young man. +I say to you now, Mildred, my wife, that the woman who tramples on the +passion of a young man is as bad as the man who slays the innocence of a +young girl. And that's what she did. Finally, when this had lasted for a +year and a half, and Harfleur had gone back to England, one day, when I +was perfectly desperate and could have killed her, Milly, as she lay at +full length on her damned sofa--pardon, my dear, no, don't kiss my hand, +child, don't--dressed in some rose-colored stuff all trailing about +her and her hands clasped under her head, I fell by her on my knees and +besought her to tell me what she meant and if she ever could care for +me. I give you my word, my dear, and with my hand over your innocent +heart, you know I dare not lie--in all that year and a half I had not +even touched her lips. You cannot, happily imagine the torture of such a +position. + +Well, that day, she bent over to me on her side and said “What do you +want, is it to kiss me? Chut! wait for that till we are married.” + +“Do you mean to marry me?” I gasped out. “She said 'yes,' Mildred, and +brushed my cheek with her lips. What do you think I did then, Mildred?” + +“How can I tell, dearest Dacre!” + +“I fainted, dearest. Think of it. But I believed her, you see, and the +revulsion was too great. In a moment or two I came to myself with +the sounds of laughter in my ears. I was on her sofa--that damned +sofa--pardon again, my dear--and she was standing with three of her +cursed Frenchmen around her all laughing fit to kill themselves. I +saw through it all in a moment. They had been on the other side of the +curtains. I went straight up to her and said 'Did you say that you were +ready to become my wife?' She only laughed and the men too with her. +Then I struck her--on her white breast, Milly--and struck the three +Frenchmen on the face one after the other. They were so astonished that +not one of them moved, and I parted the curtains, and left the house.” + +“Did you never see her again?” + +“Never. I left Paris considerably wiser than I had entered it and +avoided society generally. I had one year's life in London, and was +considered no end of a catch by the mammas, I believe, but you can +imagine I did not easily fall a victim. No. That is all my story, my +dear, all at least that has been unguessed at by you. My health was very +bad at home and beyond my love of sport I cared for nothing. I grew to +hate my life in England, even England, though she had done me no harm. +Finally, I quarrelled with my father who married again, a woman we both +disliked, Joseph and I, and so we turned our backs on the Old World and +came out to Canada and to--you.” + +Mildred still lay, crying softly, in her husband's arms. “I had +sometimes dreamt,” continued Mr. Foxley, “of meeting some young girl who +could love me and on whose innocence and sweetness I could rest and whom +besides I should really love. It did not dawn upon me when I first saw +you, that _you_ were the one I wanted, for we must confess, dear, that +you were very plump and rather pink and spoke--” + +“Why, Dacre, how can you? I was only fifteen! Cruel!” + +“Yes, I know. And how you changed! Now, you are so different that it is +not the same Mildred at all. Such is the power of a true love, my child, +and we must always be happy,--ours is one of those marriages.” + +Theirs was indeed one of those marriages. Mr. Foxley took to farming and +enriched his purse as well as his health. Mr. Joseph had an interview +with Miss Dexter the nature of which I am not going to reveal, but which +resulted in a placid intimacy between the two to the surprise of all +save Milly who always said that “she thought she knew why.” Miss Dexter +frequently accompanied blind Mr. Joseph on his lonely walks or would +sit with him when the others were out, as none but he cared to meet her. +Towards his death which occurred in about four years time, she was with +him constantly, and died herself in a fortnight after, having left in +her will, all her maiden belongings to her “good friend, Farmer +Wise.” The farmer was not much moved when informed of this fact, so +incomprehensible to the rest of the village. He had always kept the +little bottle with its cruel label, and had always feared and avoided +poor, proud, foolish, wicked Charlotte Dexter since that Saturday night. + +As for Mr. George and his wife, I see a vision of a successful and happy +husband and father in the prime of early old age (which means, that at +fifty-three one is not old with a young wife and three sweet children) +and of Mildred, who is always a little pale, has her eyes constantly +turned up to her husband's with her lips brushing her shoulder every now +and then. + +Still? + +Ay, still and forever. And so ends my sketch of how the Mr. Foxleys +came, stayed and never went away. + + + + + +The Gilded Hammock. + + +Who does not know the beautiful Miss De Grammont? Isabel De Grammont, +who lives by herself and is sole mistress of the brown-stone mansion in +Fifth Avenue, the old family estate on the Hudson, the villa at Cannes, +the first floor of a magnificently decayed palace at Naples, who has +been everywhere, seen everything and--cared for nobody? + +She reclines now in her latest craze--a hammock made of pure gold wire, +fine and strong and dazzling as the late October sun shines upon it +stretched from corner to corner of her regally-furnished drawing-room. +Two gilded tripods securely fastened to the floor hold the ends of the +hammock in which she lies. The rage for yellow holds her as it holds +everyone who loves beauty and light and sunshine. Cushions of yellow +damask support her head, and a yellow tiger-skin is under her feet. +The windows are entirely hidden with thick amber draperies, and her own +attire is a clinging gown of some soft silk of a deep creamy tint that +as she sways to and fro in the hammock is slightly lifted, displaying +a petticoat of darker tint, and Russian slippers of bronzed kid. Amber, +large clear and priceless, gleams in its soft waxy glow in her hair, on +her neck, round her waist, where it clasps a belt of thick gold cloth +and makes a chain for a fan of yellow feathers. + +Because you see, although it is autumn, it is very warm all through Miss +De Grammont's mansion, as she insists on fires, huge bonfires, you may +call them, of wood and peat in every room and on every hearth. Out of +the fires grew the desire for the hammock. + +“Why,” says Miss De Grammont, with a faint yawn, “why must I only lie in +a hammock in the Summer, and then, where nobody can see me? I will have +a hammock made for the winter, to lie in and watch my fires by.” + +And so she did, for money is law and beauty creates duty, and one day, +when the fashionable stream, the professional cliques and the artistic +hangers-on called upon her “from three to six,” they were confronted +by the vision of an exquisitely beautiful woman dressed in faint yellow +with great bunches of primroses in brass bowls from Morocco on a table +by her side, who received them in a “gilded hammock,” with her feet on +a tiger-skin, and her chestnut hair catching a brighter tinge from the +flames of her roaring fire, and the sunlight as it came in through the +amber medium of the silken-draped windows. + +The tea was Russian, like the slippers, and the butler who presented +it was a mysterious foreigner who spoke five languages. The guests all +wondered, as people always did, at De Grammont. Nobody knew quite what +she had done with herself since she had been left an orphan at the age +of nineteen. She suddenly shot up into a woman, beautiful, with that +patrician and clear-cut loveliness with yet a touch of the _bohémienne_ +about it which only _les belles Américaines_ know. Then she took unto +herself a maid, two dogs, and three Saratoga trunks and went over to +Europe wandering about everywhere. At Cannes, she met and subjugated +the heir to the crown; of this friendship the tiger-skin remained as a +_souvenir_. The heir to the crown was not generous. Next came various +members of embassies, all proud, all poor, and all frantically in love. +She laid all manner of traps for her lovers and discovered in nearly +every case that these men were after her money. A certain Russian Grand +Duke, from whom had come some superb amber ornaments--he being a man of +more wealth than the others--never forgave her the insult she offered +him. He sent her these ornaments from the same shop in Paris that +he ordered--at the same time--a diamond star for a well-known ballet +dancer, and the two purchases were charged to his account. Through some +stupidity, the star came to her. She ordered her horses and drove the +same day to the jewelers, who was most humble and anxious to retrieve +his error. He showed her the amber. She examined it carefully. “It is +genuine, and very fine,” she said gravely. “I have lived in Russia and I +know. I am very fond of amber. I will buy this myself from you, and you +may inform His Highness of the fact.” + +The delighted shop-keeper did not ask her very much more than its +genuine value and next day all Paris knew of the transaction and flocked +to the Opera to see her in the ornaments which had cost the Russian +Duke his friendship for the bearer. But though eccentric, impulsive and +domineering, no whisper had ever attached itself to her name. On her +return to her native New York, was she not welcomed, fêted, honored, +besieged with invitations everywhere? People felt she was different from +the girl who went away. _She_ had been undecided, emotional, a trifle +vain, self-conscious, guilty of moods--no small offence in society; this +glorious creature was a queen, a goddess, always calm, always serene, +always a trifle bored, always superbly the same. Her house she +re-furnished altogether. The three Saratoga trunks were now represented +by nine or ten English ones, dress baskets, large packing cases, and one +mysterious long box which when opened contained several panels of old +Florentine carved wood-work which interested all New York immensely. +Pictures and tapestries, armor and screens, and a gate of mediæval +wrought iron were all among her art treasures. The foreign butler was +her _chargé d'affaires_, and managed everything most wisely and +even economically. He engaged a few servants in New York, her maid, +housekeeper and the two housemaids she had brought out with her. Her +house was the perfect abode of the most faultless æstheticism. It was +perfection in every detail and in the _ensemble_ which greeted the eye, +the ear, every sense, and all mental endowments, from the vestibule in +marble and rugs to the inner boudoir and sanctum of the mistress of the +house, hung with pale rose and straw-color in mingled folds of stamped +Indian silks, priceless in color and quality. Two Persian cats adorned +the lounge and one of her great dogs--a superb mastiff--occupied the rug +before the door night and day, almost without rest. + +Such were the general surroundings of Isabel de Grammont. Art and +letters, music and general culture were inseparable from the daily life +of such a woman as well as immediate beautiful presences, so that into +this faultless house came everything new that the world offered in +books, magazines, songs and new editions. Thanks to European travel, +there was no language she could not read, no modern work she had not +studied. Also came to her receptions the literary lions of New York. +Aspiring journalists, retiring editors, playrights and composers, a +few actors and crowds of would-be poets flocked to the exquisite +drawing-rooms hung with yellow, wherein the owner of so much +magnificence lounged in her golden hammock. Sonnets were written of +her descriptive of orioles flying in the golden west, and newspaper +paragraphs indited weekly in her praise referred to her as the +“Semiramus of a new and adoring society world.” Baskets of flowers, tubs +of flowers, barrels of flowers were sent weekly to her address, and +she was solicited--on charitable, fashionable, religious, communistic, +orthodox and socialistic grounds as lady patroness of this or member of +that and subscriber to the other. In short, she was a success, and as +nothing succeeds like success, we may take it that as the months rolled +on, and the great house still maintained its superb hospitality and Miss +De Grammont still appeared in her sumptuous carriage either smothered +in furs or laces according to the seasons, she still maintained in +like manner her position in society and her right to the homage and +admiration of all classes. + +But this was not the case. Even a worm will turn and public opinion is +very often a little vernacular, let us say. And it happened, that public +opinion in the case of Miss De Grammont, began to turn, to raise itself +up in fact and look a little about it and beyond it as we have all seen +worms do--both in cheeses and out of them--when the fact that she lay +most of the time in a gilded hammock swung in front of her drawing-room +fire was announced from the pulpits of society journals. It may have +been that her friends were devoid of imagination, that they were cold, +prudish, satirical, unpoetical, unaesthetic, anything we like to call +them, that will explain their action in the matter, for they clearly, +one and all, disliked the notion of the hammock. One spoke of it +disparagingly to another, who took it up and abused it to a third, +who described it to a friend who “wrote for the papers.” This gifted +gentleman who lodged with a lady of the same temper and edited a fashion +journal, concocted with her help a description of the thing which soon +found its way into his paper and was then copied into hers. The public +grew uneasy. It would swallow any story it was told about the Heir +Apparent, for instance and a Russian Grand Duke--is it not the sublime +prerogative of American women to dally with such small game as those +gentlemen--but it kicked against the probability of such an actual fact +as the hammock already described which seemed too ridiculous a whim +to possess any real existence. However, the tongues of the fashionable +callers, the professional cliques and the artistic hangers-on coincided +in the affair to that extent that soon the existence of the gilded +hammock was established and from that time Miss De Grammonts' popularity +was on the wane. Dowagers looked askance and matrons posed in a +patronizing manner, the flippant correspondents of society journals and +the compilers of sonnets in which that very hammock had been eulogized +and metaphored to distraction now waited upon her, if at all in an +entirely different manner. Strange how all classes began to recall the +many peculiar or unaccountable things she had done, the extraordinary +costumes she had worn, the fact that she lived alone, and the other fact +that she made so few friends. From aspersions cast on her house, her +equipage, her dresses, there came to be made strictures on her private +character, her love affairs, her friends and career in Europe, her +_ménage_ at present in New York and the members thereof. Finally public +opinion finding that all this made very little impression outwardly, +upon the regal disdain of Miss De Grammont in her carriage or in her +Opera-stall, however she might writhe and chafe when safely ensconced +within that rose and straw-colored boudoir, made up its mind that the +secret of the whole three volume novel, the key to the entire mystery +lay with the--butler. + +That black-moustached functionary, they whispered, had his mistress in +his power. He had been a courier, and she had fallen in love with him +abroad. Or he had been a well-known conjurer and coerced her through +means little less than infernal to run away with him. He was a +mesmerist, so they said, and could send her into trances at will. Then +he had been the famous Man Milliner of Vienna, whose disappearance one +fine day with the entire trousseau of an Austrian Grand Duchess had been +a nine days' wonder. These dresses she wore, strange mixtures never seen +on earth before of violet and blue, pink and pea-green, rose and lemon, +were the identical ones prepared for the Grand Duchess. Finally, he was +an Italian Prince rescued from a novel of “Ouida's,” whom she had found +living in exile, having to suffer punishment for some fiendish crime +perpetrated in the days of his youth. + +When the stories had reached this point, Miss De Grammont, to whom they +were conveyed through papers, notes from “confidential friends,” her +maid and others, wrote a letter one day directed to the: + + REV. LUKE FIELDING, + Pastor, Congregational Church, + Phippsville, Vermont. + +A week or ten days after, Miss De Grammont, seated--not, in the gilded +hammock though it still swung gracefully before the glowing fire--but in +the cushions which graced her window looking on the front of the house, +saw a gentleman arrive in a cab. She rose hastily and opened the door +of the room herself for her visitor. This was the Rev. Luke Fielding, +a gentleman of the severest Puritanical cut and a true New Englander +to boot. With his hat in his hand he advanced with an expression on his +face of the deepest amazement and dismay which increased momentarily as +he saw not only the gorgeous coloring and appointments of the room +but the fair figure of its occupant. To be sure, she had with infinite +difficulty selected the plainest dress she could find in her wardrobe to +receive him in, a gown of dark green velvet made very simply, and high +to the throat. But alas! there was no disguising the priceless lace at +her wrists, or the gems that glittered on her firm white hands. + +“My dear cousin!” said the lady, giving him both her hands. + +“My dear cousin Isabel,” returned the minister, laying his hat down on +a plush-covered chair on which it looked curiously out of place, and +taking her hands in his. + +“My dear cousin Isabel, after so many years!” + +“It is only eight years, cousin,” returned the lady. + +“True,” replied the minister gravely. “Yet to one like myself that seems +a long time. You sent for me, cousin.” His gaze wandered round the room +and then fastened once more upon Miss De Grammont. + +“Yes,” she said faintly. “I could not tell you all in my letter. I +wanted--I want still--somebody's help.” + +“And it is very natural you should apply for mine, cousin, I will do +anything I can. I have”--the minister grew sensibly more severe, more +grave--“I have this day, on the train, seen a paper--a new kind of paper +to me, I confess,--a _Society Journal_ it calls itself, in which a name +is mentioned. Is your--trouble--connected with that?” + +Miss De Grammont blushed deeply. “Yes. That is my name. I would not have +troubled you--but I must ask your advice, for you are the only one of +the family, of my mother's family--” Her voice broke. + +“Yes, cousin, you are right.” + +The minister rose and stood up before her, a stern though not +unsympathetic figure in his stiff black coat and iron gray hair. “I know +what you are going to ask me to do. You will ask me to see these people, +these editors, reviewers, whatever they are, to talk to them, to impress +upon them what you are and who you are, and who your mother was, and +what is the end of the base man who imagines lies and the end of all the +workers of iniquity. You will ask me to tell them that it is all false, +all abominable intrigue and treachery and I shall demand in your name +and in my own as your only near relative and a minister of the Gospel, +an apology. It is but jealousy, cousin. Forgive me, but you are too +beautiful and too young to live alone in such a house, in such a manner. +You must marry. Or else you must give up such a life. It maketh enemies +within your gates and behold! there shall be no man to say a good thing +of thee!” + +The minister had lifted up his voice as if he had been in the pulpit and +for one instant laid his hand on his cousin's hair. Then he went back to +his seat. + +Miss De Grammont was profoundly moved. Great tears coursed down her +cheeks and until they had stopped she could not trust herself to speak. + +“The paper!” she said dismally. “You have seen a paper, you say, +with--my--my name in it! There is nothing new in that. I have been in +the papers for months past. I am never out of them. And this one says--” + +The minister drew it out of his pocket. + +“That with you, in this house lives, in the character of a butler, +an exiled Italian Prince who committed grave personal and political +offences many years ago and was sent to prison. That you are married to +him. My dear cousin, it is monstrous!” + +Miss De Grammont took out her handkerchief already wet through with her +tears and pressed it to her eyes. + +“It is not monstrous,” she said, “but it is most extraordinary. He _is_ +an Italian Prince, and I _am_ married to him.” + +To use a hackneyed phrase, the room swam around Mr. Fielding for an +instant When he recovered he could only sit and gaze at the beautiful +woman before him. The details of village life, in Vermont had not +educated him up to exigencies of this sort. A fearful chasm seemed to +have opened under his feet, and he began to comprehend dimly that there +were other lives than his own and that of his estimable but commonplace +wife being daily lived out in this world. + +“Yes,” said Miss De Grammont, a little more bravely now that the worst +shock was over. “That is quite true. And the extraordinary part of it is +that they can only have guessed at it; evolved it, as it were from the +depths of their inner consciousness, they can't possible have discovered +it. It isn't known anywhere, save perhaps to one or two in Italy.” + +“In Italy,” murmured the Rev. Mr. Fielding. “You met him in Italy? And +why keep it secret? My dear cousin, you have made a great mistake. And +all this sad and singular story is true?” + +“Very nearly true. All but the offences. They never happened.” + +“Your husband is not a political character then?” + +“Oh! not in the least. He knows nothing of politics. My José! he +couldn't hurt anything, moreover!” + +“José is a Spanish name, surely,” said Mr. Fielding. + +“His mother was a Castilian, fair and proud as only a Castilian can +be. She named him José--But he has other names, three, all +Italian--Antonio--” + +“I see,” said the minister dryly. “I am sorry that I cannot give you all +the sympathy in this matter that you may desire, but you have entered on +a course of action which is perplexing at least, to say no more. I feel, +my dear cousin, that as a--married woman--your confidences are--ill +placed and I must ask you to withdraw them. You must settle this matter +with your--ahem--husband.” Mr. Fielding took up his hat and in another +moment would have been gone forever, but that turning at the door he saw +such intense supplication in his cousin's eyes that his orthodox heart +melted. + +“Forgive me cousin,” he said coming back. “There may be still a way +out of it. Will you tell me all?” Miss De Grammont then related her +different heart episodes abroad, entanglements, half-engagements, +desperate flirtations and all the rest of it to this sober, black-coated +gentleman. Such a revelation poured forth in truly feminine style +nearly drove him away the second time, but true to his word, he remained +nevertheless, sitting bolt upright in a padded chair only meant for +lounging. Finally, she told him of her snares to catch lovers and how +one day she was caught herself by the dark-browed, eloquent Prince +Corunna. + +She fell in love herself for the first time in her life, and he with +her, so he declared. But he was miserably poor and with the pride of a +Castilian would not woo her because of her money. She hated it, yet she +could not live without it. + +The minister smiled pityingly. + +However she made him marry her, and then proposed as a test, in which +he joyfully acquiesced, that he should make himself of use to her, be +in fact, her major-domo, steward, butler, amanuensis, anything and +everything. + +“It is most unprecedented,” sighed the minister. “That a man with +Castilian blood in his veins--” + +Miss De Grammont interrupted him. “He was happier so, dear cousin. But +I--I grew most unhappy. And since I have been here, I have been very +unhappy still. We are both in a false position and now--thanks to that +unlucky hammock--our secret has become common property.” + +“The hammock!” said Mr. Fielding. “What has that got to do with it? It +is a pretty idea.” + +“So I think,” said Miss De Grammont, delighted beyond measure. Then +she told him about the paragraphs, large and small, the confidential +friends, the small beginnings that had lead insensibly up to the +culminating point--that of scandal. + +“I am being dropped gradually,” she said. + +“Of course you are,” said the minister. “Of course you are. Soon you +will be--forgive me--a dead letter. There is only one thing to be done +and that I can do at once. A letter must be written to this paper, +stating calmly in as few words as possible that this paragraph is true, +that you _are_ married to Prince--ah--Corunna, that he _is_ a political +offender and for that reason the marriage _was_ kept secret, but that +now of course as informers must already have given the secret away, you +are obliged to endorse it yourself.” + +“But José is not a political offender! Never did anything wrong in his +life!” + +“Of course not,” said the minister. “Some of us others, even clergymen, +are not so fortunate. Now that must be included, else there is no good +reason for having kept your marriage secret. Other explanations will not +be taken. Besides this will entitle you to sympathy at once. Will you +write the letter and I can leave it at the office for you? There is time +for me to do that before my train starts.” + +Miss De Grammont wrote her letter as dictated by her cousin. He put it +in his pocket and rose to go. + +“Will you not stay and see my husband?” she said timidly. + +“Thank you, no.” returned Mr. Fielding. “I haven't met many foreigners. +I don't think, perhaps, we should get on. Down in Phippsville--well, my +circle is so different from yours, Isabel. It is the fashion I hear to +live abroad now, and desert America--at least to depreciate it, and +not to care about its opinion--but that hasn't spread yet to our little +village. It seems as if it might have been better for instance, had you +stayed in Europe. You see, having married an Italian, all this trouble +would have been avoided--I mean--it could have gone on over there--but +now--well, riches are a snare, my dear cousin, as you have by this time +found. Good-bye, dear cousin, and God be with you.” + +When a letter addressed to the editor of the Society Journal appeared +the next day signed Isabel Corunna (née De Grammont) with its paralysing +statement in a few concise words, New York was startled to its +foundation. Public opinion which for a week had been at the culminating +point of distrust, malevolence and resentment, turned the corner in a +moment and for the moment believed implicitly in the faith of the lady +it had abandoned. The greatest sympathy was shown Madame La Princesse +Corunna, or Princess Corunna, or Miss De Grammont that was, or whatever +her friends chose to call her. The butler disappeared for ever and the +Prince came in. It was a transformation scene equal to Beauty and the +Beast. Dark-browed and eloquent as ever, the Prince was a social success +whenever he chose to be, but as time went on, he and his wife became +more and more absorbed in each other and the world saw little of either +of them. For a time he posed as a political offender which gave his wife +no end of amusement. They were so far reinstated into public favor that +the hammock--source of mingled joy and woe--was again considered as +a thing of beauty and a thing to be imitated. There are a dozen such +hammocks now in New York City. + +But there are still a few ill-natured people, dowagers, matrons, an old +love or two, and a handful of shrivelled spinsters who declare that the +Prince is no Prince at all, but a Pastrycook. + + + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Crowded Out! and Other Sketches, by +Susie F. Harrison + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CROWDED OUT! 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Thus, we do not necessarily +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: + + www.gutenberg.org + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. + diff --git a/8652-0.zip b/8652-0.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..f0e064d --- /dev/null +++ b/8652-0.zip diff --git a/8652-8.txt b/8652-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..7f659df --- /dev/null +++ b/8652-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,7019 @@ +Project Gutenberg's Crowded Out! and Other Sketches, by Susie F. Harrison + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Crowded Out! and Other Sketches + +Author: Susie F. Harrison + + +Release Date: August, 2005 [EBook #8652] +This file was first posted on July 29, 2003 +Last Updated: May 19, 2013 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CROWDED OUT! AND OTHER SKETCHES *** + + + + +Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Robert Prince and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team + + + + + + + +CROWDED OUT! + +And Other Sketches, + +By Seranus + + + +The Story of Monsieur, Madame, and the Pea-Green Parrot. The Bishop of +Saskabasquia. "As it was in the Beginning." A Christmas Sketch. The +Idyl of the Island. The Story of Delle Josephine Boulanger. The Story of +Etienne Chezy d'Alencourt. "Descendez a l'ombre, ma jolie blonde." The +Prisoner Dubois. How the Mr. Foxleys Came, Stayed, and Never Went Away. +The Gilded Hammock. + + + + +PREFACE. + + +I present these "Sketches" in all proper fear and humility, to my +Canadian public, hoping that the phases of colonial life they endeavor +to portray will be recognized as not altogether unfamiliar. Some of them +are true, others have been written through the medium of Fancy, which +can find and inhabit as large a field in Canada as elsewhere; for, to my +mind, there is no country, no town, no village, as there is no nation, +no class of society, nor individual existence, that has not its own deep +and peculiar significance, its own unique and personal characteristics +that distinguish it from the rest of the world. + +SERANUS. + + + + +Crowded Out. + + +I am nobody. I am living in a London lodging-house. My room is up three +pair of stairs. I have come to London to sell or to part with in some +manner an opera, a comedy, a volume of verse, songs, sketches, stories. +I compose as well as write. I am ambitious. For the sake of another, +one other, I am ambitious. For myself it does not matter. If nobody will +discover me I must discover myself. I must demand recognition, I must +wrest attention, they are my due. I look from my window over the smoky +roofs of London. What will it do for me, this great cold city? It shall +hear me, it shall pause for a moment, for a day, for a year. I will make +it to listen to me, to look at me. I have left a continent behind, +I have crossed a great water; I have incurred dangers, trials of all +kinds; I have grown pale and thin with labor and the midnight oil; I +have starved, and watched the dawn break starving; I have prayed on +my stubborn knees for death and I have prayed on my stubborn knees for +life--all that I might reach London, London that has killed so many of +my brothers, London the cold, London the blind, London the cruel! I am +here at last. I am here to be tested, to be proved, to be worn proudly, +as a favorite and costly jewel is worn, or to be flung aside scornfully +or dropped stealthily to--the devil! And I love it so this great London! +I am ready to swear no one ever loved it so before! The smokier it is, +the dirtier, the dingier, the better. The oftener it rains the better. +The more whimsical it is, the more fickle, the more credulous, the more +self-sufficient, the more self-existent, the better. Nothing that it +can do, nothing that it can be, can change my love for it, great cruel +London! + +But to be cruel to _me_, to be fickle to _me_, to be deaf to _me_, to be +blind to _me_! Would I change then? I might. As yet it does not know +me. I pass through its streets, touching here a bit of old black wall, +picking there an ivy leaf, and it knows me not. It is holy ground to me. +It is the mistress whose hand alone I as yet dare to kiss. Some day +I shall possess the whole, and I shall walk with the firm and buoyant +tread of the accepted, delighted lover. Only to-day I am nobody. I +am crowded out. Yet there are moments when the mere joy of being in +England, of being in London, satisfies me. I have seen the sunbeam +strike the glory along the green. I know it is an English sky above +me, all change, all mutability. No steady cloudless sphere of blue but +ever-varying glories of white piled cloud against the gray. Listen to +this. I saw a primrose--the first I had ever seen--in the hedge. They +said "Pick it." But I did not. I, who had written there years ago,-- + + + I never pulled a primrose, I, + But could I know that there may lie + E'en now some small or hidden seed, + Within, below, an English mead, + Waiting for sun and rain to make + A flower of it for my poor sake, + I then could wait till winds should tell, + For me there swayed or swung a bell, + Or reared a banner, peered a star, + Or curved a cup in woods afar. + + +I who had written that, I had found my first primrose and I could +not pluck it. I found it fair be sure. I find all England fair. The +shimmering mist and the tender rain, the red wallflower and the ivy +green, the singing birds and the shallow streams--all the country; the +blackened churches, the grass-grown churchyards, the hum of streets the +crowded omnibus, the gorgeous shops,--all the town. God! do I not love +it, my England? Yet not my England yet. Till she proclaim it herself, +I am not hers. I will make her mine. I will write as no man has ever +written about her, for very love of her. I look out to-night from +my narrow window and think how the moonlight falls on Tintern, on +Glastonbury, on Furness. How it falls on the primrose I would not pluck. +How it would like to fall on the tall blue-bells in the wood. I see the +lights of Oxford St. The omnibuses rattle by, the people are going to +see Irving, Wilson Barrett, Ellen Terry. What line, of mine, what bar, +what thought or phrase will turn the silence into song, the copper into +gold?--I come back from the window and sit at the square centre table. +It is rickety and uncomfortable, useless to write on. I kick it. I would +kick anything that came in my way to-night. I am savage. Outside, a +French piano is playing that infernal waltz. A fair subject for kicking +if you will. But, though I would I cannot. What a room! The fire-place +is filled with orange peel and brown paper, cigar stumps and matches. +One blind I pulled down this morning, the other is crooked. The lamp +glass is cracked, my work too. I dare not look at the wall paper nor +the pictures. The carpet I have kicked into holes. I can see it though +I can't feel it, it is so thin. My clothes are lying all about. The soot +of London begrimes every object in the room. I would buy a pot of musk +or a silken scarf if I dared, but how can I? + +I must get my bread first and live for beauty after. Everything is +refused though, everything sent back or else dropped as it were into +some bottomless pit or gulf. + +Here is my opera. This is my _magnum opus_, very dear, very clear, +very well preserved. For it is three years old. I scored it nearly +altogether, by _her_ side, Hortense, my dear love, my northern bird! You +could flush under my gaze, you could kindle at my touch, but you were +not for me, you were not for me!--My head droops down, I could go to +sleep. But I must not waste the time in sleep. I will write another +story. No; I had four returned to-day. Ah! Cruel London! To love you +so, only that I may be spurned and thrust aside, ignored, forgotten. +But to-morrow I will try again. I will take the opera to the theatres, +I will see the managers, I will even tell them about myself and about +Hortense--but it will be hard. They do not know me, they do not know +Hortense. They will laugh, they will say "You fool." And I shall be +helpless, I shall let them say it. They will never listen to me, though +I play my most beautiful phrase, for I am nobody. And Hortense, the +child with the royal air, Hortense, with her imperial brow and her hair +rolled over its cushion, Hortense, the _Chtelaine_ of _Beau Sjour_, +the delicate, haughty, pale and impassioned daughter of a noble house, +that Hortense, my Hortense, is nobody! + +Who in this great London will believe in me, who will care to know +about Hortense or about _Beau Sjour_? If they ask me, I shall say--oh! +proudly--not in Normandy nor in Alsace, but far away across a great +water dwells such a maiden in such a _chteau_. There by the side of +a northern river, ever rippling, ever sparkling in Summer, hard, hard +frozen in winter, stretches a vast estate. I remember its impenetrable +pinewood, its deep ravine; I see the _chteau_, long and white and +straggling, with the red tiled towers and the tall French windows; I +see the terrace where the hound must still sleep; I see the square side +tower with the black iron shutters; I see the very window where Hortense +has set her light; I see the floating cribs on the river, I hear the +boatmen singing-- + + + Descendez l'ombre, + Ma Jolie blonde. + + +And now I am dreaming surely! This is London, not _Beau Sjour_, and +Hortense is far away, and it is that cursed fellow in the street I hear! +The morrow comes on quickly. If I were to draw up that crooked blind +now I should see the first streaks of daylight. Who pinned those other +curtains together? That was well done, for I don't want to see the +daylight; and it comes in, you know, Hortense, when you think it is +shut out. Somebody calls it _fingers_, and that is just what it is, long +fingers of dawn, always pale, always gray and white, stealing in and +around my pillow for me. Never pink, never rosy, mind that; always faint +and shadowy and gray. + +It was all caste. Caste in London, caste in _Le Bos Canada_, all +the same. Because she was a _St. Hilaire_. Her full name--_Hortense +Angelique De Repentigny de St. Hilaire_--how it grates on me afresh with +its aristocratic plentitude. She is well-born, certainly; better born +than most of these girls I have seen here in London, driving, walking, +riding in the Parks. They wear their hair over cushions too. Freckled +skins, high cheek-bones, square foreheads, spreading eyebrows--they +shouldn't wear it so. It suits Hortense--with her pale patrician outline +and her dark pencilled eyebrows, and her little black ribbon and amulet +around her neck. _O, Marie, priey pour nous qui avous recours a vous_! +Once I walked out to _Beau Sjour_. She did not expect me and I crept +through the leafy ravine to the pinewood, then on to the steps, and so +up to the terrace. Through the French window I could see her seated at +the long table opposite Father Couture. She lives alone with the good +Pre. She is the last one of the noble line, and he guards her well and +guards her money too. + +"I do remember that it vill be all for ze Church," she has said to me. +And the priest has taught her all she knows, how to sew and embroider, +and cook and read, though he never lets her read anything but works on +religion. Religion, always religion! He has brought her up like a nun, +crushed the life out of her. Until I found her out, found my jewel +out. It is Tennyson who says that. But his "Maud" was freer to woo than +Hortense, freer to love and kiss and hold--my God! that night while I +watched them studying and bending over those cursed works on the +Martyrs and the Saints and the Mission houses--I saw him--him--that old +priest--take her in his arms and caress her, drink her breath, feast +on her eyes, her hair, her delicate skin, and I burst in like a young +madman and told Father Conture what I thought. Oh! I was mad! I should +have won her first. I should have worked quietly, cautiously, waiting, +waiting, biding my time. But I could never bide my time. And now she +hates me, Hortense hates me, though she so nearly learned to love me. +There where we used to listen to the magical river songs, we nearly +loved, did we not Hortense? But she was a _St. Hilaire_, and I--I was +nobody, and I had insulted _le bon Pere_. Yet if I can go back to her +rich, prosperous, independent--What if that happen? But I begin to fancy +it will never happen. My resolutions, where are they, what comes of +them? Nothing. I have tried everything except the opera. Everything else +has been rejected. For a week I have not gone to bed at all. I wait and +see those ghastly gray fingers smoothing my pillow. I am not wanted. I +am crowded out. My hands tremble and I cannot write. My eyes fail and I +cannot see. To the window! + + * * * * * + +The lights of Oxford St. once more; the glare and the rattle without, +the fever and the ruin, the nerves and the heart within. Poor nerves, +poor heart; it is food you want and wine and rest, and I cannot give +them to you. + + * * * * * + +Sing, Hortense, will you? Sit by my side, by our dear river St. Maurice, +the clear, the sparkling. See how the floating cribs sail by, each with +its gleaming lights! It is like Venice I suppose. Shall we see Venice +ever, Hortense, you and I? Sing now for me, + + + Descendez l'ombre, + Ma Jolie blonde. + + +Only you are _petite brune_, there is nothing _blonde_ about you, +_mignonne_, my dear mademoiselle, I should say if I were with you of +course as I used to do. But surely I _am_ with you and those lights are +the floating cribs I see, and your voice it is that sings, and presently +the boatmen hear and they turn and move their hands and join in--Now all +together, + + + Descendez l'ombre, + + + * * * * * + +It was like you, Hortense, to come all this way. How did you manage it, +manage to cross that great water all alone? My poor girl did you grow +tired of _Le bon Pre_ at last and of the Martyrs and the Saints and the +Jesuit Fathers? But you have got your amulet on still I hope. That is +right, for there is a chance--there is a chance of these things proving +blessings after all to good girls, and you were a good girl Hortense. +You will not mind my calling you Hortense, will you? When we are in _Le +Bas Canada_ again, in your own seignieury, it will be "Madamoiselle," I +promise you. You say it is a strange pillow, Hortense? Books, my girl, +and manuscripts; hard but not so hard as London stones and London +hearts. Do you know I think I am dying, or else going mad? And no one +will listen even if I cry out. There is too much to listen to already in +England. Think of all the growing green, Hortense, if you can, where you +are, so far away from it all. Where you are it is cold and the snow is +still on the ground and only the little bloodroot is up in the woods. +Here where I am Hortense, where I am going to die, it is warm and green +full of color--oh! Such color! Before I came here, to London you know +London that is going to do so much for me, for us both, I had one +day--one day in the country. There I saw--No! They will not let me +tell you, I knew they would try to prevent me, those long gray fingers +stealing in, stealing in! But I _will_ tell you. Listen, Hortense, +please. I saw the hawthorne, pink and white, the laburnum--yellow--not +fire-color, I shall correct the Laureate there, Hortense, when I am +better, when I--publish!--It is dreadful to be alone in London. Don't +come, Hortense. Stay where you are, even if it is cold and gray and +there is no color. Keep your amulet round your neck, dear!--I count my +pulse beats. It is a bad thing to do. It is broad daylight now and the +fingers have gone. I can write again perhaps.--The pen--The +paper--The ink--God. Hortense! There is no ink left! And my heart--My +heart--Hortense!!! + + + Descendez l'ombre, + Ma Jolie blonde. + + + + + +Monsieur, Madame and the Pea-Green Parrot + + + + +CHAPTER I. + + +I am an Englishman by birth. Having however lived for fourteen years out +in America or rather in Canada, I am only half an Englishman. All the +love for the dear old land which I am now revisiting is still there, +deep in my heart, but from so long a residence in another country +certain differences arise of character, habit and thought, not to be +easily shaken off. I was in the Civil Service in Canada and did very +well until I meddled with literature. Discovering that I had a faculty +for verse and story-telling, I was ambitious and at the same time +foolish enough to work so hard at my new pursuit that I was compelled to +"cut" the service, in other words to resign. Some other Englishman got +my post and I found myself, rather unexpectedly, it is true, free to +write to my heart's content. + +I got off a number of things, poems, sketches, etc., but my great work +turned out to be a comedy. I slaved at this all day and amused myself +by rehearsing it in my lodgings all night. I incurred the odium of the +landlady by coaxing the maid of all work to learn a part and act it with +me. Finally I resolved to take a great step. I would go down to New York +and get my comedy produced. That was exactly five years ago and though +the comedy was _not_ produced, I am still sanguine that it yet may be, +and perhaps not in New York after all, but in a much more important +creative centre. + +I was at the time of my visit to New York perfectly unacquainted with +the ways of a metropolis, and it was fortunate for me that I possessed +one friend there who if not exactly a friend _at court_ as we say, was +in truth a much more useful person to me, as, having once been young +and inexperienced himself, he knew the ropes well and handled them +thoroughly to his own satisfaction and with an eye to my comfort and +safety. + +In the matter of cheap dives, for instance, he was invaluable. Left to +myself I either drifted to the most expensive place, for a +meal short perhaps of Delmonicos, or else to a shabby and +altogether-to-be-repudiated den, where the meat would be rags as well +as the pudding. But under his guidance we invariably turned up in some +clean, bright, cheap and wholesome "oysterbar" or coffee room round the +corner or up a lane, and were as happy as kings over our _lager beer_. + +One day De Kock came to me (he is a grand-nephew or something, I +believe, of the great Frenchman) and said, with his knowing air, + +"You will please put on your best coat, your tall hat and a pair of +gloves, for we are going to _dine_ to-night." + +"Have we not dined once to-day!" + +"Pish! Pshaw! You have had a soup, a mutton-chop, a triangle of pie, a +lager beer, but you have not dined. You are not starving, and yet you +have, from my present point of view, eaten nothing the whole of this +day. _Mon cher_, it is necessary that you should dine for once in your +life. _Allons_! We go to Giuseppe, Giuseppe Martinetti with the pale +wife and the pea-green parrot--_allons, allons_!" To Martinetti's +accordingly we went. I don't know what the dinner cost. It was dearer, +certainly, than it would have been in London, but it was quite as good. +We sat at a table formed for holding four at an open window, which, +filled with exotics, overlooked Union Square, lighted by hundreds of +incandescent lamps. The room contained about twenty of these small +tables, and was, I suppose, very much like other rooms of its kind to +_habitus_ of such places, but it was all new to me, and I stared and +wondered accordingly. The waiters seemed to be all foreigners, De Kock +addressing them in a mythical but magical language of his own. The +tables were all full, and the people at them were mostly foreigners as +well. + +"The Leicester Square of New York," remarked De Kock, as he helped me to +the delicious Chiante wine out of a basket-covered bottle into a dainty +glass. The soup was excellent, I remember. So was the macaroni, served +in the best Italian method. I wondered to see De Kock manipulate it in +finished style, winding yards of it around his fork, and swallowing it +duly without any apparent effort. I cut mine at that time, although +I have learned better now. I recollect the asparagus, too: served by +itself on a great flat dish, and shining pale and green through the +clear golden sauce that was poured over it. I was just finishing my +first luscious, liquid stalk, and indulging in anticipations of my +second, when the highest, the shrillest, the most piercing, and most +unearthly voice I ever heard, shouted out-- + +"_And for goodness sake don't say I told you_!" + +It was electrifying, at least to me. I dropped my half eaten asparagus +stalk and fork at the same time, and looked up to see my companion +quietly going on as before. One or two others had stopped eating too, +but the majority appeared quite unruffled. I concluded that it was the +parrot to which my friend had referred. + +"The last comic song," said the imperturbable De Kock. + +"But where is the beast!" I inquired. "It seemed to be over my head." + +"Oh! Not so near as that. But take my advice and don't call it a beast, +although it is a nuisance undoubtedly. Besides, its master is not very +far away from your elbow." + +"What of that?" said I, still injured, though in a lower tone. + +"What of that? Ah! You shall see. Look now! This short, stout person +with the diamond pin and the expansive shirt front is Giuseppe. Ah, he +sees me! Good evening, Giuseppe!" + +"Good evening, Monsieur, good evening, good evening! De friend not like +de _parrot_, eh?" + +The man was smiling at me with his hands crossed behind him. An Italian +Jew I dubbed him immediately. + +"On the contrary, he admires it very much," said De Kock. + +Following their eyes presently I saw the cage hanging from the centre +of the room, and in it a parrot as nearly pea-green in hue as it is +possible for a parrot to be. + +"Tell my friend her name, Giuseppe," said De Kock, beginning on some +more asparagus. + +Giuseppe stood in his patronizing way--quite the _grand seigneur_--with +the light falling on his solitaire, making it so brilliant that it +fascinated and at the same time fatigued my eyes. + +"The name of my parrot? Monsieur De Kock, he know that well. It is +Flicit--you catch--F-li-ci-t. It was the name of my wife." + +Then his wife was dead. De Kock must have made a mistake. + +"It is an unusual name for a bird, is not it?" said I. + +"Monsieur is right. Not often--not often--you meet with a bird that +name. My first wife--my _first_ wife, gentlemen, she was English. _You_ +are English--ah. Yes. So was she. The English are like this." Giuseppe +took a bottle out of the cruet-stand and set it on the table in front +of him. He went on, "When an Englishman an Englishwoman argue, they +say"--here he took the bottle up very slowly and gingerly and altered +his voice to a mincing and conventional tone--"Is it oil or is it +vinegare? Did you not say that it was vinegare? I thought that it was +oil Oh! Now I see that it is vinegare." + +"Bravo!" exclaimed De Kock. "And so you did not get on with the +Englishwoman then I suppose, Giuseppe, and took Madame the next time?" +We were both laughing heartily at the man's mimicry when once again the +parrot shrieked. "But for goodness sake don't say I told you!" Giuseppe +walked off to speak to it and my friend and I were left alone. + +"Was Flcit the name of his first or second wife!" I asked. + +"Of his second, of course. Didn't you hear him say the first was +an Englishwoman? The second is a tall, rather good-looking pale +Frenchwoman. You may see her to-night, and on the other hand you may +not, she doesn't often appear in here. I wish she did, I am rather fond +of her myself, which is more than her husband is. It's pretty well known +that Mr. and Mrs. Joseph do _not_ get on comfortably. In fact, he hates +her, or rather ignores her, while she doats upon him and is tremendously +jealous of the parrot." + +"What, that green thing?" + +"Well, its a lovely parrot, you must know, and the moment it came into +his possession--he has had it about three years--he seemed to transfer +whatever affection he had for his wife to that creature, with a great +deal beside. Why, he hugs it, and kisses it, and mows over it--look at +him now!" + +Sure, enough, there was Martinetti with the bird on his finger, kissing +it, and otherwise making a fool of himself. He finished by actually +putting it away inside his coat in a kind of breast pocket, I should +imagine. + +"All this is good for business, perhaps," I said. + +"What, the parrot and so on? Oh, yes I daresay, that has something to do +with it. Still they are a queer couple. I come here mostly on account of +this Chiante wine; you can't get it so good in many places in New York, +and besides I confess Monsieur and his wife interest me somewhat. +And the people one see here are immensely funny. That is your English +expression, isn't it? There are three actresses over there at that table +with _amis intimes_; they are 'restin' now, and can cut about and dine +out as much as they please. There is a French dressmaker who lives on +the floor above and is to be found here every day. She is superbly built +and is hopelessly ugly, isn't she? There is young Lord Gurgoyle, an +Englishman like yourself, you see--what the devil is he staring at like +that?" + +From behind a _portire_ which fell across the end of the room came a +woman, tall, pale, and with a peculiar air of distinction about her. +Perhaps it was her very unusual pallor which so distinguished her for +there was nothing absolutely fine or handsome about the countenance. It +was a weak face I thought, with an ugly red mark over the upper lip, and +had she not been so very pale and so exceptionally well-dressed I should +not have looked at her twice. She wore a gown of black silk, dead-black, +lustrous, and fitting her slender figure to perfection. It was cut +square and low in the front and fell away in long folds upon the floor +at the back. What an apparition she made in the midst of this noisy +crowd, smoking, chatting, swearing, laughing! Especially so when I +noticed that as she walked very slowly down between the tables, her lips +were moving nervously and her hands clutching at her beautiful dress. As +for her eyes, they were everywhere in an instant. + +"'Tis Flicit. You are fortunate," murmured De Kock. "And she is a +little worse than usual." + +"What is it?" I demanded. "Drink?" "Hush-sh-sh! _Mon cher_, you are +stupid. It is jealousy, jealousy, my friend, with perhaps an occasional +over-dose of chloral. Chloral is the favorite prescription now-a-days, +you must remember that. But jealousy will do, jealousy will do. It will +accomplish a great deal, will jealousy; will destroy more, mark that! I +hope she will be quiet to-night for your sake." + +"Is she violent?" I asked. + +"Poor thing, yes. When she finds him now with that creature inside his +coat; she will wring her hands and denounce him and threaten to kill +it--I wonder she doesn't--then her husband will march her off behind +the curtain and he will make love to the parrot again." Precisely what +happened. The lady soon found her husband, raised her hands tragically +and broke out into excited French that was liberally sprinkled with +oaths both English and French. The mania was asserting itself, the +propensity overcoming her. It was a sad and at the same time an amusing +scene, for one could not help smiling at Giuseppe's fat unconcern as he +kept his wife off at arms' length, while all the time the parrot inside +his coat was shrieking in muffled tones "And for goodness sake don't say +I told you!" + +Finally Madame succumbed and was taken behind the curtain in a +dishevelled and hysterical condition which increased De Kock's pity for +her. We paid the waiter--or rather De Kock did--and left, not seeing +Giuseppe again to speak to, though he came in and removed the parrot, +cage and all. + +It was a lovely night outside, and I suggested sitting for a time in +Union Square. Finding an unoccupied bench, we each made ourselves happy +with a good cigar and watched the exquisite shadows of the trees above +as thrown by the electric light on the pavement. + +"Wonderful effect!" remarked my friends. "How did you enjoy your dinner? +That was a dinner, eh, and no mistake; rather have had it without the +'episode'? Oh! I don't know; you literary fellows must come in for that +sort of thing as well as the rest of the world; I should think it would +just suit you. Put them--the three of them--Monsieur, Madame and the +Pea-Green Parrot--into a book, or better still, on the stage. There's +your title ready for you too." + +I was just thinking of the same thing. + +"They are undoubtedly originals, both of them--all three," said I, "but +as far as I have seen them, there is hardly enough to go upon." + +"What do you mean by 'enough'?" + +"I mean, for one thing, we do not understand the woman's mental and +moral condition sufficiently to make a study of her. You say it is +jealousy, and at the same time the use of chloral. That would have to be +understood more clearly. Then, one would like something to--" + +"Go on," said my friend. "To--" + +"Happen," said I, lighting a second cigar. + +Just then a couple of boys ran across the square. One of them stumbled +over my feet, picked himself up quickly and ran on again. Two or three +people now came, all running. De Kock jumped up. + +"Something is happening," he said, "and with a vengeance too I fancy. +Hark!" + +The people now came fast and furious through the square, increasing in +numbers every moment, but through the bustle and hurry and clatter of +tongues, we could hear a woman's voice screaming in evident distress. +Mingled with it was another sound which may have mystified the general +crowd, but which De Kock and I could easily place. + +"It is the parrot!" I exclaimed, as we started to run. + +"You have your wish, _mon cher_, is it not so? But take it not so fast; +we will be there in time. _Ciel_! What a row!" + +The steps leading up to the restaurant were thronged with people, +including two or three policemen. The dining-room was ablaze with light, +and still full of visitors, most of whom, however, were moving about in +a state of agitation. The upper windows were also lighted and wide open. +The screaming suddenly ceased, but not the parrot. + +"For goodness sake don't say I told you!" It went on, louder than ever, +over and over again. + +"Damn the bird!" exclaimed De Kock. "Policeman excuse me, but I am +rather at home here. Let me go up, will you?" + +"It looks bad, sir. I'd better keep behind." + +"Oh. It isn't murder or anything of that sort. I know them, pretty +couple, they are!" + +The next moment we were in a kind of sitting room over the restaurant +proper. Madame Martinetti lay as if exhausted on a sofa while the highly +excited parrot sang and screamed and tore at its cage as if for life. +Giuseppe was nowhere visible. "Now then where's the other?" demanded the +policeman who had just entered behind us, "There's always two at +this business. Show him up, now." But Madame at first would deign no +explanation. Presently on the entry of policeman No. 2 she admitted +there had been a quarrel. Yes, she had quarrelled with her dear +Giuseppe, (the officers grinned) and had driven him away. Yes, he had +gone--gone forever, he had said so, never to come back, never, never! + +"And leave this fine business to you, eh? No fear of that. I guess Mr. +Martinetti'll turn up all right in the morning, however, let us make +a search, Joe." But Giuseppe was not found; there were no traces of +a struggle, and the policemen having done all they could retired. My +friend and I, by what right I know not were the last to leave the room. +De Kock stood for some moments looking out of the window. I approached +the parrot who was still screaming. + +"If throwing a cloth over your head would stop you, I'd do it, my +dear," said I. To my surprise, it ceased its noise directly, and became +perfectly quiet. Madame Martinetti looked around with a contemptuous +smile. + +"You have the secret as well," said she. The bird turned to her and then +returned to me. I became quite interested in it. "Pretty Poll, pretty +bird; would you like a cracker?" + +De Kock laughed softly at the window. "A cracker to such a bird as that! +Ask it another." I actually, though with a timid air, opened the door of +the cage and invited Polly to perch on my finger. She came, looking +at me intensely all the while. I petted her little, which she took +resignedly and with a faint show of wonder, then in answer to De Kock's +summons put her back in the cage. + +"I have the honour to wish madame a _bonsoir_," said he, but the lady +was still sulky and vouchsafed no answer. + +We were soon out in the street. + +"Do you know," said De Kock slowly, lighting a cigar and looking up at +the house, "Do you know, I thought something had happened." + +"And don't you now." + +"I am not sure," answered my friend. + + + + +CHAPTER II. + + +We were pardonably curious to see the papers next morning. The affair +was dismissed in three lines, and although as De Kock swore, the case +was one for Gaboriau, it certainly was not our business to look into it +and in fact in a week's time I was back in Canada, and he up to his eyes +in commercial pursuits. The main point remained clear, however, that +Martinetti did _not_ come back, nor was he found, or traced or ever +heard of again. Somebody took the business out of hand, as they say, +and De Kock would occasionally write a P. S. to his letters like +this--"Dined at poor Martinetti's, Chiante as usual. Ever yours." Or +it would be--"Drank to the production of your last new comedy at +Martinetti's." Once he stated that shortly after that memorable night +Madame disappeared also, taking the parrot along. "I begin to think they +are a pair of deep ones and up to some big game" he wrote. For myself, I +never entirely forgot the circumstance, although it was but once vividly +recalled to my mind and that was in a theatre in Montreal. An American +company from one of the New York theatres was performing some farcical +comedy or other in which occurred the comic song, admirably sung and +acted by Miss Kate Castleton, "For goodness sake don't say I told you!" +The reminiscences forced upon me quite spoiled my enjoyment; I could +see that pale, nervous woman, hear her screams, and hear too the fearful +voice of the poor parrot. Where is it now, thought I? That same winter +I was much occupied in making studies of the different classes of people +among the French-Canadians. The latter turn up everywhere in Montreal, +and have a distinct "local color" about them which I was curious to +get and hope to preserve for use some future day. I went everywhere and +talked to everybody who might be of use to me; cabmen, porters, fruit +dealers and tobacconists. I found much to interest me in the various +Catholic institutions, and I was above all very fond of visiting the +large, ugly gray building with the air of a penitentiary about it called +the Grey Nunnery. Going through its corridors one day I took a wrong +turning and found I was among some at least quasi-private rooms. The +doors being open I saw that there were flowers, books, a warm rug on the +floor of one and a mirror on the wall of another. The third I ventured +to step inside of, for a really beautiful Madonna and child confronted +me at the door. The next moment I saw what I had not expected to see--a +parrot in a cage suspended from the window! I made quite sure that it +was not _the_ parrot before I went up to it. It was asleep and appeared +to be all over of a dull grey color, to match the Nuns, one might +have said. I stood for quite a little while regarding it. Suddenly it +stirred, shook itself, awoke and seeing me, immediately broke out into +frantic shrieks to the old refrain "And for goodness sake don't say I +told you." + +So it was the parrot after all! Of that I felt sure, despite the changed +color, not only because of the same words being repeated--two birds +might easily learn the same song, but because of the bird's manner. For +I felt certain that the thing knew me, recognized me, as we say of human +beings or of dogs and horses. I felt an extraordinary sensation coming +over me and sat down for a moment. I seemed literally to be in the +presence of something incomprehensible as I watched the poor excited +bird beating about and singing in that way. The words of the song became +painfully and awfully significant--"for goodness sake don't say I told +you!" They were an appeal to my pity, to my sense of honor, to my power +of secrecy, for I felt convinced that the bird had seen something--in +fact that, to use De Kock's convenient if ambiguous phrase, _something +had happened_! Then to think of its recognizing me too, after so long an +interval! What an extraordinary thing to do! But I remembered, and hope +I shall never forget, how exceeding small do the mills of the gods +grind for poor humanity. I would have examined the creature at once +more closely had not two of the nuns appeared with pious hands lifted in +horror at the noise. They knew me slightly but affected displeasure at +the present moment. + +"Who owns this bird?" said I. It was still screaming. + +"The good Sister Flicit. It is her room." + +"Can I see her?" + +"Ah! _non_. She is ill, so very ill. She will not live long, _cette +pauvre soeur_!" + +I reflected. "Will you give her this paper without fail when I have +written upon it what I wish?" + +"_Mais oui, Monsieur_!" + +In the presence of the two holy women standing with their hands devoutly +crossed, and of the parrot whom I silenced as well as I could, and in +truth I appeared to have some influence over the creature, I wrote +the following upon a leaf torn out of my scratch-book: "To the Soeur +Flicit. A gentleman who, if he has not made a great mistake, saw you +once when you were Mdme. Martinetti, asks you now if in what may be your +last moments, you have anything to tell, anything to declare, or anybody +to pardon. He would also ask--what _was done to the parrot_? He, with +his friend M. De Kock, were at your house in New York the night your +husband disappeared." + +"Give her that," said I to the waiting sister, "and I will come to see +how she is to-morrow." + +That night, however, she died, and when I reached the nunnery next +day it was only to be told that she had read my note and with infinite +difficulty written an answer to it. + +"I am sorry I should have perhaps hastened her end," said I. "Before you +give it to me, will you permit me to see her?" + +"_Mais oui, Monsieur_, if monsieur will come this way." + +Until I gazed upon the dead I did not feel quite sure of the identity +of this pious Sister of Charity. But I only needed to look once upon the +ghastly pallor, the ugly lip mark and the long slender figure on the bed +before me to recognize her who had once been Mdme. Martinetti. + +"And now for the paper," I said. + +"It will be in the room that was hers, if monsieur will accompany." We +walked along several corridors till we reached the room in which hung +the parrot, I quite expected it to fly at me again and try to get rid +of its miserable secret But no! It sat on its stick, perfectly quiet and +rational. + +"I cannot find dat paper, it is very strange!" muttered the good sister, +turning everything over and over. A light wind playing about the room +had perhaps blown it into some corner. I assisted her in the search. + +"It surely was in an envelope?" I said to the innocent woman. + +"Yes monsieur, yes, and with a seal, for I got the _cire_--you call it +_wax_--myself and held it for her, _la bonne soeur_." + +"It is not always wise to leave such letters about," I put in as meekly +as I could "Where was it you saw it last?" + +"On dees little table, monsieur." + +Now, "dees little table" was between the two windows, and not far, +consequently from the parrot's cage. My eye travelled from the table to +the cage as a matter of necessity, and I saw that the bottom of it was +strewn with something white--like very, very tiny scraps of paper. "I +think you need not look any further," said I. "Polly, you either are +very clever, or else you are a lunatic and a fool. Which is it?" + +But I never found out The parrot had got the letter by some means or +other and so effectually torn, bitten and made away with it that nothing +remained of it for identification except the wax, which it did not touch +and left absolutely whole. The secret which had been the parrot's all +along belonged to the parrot still, and after having devoured it in +that fashion it became satisfied, and never--at least, as far as I +am aware--reverted morbidly to the comic refrain which has but one +significance for me. + +I took the bird and kept it. I have it now with me. It has been examined +hundreds of times; for a long time I was anxious to know the secret of +its changed color, but I have never deciphered it. It is healthy, in +good condition, sweet-tempered and very fond of me. It does not talk +much, but its talk is innocent and rational. No morbid symptoms have +ever appeared in it since I took it from the nunnery in Montreal. +Its plumage is soft and thick, and perfectly, entirely gray. My own +impression is that it was naturally a gray parrot and had at that time +of my sojourn in New York, either been dyed or painted that peculiar +pea-green which so distinguished it then. I wrote to De Kock before +leaving for England and told him something of the story. I have seen the +last of Madame; in all probability I shall see the last of the Pea-Green +Parrot, and I cannot help wondering when I enter a caf or ride on +an omnibus whether I shall ever run across Giuseppe Martinetti in the +flesh, or whether the last of him was seen in truth, five years ago. + + + + + +The Bishop of Saskabasquia. + + +I have not a story, properly speaking, to tell about him. He, my Bishop, +is quite unconscious that I am writing about him, and would, I daresay, +be quite astonished if he knew that I could find anything that relates +to him to write about. But I will tell you just how I came to do so. I +went to see the "Private Secretary" some months ago. I had never been a +great admirer of clergymen as a sex (vide Frenchman's classification), +and I thoroughly enjoyed the capital performance of so clever a play. +Here, thought I, is a genuine and perfectly fair, though doubtless +exaggerated, portrait of the young and helpless curate. I quite lived on +that play. I used to go about, like many another delighted playgoer, +I expect, quoting the better bits in it, and they are many, and often +laughing to himself at its admirable caricature. However, to go on +with what I am going to tell you, about two months after I had seen the +"Private Secretary," I had occasion to undertake a sea voyage. I had +to go out on business to Canada, and embarked one fine Thursday at +Liverpool. One of the first things you do on board an ocean steamer +is to find your allotted place at table, and the names, etc, of your +companions. I soon found mine, and discovered with a pang that I was six +seats from the Captain at the side, between a lady and her daughter +I had already met at the North-Western Hotel and did not like, and +opposite to the Bishop of Saskabasquia, his wife and sister and three +children. There was no help for it, I must endure the placid small talk, +the clerical platitudes, the intolerable intolerance born of a deathless +bigotry that would emanate from my _vis-a-vis_. What a fuss they made +over him, too! Only a Colonial Bishop after all, but when we were all +at the wharf, ready to get into the tender, we were kept waiting--we the +more insignificant portion of the passengers, mercantile and so on--till +"my lord" and his family, nine in number, were safely handed up, with +boys and bundles and baggage of every description. + +The Bishop himself was a tall thin man, rather priestly in aspect and +careworn. Mrs. Saskabasquia as I called her all through the voyage and +the seven children--seven little Saskabasquians--and Miss Saskabasquia, +the aunt, were all merry enough it seemed though dressed in the most +unearthly costumes I had ever seen. Where they had been procured I could +not imagine, but they appeared to be made of different kinds of canvas, +flannel shirting, corduroy, knitted wool and blankets. Of course we all +mustered at the lunch table that first day, people always do, and affect +great brightness and hysterical intellectuality and large appetites. I +took my seat with a resigned air. There was not a single pretty girl on +board. There were plenty of children, but I did not care much for the +society of children. The lady and her daughter between whom I sat, +presumably to hand them the dishes, did not like me any better than +I liked them. They were Canadians, that was easy to discover by their +peculiarly flat pronunciation, a detestable accent I hold, the American +is preferable. They were connected with the Civil Service in some way +through "papa" who figured much in their conversation and I fancy the +mother rather disliked the idea of such close contact with a member of +the commercial world. So much for colonial snobbery. The lunch was good +however, excellent, and we did justice to it. The Bishop did not appear +nor any of his family until we had almost finished. Then he entered +with his wife and the two eldest boys. The only vacant seats were those +opposite me which they took. I wondered they had not placed him next +the Capt., but divined that the handsome brunette and the horsey +broker, Wyatt and his wife of Montreal, fabulously rich and popular, had +arranged some time before to sit next the Capt. My Bishop was perhaps +annoyed. But if so, he did not show it. He and his wife ate abundantly, +it was good to see them. I involuntarily smiled once when the Bishop +sent his plate back the second time for soup, and he caught me. To my +surprise, he laughed very heartily and said to me: + +"I hope you do not think I am forgetting all the other good things to +come! I assure you we are very hungry, are we not, Mary?" + +Mrs. Saskabasquia laughed in her turn, and I began to perceive what a +very pretty girl she must have been once, and her accent was the purest, +most beautiful English. We seemed to warm up generally around the table +as we watched the Bishop eat. The boys behaved beautifully and enjoyed +their meal as well. Presently we heard a baby crying. It was evidently +the youngest of the seven young Saskabasquians. The Bishop stopped +directly. + +"Go on, go on with your dinner, my dear; I'll see to him, its only +James. Dropped his rattle and put his finger in his eye, I expect." + +He jumped up and went, I suppose, to the stateroom. Mrs. Saskabasquia +laughed softly, and when she spoke she rather addressed herself to me. + +"My husband is very good, you know. And James is such a little monkey, +and so much better with him than with anyone else, so I just let him go, +but it does certainly look very selfish, doesn't it?" + +"Not at all," I responded gallantly. "I am sure you need the rest quite +as much as he does, particularly if the ba--if the little boy is very +young and you--that is--" I was not very clear as to what I was going to +say, but she took it up for me. + +"Oh, James is the baby. He is just six months' old, you know." + +"That is very young to travel," said I. I began to enjoy the charming +confidences of Mrs. Saskabasquia, in spite of myself. + +"Oh, he was only _three_ months old when we left for England, quite a +young traveller as you say. But he is very good, and I have so many to +help me." + +Here the Bishop returned and sat down once more to his lunch. We had +some further conversation, in which I learned that he and his wife had +gone out to the North-West just twelve years ago for the first time. +All their children had been born there, and they were returning to work +again after a brief summer holiday in England. They told me all this +with the most delightful frankness, and I began to be grateful for my +place at table, as without free and congenial society at meal-time, +life on board an ocean steamer narrows down to something vastly +uncomfortable. It was a bright and beautiful afternoon on deck, and I +soon found myself walking energetically up and down with the Bishop. +I commenced by asking him some questions as to his work, place of +residence and so on, and once started he talked for a long time about +his northern home in the wilds of Canada. + +"My wife and I had been only married two months when we went out," said +he, with a smile at the remembrance. "We did not know what we were going +to." + +"Would you have gone had you known?" I enquired as we paused in our walk +to take in a view of the Mersey we were leaving behind. + +"Yes, I think so. Yes, I am quite sure we would. I was an Oxford man, +country-bred; my father is still alive, and has a small living in Essex. +I was imbued with the idea of doing something in the colonies long after +I was comfortably settled in an English living myself, but I had always +fancied it would be Africa. However, just at the time of our marriage I +was offered this bishopric in Canada, and my wife was so anxious to go +that I easily fell in with the plan." + +"Anxious to go out there?" I said in much surprise. + +"Ah! You don't know what a missionary in herself my wife is! Then, of +course, young people never think of the coming events--children and all +that you know. We found ourselves one morning at three o'clock, having +gone as far as there was any train to take us, waiting in a barn that +served as a station for the buckboard to take us on further to our +destination. Have you been in Canada yourself? No? Then you have +not seen a buckboard. It consists of two planks laid side by side, +lengthwise, over four antiquated wheels--usually the remains of a once +useful wagon. Upon this you sit as well as you can, and get driven and +jolted and bumped about to the appointed goal. I remember that morning +so well," continued the Bishop. "It was very cold, being late in +November, and at that hour one feels it so much more--3 a.m., you +know. There was one man in charge of the barn; we called him the +station-master, though the title sat awkwardly enough upon him. He was a +surly fellow. I never met such another. Usually the people out there are +agreeable, if slow and stupid." + +"Slow, are they?" said I in surprise. + +"Oh, frightfully slow. A Canadian laborer is the slowest person in +existence, I really believe. However, this man would not give us any +information, except to barely tell us that this buckboard was coming for +us shortly. It was pitch dark of course and the barn was lighted by one +oil lamp and warmed by a coal stove. The lamp would not burn well, so my +wife unstrapped her travelling bag and with a pair of tiny curved +nail scissors did her best, with the wick, the man remaining perfectly +unmoveable and taciturn all the while. At four o'clock our conveyance +arrived, and would you believe it--both the driver and the station +master allowed me to lift my own luggage into it as well as I could? +What it would not take I told the man in charge I would send for as soon +as possible. There was no sleighing yet, and that drive was the most +excruciating thing I ever endured over corduroy roads through wild and +dark forests, along interminable country roads of yellow clay mixed with +mud till finally we reached the house of the chief member of society in +my district where we were to stay until our own house was ready." + +"How long did that take you?" I was quite interested. This was unlike +the other clergymen's conversation I remembered. + +"O, a matter of eight hours or so. We had the eggs and bacon--the _piece +de resistance_ in every Canadian farmhouse--at about half-past 12, for +which we were thankful and--hungry. But now you must excuse me for here +come two of the boys. Now, then, Alick, where's your mother? Isn't she +coming on deck with James? Run and fetch her and you, George, get one +of the chairs ready for her. And get the rugs at the same time Alick, do +you hear?" + +I excused myself in turn and watched the family preparations with much +amusement. Mrs. Saskabasquia came up from her state room with a baby in +her arms, and a big fellow he was, followed by the other six and their +aunt. The Bishop placed chairs for the two ladies and walked up and down +the deck I should think the entire afternoon, first with two children +and then with two more and finally with the baby in his arms. This was a +funny sight but still not one to be ridiculed, far from it. Well, every +day showed my new friend in an improved light. Who was it took all the +children, not only his own but actually the entire troop on board up to +the bow and down to the stern in a laughing crowd to see this or that or +the other? Now a shoal of porpoises, now a distant sail or an iceberg, +now the beautiful phosphorescence or the red light of a passing +ship--the Bishop. Who divined the innate cliquism of life on board ship +and cunningly got together in intercourse the very people who wanted +to know each other, and even brought into good temper those unfortunate +souls who thought only of their own dignity and station in life? The +Bishop. Who organized the Grand Concert and Readings in the saloon, +writing the programmes himself, pinning them on the doors, discovering +the clever and encouraging the timid and reading from the "Cricket on +the Hearth," and the "Wreck of the Grosvenor," as I had never imagined +a divine could read? The Bishop again. Who might be seen in the mid-day +hours when the cabin passengers were asleep, quietly and without +ostentation reading or talking to the steerage, ay, and Mrs. +Saskabosquia too with her baby on her arm, going about amongst those +poor tired folk, many of them with their own babies, not too well +fed and not too well washed nor clothed? Still the Bishop, always the +Bishop. They appeared as if they could not rest without helping on +somebody or something, and yet there was in Mrs. Saskabasquia at least, +a delightful sense of calm which affected all who came near her. I used +often to sit down by her, she with the inevitable baby on her lap and +two or three of the others at her feet on rugs, and she would talk most +frankly and unaffectedly of their strange life in Canada. I learnt that +she was the daughter of a clergyman in Essex, and had, of course, +been brought up in a refined and charming country home like an English +gentlewoman. What she had had to do in the new world seemed like a +dream. + +"What servants do I keep?" she said one day in answer to a question of +mine "Why, sometimes I am without any. Then Kathleen and I do the best +we can and the children they do the same and my husband takes what we +give him! Indeed, my house is a sort of dispensary you know. The most +extraordinary people come to me for the most extraordinary things. +Now for a bottle of medicine, now for some cast off clothing, now for +writing paper and old newspapers or a few tacks. So we have many wants +to relieve besides our own and really, that is good for us you know. One +Xmas dinner was an amusing one. Roast beef was out of the question, we +couldn't get any, and the old woman who usually brought us a turkey came +eight miles in the snow to bitterly lament the failure of her turkey +crop. The one she had intended for me had been killed and trussed and +then the rats which abound out there, got at it in the night and left +not a bone of it! So I got the poor old thing a warm cup of tea and +gave her some thick socks and sent her away relieved, resolved to spread +myself on the pudding. Do you remember Kathleen!" + +And Miss Saskabasquia did and smiled at the remembrance. + +"What was it like?" + +"The pudding? Oh! It was the funniest pudding! George--no--Ethel, was +the baby then and very troublesome. Yes, you were my dear and cutting +teeth. I was far from strong and in the act of stirring the pudding was +taken quite ill and had to give it up. Kathleen was naturally forced to +attend to me and the three children, and only for Henry, we should have +had no Xmas dinner at all! He went to work with a will, stirred it well, +put it into the cloth and was just I believe dropping it into the water +when the string broke and the poor pudding tumbled into the water! Of +course it was useless, and my husband scarcely knew what to do with +himself. Fancy what he did do, though! He went to work and made another +out of what he could find without telling us. He'll tell you about it if +you ask him, how puzzled he was at first. There was some suet over, +only not minced, you know. So he took that just as it was in a lump and +buried it in bread-crumbs, luckily we had plenty of bread. Then he broke +in the eggs, but when he came to look for the fruit, that was all in +the pot of hot water, not a raisin left. He just ladled them out and put +them in the second time. I think that was delicious of him don't you? +But he forgot the flour and there was so little sugar seemingly in the +bag (he didn't know where my Xmas stores were kept) that he took fright +and wouldn't use it but broke up some maple sugar instead, then tied +it up and got it safely launched the second time. And it was not at all +bad, though _very_ shapeless and unlike a trim plum pudding, with the +holly at the top." + +And many another tale did she tell me of "Henry's" ceaseless activity, +and courage and patience. He had learnt three Indian dialects, the +_patois_ of the _habitant_, and the Gaelic of two Scotch settlements, +in order to converse freely with his people and understand their wants +properly. He could doctor the body as well as the soul, set a fractured +limb, bind a wound, apply ice for sunstroke and snow for chilblains. He +could harness a horse and milk a cow; paddle a canoe and shoot and fish +like an Indian, cook and garden and hew and build--indeed there seemed +nothing he could not do and had not done, and all this along with the +care of his office, as much a missionary one as any could be. Peril of +shipwreck and peril of fire, peril of frost and peril of heat, peril +of sickness, pain and death, peril of men, ignorant and wicked, of wild +beasts and wilder storms--all these he had braved with his wife and +little ones for the sake of his convictions added to a genuine love of +his fellow-man. I began to consider, and rightly I think, the unknown, +obscure Bishop of Saskabasquia one of the most interesting men of the +day. + +Our journey, however, could not always last. Our pleasant chats, our +lively table-talk, Mrs. Saskabasquia's pretty womanly confidences and +her husband's deep-voiced readings from Dickens which he told me were +of the utmost moral value to his people, all came to an end. We all felt +sorry to part, yet greatly relieved at seeing the mighty cliff of Quebec +draw nearer and nearer with each succeeding hour. I had been quite ill +for the last two days like nearly all the other passengers. Coming +up the Gulf of St. Lawrence that is sometimes the case, and we were +a miserable party that Friday, hardly anyone on deck except the +irrepressible Bishop and his family and myself. I was wretched, sick and +cold and trembling in every limb, undoubted _mal de mer_ had fastened +upon me. We were standing close by the railing of the promenade deck +when a something swept by on the water. "Child overboard!" I sang out +as loudly as I could. Instantly the steerage was in a state of +commotion--the child was missed. There didn't appear to be a sailor +on the spot. The Bishop looked at me, and I looked at the Bishop. Like +lightning he tore off his coat. I put my hand on his arm. + +"Dear sir, you will not do such a thing!" + +"What is it, Henry?" cried his wife. "Somebody must." + +"I wish to God I could, sir!" In another moment he was over. + +How he ever recovered from that awful plunge I don't know, but a +boat was immediately lowered for him and the child--he had it safe, +miraculously enough. How I cursed my weakness which prevented my going +in his place. But when I saw the two lives saved I was glad I had not +gone, for in my weak state I could not even have saved the child. + +I am invited to a Christmas dinner, _whenever I like_, with the Bishop +of Saskabasquia, whom I count as perhaps the finest specimen of healthy +Christian manhood I have ever met, and although I can still laugh at +the fun of "The Private Secretary" I can say that even among her +clergy England can boast of heroes in these latter days as noble and +disinterested as in years gone by. + + + + + +"As it was in the Beginning." + +A CHRISTMAS SKETCH. + + + + +CHAPTER I. + + +It is Christmas day in the morning. There is no doubt about it. The +shine of the sun, the frost on the trees, the voice of the birds, and +the unusual crow, and cackle and clatter and confusion outside the house +can leave no doubts upon the subject, to say nothing of the inside of +the house. Here it is Christmas day and no mistake. On what other day +is the larder so full?--Full is not expressive enough; crammed, rammed, +jammed full is more like the actual condition of things, so tightly +wedged are pheasants and partridges, grouse and quail, great roasts of +beef and haunches of venison, pork and pasty, mutton and fowl. On what +other day is the still-room so alluring, where cordials are at their +liveliest of brown and amber, and the white fingers of the lady of +the house gleam in and out of the piling of herbs and the stirring +of compounds--both innocent and inebriating? On what other day is the +kitchen so important? Why, the cook is actually thinner than she was the +yesterday! Christmas day in the morning is taking it out of her. "No +men cooks about me", growls Sir Humphrey Desart, "we'll keep Sarah." +So Sarah is kept, and though she be fat, aye, and getting on to three +score, yet her strength faileth not, as you may observe. Somewhat of a +martinet, yet kindly withal and leading the hubbub in the kitchen with +all the gusto of twenty years ago. My lady will descend presently to see +if all goes on properly, and Sarah must lose no time. Heavens, how +many eggs is she going to break? What are they all for? Will not the +resources of the farmyard fail her? This, then, explains all the crow +and cackle outside. Now what is she at? Lemons this time, and anon +giving a fine stimulus with her master-hand to the lumpy yellow contents +of a smooth yellow bowl. Ah! No lumps now; one turn and all resolved +into a perfect cadence. Anyone is an artist and a great one who can so +resolve a discordant measure. And now she is busy with the brandy! +Ah! Sarah, will no temptation accrue from the pouring of the warming +draught? "Out upon thee!" says Sarah. "Am I not already as warm over my +work as I want to be, and shall I not have my good glass of beer at my +dinner? Leave the quality upstairs their brandy," says Sarah, "and let +me get to my work." + +Well, and the upshot of all this is, that, despite all one may affirm to +the contrary, the one grand essential, the peculiar and individualizing +attribute of Christmas is--the dinner. The parson may think of his +preaching (and if he ever does so, surely most of all on this day) and +the virtuous may think of the poor; the old may remember the young, and +the young be pardoned for only remembering each other, but the chief +thought, the most blissful remembrance is still--The Dinner. + +If the parson preach a little better sermon than usual, it is because +his nine children have not been forgotten by Lady Bountiful, and are +actually going to have--A Dinner. + +My Lady Bountiful in her turn may go to church, and appear devoutly +removed from the _mundus edibilis_, yet if you could look into her +reflections, you would perceive that she has but one thought--The +Dinner. Do you suppose, much as the youths from Oxford and their friend +the captain, from London, are devoted to mamma and her daughters, they +are not at the same time being eaten up, as it were, devoured, by the +intense wish for the hour to come when they may partake of--That Dinner! + +Sir Humphrey has asked a particularly large party down this Christmas, +and seems to have forgotten nobody he ever knew. Not a poor relation but +has been remembered, and things are on a grander scale than usual. The +candles build famously, set in the chimney candelabra; the logs are +all of the biggest, and as for the Yule himself, he is a veritable +Brobdignag; the staircases drop flowers, and holly and mistletoe hang +all about. Everything shines, and gleams, and glows. There is to be +a boar's head, with, no lack of mustard and minstrelsy, and nothing +eatable or drinkable that pertains to Christmas will be wanting. Carols, +and waits, and contended tenants; merry chimes and clinking glasses; +twanging fiddles and the rush down the middle--nothing is spared and +nobody is forgotten. So the hour draws on, the guests pull through the +dreary day (for as I have said before, everything on Christmas day gives +place to the dinner), and at last the dinner becomes an absolute fact, +something to be apprehended, sat down to, and finally eaten. It _is_ +eaten, and everyone has come into the long hall, at one end of which the +Yule burns. There is merry talk, and it is easier now for the captain +to devote himself to the girls, having left the dinner behind; there is +talk, too, of a little wonder at the gorgeousness of the dinner, for Sir +Humphrey has not been so gay for years, yes, just twenty years, when it +is evident that Sir Humphrey is going to make a speech. He stands alone +in front of the fire, and this is what he says. If you want to know +what he looks like, you may think of an old man who is a gentleman, +white-haired, noble and resolute, but with a sense of broken fortunes +and deferred hopes upon him. + +"I have been young and now am old," says Sir Humphrey, "and I have never +yet seen the house, known the family, or penetrated the life where +there did not exist some trouble or some secret. Therefore, if I refer +to-night to the skeleton in my own house," he continues, with a slight +shudder, "I only do what perhaps each individual before me might also +do were there the like necessity. The necessity of such reference, in my +own case, does not make it less hard for me." Here, Sir Humphrey pauses. +When he speaks again he is something straighter and firmer than before. +"But as at this season the Church and our good friend the parson would +teach us all to remember each other and to help those we can help, I am +about to speak. You have heard, all of you, how twenty years ago I sent +my two eldest sons out of the house. You have heard, all of you, that +they were foolish, and that I was hard, something about a girl and cut +off with a shilling, I suppose. Well, to-night you shall hear the true +story. I do not think even Lady Desart knows it. She was not their +mother, but, as you know, my adored and adoring second wife. I do not +know if many of you remember my boys. I can see Humphrey now--a man does +not easily forget his first-born, and Hugh was no less dear. My dear +friends, if I drove the lads from my house twenty years ago to-night, I +did it in obedience to the rules of my own conscience and with regard to +the laws of nature, which I should have put before my conscience, as +I have far greater respect for them. I did it, as we so often futilely +say, for the best. But how often, oh, my dear friends, how often since I +have thought that I may have made a terrible mistake." + +"They were, Hugh and Humphrey, both madly in love with the same girl. +She was no pauper, as you may have been led to believe, but the Lady +Barbara Hastings. Her name is familiar to you. She was beautiful and +talented, never married, and you may remember that about a month ago +she died at the house of friends in London. I knew her, fortunately or +unfortunately, however, moving in society as the adopted daughter of a +refined gentlewoman, to be the child of a lunatic mother and a father +who drank his life away in a Continental retreat. Knowing this I would +not for a moment consent even to the thought of either of my sons +marrying her, although I knew her to be all that was gracious in +womankind. I could not tell them the reason: the secret was hers, poor +girl, and I did not betray it. I said 'No,' and each knew what that +meant. So we separated, but the worst of it was, my friends, that each +lad thought I had refused my consent to save the other the pain of +seeing his brother happy; so that greater than their anger with me was +their jealousy of one another. With murder in their hearts they fled +to America, I believe, pursuing in self-torture that phantom of revenge +which we have all seen sometime or another, and whose hot breath we must +have felt." + +Sir Humphrey pauses oftener now. + +"I tell you all this because I want you to see how possible it may be +for a man to think he is doing the very best, the only right thing, and +then for perhaps an infinitely worse one to crop up. I read not long ago +in a wild Western paper a story of two Englishmen who fought a lonely +duel on some slope of those great mountains out there, and I think I +have not slept since I read it. To have exiled my boys only that they +might kill one another in foreign lands and sleep so far away from our +English ground!" + +Sir Humphrey's voice is failing now and his eyes grow moist A man, you +see, does not easily forget his first-born. + +"I tell you all this," he continues, "that it may help you to be kind +and to think twice. I only thought once, and perhaps the worst may have +come of it. Then I tell it to you, too, because I am an old man now, and +my voice is not as strong as it was, and I can't get out to church as +regularly as I used to do, and I want you all to help me to remember +these absent ones and with them any of your own. There is virtue in the +holding up of many hands and the lifting up of many hearts. Whether I +see them again or not, that does not matter; but for the assurance that +they have not harmed each other, let us pray Almighty God this night." + +Ah! Sir Humphrey, there are those who would give their life for yours, +but they cannot bring you that assurance to-night. Can you wait? + +"I can wait," says Sir Humphrey. + + + + +CHAPTER II. + + +It is Christmas day in the morning. At least, so Almanack says, and +Almanack ought to know, though he is given in those days to such ornate +and emblazoned titivation of himself outwardly, putting himself in +the hands of fair Mistress Kate Greenaway at the head of a mischievous +throng, that he causes one to seriously consider whether his old head +be turned or no. A scholar and statistician buried in heaps of flowers, +with a rope of daisies round his neck, and a belt of primroses round +his waist; a sunflower in his buttonhole, and a singing bird upon his +shoulder; and, worst of all, the picture of a pink-frocked, pink-faced +girl next his heart--can he be relied upon? But he persists in his +claim to be listened to, and we must take his word for it that this is +Christmas day in the morning, although it just looks like any other day. +On any other day the sun is just as bright, and the air just as keen. On +other days the snow is just as white, just as deep--two feet where the +constant tramping has levelled its crystalline beauty, ten, twelve, +fifteen there where a great soft cloud of drift reaches halfway up the +side of a small wooden house. On other days there is just as much blue +in the sky, in the smoke, in the shadows of the pines, and the shadows +of the icicles. On other days the house looks just as neat, just as +silent, just as poor. The clearing is small, the house is small, a +small terrier suns himself on a pile of wood, and the only large object +apparently in existence is the tall, broad-shouldered, well-proportioned +man who presently emerges from the wooden house. His ear has just caught +the sound of a bell. It is not a bad bell for Muskoka, and it has a +most curious effect on this white, cold silent world of snow and blue +shadows. The owner of the house, who is also the builder of it, stands +a few moments listening. There is only the twitter of the snowbirds to +listen to, then the bell; more snowbirds, and then the bell again. + +"It has quite a churchy sound," he remarks; "I never noticed how churchy +before, but it reminds me of some other bell. Ten years I have read +for them here, and I never noticed it before." More twitter from the +snowbirds and the bell again. Time for church, although the functions +of the lay-reader will be this day laid aside, giving place to the more +exacting ones of the _rector chori_. This being Christmas day in the +morning, it devolves upon one clergyman to preach in four different +places, if not literally at once, at least on the same day. + +"It isn't possible," thinks the tall man swinging along at a tremendous +pace, "that this bell--there it is again, confound it; yet no, not +confound it--can resemble that other bell I used to know. No, quite +impossible. Is it likely that anything here," and the thinker spreads +both long arms out to take in the entire landscape, "can resemble or +remotely suggest the Old Country, or, as people call it, home? Home? +Why this is home. That four-roomed and convenient, if not commodious, +mansion I have just quitted is my home. Talking of commodiousness, it's +quite large enough, too. I have no wife, no children, no partner, not +even a sleeping one, no one ever comes to see me. So I do not need a +drawing-room, a nursery, a guest chamber, or a smoking-room. I have no +books, therefore I need no library; I indulge in no chemical pursuits, +therefore I need no laboratory; my music-room is the forest in summer +and the chimney in winter, while my studio, according to the latest +aesthetic fad--I think that is the word--opens off the music-room. + +"Now, if you take away art, science, literature, and society from +the daily life of a man, what do you leave? Simply the three radical +necessities of sleeping, eating, working. My work I do mostly in the +open air, so that, practically, I need but two rooms, one to cook in and +the other to sleep in. I have always felt convinced that to be happy I +only require two rooms, except on extra cold nights, when I find that +one suffices. That is when Tim and I lie near the kitchen fire to keep +warm. Home! Why of course it is home. Didn't I build the house myself? +What association is dearer than that? To come into a pile of half-ruined +towers, all gables and gargoyles, built somewhere about the fourteenth +century, and added to by every fool who liked, without the slightest +pretence to knowledge of architecture and civilization may be very +gratifying, but, strange as it may seem, I prefer the work of my +own hands. I am quite a Canadian, of course, though I once was an +Englishman. I array myself in strange raiment, thick and woollen, of +many colours; my linen is coarse and sometimes superseded by flannel; +I wear a cast-off fur cap on my head and moccasins on my feet. I have +grown a beard and a fierce moustache. I have made no money and won no +friends except the simple settlers around me here. And I shall grow old +and grey in your service, my Muskoka. I shall be forty-one on my next +birthday. Then will come fifty-one, another ten years and sixty-one. +All to be lived here? Yes, I have sworn it. Not Arcady, not Utopia, +only Muskoka, but very dear to me. There is the forest primeval! I +know everything in it from the Indian pipe--clammy white thing, but how +pretty!--to that great birch there with the bark peeling off in pieces a +yard wide. There is the lovely Shadow river. Masses of cardinal flowers +grow there in the summer, and when I take my boat up its dark waters I +feel that no human being has felt its beauty so before. I think, for a +small river it is the loveliest in the world. And as to my larder now, +why I am going to make my Christmas dinner off a piece or pork and ask +for nothing better! I shall have a glorious appetite, which is the main +point. The bell again!" + +Yes, and the snow birds, too, flying round the porch of the little +church. It is a very small and plain edifice and not over warm, and +the officiating clergyman, who has just driven eighteen miles with +the prospect of eighteen back after service, hurries the proceedings +somewhat. There is a harmonium played by the tall man, and there is +a choir consisting of himself and a small boy. In place of the usual +Anglican hymns two carols are sung by the choir, which have the +quaintest effect in such a place, and which appear to interest and even +excite one of the congregation. This is a man of middle age, most richly +dressed with a certain foreign air about him and evidently in a very +delicate state of health. He is accompanied by a lady whose dress is +also a marvel of beauty and costliness though hardly of fitness. The +broad bands of gold which adorn her wrists and neck would alone procure +for her the entire attention of the congregation were she seated in +a more conspicuous place. As it is they are seated near the stove for +increased comfort. "Good King Wenceslas" sings the choir, the small boy +finding the long word very trying, and coming utterly to grief in the +last two verses, for his companion appears to have lost his place. +With the last verse of the carol comes the close of the service, the +straggling congregation disperse and the jolly clergyman drives off +again. Then an important thing happens, and happens very quietly. +So quietly that the richly dressed lady who is a bright, shallow and +unsentimental Californian does not mind it at all. "Humphrey!" says the +tall man, "Hugh!" says the other, and all is said. There is not much +sentiment in the meeting, how can there be? Their ways have gone too far +apart. The years--nearly twenty, since they parted in Los Angeles--have +brought gold and kith and kin to the one, with an enfeebled constitution +and an uncertain temper. To the other, they have brought the glory of +health for his manhood's crown, content and peace unutterable. To +learn to subdue the ground is to learn one great lesson. So the strange +meeting is soon over. The Christmas spell may not always last and the +brothers separate once more. + + * * * * * + + + + +FINIS. + + +The bright little lady who is taking her husband for a winter's Canadian +tour gets restive in this silent snowy world. But before they part a +letter is written to a white-haired old gentleman' in England, who has +only a month to wait. + +"Whether I see them again or not does not matter," says Sir Humphrey, +"but for the assurance that they have not harmed each other, I thank +Almighty God this night!" + + + + + +THE IDYL OF THE ISLAND. + + * * * * * + +Here lies mid-way between parallels 48 and 49 of latitude, and degrees +89 and 90 of longitude, in the northern hemisphere of the New +World, serenely anchored on an ever-rippling and excited surface, an +exquisitely lovely island. No tropical wonder of palm-treed stateliness, +or hot tangle of gaudy bird and glowing creeper, can compare with it; +no other northern isle, cool and green and refreshing to the eye +like itself, can surpass it. It is not a large island. It is about +half-a-mile long and quarter of a mile broad It is an irregular oval in +shape, and has two distinct and different sides. On the west side its +grey limestone rises to the height of twenty feet straight out of +the water. On the east side there occurs a gradual shelving of a +sumac-fringed shore, that mingles finally with the ever-rippling water. +For the waters in this northern country are never still. They are +perpetually bubbling up and boiling over; seething and fuming and +frothing and foaming and yet remaining so cool and clear that a quick +fancy would discover thousands of banished fountains under that agitated +and impatient surface. Both ends of the island are as much alike as its +sides are dissimilar. They taper off almost to a distinct bladepoint of +rock, in which a mere doll's flagstaff of a pine-tree grows; then +comes a small detached rock, with a small evergreen on it, then a still +smaller rock, with a tuft of grass, then a line of partially submerged +stones, and so out to the deep yet ever-bubbling water. This island +might seem, just the size for two, and there were two on it on a certain +July morning at five o'clock. One of these was a lady who lay at full +length and fast asleep upon a most unique couch. These northern islands +are in many places completely covered with a variety of yellowish-green +moss, varying from a couple of inches to a foot and a half in thickness; +and yielding to the pressure of the foot or the body as comfortably as a +feather bed, if not more so, being elastic in nature. A large square of +this had been cut up from some other part of the island and placed on +the already moss-grown and cushioned ground, serving as a mattress, +while two smaller pieces served as pillows. A sumac tree at the head +of the improvised couch gave the necessary shade to the face of the +sleeper, while a wild grapevine, after having run over and encircled +with its moist green every stone and stem on the island, fulfilled its +longing at length in a tumultuous possession of the sumac, making a +massive yet aerial patched green curtain or canopy to the fantastic bed, +and ending seemingly in two tiny transparent spirals curling up to the +sky. + +If there were a fault in the structure it was that it was too clever, +too well thought out, too rectangular, too much in fact like a bed. But +it told certainly of a skillful pair of hands and of a beautiful +mind and the union of art with nature perfectly suited the +charms--contradictory yet consistent--of the occupant. For being +anything but a beautiful woman she was still far from a plain one, which +though no original mode of putting it does convey the actual impression +she made upon a gentleman in a small boat who rowing past this island +at the hour of five o'clock in the morning was so much struck with this +curious sight, quite visible from the water below, that he was rude +enough to stand up that he might see better. The lady was dressed in +some dark blue stuff that evidently covered her all over and fitted +tightly where it could be seen. A small linen collar, worn all night and +therefore shorn of its usual freshness was round her neck, and she was +tucked up from the waist under a Scotch woollen rug. Her hair, of a +peculiar red-brown, was allowed to hang about her and was lovely; her +mouth sad; her nose, rather too prominent; her complexion natural +and healthy, but marred by freckles and moles, not many of either but +undeniably scattered over the countenance. All told but her eyes which, +if they proved to match with her hair, would atone for these other +shortcomings. The gentleman sat down again and reflected. + +"How still it is!" he said under his breath. "Absolutely not a thing +stirring. This is the time when the fish bite. I ought to be fishing I +suppose. Going to be warm by-and-bye." + +It was indeed almost absolutely silent. The sun climbed higher but the +lady slept on, and the gentleman gazed as if fascinated. The only sound +that broke the beautiful early morning silence was the occasional weird +laugh of the loon. It came twice and then a third time. The sleeper +stirred. + +"If that thing out there cries again she will wake," said the gentleman +to himself. "I must be off before that happens. But I _should_ like to +see her eyes. What a pretty picture it is!" Once more the loon gave its +maniacal laugh and the lady started, sat bolt upright and wide awake. +Her admirer had not time to retreat but he took his oars up and +confronted her manfully. It was an awkward moment. He apologized. The +lady listened very politely. Then she smiled. + +"Most of the islands in this lake are owned by private people," she +said, "who use them during the summer months for the purpose of camping +out upon them. I should advise you, if you row about much here, to +keep to the open water, unless you wish to be seriously handled by the +fathers and mothers of families." + +"Thank you very much," returned the gentleman, standing up in his boat, +"I assure you I intended no rudeness, but I have never seen so charming +a summer couch before, and I was really fascinated by the--ah,--the +picture you made. May I ask what you mean by 'camping out'? Is it always +done in this fashion?" + +The lady stared "Have _you_ never camped out?" + +"Never in my life," said the gentleman. "I am an Englishman, staying at +the hotel near the point for a day or two. I came out to see something +of the country." + +"Then you should at least have camped out for a week or so. That is +a genuine Canadian experience," said the lady with a frankness which +completely restored the equanimity of the Englishman. + +"But how do you live?" he went on in a puzzled manner that caused +the lady with the red-brown hair, still all hanging about her, much +amusement. + +"O, capitally! Upon fish and eggs, and gooseberry tarts, and home-made +bread and French coffee. Just what you would get in town, and much +better than you get at the hotel." + +"O, that would be easy!" the gentleman groaned. "I eat my meals in a +pitch-dark room, in deadly fear and horror of the regiments of flies +that swarm in and settle on everything the minute one raises the green +paper blinds." + +The lady nodded. "I know. We tried it for two or three seasons, but we +could not endure it; the whole thing, whitewash and all, is so trying, +isn't it? So we bought this lovely island and bring our tent here and +live _so_ comfortably." The gentleman did not reply at once. He was +thinking that it was his place to say "Good morning," and go, although +he would much have liked to remain a little longer. He hazarded the +remark: + +"Now, for instance, what are you going to breakfast on presently?" + +The lady laughed lightly and shook her red brown hair. + +"First of all I have to make a fire." + +"Oh!" + +"But that is not so very difficult" + +"How do you do it?" + +"Would you like to know?" + +"Very much indeed. I should like to see, if I may." + +The lady reflected a moment. "I suppose you may, but if you do, you +ought to help me, don't you think?" The gentleman much amused and +greatly interested. + +"Ah but you see, it is you I want to see make it. I am very useless you +know at that sort of thing, still, if you will allow me, I will try my +best. Am I to come ashore?" + +"Certainly, if you are to be of any use." + +The lady jumped lightly off the pretty couch of moss and wound her +plentiful hair round her head with one turn of her arm. Her dress was +creased but well-fitting, her figure not plump enough for beauty but +decidedly youthful. She watched her new friend moor his boat and ascend +with one or two strides of his long legs up the side of the cliff that +was not so steep. He took off his hat. + +"I am at your service," he said with a profound bow. The lady made him +another, during which all her long hair fell about her again, at which +they both laughed. + +"What do we do first?" said he. + +"O we find a lot of sticks and pieces of bark, mostly birch bark, and +anything else that will burn--you may have to fell a tree while you are +about it--and I'll show you how to place them properly between two walls +of stones, put a match to them and there is our fire. Will you come with +me?" + +He assented of course, and they were soon busy in the interior of +the little wood that grew up towards the centre of the island. I must +digress here to say that the gentleman's name was Amherst. He was known +to the world in latter life as Admiral Amherst, and he was a great +friend of mine. When he related this story to me, he was very particular +in describing the island as I have done--indeed he carried a little +chart about with him of it which he had made from memory, and he told +me besides that he never forgot the peculiar beauty of that same little +tract of wood. The early hour, the delicious morning air, the great +moss-grown and brown decaying tree trunks, the white, clammy, ghostly, +flower or fungus of the Indian Pipe at his feet, the masses of ferns, +the elastic ground he trod upon, and the singular circumstance that he +was alone in this exquisite spot with a woman he had never seen until +five minutes previously, all combined to make an ineffaceable impression +upon his mind. The lady showed herself proficient in the art of building +a fire and attended by Amherst soon had a fine flame rising up from +between the fortifications evidently piled by stronger hands than her +own. + +"What do we do now?" asked Amherst "I should suggest--a kettle." + +"Of course, that is the next step. If I give it to you, you might run +and fill it, eh?' + +"Delighted!" and away went Amherst. When he returned the lady was not to +be seen. The place was shorn of its beauty, but he waited discreetly and +patiently, putting the kettle on to boil in the meanwhile. + +"It's very singular," said he, "how I come to be here. I wonder who +are with her in her party; no one else appears to be up or about. That +striped red and white thing is the tent, I see, over there. Ah! That's +where she has gone, and now she beckons me! Oh! I'll go, but I don't +want to meet the rest of them!" + +But when he reached the tent, it was quite empty, save for rugs and +wraps, boxes, etc., and the lady was laughingly holding out a loaf of +bread in one hand and a paper package in the other. + +"You will stay and breakfast with me?" + +"What will you give me?" said Amherst, smiling. + +"I can only give you eggs, boiled in the kettle, coffee and bread and +butter. The fish haven't come in yet." + +"What can be nicer than eggs--especially when boiled in the kettle, that +is, if you make the coffee first." + +"Certainly I do." + +"And it is really French coffee?" + +"Really. Caf des Gourmets, you know; we--I always use it--do not like +any other." + +Amherst was fast falling in love. He told me that at this point his +mind was quite made up that if it were possible he would remain in the +neighborhood a few days at least, in order to see more of this charming +girl. She seemed to him to be about twenty-six or seven, and so frank, +simple and graceful, one could not have resisted liking her. Her +hair and eyes were identical in colour and both were beautiful; her +expression was arch and some of her gestures almost childish, but a +certain dignity appeared at times and sat well upon her. Her hands were +destitute of any rings as Amherst soon discovered, and were fine and +small though brown. While she made the coffee, Amherst threw himself +down on the wonderful moss, the like of which he had never seen before +and looked out over the water. An unmistakeable constraint had taken the +place of the unaffected hilarity of the first ten minutes. A reaction +had set in. Amherst could of course only answer to me in telling this +for himself, but he divined at the time a change in his companion's +manner as well. + +"I hope you like your eggs," she said presently. + +"They are very nice, indeed, thank you," rejoined Amherst. + +"And I have made your coffee as you like it?" + +"Perfectly, thank you. But you--you are not eating anything! Why is +that?" + +As he asked the question he turned quickly around, in order to rise that +he might help her with the ponderous kettle that she was about lifting +off the camp-fire, when a long strand of her hair again escaping from +its coil blew directly across his face. Amherst uttered a radiant "Oh!", +and taking it to his lips forgot himself so far as to press kiss after +kiss upon it. The lady stood as if transfixed and did not move, even +when Amherst actually swept all her hair down over one arm and turning +her face to his, pressed one long long kiss on her forehead. + +The moment he had done this his senses returned and he stepped back +in indignation with himself. But his companion was still apparently +transfixed. Amherst looked at her in dismay. She did not seem to see him +and had grown very pale. He touched her gently on the arm but she did +not show that she felt the touch. He retreated a few paces and stood +by himself, overcome with shame and contrition. What had he done? How +should he ever atone for such an unwarrantable action? Had it been the +outcome of any ordinary flirtation, he would have felt no such scruples, +but the encounter, though short, had been one of singular idyllic charm +until he had by his own rash act spoilt it. A few minutes passed thus in +self contemplation appeared like an eternity. He must speak. + +"If you would allow me--" + +But the lady put out her left hand in deprecation as it were and he +got no further. The silence was unendurable. Amherst took a step or two +forward and perceived great tears rolling down her cheeks. + +"Oh!" he began desperately, "won't you allow me to say a word to tell +you how very, very sorry I am, how grieved I am and always shall be? +I never--I give you my word of honor--I never do those sort of things, +have never done such a thing before! But I can't tell what it was, the +place is so beautiful, and when all that lovely hair came sweeping past +my face, I could not help doing as I did, it was so electrical! Any man +would have done the same. I know that sounds like a miserable, cowardly +excuse, but it is true, perfectly true." The lady seemed to struggle to +appear calm and with a great effort she turned her face towards Amherst. + +"I know one man," she said, in a voice choked with sobs, "who would not +have done it?" + +Amherst started. "I am sorrier than ever, believe me. I might have known +you were engaged, or had a lover--one so Charming"-- + +"It is not that," said the lady. "I am married." She was still +struggling with her emotion. + +Amherst recoiled. He was torn with conflicting thoughts. What if he had +been seen giving that involuntary salute? He might have ruined her peace +for ever. Who would believe in the truth of any possible explanation? + +"I will leave you at once;" he said stiffly, "there is nothing more to +be said." + +"Oh! You will reproach me now!" said his companion, wiping her eyes as +the tears came afresh. + +"I will try not to;" said Amherst, "but you could so easily have told +me; I do not think it was--quite--fair." Yet he could not be altogether +angry with the partner of his thoughtlessness, nor could he be entirely +cold. Her beautiful eyes, her despairing attitude would haunt him he +knew for many a day. She had ceased weeping and stood quietly awaiting +his departure. Amherst felt all the force of a strong and novel passion +sweep along his frame as he looked at her. Was she happy, was she a +loved and loving wife? Somehow the conviction forced itself upon him +that she was not. Yet he could not ask her, it must remain her secret. + +Amherst looked at his watch. It aroused her. + +"What is the time?" she said lifting her head for the first time since +he had kissed her. + +"Ten minutes past six," Amherst replied. + +"You must go," she said, with an effort at self-control. "I shall have +much to do presently." + +He cast one look about and approached her. + +"Will you forgive me"--he began in a tone of repression, then with +another mighty and involuntary movement he caught her hands and pressed +them to his breast. "My God," he exclaimed, "how I should have loved +you!" + +A moment after he flung her hands away and strode down the cliff, +unfastened his boat and rowed away in the direction of the hotel as +fast as he could. Rounding a sharp rock that hid what lay beyond it, he +nearly succeeded in overturning another boat like his own, in which sat +a gentleman of middle age, stout and pleasant and mild of countenance. +The bottom of the boat was full of fish. Amherst made an incoherent +apology, to which the gentleman answered with a good-natured laugh, +insisting that the fault was his own. He would have liked to enter into +conversation with Amherst, but my friend was only anxious to escape from +the place altogether and forget his recent adventure in the hurry of +departure from the hotel. Three days after he embarked at Quebec for +England, and never revisited Canada. But he never married and never +forgot the woman whom he always asserted he might have truly and +passionately loved. He was about twenty-eight when that happened and +perfectly heart-whole. Why--I used to say to him, why did you not learn +her name and that of her husband? Perhaps she is a widow now, perhaps +you made as great an impression upon her mind and affections as she did +upon yours. + +But my friend Admiral Amherst, as the world knew him, was a strange, +irrational creature in many ways, and none of these ideas would he ever +entertain. That the comfortable gentleman in the boat was her husband he +never doubted; more it was impossible to divine. But the cool northern +isle, with its dark fringe of pines; its wonderful moss, its +fragrant and dewy ferns, its graceful sumacs, just putting on their +scarlet-lipped leaves, the morning stillness broken only by the +faint unearthly cry of the melancholy loon, the spar-dyked cliffs of +limestone, and the fantastic couch, with its too lovely occupant, never +faded from his memory and remained to the last as realities which indeed +they have become likewise to me, through the intensity with which they +were described to me. + + + + + +The Story of Delle Josephine Boulanger + + + + +CHAPTER I. + + +Delle Josephine Boulanger, Miss Josephine Baker, Miss Josephine Baker, +Delle Josephine Boulanger. What a difference it makes, the language! +What a transformation! I thought this to myself as I stood on the +opposite side of the street looking at the sign. To be sure, it, was +only printed in French and sad little letters they were that composed +the name, but my mind quickly translated them into the more prosaic +English as I stood and gazed. Delle Josephine was a milliner and I had +been recommended to try and get a little room "_sous les toits_" that +she sometimes had to let, during my stay in the dismal Canadian village +with the grand and inappropriate name of _Bonheur du Roi_. Bonneroi, or +Bonneroy, it was usually called. Such a dismal place it seemed to be; +one long street of whitewashed or dirty wooden houses, two raw red brick +"stores," and the inevitable Roman Catholic Church, Convent and offices, +still and orderly and gray, with the quiet priests walking about and +the occasional sound of the unmistakeable convent bell. I arrived on a +sleety winter's day early in December. Everything was gray, or colorless +or white; the people's faces were pinched and pale, the sky was a leaden +gray in hue, and I thought as I stood opposite to my future abode under +Delle Josephine's roof that the only bit of "local color" so far was to +be found in her window. I could distinctly see from where I stood the +most extraordinary _hat_ I had ever seen. I immediately crossed the road +to examine it. It was a triumph in lobster-color. In shape like a very +large Gainsborough, it was made of shirred scarlet satin with large bows +of satin ribbon of the same intense color and adorned with a bird of +paradise. I can see it now and can recall the images it suggested to my +mind at the time. These were of cardinals and kings, of sealing-wax and +wafers, of tropic noons and tangled marshes, of hell and judgment and +the conventional Zamiel. It looked fit to be worn by a Mrs. Zamiel, if +there be such a person. I looked so long and earnestly that I evidently +attracted the notice of the mistress of the shop, for I saw a hand push +back the faded red curtain that veiled the interior and a queer little +visage appeared regarding me with something I thought of distrust. Did +I look as if I might break the glass and run off with the hat? Perhaps I +did, so I entered the shop immediately and said in a reasoning tone, + +"I am looking for rooms in the village, Mademoiselle, and hear you have +one to let. Can I see it now, if not too much trouble?" + +"You come from Morrall?" + +This I learnt was meant for Montreal. + +"Yes," I returned. + +"You are by yourself, Monsieur, you are sure? No ladees, eh?" + +"O dear! No" said I laughing. "I am making some studies--sketches--in +this locality and am entirely alone. Do you find ladies a trouble?" + +"Oh, perhaps not always. But there was one Mees I had. I did not like +her, and so I said--we will have no more Mees, but again and always +Messieurs." She was frank enough but not unpleasant in her manner. A +little bit of a woman, thin and shrivelled, with one shoulder slightly +higher than the other, black beads for eyes, and the ugliest mouthful +of teeth that I had ever seen on any one. Had it not been that her +expression was honest and good natured and her manner bright and +intelligent, I should have recoiled before the yellow tusks of +eye-teeth, and the blackened stumps and shrunken gums revealed to me +every time she spoke. She wore a print dress made neatly enough which +was very clean, and a black crape ruff round her sallow neck. The shop +was small but clean and at the back I saw, a kind of little sitting +room. Into this I went while she ran up-stairs to prepare the room for +my inspection. The carpet was the usual horribly ingenious affair of red +squares inside green octagons, and green squares inside red octagons, +varied by lengthwise stripes of bright purple. The walls were plain +white, covered with many prints in vivid colors of the Crucifixion, the +Annunciation and the Holy Family; also three pictures of three wonderful +white kittens which adorn so many nurseries and kitchens. There were +no ornaments, but there was a large looking glass framed in walnut, and +over it a dismal wreath of roses and their leaves done in human +gray hair. The glass was opposite the door and I saw Delle Josephine +descending to meet me just as I was turning away from this suggestive +"in memoriam." A crooked little stairway brought me to a small landing, +and three more steps to my room. I may call it that, for I took it on +the spot It was large enough for my wants and seemed clean and when +the paper blinds, yellow, with a black landscape on them, were raised, +rather cheerful. We were opposite the chief "_epicerie_," the only +_"marchandise sches_" and a blacksmith, whose jolly red fire I could +sometimes catch a glimpse of. + +Now, this is a really a true story of French Canadian life, or rather +let me say, a true story of one of my own French Canadian experiences, +and so I must confess that once installed in my little room _chez_ Delle +Josephine Boulanger, nothing whatever of any interest took place until +I had been there quite a week. I lived most regularly and monotonously; +rising at eight I partook of coffee made by my landlady, accompanied by +tinned fruit for which I formed a great taste. Then I went out, getting +my mid-day meal where I could, eggs and bacon at a farmhouse, or tough +steak at the hotel, and sometimes not getting anything at all until I +returned ravenously hungry to my lodging. On these occasions the little +Frenchwoman showed herself equal to the extent of cooking a chicken or +liver and bacon very creditably and then I would write and read in my +own room till eleven. I must not forget to say that I never failed to +look at the wonderful scarlet hat in the window every time I went out +or came in. Purchasers for it would be rare I thought; I half formed the +idea of buying it myself when I went away as a "Souvenir." + +One day I came home very tired. After walking about, vainly waiting for +a terrific snowstorm to pass over that I might go on with my work--the +frozen fall of Montmorenci, framed in the dark pines and somber rocks +that made such a back ground for its glittering thread of ice, I gave +it up, chilled in every limb, and began to consider whether I was not +a fool for pains. Although I started quite early in the afternoon on +my homeward walk, the snow, piled in great masses everywhere along the +route, impeded my progress to such an extent that it was nearly seven +o'clock and pitch-dark when I got into the village. Bonneroy was very +quiet. Shutters were up to every shop, nobody was out except a dog or +two and the snow kept falling, falling, still in as persistent a fashion +as if it had not been doing the same thing for six hours already. I +found the shop shut up and the door locked. I looked everywhere for a +bell or knocker of some description. There was neither, so I began to +thump as hard as I could with my feet against the door. In a minute or +two I heard Delle Josephine coming. Perhaps I had alarmed the poor soul. +She did look troubled on opening the door and admitted me hurriedly, +even suspiciously, I thought. The door of the little sitting-room was +closed, so fancying that perhaps she had a visitor I refrained from much +talking and asking her to cook me some eggs presently and bring them up, +I went to my room. + +These cold days I had to keep a fire in the small open "Franklin" stove +going almost constantly. She had not forgotten to supply it with +coals during my absence, and lighting my two lamps I was soon fairly +comfortable. How it did snow! Lifting the blind I could actually look +down on an ever-increasing drift below my window and dimly wonder if +I should get out at all on the morrow. If not, I proposed to return to +Montreal at once. I should gain nothing by being confined in the house +at Bonneroy. Delle Josephine appeared with eggs and tea--green tea, alas +for that village shortcoming--there was no black tea to be found in it, +and I looked narrowly at her as she set it down, wondering if anything +was amiss with her. But she seemed all right again and I conjectured +that I had simply interrupted a _tte-a-tte_ with some visitor in the +sitting-room at the time of my return. When I had finished my tea I sat +back and watched my fire. Those little open "Franklin" stoves are almost +equal to a fireplace; they show a great deal of fire and you can +fancy your flame on an English hearth very easily--if you have any +imagination. As I sat there, it suddenly came home to me what a curious +life this was for me; living quite alone over a tiny village shop in _Le +Bos Canada_, with a queer little spinster like Delle Josephine. Snowed +up, with her too! To-morrow I would certainly have to go and shovel that +snow away from the front door and take down the shutters and discover +again to the world the contents of the one window, particularly that +frightful hat! I would--here I started it must be confessed almost out +of my seat, as turning my head suddenly I saw on a chair behind the door +the identical hat I was thinking about! I sat up and looked at it. It +must have been there all the time I was eating my tea. I still sat and +looked. I felt vaguely uncomfortable for a moment, then my common sense +asserted itself and told me that Delle Josephine must have been altering +it or something of that kind and had forgotten to take it away. I +wondered if she sat in my room when I was away. I had rather she did +not. Just as I was about to rise and look at it more closely, a tap came +at my door. I rose and admitted Delle Josephine. She took the tea-things +away in her usual placid manner, but came back the next moment as if +she had forgotten something, clearly the hat. With a slight deprecatory +laugh she removed it and went hurriedly down the stair. Whatever had she +been doing with it, I thought, and settled with a sigh of satisfaction +once more to my work, now that the nightmare in red, a kind of mute +scarlet "Raven," was gone from my room. How very quiet it was. Not a +single sleigh passed, no sounds came from the houses opposite or from +next door, the whole world seemed smothered in the soft thick pillows +of snow quietly gathering upon it. After a while, however, I could +distinctly hear the sound of voices downstairs. Delle Josephine had a +visitor, undoubtedly. Was it a man or a woman? Not a large company I +gathered; it seemed like one person besides herself. I opened my door, +it sounded so comfortably in my lonely bachelor ear to catch in that +strange little house anything so cheerful as the murmur of voices. My +curiosity once aroused, did not stop here. I went outside the door, not +exactly to listen, but as one does sometimes in a lazy yet inquisitive +mood, when anything is going on at all unusual. This was an unusual +occurrence. If Delle Josephine had visitors often, I was not aware of +it. Never before had I noticed the slightest sound proceed from her +sitting-room after dusk. So I waited a bit listening. Yes there was +talking going on, but in French. As I did not understand her _patois_ +very clearly, I thought there would be no harm in overhearing, and +further I thought I should like to have a peep at her and her companion. +I could see that the door was partly open. Taking off my slippers, I +ran softly down and found it wide enough open to admit of my seeing the +entire room and occupants in the looking-glass, that being opposite. +It was quite dark in the little hall and I should be unobserved. So I +crept--most rudely I am willing to say--into the furthest shadow of this +hall and looked straight before me. + +I saw none but Delle Josephine herself. But she was a sight for +the gods. Seated on a kind of ottoman, directly in front of the +looking-glass, she was holding an animated conversation with _herself_, +wearing a large white antimacassar--one of those crocheted things all in +wheels--pinned under her chin and falling away at the back like a cloak, +and upon her head--the wonderful scarlet hat! I was amazed, startled, +dismayed. To see that shrivelled little old woman so travestying her +hideous charms, smiling at and bowing to herself, her yellow skin +forming a frightful contrast to the intense red of her immense hat +and her bright black eyes, was a pitiful and unique spectacle. I had +intended but to take a peep at the supposed visitor and then go back to +my room, but the present sight was one which fascinated me to such an +extent that I could only look and wonder. She spoke softly to herself in +French, appearing to be carrying on a conversation with her image in the +glass. The feathers of the bird of paradise swept her shoulder--the one +that was higher than the other--and mingled with the wheels of the white +antimacassar. I looked as long as I dared and then, fearing from her +movements that the strange scene would soon be over I went softly up +again to my room. But I thought about it all evening, all night in fact. +The natural inquiry was--was the poor girl a maniac? Even if only a +harmless one, it would be well to know. As I sat down again by my fire +I considered the matter in every light. It was a queer prospect. Outside +the snow still fell. Inside, the fire languished and the time wore on +till at half-past ten I really was compelled to call on my landlady for +more coal. I could hear the muttered French still going on, but I did +not know where the coal was and could not fetch it myself. I must break +in upon her rhapsodizing. + +"Delle Boulanger!" I called from my open door. "Delle Boulanger!" + +The talking stopped. In a few moments Delle Josephine appeared, calm and +smiling, _minus_ the hat and the antimacassar. "Coming, _monsieur_" + +"I shall want some more coal," said I, "It is getting colder, I think, +every minute!" + +"_Mais oui, monsieur; il fait fret, il fait bien fret ce soir_, and +de snow--oh! It is _comme_--de old winter years ago, dat I remember, +_monsieur_, but not you. _Eh! bien_, the coal!" + +I discovered nothing morbid about her manner; she was amiable and +respectful as usual, if a little more garrulous. The French will talk at +all times about anything, but our conversation always came to a sudden +stop the moment one of us relapsed into the mother tongue. As long as +a sort of common maccaronic was kept to we managed to understand one +another. After I made up my fire I sat up till long past twelve. I heard +no more talking downstairs but I could fancy her still arrayed in those +festive yet ghastly things, seated opposite her own reflection, intent +as a mummy and not unlike one restored in modern costume. Pulling +the blind aside before going to bed, I could see with awe the arching +snowdrifts outside my window. If it went on snowing, I should not be +able to open it on the morrow. + + + + +CHAPTER II + + +My prediction was verified in the morning. The snow had ceased falling, +but lay piled up against the lower half of my window. On the level there +appeared to be about three feet, while the drifts showed from six to +twenty feet I had never seen anything like it, and was for sometime lost +in admiration. Across the road the children of the _epider_ and the good +man himself were already busy trying to shovel some of it away from the +door. It seemed at first sight a hopeless task and I, looking down at +Delle Josephine's door, wondered how on earth we were ever to get out of +it when not a particle of it was to be seen. Not all that day did I get +out of the house, and but for the absorbing interest I suddenly found +centred in Delle Josephine I would have chafed terribly at being so shut +up. Trains, were blockaded of course, it was the great fall of '81, and +interrupted travel for half of a week. All that day I waited so to speak +for the evening. Snow-boys there were many; customers none. The +little Frenchwoman brought me some dinner at one o'clock, pork, tinned +tomatoes, and a cup of coffee. About five o'clock I strolled down into +the shop, it was lighted very meagrely with three oil lamps. Delle +Josephine was seated on a high chair behind the one counter at work on +some ribbon--white ribbon. She was quilling it, and looked up with some +astonishment as I walked up to her. + +"Do you object to a visitor Miss Josephine?" said I with the most +amiable manner I could muster. Poor soul! I should have thought she +would have welcomed one. + +"_Mais non Monsieur_ but I speak so little English." + +"And I so little French. But we can manage to understand each other a +little, I think. What do you say to the weather? When shall I be able to +go out?" + +Delle Josephine laughed. She went on quilling the ribbon that looked so +white against her yellow hands. + +"O _Monsieur_ could go out dis day if he like, but de snow ver bad, very +thick." + +"Do you ever go out, Miss Josephine?" + +"_Non Monsieur_. I have not been out for what you call a valk--it will +be five years that I have not been." + +"But you go to church, I suppose?" + +"_Mais oui Monsieur_, but that is so near. And the good _Pre Le +Jeune_--he come to see me. He is all the frien Delle Josephine has, ah! +_oui Monsieur_." + +"Ah! Bonneroi isn't much of a place, is it? Have you ever been to Quebec +or Montreal?" + +"Ah! _Quebec--oui_, I live there once, many years ago. I was taken when +I was ver young by _Madame de la Corne de la Colombire pour une bonne; +vous comprenez_?" + +"Oh! _bonne_, yes, we use that word too. It means a nursemaid, eh! Were +there children in the family?" + +Delle Josephine dropped her ribbon and threw up her hands. + +"_Mon Dieu! les enfants! Mais oui, Monsieur_, they were nine children! +There was _Maamselle Louise_ and _Maamselle Angelique_ with the tempaire +of the _diable_ himself _oui Monsieur_, and Franois and Rn and +_l'petite Catherine_, and the rest I forget _Monsieur_. And dey live in +a fine _chteau_, with horse and carridge and everything as it would be +if they were in their own France. _Monsieur_ has been in France?" + +Only in Paris, I told her; a spasmodic run across the Channel--Paris in +eight hours. Two days there then return-- + +"That does not give one much idea of France." + +"_Nou, non, Monsieur_. But there is no countree like France dey say dat +familee--and that is true, eh, _Monsieur_?" + +"I am afraid I cannot agree with you, Delle Josephine," said I. "To +me there is no country like England, but that may be because I am an +Englishman. Tell me how long did you live in Quebec with this family?" + +"I was there ten year _Monsieur_. Then one day, I had a great +accidence--oh! a ver sad ting, ver sad!" The Frenchwoman laid down +the ribbon and went on. "A ver sad ting happen to me and the _bb +Catherine_. We were out _l'ptite_ and me, for a valk, and we come to a +part of the town ver slant, ver hilly. _L'ptite Catherine_ was in her +carridge and I let go, and she go all down, _Monsieur_, and I too +over the hill--the cleef, you call it--but the _bb_ was killed and I +_Monsieur_, I was alive, but like this!" showing her shoulder. "And what +did they do?" + +"At the _chteau_? Ah, _figure-toi, monsieur_, the agony of dat _pauvre +dame_! I was sent away, she would not see me, and I left _Qubec_ at +once. I was no more _bonne_, monsieur; Delle Josephine was enough dat. +I could make de hats and de bonnets for de ladees, so I come away out +to Bonneroi, and I haf made de hats and de bonnets for the ladees of +Bonneroi for twenty year." + +"Is it possible?" I said, much touched by the little story. "And the +ladies of Bonneroi, are they hard to please?" + +Delle Josephine, who had spoken with the customary vim and gesture of +the French while--telling her tale, resumed her quilling and said, with +a shrug of one shoulder, + +"They do not know much, and dat is true." I laughed at the ironical +tone. + +"And you--you provide the _modes_?" + +"I haf been to Qubec" she said quietly. + +"Twenty years ago," I thought, but had too much respect for the queer +little soul to say it aloud. + +"I see amongst other things," I went on, "a most--remarkable--a very +pretty, I should say--hat in your window. The red one, you know, with +the bird of paradise." + +Delle Josephine looked up quickly. "Dat is not for sale, _monsieur_." + +"No? Why, I had some idea of perhaps purchasing it for a friend of mine. +Did you make that hat yourself?" + +She nodded with a sort of conscious pride. Yet it was not for sale! I +wondered why. The strange scene of the foregoing evening came into my +mind, and I began to understand this singular--case of monomania. It +must be that having lived so many years in almost solitary confinement, +one might say, her mind had slightly given away, and she found her +only excitement and relaxation in posing before the glass in that +extraordinary manner. I hardly knew whether it would be an act of +kindness to remove the hat; she talked quite rationally and cheerfully, +and remembering the innate vanity of the French as a nation, I +concluded to let the matter rest That night I heard no talking in the +sitting-room. I slept profoundly, and woke up later than usual We were +not dug out yet, though two snow-boys with their shovels were doing +their best to unearth us. I waited some time for Delle Josephine to +appear with the tray; but she too was late, evidently, for at ten +o'clock she had not come. I dressed and went down stairs. As I passed +the sitting-room I saw her tricked out as before in the hat and the +antimacassar seated on the ottoman in front of the looking-glass. +Heavens, she looked more frightful than ever! I made up my mind to speak +to her at, once, and see if I could not stop such hideous mummery. But +when I advanced I perceived that indeed I had come too late. The figure +on the ottoman was rigid in death. How it ever held itself up at all +I could never think, for I gave a loud cry, and rushing from the room +knocked against the open door and fell down senseless. + +Outside, I suppose, the snow-boys shovelled away as hard as ever. When I +came to myself I did not need to look around; I knew in a flash where +I was, and remembered what had happened. I ran to the shop door and +hammered with all my might. + +"Let me out!" I cried. "Open the door! open the door! for Heaven's +sake!" Then I ran upstairs, and did the same at my window. It seemed +years upon years of time till they were enabled to open the door and let +me out. I rushed out bareheaded, forgetful of the intense cold, thinking +first of all of the priest _Pre Le Jeune_, so strong is habit, so +potent are traditions. I knew where he lived, up the first turning in a +small red brick house next the church of St. Jean Baptiste. I told him +the facts of the case as well as I could and he came back at once with +me. There was nothing to be done. Visitation of God or whatever the +cause of death Delle Josephine Boulanger was dead. The priest lifted his +hands in horror when he saw the ghostly hat. I asked him what he knew +about her, but he seemed ignorant of everything concerning the poor +thing, except the _aves_ she repeated and the number of times she came +to confession. But when we came to look over her personal effects in the +drawers and boxes of the shop, there could be no doubt but that she had +been thoroughly though harmlessly insane. We found I should think about +one hundred and fifty boxes: from tiny little ones of pasteboard to +large square ones of deal, full of rows and rows of white quilled +ribbon, similar to the piece I had seen her working at on that last +night of her life on earth. Some of the ribbon was yellow with age, +others fresher looking, but in each box was a folded bit of paper with +these words written inside, + + _Pour l'ptite Catherine_. + +"What money there was, _Pre Le Jeune_ must have appropriated for I saw +nothing of any. After the dismal funeral, to which I went, I gathered my +effects together and went to the hotel. The first day I could proceed, I +returned to Montreal and have not visited Bonneroi since. The family +of _de la Corne de La Colombire_ still reside somewhere near Quebec, I +believe. The _chteau_ is called by the charming name of Port Joli, and +perhaps some day I may feel called upon to tell them of the strange fate +which befell their poor Josephine. Whether the melancholy accident which +partly bereft her of her reason was the result of carelessness I cannot +say but I shall be able, I think, to prove to them that she never forgot +the circumstance, and was to the day of her death occupied in making +ready for the little coffin and shroud of her '_p'tite Catherine_.' My +sketch of the frost bound Montmorenci was never finished, and indeed +my winter sketching fell through altogether after that unhappy visit +to Bonneroy. I was for weeks haunted by that terrible sight, half +ludicrous, half awful, and I have, now that I am married, a strong +dislike to scarlet in the gowns or head-gear of my wife and daughter." + + + + + +The Story of Etienne Chezy D'Alencourt + + + + +CHAPTER I. + + +As my friends know, I was born an Englishman, spending the first +twenty-four years of my life in England. On my twenty-fifth birthday I +set foot on the shore of the great North American Continent, destined +for a time to be my home. Two days afterwards I entered the office set +apart for me in the handsome Government Buildings at Ottawa, and began +my duties. A transfer had recently been effected between the Home +and Canadian Civil Service, and I had been chosen to fill the vacant +colonial post. Having no ties or obligations of any kind I had nothing +to lose by the transaction except the pleasure and advantage of living +in England, which, however, had ceased for one or two reasons to be dear +to me. + +I did not, however, remain very long in the Service. I found it pleasant +work but monotonous, and receiving shortly after I went out a legacy +bequeathed by a widowed aunt I had almost forgotten, determined to leave +it and devote myself to study and travel. Like many Englishmen, I had +taken no trouble to ascertain the real points of interest about me. I +had been content with mastering and getting through my work, and with +mingling out of hours with the small but thoroughly charming set I had +found ready to welcome me on my arrival as the "new Englishman." On the +whole, I was popular, though one great flaw--_i.e._--lack of high birth +and desirable home connections, weighed to an alarming extent with the +dowagers of the Capital. + +I had, on leaving the Service, made up my mind to study the people of +the Dominion. The English Canadians were easily disposed of in this +way; most of them were Scotch, and the rest appeared to be Irish. I +then began on the Indian population. But this was not so easy. It seemed +impossible to find even a single Indian without going some distance. + +At last I unearthed one descendant of the Red man who kept a small +tavern in the lower part of the town; a dirty frame tenement almost +entirely hidden by an immense sign hanging outside, having the figure, +heroic size of an Iroquois in full evening dress, feathers, bare legs +and tomahawk. + +This place was known as "Tommy's." But Tommy himself was only half +an Indian, and swore such bad swears in excellent English, that I was +forced to leave after a minute's inspection. + +Then I began on the French-Canadians. There were plenty of them. In the +Buildings, on the streets, in the markets, in shops, they were all +over. Some of the most charming people I know were French-Canadians. +My landlady and her husband, quiet, sober devout people, were +French-Canadians. + +What I wanted to find, though, was a genuine unadulterated +French-Canadian of the class known as the _habitans_. I could recollect +many dark-eyed, fierce-mustached men whom I had seen since my residence +in Canada, and whom I conjectured must have been _habitans_. Up the +Gatineau and down the St. Lawrence, it would be easy to find whom I +wanted, but I preferred to wait on in town. I had many a disappointment. +One day it would be a cabman, another day a clerk. Though they all +_looked_ French, they invariably turned out to be English or Scotch. My +notions of hair and skin and eyes were being all turned upside down; +my favorite predispositions annulled, my convictions changed to +fallacies--in short I was thoroughly bewildered. I could not find my +_habitant_. At the same time, when I did find him, he would have to know +how to speak some English, for I could only speak very little French. +I read it well of course, wrote it quite easily, but on essaying +conversation was always seized with that instinctive horror of making a +fool of myself, which besets most Englishmen when they would attempt a +foreign language. Besides, the _patois_ these people spoke was vastly +different from ordinary French, as taught in schools and colleges, and +what it might be like I had not in those days the faintest idea, not +having read Rabelais. + +The worst _dsillusionnement_ I suffered I will recount. One day I +noticed an elderly man clad in corduroy trousers, shabby brown velveteen +coat, conical straw hat and dirty blue shirt, lounging about a wharf I +sometimes frequented where, at one time, would lay from thirty to fifty +barges laden with lumber. Bargetown it might have been called; it was +a veritable floating colony of French and Swede, Irish and Scotch, +jabbering and smoking by day and lying quietly at night under the stars, +save for the occasional jig and scrape of the fiddle of some active +Milesian. Here, had I fully known it, was my chance for observation, +but I was ignorant at that time of the ways of these people and did not +venture among them. But the man in the velvet coat interested me. He +gesticulated the whole time most violently, waved his arms about and +made great use of his pipe, which he used to point with. I could not +hear what he was saying for his back was turned to me and the wind +carried all he said to the bargemen, as he wished it to do I suppose. + +How splendidly that coat becomes him, thought I. The descendant of some +fine old French settler, how superbly he carries himself! + +The conical becomes on him a cocked hat and in place of ragged fringe +and buttons hanging by a single string, I see the buckles and bows, the +sword and cane of a by-gone age! + +I made up my mind to address him, when to my disgust he got into one of +the barges, which moved off slowly, transporting him, as I supposed, to +his northern home. + +The next morning the bell of my front door attracted my attention by +ringing three or four times. Evidently my landlady was out. I sauntered +to the door and found my _habitant_ of the velveteen coat and duty blue +shirt! + +Gracious heaven! I was overcome! By what occult power had he been driven +here to deliver himself into my hands? Before I could speak, he said: + +"Av ye plaze, sorr, will yez be having any carrpets to bate? I'm taking +orders against the sphring claning, sorr." + +"Oh! are you?" said I. I began to feel very sorry for myself, very +sorry, indeed, at this supreme instant. "Do you live near here?" I +further inquired. + +"Shure and I do, sorr. Jist beyant yez. I pass yez every day in the +week. Me number's 415"--He was about handing me a greasy bit of paper, +when I slammed the door in his face and retired to my own room to +meditate on the strange accent and peculiar calling of this descendant +of the "fine old French settler." + +My next choice, however, proved a fortunate one. I got into a street-car +one evening late in the month of March. It was the winter street-car, a +great dark caravan, with a long narrow bench down either side and a mass +of hay all along the middle, with a melancholy lamp at the conductor's +end. Although fairly light outside, it was quite dark inside the +caravan, so the conductor set about lighting the lamp. This is the way +he did it. Opening the door he put his head in, looked all around, shut +the door and stopped his horses. Then he opened the door again and put +his head in again, keeping the door open this time that we might inhale +the fresh March night air. I say we, because when I grew accustomed to +the dark, I saw there was another occupant of the car, a man seated on +the opposite seat a little way down. The conductor felt under the seat +for something which I suppose was the can which, taken presently by him +to the corner grocery before which we had stopped, came back replenished +with coal oil. After he had filled the lamp, he lit in succession three +matches, persistently holding them up so that they all went out one +after the other. He felt in his pockets but he had no more. Then he +asked me. I had none. Then he asked the other man. The other man laughed +and replied in French. I did not understand what he said but saw him +supply the conductor with a couple of matches. When the lamp was finally +lighted I looked more closely at him. He was a working man from his +attire: colored shirt, coat of a curious bronze colour much affected by +the Canadian labourer, old fur cap with ears, and moccasins. At his feet +stood a small tin pail with a cover. His face was pale and singularly +well-cut. His hair was black and very smooth and shiny; a very slight +moustache gave character to an otherwise effeminate countenance and his +eyes were blue, very light blue indeed and mild in their expression. We +smiled involuntarily as the conductor departed. The man was the first to +speak: + +"De conductor not smoke, surely," he said, showing me his pipe in one +hand. "I always have the matches." + +"So do I, as a general thing,". I rejoined. "One never knows when a +match may be wanted in this country." I spoke rather surlily, for I +had been getting dreadfully chilled while the conductor was opening and +shutting the door. The man bent forward eagerly, though without a trace +of rudeness in his manner. + +"You do not live here, eh?" + +"Oh! yes, I do now, but I was thinking of England when I spoke." + +"That is far away from here, surely." + +"Ah! yes," I sighed. So did the man opposite me. We were silent then for +a few moments when he spoke again. + +"There is a countree I should like to see and dat is France. I hear, +sir, I hear my mother talk of dat countree, and I tink--I should like to +go there. But that is far away from here, too far away, sure." + +My heart leapt up. Here, if ever, must be the man I was in search of. + +"You are a French-Canadian, I suppose?" + +"Yes, Sir, I am dat." + +"And where do you live?" said I. + +"I work in de mill; de largess mill in the Chaudire. You know dat great +water, the fall under the bridge, dat we call the Chaudire." + +"I know it well," said I, "but I have never gone properly over any of +the mills. I should like to go some day very much. Should I see you +anywhere if I went down?" + +He stared, but gave me the name of his mill. It belonged to one of the +wealthiest lumber kings of the district. I resolved to go down the next +day. + +"What is your name," I asked. The man hesitated a minute before he +replied, + +"Netty." + +"Netty!" I repeated "What a curious name! You have another name, I +expect. That must only be a nickname." + +"_Mais oui Monsieur_. My name is much longaire than dat. My whole name +is Etienne Guy Chzy D'Alencourt, but no man call me dat, specially in +de mill. 'Netty'--dey all know 'Netty.'" + +It was a long name, truly, and a high-sounding one,--but I preferred +thinking of him by it than by the meaningless soubriquet of "Netty." At +the next corner he got out, touching his cap to me quite politely as he +passed. + +I was in high spirits that evening, for I believed I had found my +_habitant_. I went down to the Chaudire the following day, and got +permission to go over Mr. ----'s mill I found it very interesting, but +my mind was not sufficiently centered on planks and logs and booms +to adequately appreciate them. I wanted "Netty." After I had made the +complete round of the mill I came upon him hard at work in his place +turning off planks in unfailing order as they whizzed along. The noise +was deafening, of bolts and bars, and saws and chains, with the roar of +the great cascade outside. He saw me and recognized me on my approach, +but he could not speak for some time. It was most monotonous work, +I thought. No conversation allowed, not even possible; the truly +demoniacal noise, yet just outside on the other side of a small window, +the open country, the mighty waters of the ever-boiling "Kettle," or +Chauldron, and the steep spray-washed cliff. Standing on my toes I +could, looking out of Netty's small window, discover all this. The +ice was still in the river, half the fall itself was frozen stiff, and +reared in gabled arches to the sky. I watched the two scenes alternately +until at 6 o'clock the wheels ran down, the belts slackened and the men +knocked off. + +Netty walked out with me at my request, and learning that he had to +return in an hour I proposed we should have a meal together somewhere +and a talk at the same time. He must have been greatly astonished at +a complete stranger in another walk of life fastening upon him in this +manner, but he gave no hint of either surprise or fear, and maintained +the same mild demeanour I had noticed in him the day before. + +It was darkening rapidly and I did not know where to go for a meal. +Netty told me he ought to go to St. Patrick St. I knew the locality and +did not think it necessary to go all that way, "unless anybody will be +waiting for you, expecting you." + +"Oh! not dat I live in a boarding house, my mother--she in the countree, +far from here." + +"Then, 'I said,' you can go where you like. Do you know any place near +here where we can get a cup of tea and some eggs? What will do for you, +I daresay, and I hardly want as much." + +But he knew of no reliable place and after walking about for a quarter +of an hour we finally went to the refreshment room at the station and +ordered beer and tea and sandwiches. + +"I daresay you wonder at my bringing you out here with me. You'd get a +better meal perhaps at your boarding-house. But do you know I've taken +a fancy to you and, I want to see a little more of you and learn how you +live, if you will kindly tell me. I am interested in your people, the +French-Canadians." + +This sounds very clumsily put and so it did then, but I was obliged to +explain my actions in some way and what is better than the truth? Lies, +I have no doubt to some people, but I was compelled to be truthful +to this man who carried a gentle and open countenance with him. No +gentleman could have answered me more politely than he did now. + +"Sir I am astonish--_oui un peu_, but if there is anyting I can tell +you, anyting I can show you I shall be ver glad. The mill--how do you +find dat, Sir? + +"I like to watch you work very much, but the noise"-- + +Netty laughed, showing his radiant white teeth. + +"_Mais oui_, de noise is bad, but one soon custom to dat. I am in +de mill for four year. I come from up in de north--from the Grand +Calumet--do you know there, Sir?" + +"That is an island is it not? Yes, I know where it is, near Allumette, +but I have never been so far up on the Ottawa. And the Gatineau, that is +a river, is it not? What pretty names these French ones are! Gatineau!" +I repeated thinking. "That comes, I fancy having heard somewhere, from +Demoiselle Marie Josephe Gatineau Duplessis, wife of one of the first +French settlers. By the way your name is a curious one. Say it again." + +Netty very gravely repeated, "Etienne Guy Chzy D'Alencourt." + +"Was your father a native Canadian?" + +"_Oui Monsieur_." + +"The name seems familiar to me," I remarked. "I daresay if you cared +to look the matter up, you might find that your great grandfather was +something or other under the Intendant Bigot or Vaudreuil, or earlier +still under Maisonneuve the gallant founder of Montreal. Ah! how +everybody seems to have forgotten those old days. Even in Canada, you +see, there is something to look back upon." + +My companion seemed rather puzzled as I talked in this strain. Very +probably it was over his head. I found he could neither read nor write, +had been reared in the pine-clad and icy fastnesses of Grand Calumet +Island all alone by his mother--an old dame now about seventy. He +himself was about thirty he judged, though he was far from sure. He was +a good Catholic in intention, though very ignorant of all ritual. From +his youth he had been employed on the rafts and lumber-slides of the +Ottawa river until his four years' session at the mill, where he had +picked up the English he knew. He had made no friends he told me. The +more I conversed with him the more I was impressed with his simple and +polite manners, his innate good breeding, and his faith and confidence +in the importance of daily toil and all honest labour. He smoked a +little, drank a little, but never lost his head became obtrusively +familiar, noisy or inquisitive. I felt ashamed to think how deliberately +I had sought him out, to pry into the secrets and facts of his daily +life, but solaced myself into the assurance that it could not at least +bode him harm and it might possibly do him some service. + +When we returned to the mill, I was astonished at the weirdness of the +scene. The entire premises were flooded with the electric light and the +men were working away, and the saws, belts and bars all in motion as if +it were the middle of the day. What a pandemonium of sound and colour +and motion it was! The strong resinous odor of the pine-wood mingled +with the fresh air blown in from the river, and I inhaled both eagerly. + +It was almost powerful enough to affect the head, and I fancied I caught +myself reeling a little as I walked out on to the bridge, swaying just +the least bit as the torrent of angry water swept under it I had said +"_Bonsoir_" to my friend the Frenchman and was free to go home. But I +lingered long on the heaving bridge, though it was cold and starless, +and I got quite wet with the dashed-up spray. + +Up the river gleamed the icy masses of the frozen fall, beyond that the +northern country of the northern waters stretched away up to the North +Pole with little, if any, human interruption. + +Down the river on the three superb cliffs, rising high out of the water, +sparkled the many lights in the Gothic windows of the buildings. On +either side were the illuminated mills with their rushing logs and +their myriad busy hands piling, smoothing and sawing the monsters of the +forest helpless under the fetters of leather and steel. + + + + +CHAPTER II. + + +For the events which followed, I hold myself alone and altogether +responsible. Nearly every evening I spent at the Chaudire, either +watching my new friend at his work or lounging on the bridge, and always +finishing the day by walking home with him to his boarding house. Thus +I got to know him very well, and I soon discovered one thing that he +was far from strong. Even a life-long residence among the purifying and +strengthening airs of the keen fresh North had not protected him from +the insidious ravages of that dread complaint--consumption. I fancied +the hereditary taint must be on his father's side, for he always alluded +to his mother as being exceptionally healthy. On Sundays I accompanied +him to Church in the morning at the Basilica; in the afternoons we used +to walk all over the town in various directions. Of course, on all +these excursions, I did most of the talking. He was a good listener, and +readily improved in understanding and appreciation. Noticing that he +was particularly fond of any story connected with the life of the early +French in Canada, I read up all the works I could find on the subject, +going often to the Parliamentary Library for that purpose, and retailing +the more interesting and intelligible facts to him afterwards. Crusoe +did not watch over and educate Friday any more carefully than I my mild +and gentlemanly "Shantyman" in his blue shirt and canvas trowsers. + +I grew at last, after three months' intimacy with him, quite to love +him, and I am sure my affection was reciprocated for he ever welcomed +me with a strong, clinging pressure of my hand and a smile which was a +brighter one than that which his face had worn when I met him first. A +strange friendship, but one which I felt to be so absorbing that I could +not have endured other friends. April passed, and May, and with the hot +weather Etienne, whose health gave way all at once, would have to return +for a short visit to the old mother all by herself on the island of +Grand Calumet. + +I feared to let him go, he looked more delicate in my eyes every day, +but I knew it would be good for him in many ways. So a day came that saw +my friend D'Alencourt go back to his northern home. He would not ask me +to go and visit him, he had too much natural pride for that, but I made +up my mind to find him out, for all that. As may be supposed I was like +the traditional fish out of the traditional water for some time after +his departure. + +I read and amused myself in any way that offered, but cared not to +experiment on any more French-Canadians. + +In my reading I read for two, and made notes of anything I thought would +interest Etienne. One day I came across the same name as his own, borne +by a certain young soldier, a sprig of the French _noblesse_ who had +followed in the train of Bigot, the dissolute and rapacious Governor +of New France. I meditated long over this. The name was identical--Guy +Chzy D'Alencourt. In the case of my friend the mill-hand there was +simply the addition of Etienne, the first Christian name. Could he +possibly be the descendant of this daring and gallant officer, of whose +marriage and subsequent settling in Canada I could find no mention? +The thing seemed unlikely, yet perfectly possible. I had predicted it +myself. As if to fasten my thoughts even more securely on the absent +Etienne that very day arrived a letter from Grand Calumet. It was +addressed to me in a laboured but most distinct hand. I thought that +Etienne had commissioned the priest doubtless to write for him or some +other friend, but when I opened it I found to my great surprise that it +was from Etienne himself and in his own handwriting, the result he told +me of work at home in his Lower Town boarding-house. + +I dropped the letter. He had taught himself to, write! This was the +first fruit of my intimacy with him, and I hardly knew whether I was +pleased or not. But I clearly saw that this night-work added to the +arduous toil and late hours imposed upon him by his place in the mill +had probably been the cause of undermining his bodily strength. The +letter itself ran: + + "Dear Sir,--The frend of Etienne D'Alenconrt, he can write you--he + can send you a _lettre_ from the Grand Calumet, his island that + is green, Monsieur, and full of sweet berries. If you would come, + Mossier, you would find Etienne and his mother reddy to do all they + can. Still, Monsieur shall in this please alway himself, the friend + and benefactor of Etienne Chzy D'Alencourt." + + + GRAND CALUMET ISLAND. + + "It was at night, when Monsieur had gone home, that I learnt myself + to write and thank him for all teaching from the books beside." + + "E." + +Of course, I would accept the invitation. I decided to go in a week's +time and wrote to that effect. I wished to reprimand him for having +overtaxed his strength as I was sure he had done in sitting up teaching +himself how to write, but respect for the dear fellow's perseverance and +ability restrained me. + +Only when I got him again, I said to myself, I would stop that. I took +with me a gun, fishing rods and tackle, a mosquito net, plenty of cigars +and a hamper of tinned meats, tea, coffee and biscuits. + +My journey was nearly altogether by water and I enjoyed every inch of +the beautiful river. After I reached the landing stage, a place called +Lichfield, I had to wait an hour before proceeding in the direction +which I had found out it would be necessary to follow in order to find +Etienne and his mother. + +I shall never forget the delight of that one hour passed in rambling +through the lonely green wood that covered the island down to the shore. +The ferns were young and freshly unfurled, the moss was everywhere, +green and close and soft like velvet and star-clustering, gray and +yellow. The surviving flowers were the large white blossoms of the +woodland lily, and the incoming _Linna_ began to show the faint pink of +its twin bells, afterwards to be so sweet and fragrant. + +I thought of that passage in the letter which told of "the island that +was green and full of sweet berries." Not a bad description for a person +whom the world must perforce term an illiterate man. + +When my conveyance arrived, it proved to be a stage of antiquated type +and I suffered horribly during the journey of three hours. At the end +of that time, I was set down with my luggage at the gate of a small log +hut, with a little garden in front, bordered with beautiful pink and +green stones, the like of which I had never seen before. A snake fence +ran in front of this and on two sides, at the back was a thick wood. + +Etienne was ready for me at which I rejoiced, fearing to make myself +known to the dame his mother. + +Once more I felt that honest and affectionate hand grasp, once more I +met those clear and steady blue eyes, and I noted the flush of pride +which overspread his face when I told him that I had received his letter +and marvelled at it. + +"Mossieu know so much and Etienne so ver little." But when the flush had +died away, I was pained exceedingly to see the pallor of his cheeks and +the prominence of his high cheekbones. His walk was unsteady too, he +put his feet down, I noticed, as if they were light instead of solid +supports for his body, a sure sign of great physical weakness. My worst +fears were realized when I saw on the deal table in the front room, +furnished with home-made rugs drawn from woolen rags dyed all colors and +some plain deal furniture stained brown, a little pile of books. There +were two copy-books, two dictionaries, a small "Histoire de Canada" and +some illustrated magazines. I saw that he could read, too, pretty well, +for he presently drew my attention to a very old book indeed, that lay +on a shelf, a little Roman Catholic missal with tarnished gold clasps +and scarlet edges. + +"Dat was belong to my fader," he said, "for many a year; and it was from +his fader he get it." + +I looked at it eagerly all over. The fly-leaf bore no inscription, but +up in one corner, in faded red ink, was something that looked like a +monogram with a device underneath. I would have examined it at once but +that Etienne was anxious to read me a little of the Latin which he had +picked out with infinite patience, I should think. I promised to help +him a little occasionally, but told him that he was not looking well and +had better be content with ignorance in this lovely summer weather. + +"When the winter comes and you are back at the mill, you can study as +much as you like." + +The old dame was sallow and sunken from a life of incessant hard work. +The climate itself, so changeable as well as inclement in these northern +wilds, is enough to pinch the face and freeze the blood, although at the +time of my visit it was hot, intensely hot for so early in the +summer. Moreover, the old dame was not given to talking. So taciturn a +Frenchwoman I never met elsewhere. They are usually characterized by a +vivacious loquacity which is the seal of their nationality. But this one +was silent in the extreme and had, as her son told me, never once held +a conversation with him on any subject whatever. Of his father he knew +literally only this fact--that he had been a "shantyman" in his time +too, and was killed by a strained rope striking him across the middle. +Etienne did not remember him. The time sped on. They made me as +comfortable as they could in the front or "best" room, but, when I +thought it would not offend them, I slept outside--"_couchant la belle +etoile_" as Rousseau has it--and beautiful nights those were I spent +in this manner. We had plenty of fruit--wild strawberries and +raspberries--pork and beans and potatoes forming the staple articles of +diet. There was no cow, no horse, no dog belonging to the house. Fish +we could get ourselves in plenty, and eggs made their appearance in +a farmer's wagon about twice a week. Etienne and I spent entire days +out-of-doors, shooting, fishing, walking, reading. I tried to take his +mind off his books, but it was of no use. He had got so attached to +his studies and new pursuits in life that one day he startled me by +asserting that he did not intend to go back to the mill in future. I +remonstrated gently with him, reminding him that as yet his education +was very incomplete, that few situations of the kind he probably aspired +to would be open to him for some time to come, and that in the meantime +he must suffer from want of money, and thus be the cause of seeing his +mother suffer as well. But he startled me further in reply by stating +that he knew himself to be slowly dying of consumption and that he +would shortly be of little use to anyone. His wish was to leave Canada +altogether and die in--France! France, the country of his dreams, the +goal of his dying ambition, the land of the golden _fleur de lis_, +of the chivalrous soldiers, the holy women and the pious fathers who +colonized the land of his birth! + +I remonstrated with him as I have said. I expostulated in every key; I +took his mother into my confidence as well as I could since she knew not +a word of English; I laughed at him, I wept over him, I endeavoured by +every argument in my power to make him change my mind, but-- + +I failed. Then when I understood how firmly his mind was set upon this +extraordinary idea, I made up my mind to accompany him, in fact, not to +leave him at all until he either grew wiser and stronger, or else died +the death he predicted for himself. I found that the old dame had quite +a store of money saved by her little by little every year from Etienne's +earnings, and from what she made by selling the rugs I mentioned. These +sold for a dollar and upwards according to the size. Putting some of my +own to this fund of hers, I calculated she had enough to go upon for at +least a year. Wants are few in that district. Then I turned my attention +to Etienne. He was growing worse; he would lie for hours reading or +attempting to read with great beads of perspiration mounting on his +brow. The heat was excessive and proved very bad for him. I judged he +would be better in town and after I had been on the island for about two +months, I begged him to return with me. I promised him that once there, +I would not leave him for a day, and would even consider the possibility +of taking him across the ocean. He still maintained his calm and perfect +manners and insisted upon paying his fare down the river which I let him +do, knowing that soon his stock of money would be exhausted and he would +then be at my mercy. No sign of cupidity was apparent in his demeanor, +yet I wondered how he ever thought to reach France unless I paid his +way. Like all consumptives, he had a trick of rallying now and then and +appearing better than he really was. This occurred on our arrival in +town. He took long walks with me again daily and seemed so much stronger +that I again dared to suggest the propriety of his returning to the +mill, but to no purpose. He drooped at the very thought, and I perceived +that his apparent recovery was but a delusion, I soon saw he was weaker +than ever. But whenever he was at all able, he persisted in reading what +he could understand and really his progress was a marvel to me. So it +came about that one evening, towards the close of September where we had +sometimes to light the lamp as early as half-past six, I returned to my +rooms about that hour of the day (we shared rooms together, so fond +had I grown of him, and I trust, he of me) to find him poring over the +little Catholic Missal. + +"In this light? This will never do. And you could not light the lamp +yourself, my poor Etienne!" + +When it was lighted, I saw indeed from his weak and excited appearance +that he was unable to do anything for himself. Lying on my sofa, he had +in one hand the scarlet-edged missal, and in the other the book I have +referred to, which contained a short sketch of Guy Chzy D'Alencourt the +handsome and reckless lieutenant of _La Nouvelle France_. + +He could hardly speak but through his gasping I could gather that he +wished me to examine the words in the corner of fly-leaf I had once +noticed before and believed to be a monogram. I quieted him a little, +then bringing the lamp-light to bear upon the faded ink, I was able +to decipher the device, which comprised a crown, three _fleurs-de-lis_ +under, and a lamb bearing a banner, with the letters I.H.S. upon it. + +"The arms of Rouen!" I exclaimed "and above them, some initials, yes, a +monogram!" + +My companion sat up in his excitement. + +"Ah! dat is what I cannot make quite out! Tree letter--_oui, vite, cher +mosdieu, vite_!" + +I had to look very closely indeed to decipher these, but with the aid of +a small lens I found them to be "G. C. D'A." + +There could be little doubt but that Etienne was the lineal descendant +of Guy Chzy D'Alencourt, native of Rouen, who came to Canada in the +same year as Bigot. I told him so and wondered what his thoughts could +be, for clasping my hands with as much force as he possessed--and that +is at times a wonderful force in the clasp of the dying--he said with a +great effort: + +"If dat is so, _mossieu_, if dat is so, I have _O le bon Dieu_--I +have--_mossieu_, I have--O if dat is true"-- + +He fell back and I caught no more. The excitement proved too much for my +poor friend. When I spoke to him, he was unconscious and he never fully +recovered his senses. Alas! he lay in a few weeks, beneath the sod of +Grand Calumet Island, and France is ignorant of the fact that a true +aristocrat and simple-hearted gentleman existed in the humble person +of my friend the _habitant_, Etienne Guy Chzy D'Alencourt, _alias_ +"Netty." + + + + + +Descendez a L'Ombre, ma Jolie Blonde. + + +The Honourable Bovyne Vaxine Vyrus refused to be vaccinated. Stoutly, +firmly and persistently refused to be vaccinated. Not even the +temptation of exposing to the admiring gaze of a medical man the superb +muscles and colossal proportions of an arm which had beaten Grace and +thrashed (literally) Villiers of the Guards, weighed with him. + +"It's deuced cool!" he said, to his cousin Clarges, of Clarges St. +Mayfair, a fair, slight fellow, with a tiny yellow moustache. "Haven't +I been six times to India, and twice to Africa; that filthy Algiers, you +remember, and Turkey, and New Orleans, and Lisbon, and Naples? and +now, when I was done only eight years ago at home, here I am to be done +again, where, I am sure, it all looks clean enough and healthy! It makes +me ill, and I _won't_ be done; laid up for a week and lose all the fun I +came for!" + +"Bovey, though you _are_ the strongest fellow in England, you're no less +a coward!" + +Young Clarges looked up as he spoke, seriously: "_I_ shall be done!" + +"You? Well, so I should expect from a baby like you, Arthur! You will +never grow up, never learn to think for yourself! Now let me alone on +the subject, and let us look up this country place we were told about!" +But Clarges was not easily silenced. + +"Think of Lady Violet, Bovey! If anything were to happen to you out +here, and the children, Bovey,--Rex and Florence, you know!" + +"Oh! cut it, now, Arthur; I tell you it's of no use!" + +Young Clarges looked out across the river, and bit the tiny yellow +moustache. "Then I won't be done, either!" said he to himself. "It's +borne in upon me that one of us has got to get this accursed thing, and +if I can prevent it, it shan't be Bovey!" What a strange scene it was +beneath, around, above and opposite them! Beneath flowed the river, +solid with sawdust, the yellow accumulation of which sent up a strong +resinous smell that almost made them giddy; to the left the tumultuous +foam of the Chaudire cast a delicate veil of spray over the sharp +outlines of the bridge traced against a yellow sky; to the right, the +water stretched away in a dull gray expanse, bordered by grim pines and +flat sterile country. Around them the three mighty cliffs on which +the Capital is built, above them the cold gray of an autumnal sky, and +opposite them the long undulations of purplish brown hills that break +the monotony of the view, and beyond which stretch away to an untrodden +north the wastes and forests of an uncleared continent. + +"Are we looking due north, now, Arthur, do you know?" + +"I suppose so," returned Clarges. He was astride a cannon and still +biting the tiny moustache. "Yes, by the direction of the sunset we must +be, I suppose. I say, if we are, you know, I should like to be able to +tell between what two trees--it would have to be between two of those +trees there--we should have to walk to get to the North Pole." + +The Hon. Bovyne looked around suddenly and laughed. He was fishing +apparently in his pockets for a paper or something of the kind, as he +had a number of letters in his hand, looking them over. + +"What two trees? Where? Arthur, you _are_ a donkey. What are you talking +about?" + +"I say," returned Clarges, "that it is perfectly true that as we sit +here, facing due north, all we have to do is to walk straight over this +river--" + +"On the sawdust?" + +"Certainly, over those hills and between two of those trees in order +to get to the North Pole. Curious, isn't it? If you look awfully close, +real hard, you know, you can almost count their branches as they stand +up against the sky. Like little feathers--huff-f-f-f--one could almost +blow them away!" + +The Honorable Bovyne laughed again. Clarges was a mystery to him, as +to many others. Half-witted he sometimes called him, though on other +occasions he stood in awe of his bright, candid, fearless nature, and +his truthful and reckless tongue. + +"I say," went on Clarges excitedly, shading his eyes with his hand. +"There are two trees out there in a straight line from this very cannon +that--that I should know again, Bovey! Do look where I point now like a +good fellow. Don't you see there, following the chimney of that big red +place, factory or other, right in a line with that at the very top of +the hill at its highest point, two trees that stand a little apart from +the others and have such funny branches--Oh! you must be able to see +them by those queer branches! One crooks out on one side just as the +other does on the other tree. That isn't very lucid, but you see what I +mean can't you? They make a sort of--of--lyre shape." + +The Hon. Bovyne shaded his eyes with his hand and looked out over the +river and distant hills. "I see a line of trees, feathery trees, you +aptly call them my dear Arthur, but I can't make out your particular +two. How is it possible, at such a distance, to see anything like a +_lyre_ of all things? Come along, I've found the address I wanted. It +reads most peculiarly. It seems there are still a great number of French +people around here, in fact, all over this Province which they sometimes +call Lower Canada. Do you remember much of your French?" I spoke a lot +in Algiers of course but I fancy it isn't much like this jargon. Our +destination is or appears to be, _c/o Veuve Peter Ross, Les Chats_, +pronounced _Lachatte_, so Simpson told me. + +"Who told you about the place?" enquired young Clarges getting off the +cannon? "Simpson? What sort of a fellow is he?" + +"Who? Simpson?" said his cousin in turn. "Um--not bad. Been out here too +long, though. Awfully quiet, goes in for steady work and takes hardly +any exercise. I wonder why it is the fellows here don't walk more! New +country and all that; I should have thought they would all go in for +country walks and shooting and sports of all kinds. They don't, you +know, from some reason or other. It can't be the fault of the country." + +"You forget the roads, Bovey, and the fences, and the interminable +distances and the immense rivers, and the long winter. I say, it looks +like snow to-night, doesn't it?" + +"What do you know about snow!" rejoined the Hon. Bovyne. "Let us get +on, there's a good fellow--confound you! don't stare at those imaginary +trees any longer, but come along." + +Certainly young Clarges was possessed with the queerest fancy about +those trees. "I say, Bovey, they were funny, though, to strike me like +that, out of all the others! I am sure I should know them again. Perhaps +some day we'll take a fly and go out there--I wonder if there's an inn? +Does what's her name, your old Scotch lady, keep an inn, or is it a farm +we're going to?" + +"Scotch? Why do you say Scotch? She's French, I tell you. Simpson says +she can't speak a word of English." + +"But 'Peter Ross' is Scotch, isn't it? At least you can't make it +French, however you twist it." + +"I'm not anxious to twist it. Don't you see, Arthur, she is evidently +a Frenchwoman who married a man called Peter Ross; she is the _veuve_, +widow, you know! of the lamented Scotchman. Now do you understand? But +it _is_ peculiar." + +"Very," said Clarges. "When do we start?" + +"There's a train to-morrow morning at eight o'clock, but I thought we +had better hire a trap, and a man to bring the trap back, and put all +our things, tents and so on, into it, and go out comfortably so as to +see the country." + +"All right!" said Clarges. "By Jove, what a splendid night it's going +to be, stars out already, Bovey! Don't you hope it'll be like this +tomorrow? Shall we camp out the first night and think of--of--Lady +Violet by our camp fire, and Rex and Florence--how they'd like to see +us, wouldn't they? And they can't, you know, they're three thousand +miles away, trying to make out each other's faces in the November fog, +eh! Bovey? I say, what shall we get to eat out there, at Lachatte, you +know, the country always makes me desperately hungry." + +"Oh! we shall do well enough. Simpson says she is a capital old woman, +lives entirely alone; will cook for us, wait on us, make us pancakes, +I expect, and give us plenty of that stuff we had this morning at the +hotel." + +"Sweet stuff?" asked Clarges. "_I_ know. Syrup, maple syrup, that'll +do." + +Simpson, the authority, thrice quoted by the elder of the two +Englishmen, appeared at dinner with them that evening. He was a +hard-working, stodgy son of person who had come out to the Canadian +Civil Service fifteen years, ago, lived much by himself until he took a +wife out of a Canadian village, a phlegmatic, stolid, unimaginative +sort of a girl, who was nevertheless a good wife and an excellent +housekeeper. Simpson sniffed at the dinner. It wasn't as good as his +own. He felt ill at ease in the presence of the two men, whose airy +talk and loud laughter struck him with a keen sense of its novelty. They +joked about everything. Clarges particularly was in high feather. The +wine, which came partly from the hotel and partly from the Hon. Bovyne's +hamper, flowed often and freely, and Simpson, who was a very moderate +fellow, wondered at the quantity his friends seemed to be able to +imbibe. "Without showing any traces of it, either," he said to himself. +"All this vivacity is natural; I remember the type; in fact, I was +something like it myself ten or twelve years ago." + +After dinner, Clarges rushed up stairs and down again with a small +silk plush packet of photographs tied with ribbons. The men were in the +smoking room. + +"I say, I want Simpson to see Lady Violet, Bovey." + +"All right, and the children too? You sentimental ass, Arthur!" Clarges +laughed. It was a funny laugh, a kind of inane ripple that nevertheless +tickled everybody who heard it. "But it's too smoky here. Come up stairs +to the drawing room. There's a jolly big drawing room with a piano, and +we can say what we want to, everyone stares here so!" + +"I should think they would," said Simpson quietly. "Why do you get +yourself up like that, simply because you're in Canada? A knitted +waistcoat, three sizes too large for you--" + +"That's to admit of heavy underclothing," said Clarges, not in the least +perturbed. "Knickerbockers," continued Simpson, "that are certainly one +size too small; a cap that looks like a hangman's, and a coat that must +have come off Praed St." + +The Hon. Bovyne laughed long and loud. "Oh, Arthur, Arthur!" he said. +But young Clarges did not mind in the least. Indeed, had he but known +it, and be it remembered to his merit that he did not know it, he made +a fair and manly picture as he stood under the light of the chandelier. +His slim, well-knit figure was more prepossessing than the herculean +proportions of his cousin, "the strongest man in England;" his crisp +fair hair brushed boyishly up on one side and his well-trimmed moustache +of silky yellow, his keen gray eyes and delicate features, all went far +in point of attractiveness, especially when added to these mere physical +details, rang the infectious laugh, clear, hearty and youthful, and +spoke the natural, honest, unrestrained tongue. + +In the drawing room Clarges established himself on a sofa between the +other two. "Now, Simpson," he said, "you must excuse me calling you +Simpson so freely, by the way, but you know, Bovey always calls you +Simpson--you don't mind, do you? You bang away at my clothing all you +like, and in return I'll call you Simpson. Now I'm going to show +you Lady Violet. You know who she is, she is Bovey's wife, _and_ the +loveliest woman in England. Loveliest woman in England, look at that!" +Clarges held up very carefully, out at arm's length, a very fine +photograph of an undeniably beautiful woman. "Bovey's wife." he +ejaculated again. "You never saw her, so you don't know what beauty +is, do you? But here's the next best thing, her photograph, and such a +photograph! Now, you be good, as we say to the children, and I'll show +you that again after all the others." Next he showed him in a sort of +ecstasy, Bovey's children. + +"Rex and Florence," he said, in an awe-struck tone. Bovey laughed, so +did Simpson. So would anybody have done. + +"What are you laughing at," said young Clarges, solemnly. "Oh, at me! +that's all right, everybody laughs at me. I knew it couldn't be the +children. Now here's another lovely girl," and then there was another +and still another, and then a group in hunting attire just after +the breakfast; then pretty interiors with dainty rooms and women +and children and dogs, a capital likeness of Fred Burnaby, Vyrus' +fellow-officer, autographs of Gordon and Wolseley, a garden party at +Clarges Mount, a water-party at Richmond, photograph's and sketches +taken in Algiers, Cairo, Damascus, Bombay and Edinburgh. Simpson sat +through all this slightly bored and confused. What had he to do with +this kind of life? Once he had had some gleams of it, it is true, +but that was years ago, before his modest little establishment was in +existence, presided over by the plain, but virtuous Matilda of his later +days. + +"Well, now," said he, preparing to take his leave, "is there anything +further you want to know about your plans, for I suppose I shall +scarcely see you again before you leave if you get off tomorrow morning +as you intend. One thing--of course you've been vaccinated?" + +The Hon. Bovyne muttered, "bah!" Clarges began putting the photographs +away, all but Lady Violet. + +"Then you haven't been done, eh?" said Simpson, interrogatively. "I +would if I were you. You can't tell where you're going or whom you'll +meet. Why, you can 'do' yourself if you object to a medical man fussing +around." + +"Can you?" said Clarges. + +"I don't object," said Bovey, loftily; "but I must say I think it is +making a ridiculous and most unnecessary fuss about the matter. Why, +there are half a dozen diseases as virulent as the small-pox stalking +about in every large town, and we don't take those! Why should we take +the small-pox when we don't take the cholera, or the--the--" + +"Yes," observed Simpson, in his quiet manner, "I thought you would stick +for want of details. The fact is, that you can inoculate for small-pox, +and you can't as yet, for cholera or leprosy, and so wise people accept +the fact, the revelation if you will, and get vaccinated. However, as +far as your immediate surroundings go, you're safe enough. Old Mrs. Ross +will do all she can for you, and it isn't far, only twenty two miles +from town after all. You'll be walking in in a day or two for another +tent or a barrel of whiskey. Nothing like whiskey, Canadian whiskey, out +in camp on cold nights." Simpson got up. + +"I wonder," said he, suddenly, "how you escaped being done on the train. +You came up from Quebec _via_ St. Martin's Junction, didn't you?" + +"Oh! your importunate Inspector did make an effort on my behalf, but I +was firm. Nearly had a lodging in the Police Station though, but I told +him who we were and swore to having marks the size of flat-irons on both +arms, so he let me go." + +"And you," said Simpson, turning to Clarges. "Me! oh! I shall be done. +I say, couldn't I walk out with you now and see a doctor about it? I +believe I will, Bovey, if you can spare me. For look you, Simpson, I am +the plaything of his leisure hours, a kind of Yorick, you know, and he +might be dull." + +The Hon. Bovyne looked grave for a second, "I believe I _should_ be dull +without you, dear boy, though you are a crank. Let me see, how old are +you, Arthur?" + +"Twenty-two," answered Clarges. "Good heaven!" exclaimed the Hon. +Bovine, "and I am getting perilously near to forty. We'll change the +subject. I'm very sleepy. Don't expect to find me up when you come +in, Arthur; to-morrow night, remember, we may be sleeping on the cold +ground, I shall get all the rest I can to-night." Clarges and the other +man took their leave. + +"Once more, Bovey," said the former, "won't you be done? Simpson, make +him! See here, look once more at Lady Violet, speak with _her_ lips, +look with _her_ eyes--the loveliest woman in England!" + +"Go and get 'done,' as you call it, for heaven's sake, and let me +alone!" was all he got in reply. + +But Clarges did not get done. He had an idea and this was his idea: To +walk to some doctor recommended by Simpson and procure an instrument +suitable for the purpose, and the necessary material, and to vaccinate +his cousin himself. The first part was easy enough. Simpson vaguely +wondering at his light-hearted talk, left him at a doctor's surgery +door, and Clarges, who could always get what he wanted from anybody in +any part of the world, soon persuaded the doctor to give him a "point" +and all necessary instructions. + +"A small lancet is really a better thing," said that gentleman, "but you +will manage all right, I daresay. We must really take every precaution +we can. Good evening." + +All this was easy; now arose the difficulty, how best to tackle Bovey. + +"He's such a giant of a fellow," thought Clarges. "But if he is only +asleep as he hinted he would be, there'll not be much difficulty. +What will he do when he finds it out in the morning, supposing I am +successful in operating upon him to-night? What a suggestive word! I am +quite the surgeon. But I'll do it--Arthur Clarges, see that you _do_ do +it, by all you hold dear and sacred in old England!" + +On his return, however, to the hotel, he found that his cousin was +clearly wide-awake again. + +"Hang it all!" he said to himself, "why isn't he asleep?" But the Hon. +Bovyne was not in the least sleepy. He rallied Arthur on his poor +arm but fortunately did not ask to look at it. He ordered up a sherry +cobbler apiece and brought out some of his rarest weeds. "I say, what do +you think of Simpson, Bovey?" said Clarges, suddenly. + +"Think? why, that there's nothing in him to think about." + +"Did you know he was married?" + +"No; is he?" Bovey was always laconic. + +"Yes, and he has four children. Just think, four! Two boys and two +girls." + +"How interesting!" The two men smoked silently for a few minutes, then +Clarges said, "It must be a beautiful thing to be married, you know." + +"Well, I _ought_ to know," returned his cousin. + +Clarges put his cigar down and went on. "To have somebody that belongs +to you, and to know that you belong to somebody; that's marriage, and I +think it must be very beautiful. Of course, you belong to other people +too, just the same, and they belong to you, but not so much, not in the +same way. You don't go to church all in a tremble with your father and +your mother, or your sister or your brother. You don't wear a ring--a +beautiful, great broad band of gold, you know, always shining there +on your finger--or you don't put one on for anybody else save just the +person that belongs to you in that way, in the way of marriage, you +know. And to be able to think wherever you are, 'Well, there is that +person, anyway, thinking of me, waiting for me; the whole world doesn't +matter if that person is really there, anywhere, thinking of me, waiting +for me.' Now, you know, _I'll_ never feel that, never, in this world. +What good is there in me? I may be Arthur Clarges, of Clarges, of +course, but without money, that means nothing. I say, Bovey, it's rather +ghastly, but it's perfectly true. I haven't a single soul in the world +but you and Lady Violet to think of me at all, or for me to think of." + +"I don't suppose you have," said the Hon. Bovyne, thoughtfully. "You are +a lone beggar, Arthur, but a cheery one nevertheless." + +"So you see," Clarges went on, "If in accompanying you around the world +in search of new pleasures and exciting experiences, anything happens to +me, you know, Arthur Clarges, of Clarges, nobody need mind. There isn't +anybody to mind." + +"All this because Simpson has got four children! Well, I hope you'll +get married yet, Arthur, you queer fish, and have six, two more than +Simpson. I know what you are driving at, however. You think me a selfish +brute. You can't understand how I can leave Lady Vi., and the two kids, +and go off annually on tours of exploration and so forth. I tell you, +I am the better for it, and she is the better for it, and nobody is any +the worst for it, unless it be yourself. Men who have knocked about as +I have done, will continue to knock about as long as they live. In the +army, out of the army, all the same. Lady Vi. understands me, and I her, +and you forget, Arthur, that you are very--young." + +"Then may I never get any older," said Charles, almost rudely. + +Not long afterwards his cousin, slightly heavy with wine, went to bed. +Clarges, abnormally wakeful, tried to read _Bell's Life_ which lay +before him and waited until Bovey was fast asleep. They occupied the +same room, a large double-bedded one, which opened into a bathroom and +parlour _en suite_. When he was perfectly certain that his cousin was +sound asleep, so sound that "a good yelp from the county pack, and a +stirring chorus of 'John Peel' by forty in pink could not wake him," +thought Clarges, the latter undertook his delicate task and accomplished +it. He did it quickly and skilfully with a tiny lancet he found in his +cousin's well-appointed travelling bag. Bovey never stirred. Clarges +next undertook to "do" himself. Then a strange thing happened. He +had gone to the glass and bared his left arm when a sudden faintness +overcame him. He tried to shake it off and sat down. Presently it left +him and he felt quite as usual. Then he made a second attempt. The same +thing occurred again. This time it was worse, and sight and strength +failing, he sank on his own bed, fainting. By a tremendous effort he +prevented entire unconsciousness from taking place and lay there half +dressed and tremulous. + +"Well, I _am a fool_! I can't help it. I can't try any more to-night, +for I am as weak and sleepy--if I can get up and undress it's as much +as I am capable of. But Bovey's all right. There's Lady Violet"--turning +his eyes to the photograph he had stuck in the looking glass +frame--"she'd thank me if she knew." Sweet Lady Vi--so good to all +around her--so good to me--dear Lady Vi, the loveliest woman in England! + +When Clarges awoke he was chilled and dazed, couldn't remember where +he was and what he had done. When he did recollect, he rose quietly, +extinguished the gas and made the room as dark as possible, in hopes +that Bovey might outsleep himself in the morning. Then he went to bed +properly, putting as a final precaution, his watch an hour in advance. +It thus happened that by Clarges' watch it was a quarter past ten when +he awoke. He rose first and bullied his cousin to that extent that the +latter tumbled out of bed and flung on his clothes without indulging in +his usual bath. At eleven the trap was due and Bovey was all on fire, +bundled his things around recklessly and swore a little at Clarges for +keeping him up the night before. Clarges was nervous, but up to the +present time was master of the situation. At breakfast, Bovey discovered +the mistake, but attributed it to Clarges' carelessness in such matters +aggravated by a probable bad arm. + +"Why I took your watch for an authority instead of my own, I don't +know," said he. "But last night I thought you were the clearer of the +two, in fact, I don't recollect winding mine at all, and it seems now +that _you_ were the delinquent." + +"Yes, I must have been," said Clarges, self-reproachfully. + +At eleven the trap came, and by noon they were half-way to their +destination. The road winding higher and higher as it followed the +magnificent curves of the Gatineau was very beautiful, and revealed at +each turn a superb panorama of water, and wood and sky. For a long time +the Buildings were visible, towering over trees and valleys. Once the +sun came out and lit up the cold, gray scene. + +"Pull up, Johnny," said the Hon. Bovyne, "I want to see this. Why, its +immense, this is! Arthur, how's your arm?" + +But Clarges was evidently struck with something. "I say, over there, +is where we were yesterday, Bovey, I can imagine I see the very spot, +cannon and all." + +"Just as then you imagined you saw a couple of trees here, eh? Now go +along, Johnny, and sit down, Arthur. It doesn't agree with you to be +vaccinated. I'm afraid you're too imaginative already my boy. By the +way, how _is_ your arm?" + +"Its a novel situation," thought Clarges. "_He's_ the one, not me. Its +_his_ arm, not mine. But my turn will come to-night; pretty soon he'll +find it out for himself." + +Arrived at the house of _Veuve_ Peter Ross, they found it clean and +inviting; warmed by a wood stove and carpeted with home-made rugs. The +old woman took a great interest in their arrival and belongings and +jabbered away incessantly, in French. Did they but request her to +"cherchez un autre blankette!" or fry an additional egg, up went her +hands, her eyes and her shoulders, and such a tirade of excited French +was visited upon them that they soon forebore asking her for anything +but went about helping themselves. At first they thought she was +angry when these outbreaks took place, but Bovey, who could partially +understand her, gathered that she was far from offended, but given over +to the national habit of delivering eloquent and theatrical monologues +on the slightest provocation. She had no lodgers at the present moment; +a Frenchman had left the day before, and the prospect was in every way +favorable, to the comfort of the two friends. + +When the dusk fell, Bovey made a camp-fire. + +"It's what we came for," he said, "and we can't begin too early or have +enough of it, and I feel chilly, queer, quite unlike myself to-night. +It's a depressing country just about here." + +"It is," said Clarges, anxious to keep his friend a little longer in the +dark. "We'll be all right when it's really night, you know, and the fire +blazes up. What a jolly tent and what glorious blankets? We ought to +go to bed early, for it was awfully late the last night There! now its +getting better. Hoop-la! more sticks Bovey! Throw them on, make it blaze +up. Here we are in the primeval forest at last, Bovey, pines and moss, +and shadows and sounds--What's that now? Is that on the river?" + +For suddenly they heard the most wonderful strain coming from that +direction. The river was about three or four hundred yards away across +the road, in front of them, and upon a raft slowly passing by were a +couple of _habitans_ singing. What strain was this, so weird, so solemn, +so earnest, yet so pathetic, so sweet, so melodious! + + + "Descendez l'ombre + Ma jolie blonde." + + +Those were the words they caught, no more, but the tune eluded them. + +"It's the queerest tune I ever heard!" ejaculated Clarges. He had a +smattering of music, and not a bad ear. + +"Can't get it for the life of me. It's like--I tell you what it's +like Bovey, its got the same--you know--the same intervals--that's the +word--that the priests chant in! And then, just when you're thinking it +has, off it goes into something like opera bouffe or those French rounds +our nurse used to sing. But isn't it pretty? I say--where's Lady Violet +now, Bovey, eh? Don't you wish she could see us, see you there, quite +the pioneer, looking like Queen Elizabeth's giant porter in this queer +light? and how she would catch up that tune and bring it out on the +piano, and make ever so much more of it with her clever fingers, first +like a battle-cry, men marching and marching you know, and then put in a +wonderful chord that would make us all creep and sigh as she would glide +into the loveliest nocturne, you know--I say, what a nocturne we're +having, eh! Do you think it's any livelier now?" + +"My boy," said the Hon. Bovyne, solemnly, "You are right, it is a +nocturne and a wonderful one. I'm not given to expressing myself +poetically as you know, so I shall content myself with saying that +its immense, and now will you pass the whiskey? I certainly feel shaky +to-night, but I shall sleep out here all the same. What are you going to +do?" + +"I prefer to try the house, I think," answered Clarges, and so he did. +When he was going to bed, heartily grateful that his cousin was as yet +ignorant of his interference, he looked long and earnestly from his one +window in the roof at the scene outside before he attempted again the +process of self-vaccination. He could see the mighty flames of Bovey's +camp-fire, a first-class fire, well planned and well plied. He could see +the pale outline of the tent and the dark figure of his cousin wrapped +in rugs and blankets by the side of the fire. He could see the tall +pines and the little firs, the glistening line of river and the circles +of gleaming white stones that marked the garden beds in front. The +first snow of the year was just beginning to fall in tiny flakelets that +melted as soon as they touched the ground. + +"When they're all covered with snow, it must be pretty," thought +Clarges. "Like all the Christmas trees in the world put together! The +winter is beginning, the long cold, constant Canadian winter we have +heard so much about. Good-bye, dear Lady Violet, good-bye, dear old +England!" Clarges sat on the side of the bed with his arm ready. But +the faintness came again, this time with a sickening thrill of frightful +pain and apprehension, and he rolled over in a deathly swoon with his +own words ringing in his ears. + +When the morning broke, it broke in bright sunshine and with an inch or +so of snow on the ground. The Hon. Bovyne, though feeling unaccountably +ill and irritable, was delighted. + +"Still I fear we are too late in the season for much camping," he said, +"I must see Arthur about it." + +He waited till ten, eleven, half-past eleven. No Arthur, not even the +old woman about. He wondered very much. He approached the house, +and finding nobody coming at his knock, opened the door and went in. +Something wrong. He knew that at once. The air was stifling, horrible, +with an unknown quantity in it, it seemed to him. He threw open +the front room door. _Veuve_ Peter Ross was in her bed, ill, and of +small-pox. He could tell her that, for certain. He rushed up-stairs and +found Clarges on his bed, raving, delirious. + +What was it he heard? + +"Bovey's all right! Bovey's all right?" This was all, repeated over and +over. + +The Hon. Bovyne was neither a fool nor a coward. He tore off his coat +and looked at his arm, then he dragged his cousin out of the room, down +the stairs and out of the fatal house. Propping him up against a sturdy +pine and covering him with all available warm clothing, he sped like +wind to the nearest house. But neither the swift, keen self-reproaches +of Bovey, nor the skill of the best physician to be found in the town, +nor the pure, fresh pine-scented air, nor the yearning perchance of +a dead yet present mother could prevail. The young life went out in +delirium and in agony, but "thank God," thought Bovey, "in complete +unconsciousness." + +When he set about removing his tent and other camping apparatus some +time later, he was suddenly struck with the appearance of the tree +against which poor Clarges had been propped. He looked again and +again. "I must be dreaming," said the Hon. Bovyne. "That tree--oh! +its impossible--nevertheless, that tree has its counterpart in the one +opposite it, and both have extraordinary branches! They bend upward, +making a kind of--of--what was it Arthur saw in those imaginary trees of +his only--_yesterday_--my God--it is true--a kind of lyre shape! There +it is, and the more I look at it the clearer it grows, and to think he +has _died_ there--!! And beneath there he is buried, and the raftsmen +will pass within a few hundred yards of him where he lies, and will sing +the same strain that so fascinated him, but he will not hear it, and +learn it and bring it back for Lady Violet, the loveliest woman in +England! For he has gone down into the eternal shadow that no man ever +penetrates." + + + + + +The Prisoner Dubois. + + +Miss Cecilia Maxwell was the only child of Sir Robert Maxwell, K. C. +M. G., member of the Cabinet, chief orator of the Liberal party, and +understudy for the part of Premier, who, although a Scotchman by birth, +was a typical Canadian--free, unaffected, honest and sincere. His bushy +iron-gray hair, his keen gray eyes, his healthy florid color, and the +well-trimmed black moustache, which gave his face an unusually youthful +appearance for a man of his age, went with a fine stalwart physique and +a general bodily conformation apparently in keeping with the ideas of +early rising, cold ablutions and breakfasts of oatmeal porridge that the +ingenuous mind is apt to associate with Scotch descent and bringing-up. +His daughter was a very beautiful girl. Born in the shadow of the pines, +she had been educated successively in Edinburgh, Brussels and Munich, +had been presented at Court, been through two London seasons, spent half +of one winter in South America, another in Bermuda, had been ogled by +lords, worshipped by artists, and loved by everybody. + +Once more in Canada, she took her place in the limited yet exacting +political circles of the Capital, of Toronto, and of distant Winnipeg. +Life was full of duties, and she shirked none, though on days when they +were put away earlier than usual she would fall to musing of the country +place down the river she had not seen for years, with the beautiful +woods, and the simple, contented French, and the evenings on the water. + +"That great, lonely river," she thought on one occasion, looking idly +out of her window. "What other river in the world is like it?--and the +tiny French villages with the red roofs and doors, and the sparkling +spires and the queer people. Delle Lisbeth, and _veuve_ Macleod, and +Pierre--poor Pierre. I have never forgotten Pierre, with his solemn eyes +and beautiful brown hair. And how he knew the flowers in the wood, and +what were those songs he used to sing?" And Cecilia sang a couple of +verses of: + + "Un Canadian errant, + Banni de ses foyers." + +When Sir Robert entered later he found her listless and preoccupied. +"You mustn't look like that to-night," he said. "Don't forget that this +is your first important dinner-party: three French members and their +wives, and La Colombire, the new Minister of Finance, to whom you must +be as charming as possible. This North-West business is quickening as +fast as it can. The Mtis are really up, there's no doubt about it." + +"In rebellion?" asked Cecilia breathlessly. There was an added interest +in life directly to the imaginative girl. + +"Ay," said her father, "there's a rascal at the bottom of it we've been +after for a long time; but now, run away and look bright at dinner, like +a good girl." + +The small clique of Frenchmen and their wives could not but have been +charmed with their reception that evening. The dinner was good, and not +too heavy nor long, the wines excellent (for Sir Robert did not as yet +favor the "Scott" Act), and the suavity of his manner combined with the +appearance and grace of his daughter, in a delicate dress of primrose +and brown, with amber in her beautiful golden plaits and round her +whitest neck, left nothing to be desired. And yet on that very first +night in her capacity as hostess, Cecilia found she had to learn to play +a part, the part of woman, which all women who have just left off being +girls find so hard to play at first. For naturally the report of the +Mtis revolt had spread. Sir Robert did a brave thing. He referred to it +directly they were seated, and then everybody felt at ease. Now it could +be talked about if anybody chose--and Cecilia did so choose. + +"Who is this young Frenchman," she asked of La Colombire, "that is +identified with this new rising? I have been away, and am ignorant of it +all." + +"His name is Dubois--Pierre Dubois," returned La Colombire with +a gleaming smile. "He calls himself the representative of the +French-Canadian party. Bah! such men!" But Cecilia's heart had given a +mighty leap and then stopped, she almost thought, for ever. + +"Pierre--Pierre Dubois?" she reiterated in her surprise. Her fan of +yellow feathers dropped from her lap, and her face showed extraordinary +interest for a moment. + +"You know him M'lle.?" said La Colombire, returning her the fan. For +an instant she was the centre of attention. Then with a flutter of +the yellow feathers that subjugated the four impressionable Frenchmen +completely, she resumed her usual manner. + +"I know the name, certainly. There was somebody of that name living at +Port Joli where we go in the Summer you know." + +"Oh!" said Laflamme carelessly, a little man with a bald head and a +diplomatist's white moustache, "Dubois is not a new offender. He has +been recognized as an agitator for three or four years. He has the +eyes of the ox and the wavy hair of the sculptor. He is to be +admired--_vraiment_--and has the gift of speech." + +When the dinner was over Cecilia played for them in the drawing-room. +Somehow or other, she wandered into the tender yet buoyant melody of the +_chanson_ she had hummed earlier in the day. + + "Un Canadien errant, + Banni de ses foyers." + +"Hum-hum," trolled little Laflamme. "So you know our songs? _Ca va +bien_!" + +"That was taught me" said Cecilia, "once down the river at Port Joli." +But she did not say who had taught her. Later on when the guests were +gone and Sir Robert was preparing to go back to the office, his daughter +said very quietly. + +"Papa do you remember that young man at Port Joli who was staying with +the cur for his health, the one who was so kind and showed me so +many things, the woods, you know and the water, and who talked so +beautifully?" + +"I remember the one you mean, I think, but not his name. Why, dear +child?" + +"His name was Dubois," returned Cecilia. "Pierre Dubois!" + +"Dubois? Are you sure? That is very singular" said her father. "And he +talked beautifully you say? It must be _this_ one." + +"That is what I think" said Cecilia, seeing her father to the door. + +Then ensued a period of hard work for Cecilia. She read the papers +assiduously, going up every day to the Parliamentary reading-rooms for +that purpose that she might lose no aspect of the affair. She followed +every detail of the rebellion, even possessing herself of many of her +father's papers bearing on the matter. Those details are well known; how +the whisper ran through our peaceful land, breathing of war and battle +and blood-shed; how our gallant men marched to the front in as superb a +faith and as perfect a manhood as ever troops have shown in this country +or the Old; how some fell by the way, and how others were reserved to be +clasped again to the bosoms of wife and mother and how some met with +the finest fate of all, or at least the most fitting fate for a true +soldier--death on the battle-field. For a month the country was in +a delirium. Then joy-bells rang, and bonfires blazed, and hands were +struck in other hands for very delight that the cause of all the +mischief, the rebel chief, the traitor Dubois was taken. Cecilia alone +sat in her room in horror. + +"What will they do with the prisoner Dubois?" she said with a vehemence +that dismayed Sir Robert. + +"The prisoner Dubois? Why, they will hang him of course. He has caused +too much blood to be shed not to have to give some of his own." Cecilia +writhed as if in extreme pain. Her beauty, her grace, her youth all +seemed to leave her in a moment, and she stood faded and old before her +father. + +"Oh, they will not do that! Imprison him or send him away--anything, +anything save that! See, they do not know him--poor Pierre, so kind, so +good--they do not know him as I knew him. Father, he could not hurt a +thing--he would step aside from the smallest living thing in the path +when we walked together that summer, and he helped everybody that wanted +help, there was nothing he could not do. And he loves his country--at +least he did so then. There is that song, _'O mon cher Canada_,' he used +to sing, and he told me of the future of his country, and how he had +prayed to be allowed to aid it and push it forward. And he does not hate +the English, only how can he help loving the French more when he is one +of them, and has good French blood in his veins--better than many of the +so-called English! And he was born to be a leader and to bring men away +from their home into battle and make war for them, and where in that +does he differ from other heroes we are taught to love and admire? If +you had ever heard him talk, and had seen the people all gathered round +him when he spoke of all these things--as for his church and the Virgin, +and the priests, it would be well if you and all of us thought as much +about our religion, and loved and revered it as he did his!" + +Cecilia broke down into incoherent sobs. Sir Robert sat aghast at this +startling confession. No need to tell him that it was prompted by love. + +"But what if he be insane, my dear?" he asked very quietly. + +"Then it is still bad--it is worse," said Cecilia. "Will hanging an +insane man bring back the others that are slain? Will it make foul fair +and clean still cleaner? Will it bring peace and friendliness, and right +feeling, or will it bring a fiercer fire and a sharper sword than our +country has yet seen--a hand-to-hand fight between rival races, a civil +war based on national distinction!" + +"What would you do?" said her father, walking up and down the room. +"What can I or anybody do? It is common law and common justice; if he be +found guilty he must swing for it. Personal intercession--" + +"Might save him!" said the girl. + +"Must not be thought of!" said her father. + +"You mean, _you_ may not think of it. But others may--_I_ may. I am a +woman, free and untrammelled by either party or personal considerations +of any kind. Father, let _me_ try!" + +"Cecilia, it is madness to take such a thing upon yourself. How is it +possible? What are your plans?" + +"I do not know. I have not thought. All is in a haze through which I see +that vision of the hangman and the rope Father, let me try!" + +Sir Robert thought for a moment, then he said: "Very well, my dear, you +shall try, on one condition; that first of all you have an interview +with Dubois himself. In fact, for your purpose it is absolutely +necessary that you should see him, in order to identify him with the +other Dubois you used to know. After that interview, if you still +persist in your course, I promise--rash as it certainly seems--to help +you. Now hold yourself in readiness to start for the North-West at a +moment's notice. I have private information that tells me Dubois will be +hung and any intervention on your part or that of anybody else must be +set on foot immediately, do you see?" + +A few days afterwards Cecilia, unveiled, and dressed in an +irreproachable walking costume of gray, was taken to the gloomy prison +outside the little northern town of ----, where the prisoner Dubois was +confined. There was a bit of tricolor in her hat and her cheeks were +very pale--As the beautiful daughter of Sir Robert Maxwell her way was +sufficiently paved with politeness as she presented her private order +to see the prisoner. Her heart was beating tumultuously and the +blood surged round her temples. The turnkey showed her into a small +whitewashed room, opposite the cell in which Dubois spent his time and +informed her that in compliance with strict orders he would have to be +present during the interview, to which Cecilia bent her head in assent; +she could not have spoken just then. "It is a strange thing that I am +doing," she thought, "but I shall see Pierre--poor Pierre." Approaching +footsteps were soon heard and the prisoner Dubois entered, escorted by +two warders. He started when he saw his visitor, and--stared. + +"Mademoiselle,--" he said, evidently trying to recall her name and +failing. + +"Cecile," she said, eagerly, "Ma'amselle Cecile you always called +me, and I liked it so much better than Cecilia. I think I like it +still--Pierre--I--." + +The prisoner Dubois frowned. + +"If Mdme. Dubois had ears through these walls, you had not called me +'Pierre.' But--" laying his hand on his heart and bowing low, "Pierre +himself is flattered--_oui, mademoiselle_--by your attention--_oui, +vraiment_--and he is rejoiced to know that his image is still cherished +in that heart so fair, so _Anglaise_, so pure, so good. _Belle-enfant, +Je n'ai pas oubli nos amours_!" + +The three men in the room suppressed a smile. Dubois stood with his head +thrown back, his arms folded and his soft dark eyes fixed on Cecilia. +She was still standing, indeed there was no chair in the room, and her +eyes were fixed on him as his upon herself. It was Pierre, and yet not +her Pierre. Rather an exaggerated growth--of the man she had once known. +The same soft brown hair, only thicker and rougher, one drooping wave +looking tangled and unkempt--the dreamy eyes with the latent sneer +in them dreamier than ever and yet the sneer more visible, the +thin sensitive nose thinner, the satisfied mouth more satisfied and +conscious, the weak chin fatally weaker. And he was married, too! Mdme. +Dubois--that must be his wife! How strange it was! Cecilia's brain was +in a frightful state of doubt and fever and hesitation. It was necessary +for her to explain her presence there, however, for she could not but +resent the opening speech of the prisoner Dubois. She was growing very +tired of standing, moreover, but she would have died rather than have +demanded a chair. At length the turnkey observed her fatigue and sent +one of the warders for a chair. + +"Fetch two," interposed Dubois, with a flourish of his hand. "I myself +shall sit down." When the man returned, bringing only one chair on the +plea that he could not find another, Cecilia, whose nerve was returning, +offered it to Dubois. He accepted it calmly and sat down upon it, +waiting to hear what she had to say. At this signal instance of arch +selfishness Cecilia felt her heart tighten and her temples grow cold as +if fillets of fire had been exchanged for ribbons of snow. + +"Sir," she began, "I am sorry to find you here." Dubois smiled the smile +of a great man who listens with condescension to what an inferior has +to say. "I am glad you have not forgotten me, because all the time I +was away, and it has been a long time, I never--it is quite true--forgot +you--I mean (for Dubois smiled again) I never forgot that summer you +spent near us at Port Joli, and the things you talked about, about your +future. When I came home I found you had gone so much further than I +know you ever intended to, and have been the cause of so much trouble, +and the death of brave men, and I was very sorry." Cecilia leant on the +bare table before her, and felt that every moment as it passed brought +with it a cooling of the once passionate feeling she had entertained for +the Dubois of her childhood. But if the lover were gone, there remained +the man, husband and father, maybe the leader, the orator, the martyr, +the dear human being. + +"So I thought that if it were possible at all, some step should be +taken to--to prevent the law from taking its course--its final course +perhaps." Cecilia felt her throat tighten as she spoke. "You have plenty +of friends--you must have--all the French will help and many, many +English, for it is no cause to die for, it is no cause at all! There +should never have been bloodshed on either side!" + +Dubois uncrossed his long legs at last and said in his loftiest tone: + +"_Chre enfant_, the French will not let me die. I--I myself--Pierre +Dubois--allowed to hang by the neck until I am dead! That will never +happen. _Voyez-vous donc chrie_, I am their King, their prophet, their +anointed, their fat priests acknowledge me, their women adore me!" + +Cecilia shrunk together as she listened. She had sought and she had not +found, she had expected and it had been denied her. At this moment, the +turnkey signified that time was up. She felt her heart burning in an +agony of undefined grief and disappointment in which was also mingled +the relief of resignation. The prisoner Dubois bowed low with his hand +on his heart and then pressing her own hand lingeringly, gave her a +tenderly insinuating glance. As she turned away she heard him exchange +a laugh and a jest with one of the wardens, and her cheeks flamed with +indignant anger. "Were he a good or suffering man as I dreamed he was, I +would have bent low and kissed his hand; as it was, I am sorry I let him +take mine." + +She was calm when she reached her carriage in which sat her father +waiting. He divined at once that his plan had been successful. "You look +tired, my dear," was all he said. + +"Yes, I have been standing for some time," Cecilia returned in a +peculiar voice. + +"Could they not find you a chair in the establishment?" + +"They found one," she said grimly, "and that was appropriated by the +prisoner Dubois." + +"The prisoner Dubois!" thought Sir Robert. "It is well. We shall hear no +more of Pierre." + +Two days before Christmas the prisoner Dubois underwent the extreme +penalty of the law. Cecilia sat in her room all that day. She never +quite made up her mind as to whether Pierre had been a lunatic or +a fanatic, a martyr or a fiend, an inspired criminal or a perverted +enthusiast. Perhaps he was a mixture of all. + + + + + +How the Mr. Foxleys Came, Stayed and Never Went Away. + + + + +CHAPTER I. + + +There flows in Western Canada, by which I mean a region east of the +Saskatchewan and west of the Thousand Islands, a singular and beautiful +stream. It is beautiful because it is narrow, undulating and shallow, +because it has graceful curves and rounded bends, because its banks are +willow-clad and its bed boulder-strewn, because it flows along between +happy farms and neat white villages, because at one spot, it boasts +a picturesque and ruined mill and a moss-covered bridge and +because--chiefly because--it is above all things--placid. The mind +familiar with our Canadian streams will easily understand then, that +if these be its attributes of beauty, they also attest to its claim +of singularity. For the Canadian river is seldom placid, but oftener +seething and steaming and foaming; or else deep and dark and dangerous +with many a mighty gorge and tumbling cascade, wide and lonely and +monotonous for the most part; pine hung down to the very edge, black +and lowering, or displaying waving wisps of dry gray foliage that only +resembles human hair. What a contrast, then, does this cherished river +I speak of, afford! No local Laureate has as yet written it up, though +picnic parties used to gather themselves together on its banks and in +its well-wooded shades, defiling everything they touched from bark to +beach, leaving bits of bread here, dead pie there, buttering the leaves, +peppering the grass, salting the stones, and scattering greasy crumpled +paper--PAPER--PAPER--everywhere. That is what picnic parties do all over +the world, and with such gusto all of them, even the Sunday-schools, +Dorcases, W. C. T. U's. and all the rest of them, that I really think it +must be intended as a serious part of the Picnicker's Ritual and forms +very likely a peace-offering or sacrifice of propitiation towards some +unknown God. I don't think the Druids left paper about underneath their +oaks. But presumably they left worse. Well, if as yet, this river I love +so well has not been immortalized in fiction, travels or verse, it has +however attracted the attention of several gifted members of the Royal +Academy--Royal Canadian of course, who have from time to time +invaded its peaceful shores and stuffing themselves into adjacent +if inconvenient farmhouses, sketched it in water and oil, in the +common-place pencil, and the more ambitious charcoal. The results are +charming and you may see them any day in the studios of our foremost +artists or in the picture dealers' windows or haply on the terra-cotta +tinted walls of our esteemed collectors, the retired grocers of +Montreal, or the aesthetic lawyers of a more western and more ambitious +city. Still though the sketches are charming both in conception and +execution, I, were I a Canadian artist, eager to secure Canadian +subjects for my pencil, would hardly choose this particular river as one +likely to give the most correct idea of Canadian scenery. No, I would +chose the St. Maurice or the Richelieu, the Livre or the Saguenay, the +Ottawa or portions of the St. Lawrence, with the grim Azoic rocks, the +turbulent rapids and the somber pines. What a superb river system it is! +Tell them off on your fingers and you'll have to go on borrowing from +them afterwards and then all over again. Think of all those rivers that +cluster in the French Canada and feed the mighty Gulf of St. Lawrence. +There are the Ottawa, the Gatineau, the Rideau, the Richelieu, the +Livre, the Matanne, the Metapedia, the Mtis, the Saguenay. Those are +the ones we know. Then look at the Peribonka, the Maniconagan, all the +Ste. Anne's, all the Rouge or Red rivers, the Du Moine, the Coalonge, +the Vermilion, the St. Francis. Then, look at that cluster of great +Saxon named streams, the Churchill, the Nelson, the Severn, the English, +the Albany! Lastly, glance at the magnificent Saskatchewan with the +historic streams of Battle and Qu'Appelle Rivers! And now I have omitted +the Athabasca, the Peace, the Moose and the Assiniboine! There is no end +to them; they defy enumeration while they invite it. + +Now, most of these Canadian rivers are Azoic in character; hence their +grim and formidable beauty. But my river has nothing the least Azoic +about it. It belongs to a more recent, a more comfortable, more placid, +more satisfying a formation. It is as idyllic a stream as any English +one that Tennyson noted in a contemplative ramble to work up later into +the "Brook." + +Crossing the moss-grown bridge I have alluded to, a gradual ascent +presents itself on the opposite side, of firm white road well +macadamized and leading through small neat low houses, each with a +little garden in front, to a church with a needle-like spire on the +top of the hill, and the parson's house adjoining. On a June day, +for example, it made a pleasant picture. Pastoral and prosperous the +landscape, contented the people on foot, in the fields, at the windows, +and most delightful of all--a certain Old World haze hanging over it. + +This is what struck the Mr. Foxleys, driving out slowly from the town +one Saturday afternoon. George, the elder, pale with dark hair, lay back +in the phaeton with folded arms. Joseph, the younger, fair-haired +and freckled, sat up, driving. They had hardly exchanged a word since +entering the phaeton. For eight miles they had proceeded in almost +perfect silence. This did not mean that they were out of sorts, or not +on pleasant terms with one another. On the contrary, it proved that they +were the very best of friends, and never bored each other. I may as well +say at once that they were Englishmen, which was easy to gather from +their picturesque and unusual attire of neat gray small-clothes meeting +gray stockings at the knee, low white shoes, a striped blue and white +flannel shirt and canoe-shaped hats of gray, each bearing a snow-white +"puggree" with blue and gold fringed ends. Such was the outward adorning +of the Mr. Foxleys. Behind the phaeton ran a pretty brown retriever +answering to the name of "Bess," and laid across the floor of the little +carriage were a couple of walking canes, a couple of fishing rods and +a gun case strapped together, while under the seat was a medium-sized +portmanteau, and a peculiar long box with a leather handle. The eight +miles having been traversed by them in silence, George, the elder, broke +it by remarking, as they slackened their pace, before advancing over the +bridge, "This is better." + +"Very much so. Rather. I should think so," answered Joseph, the younger, +who had a slightly more lively manner than his brother, and very +laughing eyes. "It looks a little more like the--the Old Country." + +The elder brother made no reply. A kind of weary smile flitted across +his face instead. + +"It's a little bit after--Devonshire, don't you think?" went on Joseph, +surveying the green meadows, the neat painted fences, the sleeping cows, +the rising uplands in the distance leaning lovingly next the sky, +the bridge, the distant church, and the placid narrow river with the +overhanging willows and the stony amber floor. + +"A long way after," said George, without unfolding his arms or looking +around him at all. He was gazing straight before him. + +"But you don't half see the beauty of it," said the younger brother, +stopping the horse and standing up in the phaeton, "especially after +that horrid eight miles of half-cleared ugly-stumpy stubble! This is +really beautiful, such soft lines you know and little corners--oh! +quite English!" Some of his enthusiasm reached the quieter brother, who +apparently roused himself and looked around as directed. A faint pink +came into his pale cheeks, a new gleam into the weary eyes, "Well, it is +_better_, as I said before--you'll remember, I noticed it first--but not +English." + +"Well, not English altogether of course, I know," said Joseph gathering +up his reins, "but its a jolly spot enough whatever it is, and--I say, +look at that now, that oak, on the other side of the road, in front of +that little cottage, we'll be up with it now in a minute." + +"By Jove, what a splendid tree!" Now I do not in the least wonder at the +Mr. Foxleys stopping opposite this mighty oak to admire it, because I +myself am quite familiar with it and have seen it scores of times, and +must agree with them in pronouncing it one of the finest trees I have +ever seen anywhere. Of course it has no story attached to it that the +world knows, at least it never talked that I am aware of, never hid or +screened anybody of importance--or anything of that sort--so naturally +it has little or no interest about it. And yet, for that very reason, +it is so much easier to think of it as a tree, to consider it and admire +it, and learn to love and understand it just as a tree. So the Mr. +Foxleys thought, as they gazed at its monstrous trunk, its glorious +branches of deep, dark glossy green with here and there an upstart arm +of glowing bronze or a smaller shoot of younger yellow. + +"It might have grown in the _Manor Park_!" said the younger brother +airily with a keen sense of pleasure in the suggestion. + +"It might have grown in the _Manor Park_, as you say", rejoined the +elder brother gravely. + +Then they went on again, slowly up the hill, that they might the better +examine the church, the parsonage and the road beyond. What they wanted +now was an Inn. Presently they espied one, just on the other side of a +tiny bridge spanning a tinier brook. It was no upstart brick building of +flaring red with blind white windows and a door flush with the street, +a dirty stable at one side and a ragged kitchen garden at the other. But +low and white and irregular with a verandah running along in front, it +had red curtains that would draw over the lower halves of the windows +and hints of chintz at the upper portions; the door was open and +revealed a tall clock in the hall, a stand of flowers, and a cat asleep +in a large round chair; at one side a flight of steps led down to the +kitchen door at which a buxom maid in bare arms stood in a pink gown and +a pinker face, and at the other side was the boarded square that held +the pump--the village pump--around which were gathered five or six +bare-footed children, the hostler of the Inn, the village butcher, +tailor, and cobbler. A sign swung out from the verandah. + +"The Ipswich Inn, by M. Cox," said the younger Mr. Foxley. Then he +looked at his brother. His brother looked at him. They understood one +another at once, and Joseph pulled up in good style at the door. The +hostler, dressed in old corduroy and with a fiddle under his arm, sprang +forward to assist them. He dropped his H's. "Delightful," cried Mr. +Joseph. So did the landlady, a cheery person of about fifty in a silk +apron. The brothers were so content that they remained all night, "to +look at the place." + +Next morning, endless surprises awaited and greeted them. They found +that the large room in front was a kind of drawing-room, in which +rose-leaves, china-bowls, old engravings, a shining mahogany book-case, +and a yellow-keyed piano atoned for the shortcomings of funeral +horsehair and home-made carpets. They thought it on the whole a charming +room, only to be eclipsed by the kitchen. For the kitchen, which was +underneath the ground floor and nearly the entire size of the house, was +therefore very spacious and comfortable, possessing three large +pantries and an out-house or summer kitchen; besides, moreover, it was +dark-raftered, ham-hung, with willow-pattern slates in a neat dresser, +and peacock feathers over the high mantel; with, in one corner--the +darkest--a covered well, into which I used to see myself the beautiful +golden pats of butter lowered twice a week in summer time. One window, +a small one, curtained with chintz and muslin drawn on a string, looked +out on a small terraced garden at the back leading to an orchard; the +other window, large and long, with twelve small panes and no curtains at +all, adjoined the door opening on the court or yard at the side of the +house. This yard was paved irregularly with grey stone slabs, between +which the grass had wedged itself, with an occasional root of the +persistent and omnipresent dandelion; it contained a cistern, a table +with flower-pots, a parrot in one cage, a monkey in another, garden +implements, rods, buckets, tins and tubs! A pleasant untidiness +prevailed in the midst of irreproachably clean and correct surroundings, +and the Mr. Foxleys having finished their breakfast up-stairs in the +public dining-room--a bare, almost ugly apartment, devoid of anything +in furniture or appointments to make it homelike, except a box of +mignonette set in the side-window, looked longingly out at the little +paved court-yard beneath. They had had the most delicious rasher of +ham, eggs _sans peur et sans reproche_, some new and mysterious kind of +breakfast cake, split and buttered while hot, and light and white inside +as it was golden and glazed outside, and three glasses of fresh milk +each! They had been waited on by the buxom girl in a blue gown this +time, against which her arms looked pinker than ever, and during the +meal the landlady of the inn had looked in, with her hands too floury +and her mind too full of coming loaves to do more than inquire generally +as to their comfort. Looking over the mignonette, Mr. Joseph Foxley +espied her presently talking to the parrot and tending the monkey. This +was more than the frivolous Mr. Joseph could stand. He took his brother +and made a tour of the house accordingly, discovering in turn as I +have said the drawing-room, the kitchen, the court-yard, the garden and +orchard and lastly the bar! _That_ proved the most comfortable, most +enticing room of all. More red curtains, at the windows and over one +door, an old-fashioned hearth paved with red brick and bearing even +in June a couple of enormous logs against the possible cold of a +rainy evening, two cases of stuffed birds, a buffalo's head over the +fireplace, colored prints of Love Lies Bleeding, Stocks and Bachelor's +Buttons, and over all, that odour of hot lemons and water, with +something spirituous beyond, that completely won the refractory heart +of the elder Mr. Foxley and caused him to drop down in a chair by the +hearth with an incoherent expression of wonder and relief that did not +escape his brother. + +"How long shall we say, George," he asked. "She will want to know, +because there are other men who come out here from town occasionally it +seems, and of course it's only fair to let her know about the room. + +"What shall I say?" Mr. George Foxley crossed his long legs in evident +comfort and took in the entire room in a smiling gaze before he +answered. Outside it was beautifully quiet, in front of the house. From +the back there came the faintest sounds of crow and cackle and farm-yard +stir just audible, from the kitchen rose cheerful laughter, and merry +voices, the smell of baking, and a fainter odor of herbs. Milly, the +girl, in the blue gown, passed with a milk pail in either hand. She +looked in shyly. Mr. Joseph waved his hand gallantly then laughed. Then +Mr. George said, very slowly. + +"Say? Oh, say that we will take the room--the one we have now, you +know--for the rest of the Summer." + +"That is, you will take it, and remain here, while I knock about in town +and come out on Saturdays or whenever I can," said Joseph. + +"Exactly," said his brother. + +That afternoon Mr. Joseph returned to town in the neat hired phaeton +leaving his brother in full possession of the charming and comfortable +Inn. In a couple of days he came back, this time in the stage that +passed through Ipswich three times a week, and bringing with him a +couple of English trunks and a stout portmanteau. Thus the Mr. Foxleys +entered upon life in earnest in this dear placid little village, not far +from the river described in the beginning of my story. + + + + +CHAPTER II. + + +The Mr. Foxleys, after a week's sojourn or so at the Ipswich Inn, made a +mutual discovery. This was, that not only were the landlady of the Inn, +her son and the ostler all of English origin and descent, but that the +entire village appeared to be populated by people of English extraction. +The butcher was a Englishman, the blacksmith was a Cockney answering to +the name of 'Enry Ide, the cobbler was from South Devon somewhere, +and the parson was an undergraduate of Oxford. The farmers were mostly +Scotch, and the village store-keeper was David Macpherson. The driver +of the stage was an Irishman, and the sexton of the pretty church on +the hill was an odd product of that odd corner of the world known as +the Isle of Man. Certainly the two brothers found and made themselves at +home. Milly perhaps was the only native Canadian that came in their way. +It was a thoroughly British settlement, and it is a noteworthy fact +that the only well-to-do man in the place was an American. It was he +who lived in the square, red brick house with white blinds always pulled +down, even in soft welcome spring days, and with plaster casts of lions +and deer couchant on futile little wooden pedestals in the garden. It +was he who owned the new and prosperous mill which had superseded the +worn-out one lower down the stream, the old mill that the artists loved, +and that reminded the Mr. Foxley's of home. It was he who owned the only +family carriage in the neighborhood, other people had "buggies." It was +his daughter who had been sent to New York for her education--who now +appeared in church on Sundays, in muslin costumes garnished with a +greater number of yards of ribbons in myriads of bows and ends than the +village store had ever possessed at one time in its life. It was he who +once or twice a year walked as far as the Inn and sitting down stiffly +in the stiff dining room would hold a short conversation with the +landlady on village matters and subjects in general. On these occasions +the good woman was secretly amused and not a little bored. She knew +gentlemen when she saw them and he was not one--that is, he was not one +according to her knowledge of types. The aristocracy of money was as +yet a phase unknown to her simple English mind accustomed to move in +traditional and accepted groves. So not much interchange of civilities +took place between the mill and the Inn. Not for Mr. Simon P. Rattray +did the oleanders blossom in the big green tubs and the wall-flowers and +mignonette in the windows. Not for him did the Jessamine climb and the +one hawthorn tree at the back gate leading to the orchard yield its +sweet white May, not for him did the tall clock strike and the parrot +talk. Talk!! Why, the only time the creature was ever known to be quiet +was when Mr. Simon P. Rattray made his portentous visits twice or three +times a year. And as for the hidden sweetness of the drawing-room or +the comforts of the kitchen or the fascinations of the bar, Mr. Simon P. +Rattray knew nothing whatever about them. He was a total abstainer you +see, and the blue ribbon appeared in his buttonhole on certain important +ceremonial days and even on Sundays, and he was known to be interested +in the fortunes of a cold, dismal little place built of plaster and +presided over by a male Methodist just outside the village limits, known +as a "Temperance Hotel." It will be easily gathered that the advent +of the Mr. Foxleys did not affect the fortunes of such a person as +Mr. Simon P. Rattray, nor was their subsequent career as residents +in Ipswich affected in any way by his existence, prejudices or +peculiarities. But to the remaining portions of the village, their +arrival proved full of interest The landlady took them to her heart at +once. They were _gentlemen_, she said, and that was enough for her. Her +son, a heavy lout, unlike his mother, accepted them as he did everything +and everybody by remaining outwardly profoundly unconscious of their +existence; the hostler adored them, especially Mr. Joseph; when the +latter was there, which he was every Saturday till Monday, he would +stroll over the stable with Squires--that was the hostler's name--joking +incessantly, and treating the latter to an occasional cigar. Urbane +Mr. Joseph would joke with anybody, Mr. George was more severe and had +according to the landlady, the most perfect and distinguished manners. + +"What they call _hawtoor_ in the Family Herald," she told Milly, "only +I never see it gone too far with." Milly of course was in love with them +both. + +In time, the entire village succumbed to the charms of the Mr. Foxleys. +The parson called, accompanied by his eldest daughter who was the +organist of the choir and chief promoter of the Sunday-school. They +found the objects of their social consideration seated outside the +kitchen in the little paved yard that had rapidly grown dear. When the +brothers appeared upstairs in the drawing-room into which rose-scented +and chintz-hung apartment the reverend Mr. and Miss had been shown in +appreciation of their station, Mr. Joseph had tuned his laughing eye to +a decorum as new as it was unnatural. It was a hot day in August and Mr. +George was so excessively languid and long and speechless that but for +his brother conversation would have been an impossibility. But he and +the parson soon discovered mutual friends at home, a cousin in the +Engineers, and a friendly coach at the University. + +"Charles James Foxley? Oh! I knew him well, very well" said the Rev. Mr. +Higgs, referring to the latter. "It is a somewhat--ah--unusual name. +The only other time I remember meeting with the name was once--let me +see--it was a meet, I think, at Foxley Manor, in Derbyshire it was, and +a very beautiful place." + +"In Nottinghamshire," said Mr. Joseph smiling. "Yes, that is--or +was--our home. My father still resides there." + +"Indeed?" said Mr. ----. "Is it possible! And you have come out here? +Really, it is most interesting, most fortunate that you should +have chosen our little village, should have pitched your tent so to +speak--ah! quite so." + +"My brother likes the country," said Mr. Joseph. + +"Ah! yes, quite so. And there is much to see in this new country, in +Canada, much to see. You will remain some time?" + +"We will remain as long as it suits my brother," said Mr. Joseph. "At +present, we can hardly tell." + +"Quite so, quite so. I hope--I am sure my daughter concurs in the hope, +that we shall see you in church as often as you can come and also--ah! +at the Rectory. Such society as we can give you here you may be assured +we will endeavor to give with all our--ah! heart to the best of our +ability." + +"Thanks very much" returned Mr. Joseph. "I am sure my brother and I will +be exceedingly glad to go and see you at the Rectory. About church I +will say that we never go very regularly anywhere, but when it isn't too +hot, too hot, you know, or too cold, or anything of that sort, I am sure +we'll try to turn up there as well." + +The rector, smiled indulgently. No call to be hard on the Mr. Foxleys, +of Foxley Manor. Miss Maria left the Inn smitten for the fiftieth time. + +"I knew I should marry an Englishman," she exclaimed ecstatically up the +road with her father. + +"The dark one, oh! the dark one!" + +"They are somewhat peculiar young men I fancy, Maria. Of course Mrs. +Cox is a very careful and a very good woman and--ah! her place is a very +respectable and comfortable one, and the order of travellers one meets, +that is, one would meet if one went there, is quite proper indeed, +but still, I thought, mind I do not say anything, I do not express any +opinion Maria, I simply say, I _thought_, that they would have smoked +for instance in the dinning-room or the bar, or on the verandah +instead of in that very conspicuous manner just outside the kitchen +door." But this was the first and last stricture that the rector made +as to the conduct of the Mr. Foxleys, for by appearing in church two +Sundays after his call and spending an evening on the vine-covered +verandah of the pretty Rectory, they were speedily entered in the very +best books kept by that worthy if slightly common-place gentleman and +his gushing daughter. + +The next persons of distinction in the village were the Miss Dexters, +who lived with their father, at one time a prominent medical man, in +the little cottage graced by the presence of the mighty oak which had so +charmed the strangers when they first beheld it. Their father was +old, very old indeed, and slightly shaken in his mind. He was also an +Englishman and the daughters, not daring to enter upon life in town +with their small income and a helpless old man on their hands into the +bargain had retired to the country some ten years before the advent +of the Mr. Foxleys. Charlotte the elder was now forty and Ellen over +thirty-five. Neither of them had ever been beautiful and now they +were, more or less pinched and worn in their aspect, but they were +gentlewomen, neat and sweet spoken, and capable of offering small +evening entertainments of cribbage and hot weak tea with bread and +butter with a gracious and well bred air that marked them off as people +who had seen "better times." God help such all over the world and thank +Him too for the colonies, where such people can retreat without being +said to hide, and live down their misfortunes or their follies or their +weaknesses, and be of some use to others after a while! It would be hard +to say why the Mr. Foxleys went as often as they did, especially Mr. +Joseph--to the Miss Dexters for tea. Perhaps the oak had much to do with +it. + +It had something I am sure, for indeed, it was the most beautiful tree +for miles around and it was worth a good deal to sit under its cool +shade in the Summer afternoons or to look up into its dark vault in the +slowly dusking twilights. I can't defend Mr. Joseph further than this. +For between cribbage and choir practice, Sunday rambles in the woods and +rows on the river, the lending of books and the singing of songs, the +handing of bread and butter and the drinking of tea, Mr. Joseph had +caused both the Miss Dexters to fall hopelessly and indeed fatally in +love with him. When the Xmas holidays came, Joseph, who had a clerkship +in town, spent his vacation naturally at the Inn with his brother, and +then ensued a period of very mixed delight for the Miss Dexters. + +For the callous Joseph made as violent love to the unresisting Miss +Higgs over the Xmas tree and carols as she herself would have chosen to +make to Mr. George had she been given the chance. + +As for Mr. George, he was just as languid and silent as ever. He hardly +ever went into the town at all, but preferred to remain on quietly at +the inn, fishing, shooting and taking long walks in the summer days when +it was fine, and when it rained, lounging in Mrs. Cox's kitchen. Here he +always had his meals, for the kind friend he had found in his landlady +gratified every whim, and any fancy he chose to profess, and cooked +for him, washed for him and waited on him with unceasing and in fact +ever-increasing devotion. Mr. Foxley's shirts and Mr. Foxley's socks, +Mr. Foxley's white coats and Mr. Foxley's jane boots, his dog, his gun, +and his effects generally were all sacred, all in irreproachable order, +all objects of the greatest value and interest to Mrs. Cox and her +niece. You see there were no children in this comfortable _mnage_ +and really, when the baking and the washing and the preserving and +the churning were all done with early in the day or in the week there +remained a good deal of time on Mrs. Cox's hands, which in her earnest +womanly heart she felt she must fill up in some way. So it came that +all this time and energy and devotion were after a while centred on Mr. +George Foxley, late of Foxley Manor, Notts. As for Mr. Joseph, the good +woman oftener told him to "go along!" than anything else, for though +she liked him, his love of mischief and several practical jokes he had +played her which she termed "his ways," had rendered her cautious and a +little distrustful of him. Such an existence proved very charming to +all parties concerned, excepting perhaps the Miss Dexters, and their +companion in misery, at the rectory. For the worst of it was, Xmas +passed and Easter came, and another spring dawned for the pretty little +village of Ipswich and found the Mr. Foxleys still there. They never +spoke of going away and nobody hinted it to them. The impression, +natural in the extreme, that they were a couple of wealthy young +Englishmen going about for pleasure, who just happening to come to +Ipswich and being taken with it had stayed a little longer than they +intended, was fast giving way to another. For it was a well-known fact +that the Mr. Foxleys did not spend too much money either on themselves +or on other people. They paid their way and that was all one could say +about them. Squires was not included in this arrangement, however, but +was forced to remain content with cigars, cast-off studs and a present +at Christmas-time of a collie pup. I grieve to think of those poor Miss +Dexters--foolish souls--going without butter on their bread and sugar +in their tea that they might have both to offer Mr. Joseph when he might +come in airily for a cup, and making their already too thin gowns last +another winter, that they might spend a little money on a smoking cap +for the same gentleman and a pair of knitted wristlets for his brother. +All these tokens of friendship and attachment the brothers accepted +in the most charming and unconcerned way and never troubled themselves +about returning the compliment as we say. It was quite true that they +had not much money, but a little management of what they did possess +would have left a small sum over each year, which might have been +expended on say a pair of fur-lined gloves for Charlotte or a canary +for Ellen, who was fond of pets and used to keep Bess with her for days, +feeding the unconscious animal for its master's sake better than she +was fed herself. And all this time Mr. Joseph never proposed and never +hinted at his prospects or affairs in any way whatever! + +The second summer of his stay saw old Mr. Dexter die. After his death +Ellen drooped visibly. General disgust at life, insufficient food and +sleep, and a hopeless passion for Mr. Joseph sapped a naturally weak +constitution, and her sister soon realized another bitter shock when she +helped Ellen to her bed one sultry September night from which she never +rose again. The windows of the little cottage were open, and the unhappy +girl could see the giant oak outside their door. How often she had sat +there with her cruel friend, her hand on his shoulder, and her eyes +fixed on his sharp, clear-cut features and laughing eyes! He had seemed +so gentle, so earnest, so winning--had talked so cleverly, so hopefully, +so gleefully. He had been the sunshine of her life, and alas!--of +Charlotte's too! Each knew the other's secret, but by intuitive sympathy +they had never alluded to it. They referred to him only as "Mr. Joseph," +and on her death-bed Ellen sent her "kindest wishes to Mr. Joseph." She +lingered till near the Christmas season, and then one day a small packet +per English mail arrived. They occasionally heard from friends in +the Old Country, and this special parcel contained a couple of silk +handkerchiefs and a sprig of holly. Charlotte took them up to her in the +evening, spreading them out on the bed. Ellen sat up, eagerly pressing +the holly to her lips. Alas! what were the recollections it brought that +the poor, weak frame and the poor, tired spirit could not brook them? +Perhaps--not perhaps--O most certainly, most truly of home and of +England; of the mother so long vanished, dimly remembered, almost +forgotten; of winding green lanes and of ivied walls, of little solemn +churchyards--in none of which she would never lie; of peeps of blue sea +from the middle of a wood; of a primrose at the foot of a tree; of the +crowded coach and the sounding horn; and lastly of the recreant one whom +she could not even call her lover, but who had made her love him so that +her very life was eaten away by sickness of fear, of apprehension, of +despair! + +With the holly pressed to her lips, Ellen Dexter passed out of this +world into another. + +Did Mr. Joseph Foxley care? Who knows? I should know if anybody ever +did, but I do not hold Mr. Joseph so very much to blame after all. For +a man is often innocent of love-making at the very moment a woman is +fancying herself violently in love with him, and fancying, moreover, +that he is in love with her. Can anything be more fatal, more +pernicious, more terrible? And yet I believe there is nothing more +common. There are some men who press more tenderly than the requirements +of ordinary social intercourse call for or allow, the hand of every +woman they meet They are not necessarily flirts. Perhaps they never go +farther than that clinging hand-pressure. It is a relic of the customs +of the days of chivalry--a little more and this man will kiss the +hand. Let the lady be beautiful, gracious, the hour dusk, or close on +midnight, the room a pretty one, and the environment pleasing, he will +bend over the hand, and if he does not kiss it he will retain it just +long enough to make her wish he had kissed it. If she is a woman of the +world she will laugh as she returns the pressure, making it purposely as +thrilling as she can--then she will forget it completely the next moment +as she dispenses five o'clock tea or late coffee and cake to her husband +or brother. But if she be not a woman of the world, then God help her +on her tear-wet pillow, or before her slowly-dying fire as she thinks +of that hand-pressure. It is enough to last her all her life, she +thinks--and yet, should it not come again? But--_should_ it come again! +And the pillow is wet with fresh tears, or the brow is prematurely +wrinkled watching the decaying embers, while the man--let us do him +justice--is as blindly unconscious--unconscious! Why, at that very +moment he is making love--what _he_ calls making love--to the woman of +his choice, his wife, his mistress, or his _fiance_! These are the +men who do the most mischief in the world. Your brute, your beast, your +groveller in ditches, is not nearly so dangerous. Women recoil from him. +They understand him. But the man who presses their hand awakes them, +rouses their susceptibility, causes the tender trouble to steal over +them that so often ends in grief, or despair, or death! And this is +because neither sex is as yet properly trained in the vital duty of +responsibility, by which I mean that faculty of self-repression which +will cause a woman to try and understand what a man means when he +presses her hand, and cause the man to try and understand what a woman +feels when he does so. As for poor Ellen Dexter, it is dear that she was +not a woman of the world; but her sister Charlotte and Miss Maria at +the Rectory, if not precisely women of the world, were yet made of +much sterner stuff than she had been, and consequently, after much +reflection, decided that they were not going to be made fools of, in +village parlance. Miss Maria had, of course, long ago given up Mr. +George Foxley altogether. + +"He is not human," she said to her father, "and I don't believe he _is_ +one of the Foxleys of Foxley Manor at all." + +"There can be no doubt about that, my dear," answered the actor. +"Difficulties I should say--ah--difficulties have brought these young +men out here, but we must do our duty by them, we must do our duty. +Their father is a fine old gentleman, and well off, and a stanch Tory, +my dear. Patience, my dear Maria. The photographs are quite correct and +the seals bear quite the proper crest--ah--quite so." + +So Miss Maria transferred her affections to Mr. Joseph. The second +Christmas passed away, and a third spring dawned for Ipswich. The Inn +was just as comfortable as ever and so were apparently the two Mr. +Foxleys but for one fact and that was, Mr. George's health was not as +good as it had been. Always delicate, he had gradually failed, growing +more and more languid, more and more whimsical in spite of his +comfortable abode and the diligent care of his landlady. Poor Milly! How +she worked for him too, between hours, after hours, before hours! When +the attacks of pleurisy, painful in the extreme, from which he suffered, +came on either in the night or during the day, Milly was always near +with her strong young arms, not quite so pink as they used to be, and +her quick young eyes, a shade more subtle than they used to be, ready to +apprehend and quiet the pain before it came. How Miss Maria at the +Rectory and Charlotte Dexter in her lonely cottage would have envied her +had they known, but though there were gossips in plenty in the village, +nothing that occurred in the rose-scented drawing-room ever went out +into that tattling little Ipswichian world. + +"Are your young gentlemen with you yet, Mrs. Cox? And one of 'em not +over strong? Deary me! that makes it hard for you and the young gal But +you be standing it remarkable well. And gentlemen born you say! They +do say that the other one wi' the specked skin be making fools of Miss +Maria up at the Rectory and old Miss Dexter at the cottage. Well! well! +Poor Miss Ellen was gone afore we knew it like, poor soul, that was so +kind!" + +Much of this cunning volubility sprung upon Mrs. Cox in pumping fashion +failed to extort from her anything but good-humoured smiles and laughs. +If I have not taken the trouble to describe this beloved Mrs. Cox to you +before this, it is because I fear you will say the picture is Unreal, no +such landlady, no such woman could exist out of England But why not? My +story, remember, deals with people and things as they were twenty years +ago. Twenty years ago there were such Inns, though few at number, to be +found in Western Canada--ay--and as English as any that a certain Mrs. +Lupin presided over in fascinating fiction, and much more English than +many Inns of the present day in England. Twenty years ago there was +such a landlady, rosy and plump and cheerful, wearing a flowered gown, +a black silk apron and a cap with a purple pansy in it and broad and +comfortable lappets, who, when her work was done, would sit in her +small private room opposite the bar also hung with red curtains, +making patchwork quilts or playing a demure rubber with the Scotch +store-keeper, or Irish stage driver, or an occasional gentleman from +town. Such was Mrs. Cox, widow of Captain Cox, able seaman, but bad lot, +who died when they had been five years in Canada, leaving her with her +one child. The public business had attracted her after her loss and she +accordingly went into it on the advice of her numerous friends. People +who despise her calling need not listen to me if I allude to--for I have +not time to recount--all her kindness, her cheerfulness, her powers of +dispensing comfort, and warmth, and happiness, and promoting the direct +and indirect welfare of everyone who came in her path. By what strange +coincidence the brothers Foxley had been led to her glowing fireside +and her motherly arms brimming over with zeal and kindness for the whole +human race, does not matter. It is sufficient that they found her +and found with her a sense of comparative peace and security which +compensated for the one big slice of trouble Fortune had treated them to +before their departure from England. For them did the wall flowers bloom +and the mignonette at the window, for them did the oleander blossom +and the old clock strike, for them did the jessamine climb and the one +hawthorn tree yield its annual soft white drift of snow, and yet who +shall say that they were altogether unworthy, even, if with that picture +of poor Ellen Dexter in my mind, I have to say that they did not deserve +it? + + + + +CHAPTER III. + + +If Mr. Joseph Foxley had but known the sentiments animating the couple +of maiden breasts that awaited his Saturday visits in Ipswich, he would +have been genuinely surprised. The truth is Mr. Joseph was rather +what is termed a general lover. He liked the sex in its entirety. +Collectively he loved all women and belonged to that hand-pressing +section of humanity which I have alluded to as mischievous. Were there +not at least five young ladies in town, at whose houses he visited, and +who were more or less interested in the young Englishman as he in them? +Did Miss Charlotte dream of them or Miss Maria at the rectory? If so, +they never dared to ask Mr. Joseph to give any account of his doings +in town, although they managed to glean what he did with himself in the +village. He respected Charlotte Dexter enough to intend at some future +day to tell her a little more about himself and his brother than he had +yet done; as for Miss Maria, she only bored him and fed his contempt. + +"When a rather elderly old girl giggles after everything she says, +conversation is difficult and sympathy out of the question," he had said +to his brother! When Mr. Joseph had known these young ladies for four +years, Miss Maria took her revenge in _her_ way, that was by marrying +the younger brother of Mr. Simon P. Rattray, partner in the mill and the +red brick house by the river. The vision of becoming the cherished wife +of an English aristocrat and going home to reside in a manor house built +in the sixteenth century, with occasional visits to London and glimpses +of the Royal Family had gradually faded, and she accepted the less +rose-coloured lot that Mr. Lyman B. Rattray offered her, sitting in her +father's study, with his hair very much brushed up on one side and very +much flattened down on the other, a white tie and light-yellow duster +adorning his spare person. + +Such was the American of those days--twenty years ago--there are none +such now I allow. + +Miss Maria, who was considered "very English," shuddered as she regarded +him. It so fell out that it being Saturday, Mr. Joseph was just then +passing--"kind of happening along" Mr. Rattray would have said--_en +route_ to the Inn and his brother, on foot in spite of the dusty road +and the hot August sun, clad in trim tight knickerbockers and carrying +an immense bunch of red field lilies, a gun, and a leather satchel over +his shoulder. Slight and straight and cool, he looked the picture of a +contented cheerful energetic young English man. Along the road he came +whistling an old country tune. Miss Maria who had sighted him afar off, +begged her visitor's pardon and went to the window to arrange the blind. +How her heart warmed to that cruel Mr. Joseph, how she loved him +then just for that last moment! Her heart--that foolish old maid's +heart--beat quickly, beat thickly, she remembered to have read something +somewhere about people who could will other people to look at them, to +speak to them, to even think of them, to move across a room at their +pleasure. If she could but do that! She did try, with her fingers +clenched on the blind, and her eyes fixed on Mr. Joseph, she did wish +with all her might that he would turn his head and see her at the +window and wave his hand gallantly as he had done on one or two previous +occasions. Then she would beckon and he would run across and entering +the room disconcert this odious Mr. Lyman B. Rattray and put an end to +his stony wooing. But alas! for Miss Maria and her mesmeric powers! The +harder she tried, the less she succeeded. On came Mr. Joseph, supremely +unconscious of the injured heart beating behind the windowpane. At one +moment it seemed as if he were about to turn and look in her direction. +A very brilliant wild yellow canary crossed over his head and lit on a +small shrub just inside the garden paling. Had it remained there, would +Miss Maria have ever become the wife of Mr. Lyman B. Rattray? No one +knows, for the canary flew away again to the other side of the road and +Mr. Joseph's eyes followed it In a moment he was past, and the chance +was gone for ever. Miss Maria left her window and sat down opposite her +visitor. There was nothing to keep her now, nothing to give her courage +and hope for the future, new fire for her faded eyes, new strength for +her jaded limbs. Yet she was only thirty-four. How strange it is that +some unmarried women are old at that age, even while living in luxury +and surrounded by every care and all affection, while many a married +woman, though beset with trials and weaknesses and perhaps a brood of +restless little ones to pull her gown and get in the way of her busy +feet, retains her figure and her step, her smile and her complexion, her +temper and her nerves! + +It but remained for Charlotte Dexter to take her revenge in her way. +Going very seldom out of her house, and never visiting at the Inn she +was really very ignorant of the doings of either Mr. George or Mr. +Joseph Foxley. Towards the one she had never been greatly drawn, for the +other she felt all the passion that only a supremely lonely woman can +feel in middle age for a man younger than herself who charms her as +a child, while he captivates her as a lover. Of Mrs. Cox and Milly +moreover, she hardly ever thought, and in fact had not seen the latter +for a long time. If she had it is not likely she would even have +recognized in the tall pale shapely young woman with braids of dark hair +and white linen cuffs fastened--must I tell it? with a pair of antique +monogram studs, the plump little handmaiden of four years back. As it +was, she only waited on day after day, to hear Mr. Joseph speak. Instead +of Mr. Joseph however appeared another and less welcome confidante. This +was the most malignant gossip in the village, Mrs. Woods, the wife of +the butcher, a tall red faced woman with high cheek-bones on which the +color seemed to have been badly smirched, watery eyes and a couple of +protruding yellow teeth. She looked more like a butcher than the butcher +himself who was a mild little man with soft silky fair hair and small +nervous fluttering hands. Yet he managed to summon sufficient character +to go on a tremendous burst--I know of no other word, every third or +fourth month and disappear for a week When these periodical eclipses +took place, his wife would come flying into the Inn with her bonnet +hanging round her neck and a large green and red plaid shawl streaming +out behind her. + +"Where's Woods?" She would say. "Where's Woods? Give me Woods! Give 'im +up, I tell you; give 'im up now!" + +But Woods was never found inside Mrs. Cox's neat dwelling, nor indeed +anywhere, although it had been whispered on, one occasion that he had +been seen in the back room of the little "Temperance Hotel" with the +male Methodist in attendance. This, of course, was clearly impossible. + +It was this Mrs. Woods then that stopped at Dexter's Oak one Friday +morning with her donkey-cart and a small piece of the neck of mutton +in it. She was not an entirely bad woman, though a downright cunning +virago, and perhaps some inkling of the nature of the blow that was +about to fall on Miss Dexter's head caused her to come prepared by an +acceptable present to somewhat mitigate its appalling approach. + +"I be at the Inn bright and early this morning Miss," she began, "and +brought 'em their bit of fresh meat. And I'm bringin' you a bit as was +over, and it is'nt a bad piece for a stew, if you like a stew, Miss, +with an onion or two." + +"Thank you very much, Mrs. Woods," said Charlotte, who had come out to +the front door and now stood on the lower step, looking over the cart. +"I'm afraid I can't settle with you just at present," she said further, +with some effort, "you can call some other time when you are passing. +Will that do? and is it weighed?" + +"It is, miss, and I'll not say a word about the payin'! Six pound and a +'alf, and Woods gone agen--I weighed it myself." + +"Oh! I am sorry to hear that," said Charlotte. "Your husband gives you a +great deal of trouble. I am very sorry, and he is not at the inn?" + +If Charlotte was guilty at that moment of purposely leading the +conversation up to this always for her most enthralling, most engrossing +subject, she soon enough received her punishment. On she went to her own +destruction. + +"At the inn!" repeated the butcher's wife, with ineffable scorn on her +cruel mouth. She wiped her watery eyes and settled the refractory bonnet +before going on. + +"No miss, he's not at the inn, and if he was sober, he wouldn't be at +the inn, and you'll never see him, nor me, nor 'Ide yonder, nor anyone +on us at all no more at the inn. For the inn's changed 'ands, miss. +There's an end of Mrs. Cox, who was a mother to many, if not to Woods. +There's an end to good old times and dancin' and singin', and honest +Robert, though he was a cross 'un--there's an end to it all now, miss, +for the inn's changed 'ands, and I'm the first in the village as knows +it." + +"Good gracious. Is it possible?" said Charlotte, genuinely surprised. +"Who can have succeeded Mrs. Cox and why? I thought she was so popular +and making so much money, and what--what will become of the Mr. +Foxleys?" + +Mrs. Woods gave a triumphant grin. "It's them, theirselves, miss; it's +them that 'as it now. And the younger one will be marrying Milly in a +little while and settling down comfortable in the inn. It's gentlefolks +and aristocrats we'll have now at the inn, miss, and 'ard workin' people +like me and Woods may trudge all day and freeze all night, and never a +pot of beer or a warm at the kitchen fire and meat paid regular for year +in, year out!" + +Charlotte stood aghast. The woman's injured volubility rushed past her +as a scene outside a railway car rushes past us, leaving only one idea, +one word caught at, as from the window through which we apprehend the +landscape, one scene or portion of a scene enchains the eye and lingers +in the mind though other scenes fly past in varied succession. + +"Marry?" she repeated. "Marry! Milly, did you say? That is the girl, +isn't it, Mrs. Cox's niece? Which--" + +"Ay," said the woman, "that's Milly, the 'ired girl; she's no I more +than that, if she be her aunt's niece. And 'ard work for one's niece. +Me and Woods, if we'd 'ad one, would have done better for her nor that, +makin' her work like a slave or a dummy. Cows, and pigs, and poultry, +and dish-washing, and scrubbing, and lamps, and starched fronts, and +fine gentlemen--but she's well paid, she's well paid. She's to marry one +of the fine gentlemen, Mr. Joseph it is, and they're to live on at the +Inn with Milly as mistress, and her fine husband behind the bar, very +like. Well, good-mornin', Miss Dexter; I wish you joy of the mutton. Me +and Woods often says--we'll take this or that little Dexter's Oak, but +it's most times forgot, for Woods is 'alf crazed, Miss Dexter, and I've +got to do the whole. Good-mornin'." + +Having adjusted her bonnet and the donkey-cart to her satisfaction, Mrs. +Woods drove off rather disappointed on the whole at Miss Dexter's calm +demeanour. Astonishment, perplexity, doubt, contempt and disgust she had +undoubtedly shown, but not a single sigh of weakness. Charlotte Dexter +was not the woman to swoon or lament or even turn pale as her sister +Ellen would have done. But when she came into her house and sat down in +her lonely parlour, she enacted a scene which would have petrified with +astonishment any inhabitant of the prosy little village in which she had +dwelt so long and indeed many other people as well, for when you and I, +dear reader, go to see one of these emotional plays in which the +French actress writhes on the sofa; grovels on the floor, rolls up her +handkerchief into a ball or tears it into strips, prays, weeps, curses, +censures, implores, looks at herself in the glass until she is on the +point of going mad, and strides about the stage as no woman in real +life has ever been seen to stride, ending by throwing herself across an +arm-chair as rigid as marble thereby assuring the audience that she +is in a "dead faint"--I say, that when we see all this performed by a +travelling "star," and her truly eclectic Company, comprising a Diva, a +Duenna, a Diner-out and a Devil, we are apt to look around at the placid +Canadian or the matter-of-fact American audience and wonder if they +understand the drift of the thing at all, the situations, the allusions, +even in the slightest degree, forgetting that perhaps the most placid, +most commonplace person in the theatre has gone through some crisis, +some tragedy as thrilling, as subtle and as terrible as the scene +we have just witnessed. "Not out of Paris," we say, "can such things +happen?" Do we know what we are saying? Is it only in Paris that hearts +are won and tossed aside this night--as in the play? Is it only in Paris +that honor is forgotten and promises are broken this night--as in the +play? Is it only in Paris that money allures and rank dazzles, and a +dark eye or a light step entrances, this night--as in the play? Is it +only in Paris that nature is human and that humanity is vile, or weak, +or pure, or firm, as this night in the play? Oh! in that obscure little +Canadian village, a lonely old maid locked her door that morning and +pulled down her blind that the daylight might not come in and see +her misery, might not mock even more malignantly than the ignorant, +impertinent and hard-hearted woman who had dealt her this blow. Like +most women in such a crisis, she lost the habit of thought. Reason +entirely deserted her, and she never dreamed but that it was true. For +when a women has to own to herself that she holds no dominion over a +man, that it is only too perfectly clear that the impulse of loving is +all on her side and that she has neither anything to expect nor anything +to fear from him, since indifference is the keynote of his attitude +to her, she will all the more readily believe that he loves elsewhere, +worthily or unworthily the same to her. A woman is not a noble object in +such a situation. All trusting feminine instincts, all sweet emotions of +hope, all sentiment, all passion even, retreat and fall away from her, +leaving either a cold, bitter, heartless petrifaction, in a woman's +clinging robe, or the Fury that is the twin sister of every little +red-lipped, clear-eyed girl born into the world. She never dreamed +but that this story was true. In fact so entirely had her woman's wit +deserted her, she said to herself of _course_ it was true. Her brain +could work sufficiently to conjure up hints, phrases, words, looks, +events, accidents that all bore testimony to the truth of the +extraordinary tale. For it was extraordinary. Miss Dexter herself was +the great grand-daughter of an Admiral, and the grand-daughter of a +judge, and as such, respected all these accidents of birth which we +are supposed to ignore or at least not expected to recognize in a new +country. That such men as the Mr. Foxleys could make themselves as +completely at home in the Inn as rumor had frequently asserted, and with +truth, seemed at all times monstrous to her. She had lived so long out +of England, over thirty years now, that she had forgotten the sweet +relations that prevailed there between the aristocracy or landed gentry +and their inferiors. The Mr. Foxleys were simply doing in Canada what +they would have done had they been still in England, only they were +assisted in so doing by the unusually English surroundings in which they +found themselves. Miss Dexter looked around her in the yellow inclosed +light. There was a sampler in a frame, worked by herself when a little +child, another exactly similar, worked by Ellen, a couple of fine old +family portraits in heavy gilt frames, half a dozen ivory miniatures +scattered about on the walls, some good carvings in ivory, a rare old +Indian shawl festooned over the wooden mantle-board, a couple of skins +on the floor, a corner piece of furniture known as a "whatnot" crowded +with bits of egg-shell china, birds' eggs and nests, a few good +specimens of spar and coral and a profusion of plants everywhere. It was +all neat, respectable, even dignified, superior. There was no such other +room in the village. In the village? There were not many at that time +even in the town. Sooner than part with the eggshell china or the Indian +shawl the Miss Dexters had suffered the pains of poverty and hunger; +these cherished reminders of an absent father and an artistic youth +could never be lost or borne away by the hands of a stranger. And how +glad those foolish Miss Dexters had been to possess such beautiful and +interesting objects when it pleased Mr. George Foxley to drink tea out +of the cups on summer afternoons on the verandah of the little cottage +looking up into the splendid vault of the mighty oak, or when Mr. Joseph +would wind the Indian shawl round his silly head in the winter evenings +when the draughts of cold air would rush in through the thin walls. +These and other memories crowded into Charlotte Dexter's brain as +she looked around her room, crowded thick and fast, crowded fast and +furious, surged, broke, leaving an empty moment of perfect blankness, +then crowded again thicker, faster, surged and seethed and then broke +again, leaving in the void of perfect blankness this time a fixed idea, +a resolve, a determination, seen in the dark like a luminous point of +phosphorus. + +That afternoon as Farmer Wise was driving slowly along the road, the +main road leading through Ipswich to the town, he was accosted by Miss +Dexter from her verandah. She had her jacket on and held her bonnet in +her hand. + +"Can you give me a seat as far as the Albion?" said she. "I would have +sent a message to you yesterday if I had known I was going. But if it +will not trouble you--" + +"Oh! no trouble no trouble at all, Miss Dexter," replied Farmer Wise. +"I'm sorry I've only the waggon to offer ye. But I'm takin' in apples as +you see, nine barrel of 'em, and only a waggon will do for them." + +"Certainly, certainly," said Miss Dexter, hurriedly trying on her +bonnet. "Can you wait a moment? I won't be longer, Mr. Wise, it is just +to lock the back door." + +The farmer nodded and drew up under the shade of Dexter's oak. It was +a beautiful afternoon late in November, characterized by the clear +cold air, the blue and gold of the sky, and the russet coloring of the +foliage that mark the close of the Autumnal season. He looked in at +Miss Dexter's little garden, admirably neat and well-trimmed; dahlias, +hollyhocks, sweet William and asters, though done with blossoms, still +bore their green leaves unsmitten by the frost. The windows appeared +full of flowers too, but the blinds were skimp and faded and drawn down +behind them. He started when he noticed this, for he knew the outer +aspect of the house well, and had never seen such a thing before, except +in case of sickness or death. The honest farmer thought and thought +until Miss Dexter reappeared and assisted by him, got up in her place +beside him. Even after that he went on thinking, and I must here tell +you that it was not the first time Farmer Wise's thoughts had dwelt so +persistently upon his companion and her house and personal history. +For twelve years he had nursed a kind of mild distant passion for Miss +Dexter at the Oak, unguessed at by her and his family, and only half +understood by himself. He could not have said he was in love with her. +He had been in love once when he married his first wife, who bore him +a triad of splendid sons, one "keeping store" in the Western States and +the other two at home on the farm, all three great giants of fellows, +handsome in the fields or at barn-doors or in market-waggons, but plain +on Sundays in black coats or at evening dances in the big ball-room +at the Inn, when they would shuffle noisily through cotillons or labor +clumsily through a Highland Schottische. + +For himself, Farmer Wise was an honest, sincere, good-hearted man, a +maker of money and a spender thereof--witness the fine red ploughs, +the painted barns, the handsome team, Kentucky bred, and the inner +decorations of his house, situated about five miles out of Ipswich, on +the main-road. After Mr. Simon P. Rattray, he was the representative man +of the district, although he did not come so closely into contact with +the villagers. This _penchant_ for the elder Miss Dexter had been a +gradual, a slow but very sure and steady thing. Her father's death had +increased it, so had that of Ellen her sister, and the farmer lived too +far away to know as much as other people knew about the advent of the +Mr. Foxleys. Had there been a sister or a daughter, or a wife or a +mother, or an aunt or a cousin about the farm, he would have known very +quickly. As it was, the girl who did the housework on the farm was as +ignorant of gossip, its existence and the laws which govern its nature, +as any male farm hand could be. When Farmer Wise put up his horses +at the Inn three or four times a year, and sat down in the cheerful +bar-room to drink a glass of whisky with his feet to the fire if it were +winter, or a taller glass of Belfast ginger ale if it were summer, did +he never notice Mrs. Cox? Mrs. Cox, well-to-do and popular herself, +fresh, blooming and hearty, a young woman yet, and just the woman one +would say, for him, and above all, the woman who thought most of him +and ran to change her cap--the black one with the knot of rusty widow's +crape--for the smart new one that held the velvet pansy when she saw the +team coming. There's where he should have chosen the second time, there +was the woman he should have noticed instead of poor, proud, foolish +Charlotte Dexter, whom he half feared as a "lady born," and who held +in her heart, had he only knew it, the image of Mr. Joseph Foxley. The +farmer got on with the English gentlemen at the Inn whenever he saw them +"first-rate," and it was of them he began most unsuspiciously to talk +when he and Miss Dexter had crossed the bridge, ascended the hill on +the other side of the river, and the team were settling to their work +as they entered upon the dreary eight miles called the Plains which lay +between them and the city. The farmer was consciously happy as he moved +his ponderous body slightly nearer to his companion and tucked her in +with his great hands, a single touch of one of them hurting her thin +frame as if they were made of iron or stiff rope. He thought he was +gentle too--poor man--but long years of manual labor had changed the +natural soft flesh to the consistency of leather, in which immense +muscles and joints seemingly of marble had been imbedded. + +Besides, there was the delicate touch of another hand, as fine, as soft +as a woman's and yet almost as strong as the farmer's, in her mind, +a hand whiter than her own, though somewhat freckled, a hand that had +taper fingers and well-kept nails, a hand that bore an antique seal ring +and a fine pearl, a hand alas that had often retained her own in its +warm clinging pressure, and once--only once, and that was three years +ago--clasped her unresisting waist for a moment in the dark under the +Oak while her sister fumbled at the gate. And just as she cherished +these memories of Mr. Joseph, so did the widowed farmer retain the few +occasions in his mind on which he had met Miss Dexter, spoken with her, +given her a "lift" into town or up the road to the village store, for +this was not the first use she had made of his gallant good nature and +the Kentucky team. + +He looked down at her now as they drove along in silence and noticed her +thin black gown, her short jacket, her bit of black veil drawn over her +bonnet, and her dingy travelling-bag with its tarnished clasp, and he +heaved a sigh. + +Charlotte was a "sizeable woman" thought Farmer Wise "and wants a good +live garment sometimes, to bring her figure out and make more of it and +do justice to it. A shawl now! How much would a good shawl be? I miss +a woman round the place; I wouldn't know what to ask for. I might ha' +stopped nigh the Inn and asked Mrs. Cox." Ay, you might Farmer Wise, and +have done another mischievous thing, upsetting Mrs. Cox for a week as +she waited for a parcel from town and breaking her heart altogether as +day after day followed and no parcel arrived. + +"I ha' never seen the ekil of those Mr. Foxleys yonder," began the +honest farmer as something to start a conversation with. "I ha' never +seen their ekil." + +"Oh!" said Miss Dexter. "Yes? In what way?" + +"So gentle and so funny as they be. Gentlemen both of them with delicate +hands and fine clothes--" + +"Yes, yes," murmured Miss Dexter under her breath, clutching at her bag +and closing her eyes. + +"And not above anybody or anything going. I see the pale one this day, +and pale he is and weak they say, enough to be walked about on the +girl's shoulder--I see him to-day as I passed the Inn, he was on a long +chair out in the bit of paved yard, you know Miss Dexter, and when he +saw me he raises his head and says 'Farmer Wise, is that you?'" May be +you don't remember just how he speaks. He speaks better now nor when he +came, and his brother too. At first It was all in a jumble like one word +run into the other and hard to understand at least for us country folks. +But now 'tis a bit clearer, more as you speak, begging your pardon, +Miss Dexter, for noticing that or anything else that concerns you, Miss +Dexter. And I says, stopping these fellows a bit. "Yes it's me. I'm on +my way to town with nine barrels of apples." + +"How many?" he calls out again. + +"Nine," I replies. + +"Let's taste one," he says. + +"A barrel?" I says, and Milly, the girl, she come oat by the door, with +another quilt to put over him, laughing, and showing her teeth, rare +ones too, they be and says she. "Throw us down one, Farmer Wise," and I +did, for I had a couple in my pocket, and here's the tother, "now Miss +Dexter, if you see your way to eatin' it now in the waggon alongside of +me, or will you wait till we get to the Albion?" Charlotte Dexter put +her hand out mechanically and took the apple, a large red one, from +the farmer who again managed to hurt her as his great wrist touched her +fingers for an instant. He blushed perceptibly and moved a little nearer +still. And how unconscious Charlotte Dexter was of his mere presence, +let alone tender thoughts, except when he hurt her! + +"I have heard this morning, that is I believe everyone has known for +some time, though it is only spoken about generally today, for the +first time, that Mrs. Cox is giving up the Inn. Her niece, the girl +you mention, is going to be married--indeed, it is one of those +gentlemen--the Mr. Foxleys--whom she is to marry, and they will take the +Inn out of Mrs. Cox's hands." + +The farmer was as surprised as she had been. + +"Well," he ejaculated "didn't I say I'd never seen their ekil? Milly's +going to marry one of the Mr. Foxleys? Which--" + +"It is Mr. Joseph," returned Miss Dexter, staring down at the apple in +her lap. "The youngest one, you know. He is a very merry young gentleman +and always has something to say. I daresay it will be a very comfortable +arrangement." + +"But it's a great thing for Milly," said her companion, "it'll be a +great thing for her. She'll live in the tone, no doubt and may be cross +the ocean to see his home and his parents--it'll be a great thing for +Milly. A gentleman born! Ay, ay; ay, ay!" + +"No, no," said Miss Dexter, irritably. "Don't I tell you, Farmer Wise, +that they will live on at the Inn? These young gentlemen like comfort, +like being waited upon. They do this in order to insure--in order +to--oh! it is difficult to explain my meaning, but you must see, Farmer +Wise, that it is not a proper marriage at all, it is a very sad thing +for the girl, I should consider, and some one--some friend should tell +her so. She can never be a lady, and what kind of life will it be for +him, a gentleman born, as you say, when he could have chosen too, +where he liked. My great grandfather, Mr. Wise, was an Admiral, and +my grandfather was a Judge. My father was a member of a respected +profession, although not brought up to it in early life, and _none_ +of my relations, or ancestors _ever_ married out of their own proper +circle, except my poor father. He made a most perverse and foolish +marriage, Farmer Wise, which though only lasting a few years, brought +sorrow and trouble and poverty and oppression to his family." + +"Ay, ay," said the farmer, softly. He was thinking still about those +down-drawn blinds. + +"Ay, ay. You're right in the main, Miss Dexter--yes, you're right in the +main. Now, I thought I'd ask ye--I said to myself this morning, when I +see Miss Dexter the next time, her as is a lady, and no mistake, I'll +ask her--what would you say, or what your sister have said if someone +here right in this village, that is, there in Ipswich, I mean of course, +someone who wanted to just be kind and lend an 'elpin 'and, had asked +ye--or her--say her--had asked her anytime to marry him, startin' +fair, startin' fair, with a year to think on it. And a comfortable 'ome +awaitin' 'er with two 'ired girls to do the work and plenty of hands +on the farm and the best of cheese and butter and the Harmonium in the +parlor and drives to and fro' the Church and behind it all a--solid +man--a solid man--what do ye think she'd 'uv said?" + +Was ever man more in earnest, now that it had suddenly broken from him +after all these years, than honest Farmer Wise? The team jogged on, but +the reins were lying loosely in their owner's hands. + +"I thought I'd ask ye," he repeated looking away from his companion. "I +thought I'd ask ye." + +Miss Dexter had hardly gathered the import of his speech. She looked up +startled. + +"My sister?" she said with increased irritability. "Ask my sister? +What do you mean? I never knew that anybody here, in the village, had +proposed to her, or dared--dared to think of her at all as a possible +mate--wife, whatever it is you mean. Surely you don't mean yourself, +Farmer Wise! It would never enter your head, I am sure, to propose to my +sister!" + +"No it never did," said the farmer quietly. + +"Then it is someone else? Really, you must tell me, if you know anything +about it, Farmer Wise. But I think you are making some mistake, it is +quite impossible that anyone in the village--any native of the village, +or indeed any native of this country should so far forget himself as to +propose to my sister." + +"Of course," said the farmer as quietly, "it is quite impossible. No one +'ud 'av done it. No one did do it, that I know on. But I thought I'd ask +ye. And about yourself, too? There'd be no gettin' ye to forget all--all +that has been and to take up with things as they be, to be makin' a new +start, startin' fair, as I said, startin' fair, both parties agreed to +think a year on it, and one party to save up and buy nothin' till the +year 'd be out and then the other party to give the word for both to +take 'ands and make the start together! For what's past is past, and +what's done is done, and ye can't make this out the old country any more +nor ye can bring back those that are gone, which they wouldn't be, I +'low to say, if they'd stayed behind in it. This" said the farmer, in +a louder firmer voice, indicating with his whip the dreary pine forests +that bordered the road on either side, "isn't the old country. I come +from it myself, and I know it taint. Them rustlin' leaves ain't the old +country, heaps of brown and yella up to your knees after a while, nor +yet this road, nor that sky, nor this waggon, nor them apples, nor them +horses. Nor me myself. I'm no longer old country. I'm fond of it--sho! +I'm fonder of it now than I was forty years ago, when I come away from +it, I'm fonder of it every year that goes by. But it's the New Country +that's made me, that's give me all I have and more than all I want, and +accordin' I'm grateful to it, and wouldn't turn my back on it. No Miss +Dexter I wouldn't, and so I says, to all as come out to it, it's better +to try and forget the past, or at least as much of it as 'll bear +forgetting in order to let you live, and to take up with things as they +be, and not lookin' always to things as they were, and to make the +best of what the New World has to offer to ye And I don't think that in +England--God bless her--to-day, you 'll find a finer team, nor redder +apples, nor an easier going waggon, nor even a prettier sky, than that +there yella light breakin' all over the landscup like!" + +There was perfect silence after that. It had suddenly dawned upon +Charlotte Dexter with accession of disgust and embittered hostility that +the farmer's words related to himself. What new and hateful complication +was this to be reminded by such an ill-timed declaration of the ironical +in her life which had always been near enough to her apprehensions! +Anything and everything but what she wanted, she could have. It had +always been so. A dark frown gathered on her forehead, she clutched her +bag and drew herself away from the side of the honest farmer. + +"I do not know what you are talking about," she cried. "Such words can +have nothing to do with me. I could not disgrace myself and my father's +family by allying myself with anybody out here, least of all, one of the +working classes, or a farmer. You are very inconsiderate, Farmer Wise, +and I must ask you to distinctly understand that even conversation on +such a subject is quite out of the question. I cannot even discuss +it with you or with anyone in your position. I have told you what my +connections are; what my family is, you have now, I hope, some correct +idea, and you will see how utterly impossible it is that I should, even +to better my circumstances which I admit are somewhat precarious, make +such a _msalliance_--such a mistake, I mean, as you refer to. + +"Well," said the farmer very quietly this time. "You're right in the +main, Miss Dexter, you're right in the main. But I thought I'd ask ye, I +thought I'd ask ye. Far from harm bein' done, there's only good, there's +only good, for now you understand me and I understand _you_ and thank ye +for your confidences and there's an end on it." + +So begun, so ended the honest man's wooing. Did he suffer disappointment +as Miss Dexter's contemptuous eye and her irritated tone showed him--ah! +how plainly--she was forever out of his reach? Was an idol broken, a +dream dissolved, a blossom nipped, or hope murdered, just as much, in +the case of this comfortable placid unimaginative elderly farmer as in +the case of younger, warmer, more impetuous, more idealistic men? If +so, Farmer Wise was as self-contained as the best actor among them and +handed Miss Dexter out at the Albion with as gallant, though cautious +politeness and sat as far away from her at the hotel tea table and met +her in the hall afterwards with as severe an air, as if the situation +were perfectly pleasant and completely ordinary. He asked her when she +would be going back, and learnt that she would pass the night at the +Albion, returning to the village by the Saturday's stage. + +"Then shall I take a seat for ye?" asked the willing farmer. + +"No" said Miss Dexter, who appeared to be in a great hurry, "I can +arrange in the morning, thank you." + +"In any case, ye're sure ye won't want a 'lift' again, Miss Dexter," +said the farmer respectfully, though there might have been the least +tinge of irony in the tone. "I'm not goin' back myself till to morrow." + +"No, thank you," returned Miss Dexter for the last time. + +The Albion was a small hotel or tavern situated just on the outskirts of +the town, which did a flourishing business with the country people. Two +roads, the Ipswich and the Richmond, formed a sort of junction before +its door, one leading into the fine agricultural district or valley +of Richmond, Guernsey and Trenton, and the other following, the dreary +Plains through Ipswich to Orangetown, a thriving little community of +mills and saws and booms and planks picturesquely situated on the Upper +Orange River. + +There was always a knot of farmers round the Albion, all of them English +or Scotch or native Canadians born of British parents. A French-Canadian +would have been hoisted on a table and examined minutely all over, hair, +eye, skin and costume, had one been present. But though the men were +respectable and decent and hard-working and most of them earned a good +income and few of them drank or gambled it away, they were noisy, smoky, +staring fellows for companions and Miss Dexter, having walked some +distance to a shop, made a purchase, and returned to the parlor of the +hotel while it was yet light, uncertain what to do with herself or +where to go to escape the bustle and clatter of tongues. Farmer Wise +was smoking in the bar, she had seen him as she passed in, and the mere +sight of him, with his head up against the counter, and his legs out +on a chair made her shudder. She sat in the parlor listening to the +intolerable noise, heavy delf and cutlery being momentarily banged down +on tables and chairs, an occasional broken plate and whirling pewter mug +or kitchen spoon reaching her ear with more than usual reverberation. +Then would come a volley of laughter, oaths, and bets on next week's +races from the bar, then more breaking of china from the scullery, the +stamping of horses in the stable, then the bar door would be closed and +comparative silence ensue. In one of these intervals, the girl who had +waited at the tea-table appeared in the parlor and inquired of Miss +Dexter if she would like a fire put in the wood stove that stood on a +square of zinc in the middle of the room. It came as a relief from +the nervous broodings that were settling down on her mind occupied in +introspection neither healthy nor cheerful, and she eagerly assented. + +When the fire burned up, she opened the door that she might see the +blaze and spread out her thin hands to it and put her cold feet to its +warmth. Then for the first time she unclasped her bag and taking out her +purchase, looked at it. The shop she had gone into was a druggist's, and +her purchase had been a small bottle of a bluish fluid that she now held +up to the light and looked at long and steadily but with no change in +her countenance. The bar-door opened with a creak and closed with a +bang. She started and replaced the bottle in the bag and put the bag +over her arm as before. For a long time she sat before the fire warming +first one foot, then the other and never looking away from the blaze. +When half-past ten came, so did the girl with a lamp and two damp towels +for Miss Dexter who took them without opening her mouth much to the +astonishment of the girl, who though taciturn herself was well used to +speech and "language" from all she came in contact with, and who was +also struck with the fact that the strange lady had never removed her +bonnet or jacket "since she come in the house." + +She would have had additional ground for surprise had she known that the +strange lady did not remove them even upon reaching her own room, but +lowering the lamp, lay down fully dressed upon the bed still clasping +her small travelling bag in her hands, and slept until seven o'clock +in the morning. She then rose and hastily straightening her attire, +descended to the dining-room, partook of ham and eggs. Upon the close +of this meal, she went up again to the parlor and sat slightly back from +the window that overlooked the main road until twelve o'clock, when she +partook of the dinner served to the travellers at the Albion, including +Farmer Wise who had sold his apples and soon after dinner hitched up +ready to go homewards. After dinner she went up as before to the parlor +and sat there again. Two o'clock came, half past two, three o'clock, and +Miss Dexter began to look along the road in the direction of the town. +Half-past three found her, still looking along the road. Four o'clock +came, half-past four, then five. She grew visibly uneasy, walked to and +fro in the little parlor, sat down again. Half-past five, the clatter +in the kitchen which had been silent for a little while renewed itself. +Six!! The men stumped into their tea, and the girl ascending asked Miss +Dexter if she was coming down to hers. + +"No," said Miss Dexter, "I expect to have a late tea at home, thank you. +And I am just going in a moment or two." + +Ten minutes past six. The late November afternoon had almost entirely +faded, it would soon be dark. A quarter past six and Miss Dexter, +looking continuously out of her window perceived the figure she had +waited for so long at length approaching. Gay, Mr. Joseph, you +have thrown off the fetters of town and work and dull care and +responsibility, and here you are free and untrammelled as the air, +good humored, cheerful, humming your Old Country tunes as usual, brisk, +_dbonnair_, untouched by thought of present trouble or evil, unthinking +and unsuspecting! Gay Mr. Joseph, urbane Mr. Joseph, what have you got +in your hand this time? Last time it was a bunch of the red field lily. +Now it is, or it looks like--yes, it is--a genuine florist's bouquet. +Something to open the eyes of the Ipswich villagers. A gorgeous wired +platoon of roses, and smilax tuberose and mignonette--Mr. Joseph, Mr. +Joseph, what does this mean, who is this for? On he came, brisker, more +_dbonnair_, more smiling than Miss Dexter had ever seen him in her +life. Her breath came fast as he neared the window. Exchanging a word +with the hostler and a couple of laboring men who stood almost in the +centre of the road Mr. Joseph passed on, looking down with a smile at +the bouquet in his hand. Miss Dexter then arose and quietly settling her +bonnet at a glass walked out of the hotel having paid her small bill at +dinner-time. + +She walked steadily on in the direction of Ipswich in the wake of Mr. +Joseph who did not appear to be walking as fast as usual himself. So by +straining every nerve as we say--in reality, walking as she had never +attempted to and dreamt of walking in her life--she slowly but surely +gained upon the unconscious Mr. Joseph. They were about in the middle of +the plains, that dreary bit of road bordered by pine forests on either +side when Miss Dexter found she could distinguish the _clink, clink_ or +jingle of his watch-chain, a thing of steel links which she knew well by +sight as well as by sound as it struck against the buttons of his coat. +Slowly Miss Dexter gained on him, until it was necessary either to +accost him or pass him. Which did she mean to do? Dark as it was rapidly +growing, Mr. Joseph, in half turning his head to observe something in +the trees or sky, became conscious of a figure close behind him. The +path was narrow, for he had left the middle of the road since passing +the Albion, and he stepped aside with his usual ready politeness to +allow the lady room to go on before him. But in a moment he recognized +Miss Dexter. She waited for him to speak. + +"I--really, why--is it possible it is you, my dear Miss Dexter? I never +knew you took such lonely walks so far from home. You don't mean to say +you've walked out from town?" + +For an answer, Miss Dexter, who had previously unclasped her bag and +taken out the bottle, lifted her right hand and threw the contents over +Mr. Joseph. + +"In the name of God!" shrieked the unfortunate man, warding off as he +imagined a second attack. But Miss Dexter had done her work and stood +rigid, unmovable, stony as marble, the bag fallen at her feet, her hands +fallen straight down at her sides. Mr. Joseph had sunk upon the ground +moaning and writhing, but through all the torture of the terrible pain +he was suffering, he thought of nothing but the inconceivable brutality +of the act itself. Why had she done it? + +"I suppose it is vitriol," he gasped. "Was it an accident--or--did +you--mean--to--do it? How have--I--injured--you? Oh--say--say--" + +He could get no further for a few moments in the appalling consciousness +of that living fire which had burnt into his poor eyes and played round +his poor temples. Otherwise he was not injured, for Miss Dexter's aim +had been a faulty one and nearly all the contents of the bottle had in +reality descended on the ground. + +"Say--say" he went on. "Which it is? My--dear--Miss Dexter--I +am--sorrier for you--than--for--myself, and cannot imagine--oh! Good +God, I shall be blind, blind--ah!!--" + +Charlotte Dexter still stood in the rapidly darkening air, a stem, +rigid, immovable figure. It was too soon for remorse. That would come in +good time. But a certain pity stole over her as she gazed at the huddled +mass on the ground before her, which a short time ago, had been the gay, +laughing, upright Mr. Joseph. + +"Are you suffering very much?" She said at length in her ordinary voice. + +"Good God! How--how--can you ask? Again--tell me--was it--an accident?" + +"No," she replied still in her most ordinary voice. "No. It was no +accident. It _is_ vitriol, and I _did_ mean to throw it." + +"It is horrible," groaned Mr. Joseph, still in agony on the ground where +he had sunk at first. "And you will not--fiend that you appear now +to be--though Heaven knows--I thought you sweet and womanly enough +once--you will not--tell me why! It is infamous!" + +"Yes, it _is_ infamous," returned Charlotte Dexter. "It _is_ horrible, +and I am a fiend. I am not a woman any longer. I once was, as you say, +sweet and womanly enough for--for what? Joseph Foxley. For you to come +to any house and my sister's house, and blast _her_ life and strike +_her_ down as you thought you would strike me, for this and that and for +much more, but not enough for truth and honesty and an offer of marriage +in fair form, not enough for common respect and decent friendship." + +"My dear lady," said Mr. Joseph with great difficulty, "there was no one +I--" + +"And all that time, when I thought you at least free, at least your own +master, at least unbiased and unbound, for unlike a gentleman you never +hinted to me of these--other ties--you were engaged to this miserable +girl, this common drudge, the scullery-maid of a country inn. You, you, +you!" + +"My dear lady," said Mr. Joseph again with greater difficulty than +before, "I--upon my word--I have--I--" + +Charlotte Dexter, suddenly regaining the use of her limbs, bent down +quickly and peered into the poor sightless face. Mr. Joseph had fainted. +She owned no fear yet however, though it was now quite dark, and five +miles lay between them and her own door. Pity was just giving away to +remorse. What if she had killed him? She bent down again but found +that there was no fear of that and even consciousness appeared to be +returning. At this moment the sound of wheels struck her ear. Nearer +and nearer it came and she soon descried a waggon coming along the road +sharply in which sat one man. The rest of the waggon was empty and as it +was proceeding in the direction of the village, into that, she made up +her mind, should Mr. Joseph be put. As it drew near, she stepped out of +the dark shade of the pines and bade the man stop. + +"Whose there!" said he, "What's here? What's the matter? Why, if it +ain't Miss Dexter!" + +"Yes," said she, stooping to assist her unfortunate companion. "How do +you do, Farmer Wise! I--do you know Mr. Foxley--Mr. Joseph Foxley--is +here--can you just see him--if you have a lantern, or, will you help me +to get him into the waggon?" + +Farmer Wise forgot Miss Dexter and her family pride in an instant, +though at first sight the feeling of injury had somewhat revived, and +he made haste to come to her relief. He found Mr. Joseph just coming to +himself. + +"Why, why, what's the matter?" said the Farmer. "It minds me of old +times, this, when highway-men and tramps were a-infestin' the road and +a-lyin' in wait for honest travellers--in the Old Country of course, +Miss Dexter, not here, not here. Yet somethin's been at work here, eh! +Mr. Joseph, or else I'm much mistaken. Here, lend an 'and, Miss Dexter; +now, sir, can you see me?" + +"Not very well," gasped poor Mr. Joseph. "It's dark, I know," said the +farmer, "and I hadn't begun carrying my lantern yet. Never mind Here, +now, place your foot there--are ye hurt anywhere that I may touch +ye--tell me where I hurt ye, if I do--now then, the other foot-- + +"There, now it's done! Miss Dexter, ma'am there's an old blanket at the +back there, lie him on that. Put his head down and let him look straight +up at them stars and he'll soon get himself, I warrant. If I knew where +ye were hurt, perhaps I could bind ye up. There's no wound," anxiously. + +"No," said Mr. Joseph. "Thank you, Farmer Wise. I am--much--better--really. +I was unconscious!" + +"Ay," said the farmer, "A little, and can you stand the joltin' now, are +ye sure? For if ye are, we'll drive on." + +"Stay a moment," said Mr. Joseph. "I had some flowers--a bouquet--in my +hands when I--fell. I can't see--very well--in this light--look for me, +will you!" + +"I do spy somethin' white on yonder ground where you was when I came up. +Maybe it's a pocket-handkerchief, may be it's the flowers you dropped." + +The former sprang down and returned with two articles one of which--the +bouquet he gave to Mr. Joseph, the other, a small bottle--he put in his +own pocket The bouquet was as fresh and untumbled as when it emerged +from the careful florist who had prepared it. Not a single drop of the +fiery liquid had fallen upon it nor scorched its fragrant beauty and it +presently lay upon the face of the suffering man, healing with its cool +moist sweet leaves and petals his poor scarred skin. + +"I won't ask him," thought the farmer, "I won't ask him. But what are +they doin' here together? Well, I won't ask that neither. And why did +not she came out by the stage as she said? I won't ask that neither. +There's three things I needn't go for to enquire into. But a little +general conversation in a nice kind of way, neither spyin' nor lyin' may +do him good and not be altogether despised by the--the other party." He +looked back and could dimly see Mr. Joseph sitting up on the blanket. He +had removed his hat, and his hands were pressed to his head. Charlotte +Dexter was in the furthest corner of the waggon, a dark, stern, ominous +figure. + +"Strange that you and me _are_ goin' home together, Miss Dexter, after +all," said the farmer. + +"Miss Dexter drove in to the Albion alongside of me yesterday, sir, +and I ask her if so be she need a second lift back to-day, and she said +'no.'" + +"Ah!" said Mr. Joseph. "Yesterday, did you say? I was--to have--come +out--yesterday--in answer to my brother's note--but I could not +manage--it. I wish," with a grim attempt at the old humor--"I had, 'pon +my soul I do." + +"Your brother is well, I hope, sir?" said the farmer. "Don't talk too +much, I beg of ye, Mr. Joseph. To see ye with yer hands like that!" + +"It is--better--easier--that way," returned Mr. Joseph. "My brother +is well for him, thank you. You know, he is--not strong +he--is--never--perfectly well." + +"D--" said the farmer to himself. "Of course, of course, I know. I see +him yesterday morning, pale like and weak, but smiling and lookin' happy +enough too, I tell ye." + +"Ah, yes" said Mr. Joseph, again lying down and pressing the flowers to +his hot lips. "I--these flowers--are for him and--her." + +"Her!" said the farmer. + +"Milly, you know. Ah--perhaps you haven't heard. My brother is going +to--marry Milly, Mrs. Cox's niece, you know." + +An absolutely death-like stillness prevailed in the waggon. The Kentucky +team jogged on. The stars shone down on poor Mr. Joseph turning up his +sightless orbs to their beauty and majesty, and on the passion of grief +and remorse that now surged in Miss Dexter's suffering breast. + +"It may be vanity," thought Farmer Wise as the bridge and the river +and Dexter's Oak came in sight one after the other, "it may be vanity, +though I'm too old a man to be much given to that, but I can't help +thinkin' I'm a wiser man than I was yesterday by a good lot. I don't +half know what's happened, but somethin's goin' on, whether it's +understandable or not to me and the likes of me, I don't know as yet, +and I don't think I'll try to find out. If ifs bad it'll come out fast +enough, and if it's good, leavin' it alone maybe will make it a little +better. But here we are," he continued aloud, "at Dexter's Oak. What's +to be done, Miss Dexter, now, and with you, Mr. Joseph? Of course, I'll +take you straight to the Inn--as for Miss Dexter--" + +"I will get out at once," said the unhappy woman. "You are sure you can +take him to the Inn all right and--and--lift--that is--without--" + +"Oh, I guess so," said the farmer, grimly relapsing into an Americanism +that was just beginning to leaven the whole country. "I guess I'll +take care on him, and as for gettin' him out at the Inn, there's plenty +there. Good-night Miss Dexter, take care there!--now you're all right" + +Charlotte Dexter, with a long look at the prostrate form of Mr. Joseph, +leapt from the waggon and sped through the gate up to her desolate +dwelling. + +"Ah!" sighed the farmer to himself, one great long sigh that stirred his +hardy frame to its centre. He never sighed like that again either for +Charlotte Dexter or any other woman. + +The next mile they traversed in silence broken only by occasional moans +from Mr. Joseph which moved the old farmer to wonder and dismay that +almost unnerved him. + +Presently Mr. Joseph murmured some word the farmer did not catch all at +once. + +"Is he out of his mind on top of it all!" he said to himself, and +listened. + +"Farmer Wise," said the same low voice, "are we near the Inn?" + +"Just there, Mr. Joseph." + +"On the little bridge yet?" + +"Just come on it, Mr. Joseph." + +"Ah! Can you--stop your horses?" + +"Certainly. There! Now what is it?" Mr. Joseph sat up. + +"I am in your waggon--the market waggon, Farmer Wise, I think?" + +"Yes, Mr. Joseph. You can't tell where we are, I see, being so much +shook." + +"No. That's not it," said Mr. Joseph. "I--are you on the seat--the front +seat, Farmer Wise?" + +"Yes, Mr. Joseph. You can't make me out by this queer light, and I don't +wonder. The stars is beautiful, but they don't make up for havin' no +moon." + +"No. That's not it either, Farmer Wise. Did you say the stars were +shining? Orion, I suppose, and the Bull and the rest of them! Can't +you--try--like a dear old fellow--can't you--tell what's the matter with +me? You say you are sitting on the front seat, and I--have no doubt but +that you are, but your voice sounds so much further away--so very much +further away than that--and when one--can't--see you, Farmer Wise,--" + +A frightful pause. + +"Can't see me, can't see me! Mr. Joseph, Mr. Joseph! Not blind--God +forgive me for sayin' the word out to ye like that! But I thought it, I +thought it, and so, out it come! But it is'nt that! Ye'll forgive me for +sayin' the word out to ye like that! It isn't that!" + +"I'm afraid it is, Farmer Wise. It can be--nothing--else.' + +"If, as you say, the stars are shining and to be sure they generally are +about--this time--of night, and if, as you say, you are sitting directly +opposite me on the front seat of your waggon, and I have no reason +to doubt it, if this is so, and I--can see neither--these stars +shining--nor you--yourself--dear old fellow--on the seat before me--it +can be, I fear--nothing else." + +"And how--" + +"Ah! I can't--quite remember. Some time, perhaps, I'll tell you +how--shall I go to my brother or--how can I?" + +"Mr. Joseph," entreated the farmer, seizing one of those delicate hands +and patting it as if it had been his own. "Will you come with me? I'll +make you comfortable, and have ye seen to and we'll find out about it +and what can be done, and that'll save your brother, look, and he not +strong! Come, Mr. Joseph! Lie down there as you was, just as ye was--God +forgive me for tellin' you to look up at them stars--and I'll speak a +word for you at the Inn, as we're passing. Won't that do, nor be better +than goin' in like that? Not knowin' either just what is the matter. +Come, Mr. Joseph! I'll drive straight home after that and make ye +comfortable for the night, and there'll be no--womankind, or, or anyone +to disturb ye, just me and the two boys--come, Mr. Joseph!" + +"I am willing enough to go, old fellow," answered Mr. Joseph with a +groan. "Willing enough to go anywhere, but where my brother--my poor +brother--is. Yes, it will be best. Drive on." + +The warm cheery Inn soon appeared in view. The firelight from the +bar and the lamp-light from the other rooms beamed out from the +red-curtained windows. The scrape of a fiddle came from the kitchen. +"Squires," murmured Mr. Joseph, feebly. "He's always at it." The farmer +pulled up the team at the pump corner one instant and looking around +descried not a soul in view. He got down and went to the side door +leading to the bar and opening it put his head in. Mrs. Cox herself was +dispensing early gin and water to three or four indolent but talkative +gentlemen before the fire. But she was not so busy as not to perceive +the farmer. Had she already had that cap on in which bloomed the violet +velvet pansy, Mr. Joseph's whereabouts might have been discovered, for +invariably on those occasions she accompanied the farmer not only to the +door but even to the very feet of the horses as he straightened up one +thing or loosened another and would often joke about the empty waggon or +the purchases made in the town which might happen to fill it. + +But Farmer Wise left her no time even to adjust her head-dress, far from +changing it. + +"Good evening, ma'am," said he, with his head in the door. "No. Don't +trouble about Squires. He's hard at work, I can hear, and besides, I +don't want him. I'm late, and the boys will wait for their supper. I +just have to tell ye that I see Mr. Foxley in town, Mr. Joseph Foxley, +and he says how he can't come out till--say--Monday. He was stuck full +of work--he was indeed--and said positive--he couldn't come. But he +give me this for his brother and for--her," producing the bouquet, which +caused a thrill of amazement and awe to pervade the loungers in the bar. +"For his brother and for--her," said the farmer, taking a long stride +across the little room and giving it to Mrs. Cox. "I congratulate you, +ma'am, I do indeed." + +Before she could well answer, he had shut the door and mounting the +waggon drove away as quickly as he could. He was too full of thoughts +and plans concerning Mr. Joseph to notice that quick as he was, Mrs. +Cox, not waiting this time to change her cap, had come out to the door +and with her hand shading her eyes, was looking wistfully after the +departing team. + + + + +CHAPTER IV. + + +It was as Mr. Joseph had said. His brother, George Albert Dacre Foxley, +of Foxley Manor, Notts, was indeed contemplating marriage with Milly, +niece of Mrs. Cox, landlady of the Ipswich Inn. If it seem strange, +remember that he had passed the meridian of his years, health was gone, +life rapidly passing away and it was impossible now for him to make any +new departure in his life or habits. He had become firmly attached +to Mrs. Cox's comfortable _mnage_ and wanted nothing more. Never in +England, even while in the enjoyment of fairly good health and luxurious +surroundings had he ever felt so completely at rest, satisfied with +himself and his small immediate world, every want cared for, every wish +guessed at, and the best of company to his idea--company that called +for nothing but pure naturalness. He could smoke for hours in Mrs. Cox's +kitchen, or in her neat yard or even in the chintz-hung drawing-room +and no one would interrupt him with dissertations on politics, art or +literature. Like all Englishmen of the quiet country-loving stamp, he +cared little about politics except when some general crisis assented +itself, and knew less about art or literature. He thought Wilkie and +Landseer about the summit of the one and Byron the chief modern pillar +of the other. Twenty years ago, Tennyson had not made a very deep +impression on a mind of his calibre. Yet this handsome, quiet, delicate +gentleman when he did choose to talk had such an audience as is not +given to many men, for Mrs. Cox would leave her work (if she dared) and +Milly would listen with her young eyes fastened in a kind of ecstasy +on the dark ones turned to hers, and Squires would come along with his +hands in his trousers pockets and his fiddle under his arm, and Bess +would put her paws upon her master's knees and devour him with her own +dark eyes--a quintette of friends unsurpassed in the world for loyal +attachment and generous devotion. What if what he had to tell was but +some simple story of hunting England, or some bald description of London +life seen under the surveillance of a tutor fifteen or twenty years +previous to the time of narration--he was their oracle, prophet, God, +what you will, and they were his dearest, yes, his very dearest friends. +When Mr. Joseph appeared as one of this happy circle, it became more +boisterous of course though not necessarily any happier, for it +was already as happy as it could be. But the news from town and the +occasional English mail, flowers and a cheap new novel--these were some +of the simple delights that Mr. Joseph used to bring with him. During +the first couple of years, both the brothers would saunter out to the +Miss Dexters' or to the Rectory, Mr. Joseph in particular, never failing +to appear on Saturday nights at choir-practice and Sunday evening +service--but Mr. George gradually discontinued his visits as I have +hinted and towards the fourth year of his stay hardly ever went beyond +the Inn. For at the back the small terraced garden met the orchard, and +the orchard sloping down met a small pebbly brook, and the brook flowing +along in sweet rippling fashion met the most charming of wheat covered +golden meadows in which it was pleasant and good to stroll and which +moreover all belonged to that matchless paragon among landladies, Mrs. +Cox. In those days people grew their own kitchen stuff, and their own +fruit and their own grain, fed their own live stock, made their own +butter and cheese, cured their own hams, laid their own eggs, even +brewed their own beer. Now, everything is different, and let no +confiding Englishman, allured by my tempting picture come out to Canada +today in search of such a Utopia for he will not find it. Moreover all +this pleasant prospect of wood and stream and meadow and orchard lay +well _behind_ the Inn, let it be understood, and it was perfectly +possible for Mr. George Foxley to have all the air, walking and +exploration he desired and even a little shooting and fishing if he +wanted them without, as I have said, going beyond it. When he grew +really weak, he was obliged to give up both the latter occupations of +course, but he still walked or strolled a great deal, generally with +Milly by his side. She would leave anything she was at when he called +her and opening the little gate by the one hawthorn tree leading into +the orchard, see him safe down the slope to the side of the little brook +where she would give him her arm, and thus their walk would commence in +earnest. Four years had brought a great change in Milly. New ideas, new +habits, association with such thorough and high-bred gentleman and +the natural desire to improve and grow worthy of such dearly esteemed +company, had altered her completely. Where before she had been pink, +now she was pale; thin, where she had been plump; her features actually +aquiline from the girlish snub of the rounded contour four years back, +her hair, three shades darker, her dress, almost that of a lady. The +most perfect sympathy appeared to exist, and really did, between these +two strangely met natures. + +One day, they had sat down at the side of the brook as a couple of +children would have done to cast in sticks and leaves and watch them +float by. Sometimes these would get caught in the numberless little +eddies that such a stream possesses and be whirled round and round until +it was necessary to dislodge them and send them on their way after the +others. One fine yellow leaf on this November day attracted Mr. Foxley's +attention particularly, for it was obstinate in returning again and +again to a cosy little bay formed by a couple of large stones. Often +as he poked it out, back it came into the bay and anchored itself +contentedly on the calm water. + +Milly laughed. + +"He has found a haven," said Mr. George. "Yes, without doubt he has +found his haven. What do you think, Milly?" + +"I think so, sir." + +"Don't call me sir, child. What makes you do so?" + +"There is nothing else I can call you, is there,--sir." + +"Ah!" said Mr. Foxley. He lay back at full length on the grass and put +his hands over his eyes. The river rippled on and Milly watched him +anxiously. "Is the leaf there still, Milly?" + +"Yes, sir." + +"Now!" said Mr. Foxley in a warning tone. "I tell you I won't have it." + +"No, sir--I beg your pardon, Mr. George." + +"Nor that either," said Mr. Foxley, slowly rising into a sitting posture +again. He had another poke at the yellow leaf. "Call me Dacre, my child, +will you?" Milly no longer watched him with those loving, anxious, eyes. +She was trembling from head to foot and had she spoken, she must have +wept. Mr. Foxley's voice was of itself enough to make any woman weep, it +was so soft, so tender, so subdued and indrawn. Once more he said, "Call +me Dacre, my child!" That pleading voice, so low, so musical, and that +it should plead to her? They were so close together that he could +feel her tremble. Weak as he was, he was the stronger of the two for +a moment, and turning slightly towards her met her rapturous eyes, and +heard her call him the name he wanted to hear. The same instant they +kissed, a long thrilling dark-enfolding kiss that was the first Milly +had ever known from a man and might have been, for its purity and +restraint, the first also that he had ever given to a woman. + +"Have I found my haven too, like the wise leaf of autumn? Have I! Tell +me, my child, my darling!" + +"O sir, dearest sir--I mean, dear Dacre, it is I who have found mine. If +indeed you care for me, sir!" + +Mr. Foxley laid his head just on her shoulder, then let it slide into +her lap, taking her trembling hands and putting them over his eyes. + +"I do more than care for you, my child. I love you. Stoop and kiss me. +There. Don't take your head away again like that. Leave it. Your face +against mine. Your lips on mine. Is it a haven, child? Truly, yes or +no?" + +"Dear Dacre!" + +"Well!" + +"You know it is. And I have always wanted so much to--to--care for you, +but I did not dare." + +"Dare! There is no dare about it my child. If you will give me your +young life--how old are you now, love?" + +"Nineteen," whispered Milly into his ear. + +"Only nineteen, and such a tall girl, with such long hair--if you will +give it to me and be happy in giving it, child, that must be thought of, +there is no one else--" + +"You know there is not, sir." + +"Then I will do all I can to deserve it. And nobody must call you Milly +any more. You are Mildred now. Miss Mildred if you like and soon, very +soon, to bear another name, mine. It is a good one, child." + +"I am sure of it, dear Dacre, and too good--far too good--for me." + +"Do you know how old I am, my child?" + +"I heard your brother say." + +"And did he dare? What did he say it was, my age?" + +"He said--you were forty-one." + +"Then he was out. It is more than that I am exactly forty-three; I say +exactly, for, Milly, this is my birthday, and--I cannot hope--neither of +as must dare to hope, child--that I shall see many more. You will marry +me whenever I say, my love?" + +The girl bent over him in a passion of weeping. + +"There is nothing I would not do for you, dear sir--" + +"Except call me by my dearly-beloved third name!" + +It began to turn cold as they sat by the stream and Milly or Mildred as +she is henceforth to be called, drying her eyes, fell into a fever over +her lover and besought him to return to the house. + +Standing face to face, he put her arms around his neck. + +"Before we go, dear child, you are sure you love me?" + +"O do not ask me again, dear Dacre!" + +"That is right. And you know how old I am?" + +Another assent. + +"And that you are to marry me whenever I say?" + +"If I can." + +"Of course you can. And that you are to give me all the love you +possibly have to give and more and more. I shall be exacting!" + +"Dear Dacre!" + +"Very well. Remember all those clauses, and now take me back to the +house. And some day, my child, I will tell you all my life and what it +was--or rather who it was--that sent me out of England, dear England--" + +"Ah! you love it still," murmured Mildred, looking at the ground. + +"I shall always love it _now_, since I have found my happiness in +Canada, but once I hated it, Milly, yes, I hated it!" + +So was accomplished the wooing of Mr. George Foxley. He was earnestly +and sincerely in love. The girl had grown up under his eye as it +were and was in fact almost a part of himself already. Marriage would +complete the refining and gilding process. The tones of her voice, +her accent, her pronunciation, her habits of sitting, of standing, of +walking were all more or less unconsciously imitated from him, she had +modelled herself upon him, she was indeed his "child" as he loved to +call her. For a month these two people enjoyed as pure and perfect and +isolated an happiness as can be experienced on earth. Then it became +necessary to inform Mr. Joseph and worthy Mrs. Cox. As if Mr. Joseph and +Mrs. Cox didn't know! There are two things that nothing can hide in +this life. One is, the light in the eyes of a girl who has found herself +loved by the man she adores, and the other is, the unutterable content +in the mien of that man himself. And there is no phase of passion +sweeter, nor purer, nor warmer, nor more satisfying, than that which is +the result of a young girl's affection for a man many years older than +herself. + +As for the telling, Mr. George, though he could talk fast enough and +fluently enough to Mildred, hated much talk or fuss about anything and +so made everything the easier by informing his brother, Mr. Joseph, by +note. A few lines sufficed as preparation for the news and he ended +by requesting him to purchase some small and inexpensive gift as from +himself in appreciation of the occasion. Mr. Joseph with characteristic +good taste and delicate feeling, concluded that flowers, though +perishable, were the most appropriate purchase he could light upon, and +consequently walked out from town a certain Saturday afternoon late in +November with a monster affair in smilax and roses in his hand. When +it was placed, though not by himself, in Mildred's hands she felt a +disappointment she could not altogether conceal. + +"Never mind," said Mr. George at full length on a sofa with Milly beside +him on a chair. He did indeed prove a most exacting lover. For a long +time her share of daily work in the Inn and out of it, had been growing +less and less, until now she hardly did anything at all besides wait on +her master, lover and friend, prepare what he eat, read to him, and +sit by him for hours, never leaving him in the evenings till long after +twelve and then it was understood that in case of night attacks of the +dreadful pleurisy and asthma combined that were slowing killing him, she +would always be at hand to come at the sound of his bell--or indeed his +voice, for Milly, sleeping in the room opposite his own, always left +both doors open and would lie fully dressed on her bed night after +night, listening in the dark, with wide open eyes and strained ears, for +the slightest cough or sigh that came from that worshipped one across +the narrow hall. + +"Never mind," said he on that Saturday night "My brother _is_ busy just +now. Don't you remember, he found it difficult to come out last week. +It's an awful grind for Joseph, poor Joseph! But he enjoys life, I +think; at the present moment I expect he is flirting audaciously in town +with some charming girl. Or some fearfully plain one. You never know who +next, with my brother. He'll turn up on Monday." + +And Mr. Joseph did turn up on Monday. Farmer Wise had fetched some +doctor from Orangetown on Sunday, who after examining his injury, +pronounced it incurable. Mr. Joseph was as stoical as Englishmen are +generally expected to be and saw that it was absolutely imperative to +tell his brother. + +"I brought it on myself" he said to the farmer, "At least I try to +believe I did. By Jove! to think--to think of some men! Well, I _must_ +tell my brother." + +When he did tell him late on Monday night, having been driven over by +Farmer Wise himself, with his poor eyes bandaged and the sturdy farmer's +hand to guide him into the little back parlor where Mr. George and +Mildred sat alone, for Mrs. Cox had been ordered out by that exacting +gentleman as early as eight o'clock. Nothing but the presence of Mildred +herself and the love divine and human that filled Mr. George's breast to +overflowing could have saved him from succumbing to the painful shock. + +"Well, I should think you are cured now, my poor Joseph!" said his +brother presently. + +"Of what, in heaven's name?" said poor Mr. Joseph. "By Jove to think--to +think of some men, George! What had I done, what had I done?" + +"I do think of them," said Mr. Foxley gravely. "I do think of them. +And but for my happiness here," touching Mildred's dress reverently, +"I could wish--" wistfully, "That we had never come here--'twas I who +brought you my poor Joseph, 'twas I, 'twas I." + +"Oh! that's rubbish!" pronounced Mr. Joseph energetically. "The main +point is now, how am I to get my living. God! I am perfectly useless! +They won't take me back in town there." + +"Dear Mr. Joseph," said Mildred, with her eyes shining on the brother of +her lover. "You will live with us of course, with--Dacre, Dacre and me, +and my aunt. We all love you--see," and Milly rose, first pressing Mr. +George's fingers as they touched her dress in passing and giving him a +look which was meant to keep him in order for a few moments, "no one can +nurse you as well as I can--ask Dacre--let me take off that bandage and +put it on again more comfortably for you! Will you, dear Mr. Joseph?" +Mr. Joseph groaned and hid his face against Milly's heaving breast. + +"She is to be your angel as well as mine, perhaps," murmured his +brother. + +"I have always been so active," groaned poor Mr. Joseph, "What is to +become of me? To live here with you would have been beautiful, but +now--the simple thought of existence at all anywhere is unbearable! And +the money--good God, George, how can I Help giving way!" + +Some few other such scenes had naturally to be gone through before any +course could be suggested to Mr. Joseph. Mrs. Cox had been taken into +confidence, and Farmer Wise made to understand that nothing must be said +about the unhappy affair. Mr. Joseph wrote into town explaining in some +way his resignation of the rather important clerkship he had but just +begun to fill creditably, and sending for all his belongings took to +Mrs. Cox's remaining little room under the roof in the character of an +invalid. The secret was admirably kept, even by the doctor who had been +written to and who had seen a similar case some years ago. + +"A jealous devil, I suppose," said he, when he read Mr. George Foxley's +note. + +"Well, he might have come off worse. But I should like to know who the +country lass was that he'd been sparkin', and who revenged herself like +that." + +A few weeks afterwards Mildred was married to George Albert Dacre +Foxley, of Foxley Manor, Notts, by the Rev. Mr. Higgs in the village +church. Her lover looked wonderfully well and strong on the occasion +and was so happy that he was actually mischievously inclined during the +ceremony, nearly causing his bride to laugh out audibly. Handsome and +distinguished and aristocratic a gentleman as he looked, Mildred was not +unworthy of him, as a straighter, firmer, more composed and more smiling +a bride never entered a church. The girl was too happy to know what +nervousness meant nor self-consciousness. She sat with her lover after +he was dressed and had lain down a few moments to rest, until it +was time to start in the carriage which Mr. Rattray had in the most +unexpected manner offered them and which Mr. George accepted with the +easy languid grace that characterized his acceptance of most things in +this world excepting Milly. He had plenty of force and passion and to +spare concerning _that_ gift. Stipulating that "Squires" must sit on +the box seat, he and Milly and Mrs. Cox, an ideal little wedding party, +drove off in actually high glee, laughing and chatting and joking +immoderately to the amazement of the villagers, prominent among whom +were Mrs. Woods and "Woods" himself, rescued in a dazed condition from +the back premises of the "Temperance Hotel" according to popular local +tradition, and Mrs. Lyman, B. Rattray, _ne_ Maria Higgs. Mr. Joseph +alas! could not be present. + +In the year that followed this remarkable marriage, the relative +positions of the Mr. Foxleys underwent a great change. So much love and +so much care lightened the elder brother's existence so materially, +that his health actually improved, and by the end of the sixth month +of marriage he was able to shoot and fish once more, and walk with his +adoring wife without the help of her strong arm and shoulder. Indeed it +was she who about this time began to need his assistance during those +long strolls by the side of the brook or through the tall grain +grown meadows--a matter which astonished them both to the extent of +stupefaction. Mr. George took his trouble to Mrs. Cox. + +"I don't know what you expected, Mr. George, I don't indeed," said she, +secretly amused at his simplicity. "You went and got married, as was +only natural, and now you are frightened at the results, as is only +natural." + +"But, my dear lady," expostulated the perplexed gentleman, "it involves +so many things, all manner of complications. For instance, money. I +shall have--I really believe, my dear good Mrs. Cox--I shall have to +make some money." + +"You!" ejaculated Mrs. Cox. + +"I know. It appears hopeless. I never turned a penny, honest or +otherwise in my life. Joseph you see--ah! poor Joseph!" + +Poor Joseph indeed, darkness for light, solitude for society, enforced +idleness for long-continued habits of activity, who could enjoy life +under these circumstances--and careful of him as Mildred was, and +sympathetic as his brother was, these two were too intensely absorbed +in each other to give him all the amusement and attention he craved. +He grew thin and weak and slightly perverse and seemed to care more for +Mrs. Cox's company than for his brother's. And yet there was nothing +wrong with him except his terrible affliction. Mrs. Cox was sure he +had something on his mind, and one day she ventured to tell him so. He +flushed all over his pale freckled skin, and feeling for her motherly +hands took them in his own. + +"There is," he said. "I wonder no one has ever guessed it. Miss Dexter, +where is she? Does anyone ever see her?" + +"My poor boy, my dear Mr. Joseph," cried Mrs. Cox. "You did not really +care for her, did you? Surely! You did not care for her!" + +"No," said he decidedly. "No, I did not care for her--I didn't, never +could have cared for her as George cares for Mildred, say--but she was +a lady and kind to me, and I liked to go there, and the fact is--I miss +her--and I am so sorry for her! and yet, you know, I am half frightened +of her too and afraid to go out, thinking she may meet me and I wouldn't +see her coming, you know! Yet she wouldn't do it again, I think!" + +"Heaven save us, no, Mr. Joseph! And you so forgiving! Mercy me, and +people say men make all the trouble!" + +"It's half-and-half, Mrs. Cox, dear old soul," muttered Mr. Joseph, +leaning back on his cushions. "I suppose we were both to blame. I can't, +for the life of me, fall to talking of it as a judgment, for before +heaven, I had done nothing. Yet I forgot how lonely she was and how +proud, and I forgot too, that Ellen--that Ellen--" + +"Ay, Mr. Joseph. It was Ellen too. Poor Ellen, that passed away out of +it all!" + +"And she--Miss Dexter--is still here, still living by herself in the +cottage by the oak! I remember so well, Mrs. Cox, the first time my +brother and I ever saw that oak!" + +"I daresay, Mr. Joseph, I daresay. Yes, she is still there, living in +her cottage unloved and unheeded, Mr. Joseph. And may she ever continue +so!" + +"Oh! don't say that, dear old soul! Don't say that! Do you know, I +should like to see her--I mean--meet her once again!" + +Mrs. Cox was certain he was not in "his right head" as she said to +herself. + +"See her again! Meet her, talk to her! The woman who served ye like +this! what can you be thinking of? Let me call your brother. There he is +coming along the road, brown and bonny, with his wife on his arm, bless +them both?" + +"Did you say he was brown, Mrs. Cox? My brother brown! What a change! He +looks so well then, dear old soul!" + +"If you could but see him, Mr. Joseph, you would see how well." + +"Well and brown! And Mildred, she is pale, I suppose, and with her +eyes turned up to his and her lips brushing his shoulder every now and +then--O I can see them--I suppose they go on a worse than ever." + +"Indeed and they do, Mr. Joseph. After, breakfast this morning I sent +them up into the drawing-room to be out of the way of the drover's +meeting to be held in the bar, and when I went up to ask them about the +lunch they would take with them on the river this afternoon I heard no +sound like and just whispered at the door a bit if I might come in. When +I went in, there was your brother standing behind her in a chair, with +all her hair down, and a brush in his hand and his wife fast asleep! +He looked frightened for a minute when he saw me and I besought him to +bring her to, thinking he'd mesmerized her. He'd been brushing it and +playing with it and the morning over warm--she had fallen asleep. And +I left them, Mr. Joseph, I left them, for they love each other so. And +when I think of the honor he has done my girl, and how particular he is +that she shall be called Mrs. Foxley--it--" + +"Well, well, Mrs. Cox, ours is a good name, and I do not think my +brother would have ever allowed any but a good girl to bear it. And if +a girl is lovely and gentle and pure-minded, and innocent, and neat, and +clean, and refined as your niece was, it matters not about her birth. +Birth! O my dear old soul, I am sick of the word! Miss Dexter now, is a +lady, you know." + +"Ay." + +"And I must see her again," enforced Mr. Joseph, brought back to his one +idea. "I must see her again." + +Mrs. Cox communicated this intelligence to her niece, Mrs. Foxley. + +"I think I can understand why," said she, lying back in her husband's +arms one hot summer night under the trees at the back of the blouse. "It +seems a hard wish to understand and a harder one to comply with, but it +may have to be done. Dacre--" + +"What my darling!" + +"When are you going to tell me about your life in England +and--and--about the woman who sent you out of it?" + +"The woman! I never told you about a woman, child!" + +"No. But I guessed. It is sure to have been a woman, Dacre." + +"Well, I don't mind when I tell you. Nothing of all that time is +anything to me now. Shall I tell you now?" + +"If you please, dearest Dacre. For I must be close to you when I listen +to that, and must not have you see me, for I know I shall cry." + +"Dearest child! Well then, it shall be now, for you could scarcely be +closer to me than you are now? And if you cry, as you must try not to +do, you shall be allowed to cry here upon my breast and I will not look. +I can hardly see you as it is, it is so dark. Let me think, how I shall +begin. You know Joseph--our poor Joseph--is my only brother and I never +had any sisters. My father--you know this too--is an English country +gentleman living in one of the most beautiful seats in England. If I +were to describe the old place to you, you would want to go, and I +could not spare you, so I will only say--well, you have seen those +photographs?" + +"Yes, dearest Dacre." + +"They only give you a faint idea of what it is. It is Tudor you know--do +you know what Tudor is, Mrs. Foxley--and all red brick, weathered all +colors, and terraced, with lots of little windows and some big ones with +stained glass in them, and urns on the terrace, and a rookery, and an +old avenue of poplars, haunted too, and so on, and so on--there's no end +to it, Mildred! Yes, it's a fine old place, without doubt Well, that +is where I was born. I don't remember my mother. I wish I did. She died +when Joseph was born, he is just four years younger than I am. Our youth +was passed there--at the Manor, of course, and we had the usual small +college education not extending to a university career that gentleman's +sons have in England, you know. I didn't make many friends at school, +and where we lived, there was no one to visit, and we had very few +relations. It is quite unusual I believe for two boys to grow up as we +did, in comparative isolation. My father was a kind of Dombey--you know +Dombey, Mildred--wrapped up in his old place and the associations of +his youth and in his family pride. The Foxleys are better born I believe +than half of the aristocracy; we go back to the Conquest on my father's +side--a thing which he never permits himself to forget for an instant. +Well, Milly, it was a dull life for two lively, affectionate lads like +Joseph and me, wasn't it, and had it not been for all this, child, +nature, you know, and the trees and the streams and the out-door sports +I love so well, I could never have got on at all. Then when I was +nineteen--just your age, love--came a change. I, being the elder and +heir to the estate was sent off to town--I mean, London, my dear--and +the Continent, with a tutor. Joseph--well, I believe I have never fully +understood what became of Joseph during the four years I was away, but +I suppose he amused himself. He has a knack of doing that I never had, +except when I am in the country. Well, this tutor wasn't a bad sort of +a fellow and at first we got on splendidly, living in town in chambers, +going to the plays and the opera, and dining all over, just wherever +I liked or he knew, and excursions oat of London, you know--oh! jolly +enough for a little while! Then we went across to Paris--" + +"Yes, dearest Dacre?" + +Mr. Foxley stopped a moment to lift his wife's face closer to his own. +He kissed it--a long long kiss that entranced them both to the degree of +forgetting the story. + +"If you would rather not go on--" said Mildred. + +"Oh! I must now. Well, we did Paris, and then the other capitals and +Nice--Nice was just then coming into vogue, and ran down into Italy--I +remember I liked Genoa so much--and then we came back to Paris, for +Harfleur--that was the tutor's name, and it doesn't sound like a real +one, does it--preferred Paris to any other European town and of course +so did I. About this time, his true character began to show itself. He +went out frequently without me, smoked quite freely, would order in +wine and get me to drink with him, and was very much given to calling +me fresh, green, and all that you know. I began to think he was right. I +was past twenty-one, and I had never even had a glimpse into the +inside of life. Women, now and all that kind of thing--I was positively +ignorant of--but to be sure, one quickly learns in Paris." + +For one night, Harfleur asked me in his usual sneering tone how I was +going to spend my evening. + +"I am going out to a charming _soire_ at the house of Madame de +L'Estarre, the most charming woman in Paris," said he. + +"'Then I shall accompany you,' I said, fired by his insulting tone. And +I went, Mildred. I suppose I was good-looking, eh, my child--and had +sufficient air of distinction about me to impress Madame de L'Estarre, +for she left the crowd of waxed and perfumed Frenchmen and devoted +herself entirely to me. Although she was--beautiful--she was not tall, +and I, standing at her side all that evening, never took my eyes off her +dazzling face and her white uncovered bosom. In a week, my child, I had +learnt to know and love every feature in that dazzling face and began +to dream of the day when I should be allowed to kiss that bosom. Yes, I +certainly loved her." + +"I am sure you loved her, Dacre my darling. And how could she help +loving you, dear, in return?" + +"Oh that is another thing entirely, quite another thing. After that +night, Harfleur showed me more respect than he had done for some time +previously and we began to hit it off again better. I went to her +_hotel_--her house you know, every day. At first she would always +receive me alone, sending anybody away who happened to be there and +refusing to admit anybody who came while we were together.--It is +difficult, even to my wife, to explain what kind of a woman she was. All +that first time, when we would be alone, she would--make love, I suppose +it must be called--with her eyes and her hands, and her very skirts +and her fan, and the cushion, and the footstool. The room was always +beautiful and always dim, and she would greet me with outstretched hands +and a shy smile, making room for me beside her on the sofa--she always +sat on a sofa. We would talk of nothing at all perhaps but look into +each other's eyes, until the force of her look would draw me close, +close to her till we were almost in one another's arms, and I could feel +her breath coming faster every moment when just as I imagined she would +sink upon my shoulder--she would draw herself up with a laugh and push +me away, declaring somebody was coming. Then, if nobody came, she would +go through the same farce again. This would happen perhaps two or three +times a day. In the evening, I was again at her side, night after night +regarding her with a devotion that amazed even my friend Harfleur. + +"She treats you like a dog. It will kill you yet, George. Come away." +But of course I would not go. I accompanied her to the theatre, to the +Bois, to the shops, to church--yes, even to church, Mildred, think of +that--and she was very careful and circumspect and all that. I even +believe as far as direct actions go, she may have been a virtuous woman, +for she certainly, had no other lover when I knew her. She was a widow, +enormously rich and nothing to do. Therefore, I suppose she went in for +the torturing business as a profession. Her Frenchmen did not mind; that +was the secret of her charm with them--so clever, they called her, but +it nearly killed me, her cleverness. I grew pale and worn--sleep--I +never slept. All my life I had lived without natural affection, and +now I was pouring forth upon this woman the love I might have rendered +friends, sister, brother, mother, as well as the passion of a young man. +I say to you now, Mildred, my wife, that the woman who tramples on the +passion of a young man is as bad as the man who slays the innocence of a +young girl. And that's what she did. Finally, when this had lasted for a +year and a half, and Harfleur had gone back to England, one day, when I +was perfectly desperate and could have killed her, Milly, as she lay at +full length on her damned sofa--pardon, my dear, no, don't kiss my hand, +child, don't--dressed in some rose-colored stuff all trailing about +her and her hands clasped under her head, I fell by her on my knees and +besought her to tell me what she meant and if she ever could care for +me. I give you my word, my dear, and with my hand over your innocent +heart, you know I dare not lie--in all that year and a half I had not +even touched her lips. You cannot, happily imagine the torture of such a +position. + +Well, that day, she bent over to me on her side and said "What do you +want, is it to kiss me? Chut! wait for that till we are married." + +"Do you mean to marry me?" I gasped out. "She said 'yes,' Mildred, and +brushed my cheek with her lips. What do you think I did then, Mildred?" + +"How can I tell, dearest Dacre!" + +"I fainted, dearest. Think of it. But I believed her, you see, and the +revulsion was too great. In a moment or two I came to myself with +the sounds of laughter in my ears. I was on her sofa--that damned +sofa--pardon again, my dear--and she was standing with three of her +cursed Frenchmen around her all laughing fit to kill themselves. I +saw through it all in a moment. They had been on the other side of the +curtains. I went straight up to her and said 'Did you say that you were +ready to become my wife?' She only laughed and the men too with her. +Then I struck her--on her white breast, Milly--and struck the three +Frenchmen on the face one after the other. They were so astonished that +not one of them moved, and I parted the curtains, and left the house." + +"Did you never see her again?" + +"Never. I left Paris considerably wiser than I had entered it and +avoided society generally. I had one year's life in London, and was +considered no end of a catch by the mammas, I believe, but you can +imagine I did not easily fall a victim. No. That is all my story, my +dear, all at least that has been unguessed at by you. My health was very +bad at home and beyond my love of sport I cared for nothing. I grew to +hate my life in England, even England, though she had done me no harm. +Finally, I quarrelled with my father who married again, a woman we both +disliked, Joseph and I, and so we turned our backs on the Old World and +came out to Canada and to--you." + +Mildred still lay, crying softly, in her husband's arms. "I had +sometimes dreamt," continued Mr. Foxley, "of meeting some young girl who +could love me and on whose innocence and sweetness I could rest and whom +besides I should really love. It did not dawn upon me when I first saw +you, that _you_ were the one I wanted, for we must confess, dear, that +you were very plump and rather pink and spoke--" + +"Why, Dacre, how can you? I was only fifteen! Cruel!" + +"Yes, I know. And how you changed! Now, you are so different that it is +not the same Mildred at all. Such is the power of a true love, my child, +and we must always be happy,--ours is one of those marriages." + +Theirs was indeed one of those marriages. Mr. Foxley took to farming and +enriched his purse as well as his health. Mr. Joseph had an interview +with Miss Dexter the nature of which I am not going to reveal, but which +resulted in a placid intimacy between the two to the surprise of all +save Milly who always said that "she thought she knew why." Miss Dexter +frequently accompanied blind Mr. Joseph on his lonely walks or would +sit with him when the others were out, as none but he cared to meet her. +Towards his death which occurred in about four years time, she was with +him constantly, and died herself in a fortnight after, having left in +her will, all her maiden belongings to her "good friend, Farmer +Wise." The farmer was not much moved when informed of this fact, so +incomprehensible to the rest of the village. He had always kept the +little bottle with its cruel label, and had always feared and avoided +poor, proud, foolish, wicked Charlotte Dexter since that Saturday night. + +As for Mr. George and his wife, I see a vision of a successful and happy +husband and father in the prime of early old age (which means, that at +fifty-three one is not old with a young wife and three sweet children) +and of Mildred, who is always a little pale, has her eyes constantly +turned up to her husband's with her lips brushing her shoulder every now +and then. + +Still? + +Ay, still and forever. And so ends my sketch of how the Mr. Foxleys +came, stayed and never went away. + + + + + +The Gilded Hammock. + + +Who does not know the beautiful Miss De Grammont? Isabel De Grammont, +who lives by herself and is sole mistress of the brown-stone mansion in +Fifth Avenue, the old family estate on the Hudson, the villa at Cannes, +the first floor of a magnificently decayed palace at Naples, who has +been everywhere, seen everything and--cared for nobody? + +She reclines now in her latest craze--a hammock made of pure gold wire, +fine and strong and dazzling as the late October sun shines upon it +stretched from corner to corner of her regally-furnished drawing-room. +Two gilded tripods securely fastened to the floor hold the ends of the +hammock in which she lies. The rage for yellow holds her as it holds +everyone who loves beauty and light and sunshine. Cushions of yellow +damask support her head, and a yellow tiger-skin is under her feet. +The windows are entirely hidden with thick amber draperies, and her own +attire is a clinging gown of some soft silk of a deep creamy tint that +as she sways to and fro in the hammock is slightly lifted, displaying +a petticoat of darker tint, and Russian slippers of bronzed kid. Amber, +large clear and priceless, gleams in its soft waxy glow in her hair, on +her neck, round her waist, where it clasps a belt of thick gold cloth +and makes a chain for a fan of yellow feathers. + +Because you see, although it is autumn, it is very warm all through Miss +De Grammont's mansion, as she insists on fires, huge bonfires, you may +call them, of wood and peat in every room and on every hearth. Out of +the fires grew the desire for the hammock. + +"Why," says Miss De Grammont, with a faint yawn, "why must I only lie in +a hammock in the Summer, and then, where nobody can see me? I will have +a hammock made for the winter, to lie in and watch my fires by." + +And so she did, for money is law and beauty creates duty, and one day, +when the fashionable stream, the professional cliques and the artistic +hangers-on called upon her "from three to six," they were confronted +by the vision of an exquisitely beautiful woman dressed in faint yellow +with great bunches of primroses in brass bowls from Morocco on a table +by her side, who received them in a "gilded hammock," with her feet on +a tiger-skin, and her chestnut hair catching a brighter tinge from the +flames of her roaring fire, and the sunlight as it came in through the +amber medium of the silken-draped windows. + +The tea was Russian, like the slippers, and the butler who presented +it was a mysterious foreigner who spoke five languages. The guests all +wondered, as people always did, at De Grammont. Nobody knew quite what +she had done with herself since she had been left an orphan at the age +of nineteen. She suddenly shot up into a woman, beautiful, with that +patrician and clear-cut loveliness with yet a touch of the _bohmienne_ +about it which only _les belles Amricaines_ know. Then she took unto +herself a maid, two dogs, and three Saratoga trunks and went over to +Europe wandering about everywhere. At Cannes, she met and subjugated +the heir to the crown; of this friendship the tiger-skin remained as a +_souvenir_. The heir to the crown was not generous. Next came various +members of embassies, all proud, all poor, and all frantically in love. +She laid all manner of traps for her lovers and discovered in nearly +every case that these men were after her money. A certain Russian Grand +Duke, from whom had come some superb amber ornaments--he being a man of +more wealth than the others--never forgave her the insult she offered +him. He sent her these ornaments from the same shop in Paris that +he ordered--at the same time--a diamond star for a well-known ballet +dancer, and the two purchases were charged to his account. Through some +stupidity, the star came to her. She ordered her horses and drove the +same day to the jewelers, who was most humble and anxious to retrieve +his error. He showed her the amber. She examined it carefully. "It is +genuine, and very fine," she said gravely. "I have lived in Russia and I +know. I am very fond of amber. I will buy this myself from you, and you +may inform His Highness of the fact." + +The delighted shop-keeper did not ask her very much more than its +genuine value and next day all Paris knew of the transaction and flocked +to the Opera to see her in the ornaments which had cost the Russian +Duke his friendship for the bearer. But though eccentric, impulsive and +domineering, no whisper had ever attached itself to her name. On her +return to her native New York, was she not welcomed, fted, honored, +besieged with invitations everywhere? People felt she was different from +the girl who went away. _She_ had been undecided, emotional, a trifle +vain, self-conscious, guilty of moods--no small offence in society; this +glorious creature was a queen, a goddess, always calm, always serene, +always a trifle bored, always superbly the same. Her house she +re-furnished altogether. The three Saratoga trunks were now represented +by nine or ten English ones, dress baskets, large packing cases, and one +mysterious long box which when opened contained several panels of old +Florentine carved wood-work which interested all New York immensely. +Pictures and tapestries, armor and screens, and a gate of medival +wrought iron were all among her art treasures. The foreign butler was +her _charg d'affaires_, and managed everything most wisely and +even economically. He engaged a few servants in New York, her maid, +housekeeper and the two housemaids she had brought out with her. Her +house was the perfect abode of the most faultless stheticism. It was +perfection in every detail and in the _ensemble_ which greeted the eye, +the ear, every sense, and all mental endowments, from the vestibule in +marble and rugs to the inner boudoir and sanctum of the mistress of the +house, hung with pale rose and straw-color in mingled folds of stamped +Indian silks, priceless in color and quality. Two Persian cats adorned +the lounge and one of her great dogs--a superb mastiff--occupied the rug +before the door night and day, almost without rest. + +Such were the general surroundings of Isabel de Grammont. Art and +letters, music and general culture were inseparable from the daily life +of such a woman as well as immediate beautiful presences, so that into +this faultless house came everything new that the world offered in +books, magazines, songs and new editions. Thanks to European travel, +there was no language she could not read, no modern work she had not +studied. Also came to her receptions the literary lions of New York. +Aspiring journalists, retiring editors, playrights and composers, a +few actors and crowds of would-be poets flocked to the exquisite +drawing-rooms hung with yellow, wherein the owner of so much +magnificence lounged in her golden hammock. Sonnets were written of +her descriptive of orioles flying in the golden west, and newspaper +paragraphs indited weekly in her praise referred to her as the +"Semiramus of a new and adoring society world." Baskets of flowers, tubs +of flowers, barrels of flowers were sent weekly to her address, and +she was solicited--on charitable, fashionable, religious, communistic, +orthodox and socialistic grounds as lady patroness of this or member of +that and subscriber to the other. In short, she was a success, and as +nothing succeeds like success, we may take it that as the months rolled +on, and the great house still maintained its superb hospitality and Miss +De Grammont still appeared in her sumptuous carriage either smothered +in furs or laces according to the seasons, she still maintained in +like manner her position in society and her right to the homage and +admiration of all classes. + +But this was not the case. Even a worm will turn and public opinion is +very often a little vernacular, let us say. And it happened, that public +opinion in the case of Miss De Grammont, began to turn, to raise itself +up in fact and look a little about it and beyond it as we have all seen +worms do--both in cheeses and out of them--when the fact that she lay +most of the time in a gilded hammock swung in front of her drawing-room +fire was announced from the pulpits of society journals. It may have +been that her friends were devoid of imagination, that they were cold, +prudish, satirical, unpoetical, unaesthetic, anything we like to call +them, that will explain their action in the matter, for they clearly, +one and all, disliked the notion of the hammock. One spoke of it +disparagingly to another, who took it up and abused it to a third, +who described it to a friend who "wrote for the papers." This gifted +gentleman who lodged with a lady of the same temper and edited a fashion +journal, concocted with her help a description of the thing which soon +found its way into his paper and was then copied into hers. The public +grew uneasy. It would swallow any story it was told about the Heir +Apparent, for instance and a Russian Grand Duke--is it not the sublime +prerogative of American women to dally with such small game as those +gentlemen--but it kicked against the probability of such an actual fact +as the hammock already described which seemed too ridiculous a whim +to possess any real existence. However, the tongues of the fashionable +callers, the professional cliques and the artistic hangers-on coincided +in the affair to that extent that soon the existence of the gilded +hammock was established and from that time Miss De Grammonts' popularity +was on the wane. Dowagers looked askance and matrons posed in a +patronizing manner, the flippant correspondents of society journals and +the compilers of sonnets in which that very hammock had been eulogized +and metaphored to distraction now waited upon her, if at all in an +entirely different manner. Strange how all classes began to recall the +many peculiar or unaccountable things she had done, the extraordinary +costumes she had worn, the fact that she lived alone, and the other fact +that she made so few friends. From aspersions cast on her house, her +equipage, her dresses, there came to be made strictures on her private +character, her love affairs, her friends and career in Europe, her +_mnage_ at present in New York and the members thereof. Finally public +opinion finding that all this made very little impression outwardly, +upon the regal disdain of Miss De Grammont in her carriage or in her +Opera-stall, however she might writhe and chafe when safely ensconced +within that rose and straw-colored boudoir, made up its mind that the +secret of the whole three volume novel, the key to the entire mystery +lay with the--butler. + +That black-moustached functionary, they whispered, had his mistress in +his power. He had been a courier, and she had fallen in love with him +abroad. Or he had been a well-known conjurer and coerced her through +means little less than infernal to run away with him. He was a +mesmerist, so they said, and could send her into trances at will. Then +he had been the famous Man Milliner of Vienna, whose disappearance one +fine day with the entire trousseau of an Austrian Grand Duchess had been +a nine days' wonder. These dresses she wore, strange mixtures never seen +on earth before of violet and blue, pink and pea-green, rose and lemon, +were the identical ones prepared for the Grand Duchess. Finally, he was +an Italian Prince rescued from a novel of "Ouida's," whom she had found +living in exile, having to suffer punishment for some fiendish crime +perpetrated in the days of his youth. + +When the stories had reached this point, Miss De Grammont, to whom they +were conveyed through papers, notes from "confidential friends," her +maid and others, wrote a letter one day directed to the: + + REV. LUKE FIELDING, + Pastor, Congregational Church, + Phippsville, Vermont. + +A week or ten days after, Miss De Grammont, seated--not, in the gilded +hammock though it still swung gracefully before the glowing fire--but in +the cushions which graced her window looking on the front of the house, +saw a gentleman arrive in a cab. She rose hastily and opened the door +of the room herself for her visitor. This was the Rev. Luke Fielding, +a gentleman of the severest Puritanical cut and a true New Englander +to boot. With his hat in his hand he advanced with an expression on his +face of the deepest amazement and dismay which increased momentarily as +he saw not only the gorgeous coloring and appointments of the room +but the fair figure of its occupant. To be sure, she had with infinite +difficulty selected the plainest dress she could find in her wardrobe to +receive him in, a gown of dark green velvet made very simply, and high +to the throat. But alas! there was no disguising the priceless lace at +her wrists, or the gems that glittered on her firm white hands. + +"My dear cousin!" said the lady, giving him both her hands. + +"My dear cousin Isabel," returned the minister, laying his hat down on +a plush-covered chair on which it looked curiously out of place, and +taking her hands in his. + +"My dear cousin Isabel, after so many years!" + +"It is only eight years, cousin," returned the lady. + +"True," replied the minister gravely. "Yet to one like myself that seems +a long time. You sent for me, cousin." His gaze wandered round the room +and then fastened once more upon Miss De Grammont. + +"Yes," she said faintly. "I could not tell you all in my letter. I +wanted--I want still--somebody's help." + +"And it is very natural you should apply for mine, cousin, I will do +anything I can. I have"--the minister grew sensibly more severe, more +grave--"I have this day, on the train, seen a paper--a new kind of paper +to me, I confess,--a _Society Journal_ it calls itself, in which a name +is mentioned. Is your--trouble--connected with that?" + +Miss De Grammont blushed deeply. "Yes. That is my name. I would not have +troubled you--but I must ask your advice, for you are the only one of +the family, of my mother's family--" Her voice broke. + +"Yes, cousin, you are right." + +The minister rose and stood up before her, a stern though not +unsympathetic figure in his stiff black coat and iron gray hair. "I know +what you are going to ask me to do. You will ask me to see these people, +these editors, reviewers, whatever they are, to talk to them, to impress +upon them what you are and who you are, and who your mother was, and +what is the end of the base man who imagines lies and the end of all the +workers of iniquity. You will ask me to tell them that it is all false, +all abominable intrigue and treachery and I shall demand in your name +and in my own as your only near relative and a minister of the Gospel, +an apology. It is but jealousy, cousin. Forgive me, but you are too +beautiful and too young to live alone in such a house, in such a manner. +You must marry. Or else you must give up such a life. It maketh enemies +within your gates and behold! there shall be no man to say a good thing +of thee!" + +The minister had lifted up his voice as if he had been in the pulpit and +for one instant laid his hand on his cousin's hair. Then he went back to +his seat. + +Miss De Grammont was profoundly moved. Great tears coursed down her +cheeks and until they had stopped she could not trust herself to speak. + +"The paper!" she said dismally. "You have seen a paper, you say, +with--my--my name in it! There is nothing new in that. I have been in +the papers for months past. I am never out of them. And this one says--" + +The minister drew it out of his pocket. + +"That with you, in this house lives, in the character of a butler, +an exiled Italian Prince who committed grave personal and political +offences many years ago and was sent to prison. That you are married to +him. My dear cousin, it is monstrous!" + +Miss De Grammont took out her handkerchief already wet through with her +tears and pressed it to her eyes. + +"It is not monstrous," she said, "but it is most extraordinary. He _is_ +an Italian Prince, and I _am_ married to him." + +To use a hackneyed phrase, the room swam around Mr. Fielding for an +instant When he recovered he could only sit and gaze at the beautiful +woman before him. The details of village life, in Vermont had not +educated him up to exigencies of this sort. A fearful chasm seemed to +have opened under his feet, and he began to comprehend dimly that there +were other lives than his own and that of his estimable but commonplace +wife being daily lived out in this world. + +"Yes," said Miss De Grammont, a little more bravely now that the worst +shock was over. "That is quite true. And the extraordinary part of it is +that they can only have guessed at it; evolved it, as it were from the +depths of their inner consciousness, they can't possible have discovered +it. It isn't known anywhere, save perhaps to one or two in Italy." + +"In Italy," murmured the Rev. Mr. Fielding. "You met him in Italy? And +why keep it secret? My dear cousin, you have made a great mistake. And +all this sad and singular story is true?" + +"Very nearly true. All but the offences. They never happened." + +"Your husband is not a political character then?" + +"Oh! not in the least. He knows nothing of politics. My Jos! he +couldn't hurt anything, moreover!" + +"Jos is a Spanish name, surely," said Mr. Fielding. + +"His mother was a Castilian, fair and proud as only a Castilian can +be. She named him Jos--But he has other names, three, all +Italian--Antonio--" + +"I see," said the minister dryly. "I am sorry that I cannot give you all +the sympathy in this matter that you may desire, but you have entered on +a course of action which is perplexing at least, to say no more. I feel, +my dear cousin, that as a--married woman--your confidences are--ill +placed and I must ask you to withdraw them. You must settle this matter +with your--ahem--husband." Mr. Fielding took up his hat and in another +moment would have been gone forever, but that turning at the door he saw +such intense supplication in his cousin's eyes that his orthodox heart +melted. + +"Forgive me cousin," he said coming back. "There may be still a way +out of it. Will you tell me all?" Miss De Grammont then related her +different heart episodes abroad, entanglements, half-engagements, +desperate flirtations and all the rest of it to this sober, black-coated +gentleman. Such a revelation poured forth in truly feminine style +nearly drove him away the second time, but true to his word, he remained +nevertheless, sitting bolt upright in a padded chair only meant for +lounging. Finally, she told him of her snares to catch lovers and how +one day she was caught herself by the dark-browed, eloquent Prince +Corunna. + +She fell in love herself for the first time in her life, and he with +her, so he declared. But he was miserably poor and with the pride of a +Castilian would not woo her because of her money. She hated it, yet she +could not live without it. + +The minister smiled pityingly. + +However she made him marry her, and then proposed as a test, in which +he joyfully acquiesced, that he should make himself of use to her, be +in fact, her major-domo, steward, butler, amanuensis, anything and +everything. + +"It is most unprecedented," sighed the minister. "That a man with +Castilian blood in his veins--" + +Miss De Grammont interrupted him. "He was happier so, dear cousin. But +I--I grew most unhappy. And since I have been here, I have been very +unhappy still. We are both in a false position and now--thanks to that +unlucky hammock--our secret has become common property." + +"The hammock!" said Mr. Fielding. "What has that got to do with it? It +is a pretty idea." + +"So I think," said Miss De Grammont, delighted beyond measure. Then +she told him about the paragraphs, large and small, the confidential +friends, the small beginnings that had lead insensibly up to the +culminating point--that of scandal. + +"I am being dropped gradually," she said. + +"Of course you are," said the minister. "Of course you are. Soon you +will be--forgive me--a dead letter. There is only one thing to be done +and that I can do at once. A letter must be written to this paper, +stating calmly in as few words as possible that this paragraph is true, +that you _are_ married to Prince--ah--Corunna, that he _is_ a political +offender and for that reason the marriage _was_ kept secret, but that +now of course as informers must already have given the secret away, you +are obliged to endorse it yourself." + +"But Jos is not a political offender! Never did anything wrong in his +life!" + +"Of course not," said the minister. "Some of us others, even clergymen, +are not so fortunate. Now that must be included, else there is no good +reason for having kept your marriage secret. Other explanations will not +be taken. Besides this will entitle you to sympathy at once. Will you +write the letter and I can leave it at the office for you? There is time +for me to do that before my train starts." + +Miss De Grammont wrote her letter as dictated by her cousin. He put it +in his pocket and rose to go. + +"Will you not stay and see my husband?" she said timidly. + +"Thank you, no." returned Mr. Fielding. "I haven't met many foreigners. +I don't think, perhaps, we should get on. Down in Phippsville--well, my +circle is so different from yours, Isabel. It is the fashion I hear to +live abroad now, and desert America--at least to depreciate it, and +not to care about its opinion--but that hasn't spread yet to our little +village. It seems as if it might have been better for instance, had you +stayed in Europe. You see, having married an Italian, all this trouble +would have been avoided--I mean--it could have gone on over there--but +now--well, riches are a snare, my dear cousin, as you have by this time +found. Good-bye, dear cousin, and God be with you." + +When a letter addressed to the editor of the Society Journal appeared +the next day signed Isabel Corunna (ne De Grammont) with its paralysing +statement in a few concise words, New York was startled to its +foundation. Public opinion which for a week had been at the culminating +point of distrust, malevolence and resentment, turned the corner in a +moment and for the moment believed implicitly in the faith of the lady +it had abandoned. The greatest sympathy was shown Madame La Princesse +Corunna, or Princess Corunna, or Miss De Grammont that was, or whatever +her friends chose to call her. The butler disappeared for ever and the +Prince came in. It was a transformation scene equal to Beauty and the +Beast. Dark-browed and eloquent as ever, the Prince was a social success +whenever he chose to be, but as time went on, he and his wife became +more and more absorbed in each other and the world saw little of either +of them. For a time he posed as a political offender which gave his wife +no end of amusement. They were so far reinstated into public favor that +the hammock--source of mingled joy and woe--was again considered as +a thing of beauty and a thing to be imitated. There are a dozen such +hammocks now in New York City. + +But there are still a few ill-natured people, dowagers, matrons, an old +love or two, and a handful of shrivelled spinsters who declare that the +Prince is no Prince at all, but a Pastrycook. + + + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Crowded Out! and Other Sketches, by +Susie F. Harrison + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CROWDED OUT! 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Harrison + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Crowded Out! and Other Sketches + +Author: Susie F. Harrison + + +Release Date: August, 2005 [EBook #8652] +This file was first posted on July 29, 2003 +Last Updated: March 15, 2018 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CROWDED OUT! AND OTHER SKETCHES *** + + + + +Text file produced by Juliet Sutherland, Robert Prince and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team + +HTML file produced by David Widger + + + + +</pre> + + <div style="height: 8em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h1> + CROWDED OUT! + </h1> + <h2> + And Other Sketches, + </h2> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <h2> + By Seranus + </h2> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <div class="middle"> + <p> + The Story of Monsieur, Madame, and the Pea-Green Parrot. The Bishop of + Saskabasquia. “As it was in the Beginning.” A Christmas Sketch. The Idyl + of the Island. The Story of Delle Josephine Boulanger. The Story of + Etienne Chezy d'Alencourt. “Descendez a l'ombre, ma jolie blonde.” The + Prisoner Dubois. How the Mr. Foxleys Came, Stayed, and Never Went Away. + The Gilded Hammock. + </p> + </div> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + <b>CONTENTS</b> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_PREF"> PREFACE. </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0002"> <b>CROWDED OUT.</b> </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0003"> <b>Monsieur, Madame and the Pea-Green Parrot</b> + </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0001"> CHAPTER I. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0002"> CHAPTER II. </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0006"> <b>The Bishop of Saskabasquia.</b> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0003"> CHAPTER I. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0004"> CHAPTER II. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0010"> FINIS. </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0011"> <b>The Idyl Of The Island</b>. </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0012"> <b>The Story of Delle Josephine Boulanger</b> + </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0005"> CHAPTER I. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0006"> CHAPTER II </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0015"> <b>The Story of Etienne Chezy D'Alencourt</b> + </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0007"> CHAPTER I. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0008"> CHAPTER II. </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0018"> <b>Descendez a L'Ombre, ma Jolie Blonde.</b> + </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0019"> <b>The Prisoner Dubois.</b> </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0020"> <b>How the Mr. Foxleys Came, Stayed and Never + Went Away.</b> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0009"> CHAPTER I. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0010"> CHAPTER II. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0011"> CHAPTER III. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0012"> CHAPTER IV. </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0025"> <b>The Gilded Hammock.</b> </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_PREF" id="link2H_PREF"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + PREFACE. + </h2> + <p> + I present these “Sketches” in all proper fear and humility, to my Canadian + public, hoping that the phases of colonial life they endeavor to portray + will be recognized as not altogether unfamiliar. Some of them are true, + others have been written through the medium of Fancy, which can find and + inhabit as large a field in Canada as elsewhere; for, to my mind, there is + no country, no town, no village, as there is no nation, no class of + society, nor individual existence, that has not its own deep and peculiar + significance, its own unique and personal characteristics that distinguish + it from the rest of the world. + </p> + <h3> + SERANUS. + </h3> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0002" id="link2H_4_0002"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Crowded Out. + </h2> + <p> + I am nobody. I am living in a London lodging-house. My room is up three + pair of stairs. I have come to London to sell or to part with in some + manner an opera, a comedy, a volume of verse, songs, sketches, stories. I + compose as well as write. I am ambitious. For the sake of another, one + other, I am ambitious. For myself it does not matter. If nobody will + discover me I must discover myself. I must demand recognition, I must + wrest attention, they are my due. I look from my window over the smoky + roofs of London. What will it do for me, this great cold city? It shall + hear me, it shall pause for a moment, for a day, for a year. I will make + it to listen to me, to look at me. I have left a continent behind, I have + crossed a great water; I have incurred dangers, trials of all kinds; I + have grown pale and thin with labor and the midnight oil; I have starved, + and watched the dawn break starving; I have prayed on my stubborn knees + for death and I have prayed on my stubborn knees for life—all that I + might reach London, London that has killed so many of my brothers, London + the cold, London the blind, London the cruel! I am here at last. I am here + to be tested, to be proved, to be worn proudly, as a favorite and costly + jewel is worn, or to be flung aside scornfully or dropped stealthily to—the + devil! And I love it so this great London! I am ready to swear no one ever + loved it so before! The smokier it is, the dirtier, the dingier, the + better. The oftener it rains the better. The more whimsical it is, the + more fickle, the more credulous, the more self-sufficient, the more + self-existent, the better. Nothing that it can do, nothing that it can be, + can change my love for it, great cruel London! + </p> + <p> + But to be cruel to <i>me</i>, to be fickle to <i>me</i>, to be deaf to <i>me</i>, + to be blind to <i>me</i>! Would I change then? I might. As yet it does not + know me. I pass through its streets, touching here a bit of old black + wall, picking there an ivy leaf, and it knows me not. It is holy ground to + me. It is the mistress whose hand alone I as yet dare to kiss. Some day I + shall possess the whole, and I shall walk with the firm and buoyant tread + of the accepted, delighted lover. Only to-day I am nobody. I am crowded + out. Yet there are moments when the mere joy of being in England, of being + in London, satisfies me. I have seen the sunbeam strike the glory along + the green. I know it is an English sky above me, all change, all + mutability. No steady cloudless sphere of blue but ever-varying glories of + white piled cloud against the gray. Listen to this. I saw a primrose—the + first I had ever seen—in the hedge. They said “Pick it.” But I did + not. I, who had written there years ago,— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + I never pulled a primrose, I, + But could I know that there may lie + E'en now some small or hidden seed, + Within, below, an English mead, + Waiting for sun and rain to make + A flower of it for my poor sake, + I then could wait till winds should tell, + For me there swayed or swung a bell, + Or reared a banner, peered a star, + Or curved a cup in woods afar. +</pre> + <p> + I who had written that, I had found my first primrose and I could not + pluck it. I found it fair be sure. I find all England fair. The shimmering + mist and the tender rain, the red wallflower and the ivy green, the + singing birds and the shallow streams—all the country; the blackened + churches, the grass-grown churchyards, the hum of streets the crowded + omnibus, the gorgeous shops,—all the town. God! do I not love it, my + England? Yet not my England yet. Till she proclaim it herself, I am not + hers. I will make her mine. I will write as no man has ever written about + her, for very love of her. I look out to-night from my narrow window and + think how the moonlight falls on Tintern, on Glastonbury, on Furness. How + it falls on the primrose I would not pluck. How it would like to fall on + the tall blue-bells in the wood. I see the lights of Oxford St. The + omnibuses rattle by, the people are going to see Irving, Wilson Barrett, + Ellen Terry. What line, of mine, what bar, what thought or phrase will + turn the silence into song, the copper into gold?—I come back from + the window and sit at the square centre table. It is rickety and + uncomfortable, useless to write on. I kick it. I would kick anything that + came in my way to-night. I am savage. Outside, a French piano is playing + that infernal waltz. A fair subject for kicking if you will. But, though I + would I cannot. What a room! The fire-place is filled with orange peel and + brown paper, cigar stumps and matches. One blind I pulled down this + morning, the other is crooked. The lamp glass is cracked, my work too. I + dare not look at the wall paper nor the pictures. The carpet I have kicked + into holes. I can see it though I can't feel it, it is so thin. My clothes + are lying all about. The soot of London begrimes every object in the room. + I would buy a pot of musk or a silken scarf if I dared, but how can I? + </p> + <p> + I must get my bread first and live for beauty after. Everything is refused + though, everything sent back or else dropped as it were into some + bottomless pit or gulf. + </p> + <p> + Here is my opera. This is my <i>magnum opus</i>, very dear, very clear, + very well preserved. For it is three years old. I scored it nearly + altogether, by <i>her</i> side, Hortense, my dear love, my northern bird! + You could flush under my gaze, you could kindle at my touch, but you were + not for me, you were not for me!—My head droops down, I could go to + sleep. But I must not waste the time in sleep. I will write another story. + No; I had four returned to-day. Ah! Cruel London! To love you so, only + that I may be spurned and thrust aside, ignored, forgotten. But to-morrow + I will try again. I will take the opera to the theatres, I will see the + managers, I will even tell them about myself and about Hortense—but + it will be hard. They do not know me, they do not know Hortense. They will + laugh, they will say “You fool.” And I shall be helpless, I shall let them + say it. They will never listen to me, though I play my most beautiful + phrase, for I am nobody. And Hortense, the child with the royal air, + Hortense, with her imperial brow and her hair rolled over its cushion, + Hortense, the <i>Châtelaine</i> of <i>Beau Séjour</i>, the delicate, + haughty, pale and impassioned daughter of a noble house, that Hortense, my + Hortense, is nobody! + </p> + <p> + Who in this great London will believe in me, who will care to know about + Hortense or about <i>Beau Séjour</i>? If they ask me, I shall say—oh! + proudly—not in Normandy nor in Alsace, but far away across a great + water dwells such a maiden in such a <i>château</i>. There by the side of + a northern river, ever rippling, ever sparkling in Summer, hard, hard + frozen in winter, stretches a vast estate. I remember its impenetrable + pinewood, its deep ravine; I see the <i>château</i>, long and white and + straggling, with the red tiled towers and the tall French windows; I see + the terrace where the hound must still sleep; I see the square side tower + with the black iron shutters; I see the very window where Hortense has set + her light; I see the floating cribs on the river, I hear the boatmen + singing— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Descendez â l'ombre, + Ma Jolie blonde. +</pre> + <p> + And now I am dreaming surely! This is London, not <i>Beau Séjour</i>, and + Hortense is far away, and it is that cursed fellow in the street I hear! + The morrow comes on quickly. If I were to draw up that crooked blind now I + should see the first streaks of daylight. Who pinned those other curtains + together? That was well done, for I don't want to see the daylight; and it + comes in, you know, Hortense, when you think it is shut out. Somebody + calls it <i>fingers</i>, and that is just what it is, long fingers of + dawn, always pale, always gray and white, stealing in and around my pillow + for me. Never pink, never rosy, mind that; always faint and shadowy and + gray. + </p> + <p> + It was all caste. Caste in London, caste in <i>Le Bos Canada</i>, all the + same. Because she was a <i>St. Hilaire</i>. Her full name—<i>Hortense + Angelique De Repentigny de St. Hilaire</i>—how it grates on me + afresh with its aristocratic plentitude. She is well-born, certainly; + better born than most of these girls I have seen here in London, driving, + walking, riding in the Parks. They wear their hair over cushions too. + Freckled skins, high cheek-bones, square foreheads, spreading eyebrows—they + shouldn't wear it so. It suits Hortense—with her pale patrician + outline and her dark pencilled eyebrows, and her little black ribbon and + amulet around her neck. <i>O, Marie, priey pour nous qui avous recours a + vous</i>! Once I walked out to <i>Beau Séjour</i>. She did not expect me + and I crept through the leafy ravine to the pinewood, then on to the + steps, and so up to the terrace. Through the French window I could see her + seated at the long table opposite Father Couture. She lives alone with the + good Père. She is the last one of the noble line, and he guards her well + and guards her money too. + </p> + <p> + “I do remember that it vill be all for ze Church,” she has said to me. And + the priest has taught her all she knows, how to sew and embroider, and + cook and read, though he never lets her read anything but works on + religion. Religion, always religion! He has brought her up like a nun, + crushed the life out of her. Until I found her out, found my jewel out. It + is Tennyson who says that. But his “Maud” was freer to woo than Hortense, + freer to love and kiss and hold—my God! that night while I watched + them studying and bending over those cursed works on the Martyrs and the + Saints and the Mission houses—I saw him—him—that old + priest—take her in his arms and caress her, drink her breath, feast + on her eyes, her hair, her delicate skin, and I burst in like a young + madman and told Father Conture what I thought. Oh! I was mad! I should + have won her first. I should have worked quietly, cautiously, waiting, + waiting, biding my time. But I could never bide my time. And now she hates + me, Hortense hates me, though she so nearly learned to love me. There + where we used to listen to the magical river songs, we nearly loved, did + we not Hortense? But she was a <i>St. Hilaire</i>, and I—I was + nobody, and I had insulted <i>le bon Pere</i>. Yet if I can go back to her + rich, prosperous, independent—What if that happen? But I begin to + fancy it will never happen. My resolutions, where are they, what comes of + them? Nothing. I have tried everything except the opera. Everything else + has been rejected. For a week I have not gone to bed at all. I wait and + see those ghastly gray fingers smoothing my pillow. I am not wanted. I am + crowded out. My hands tremble and I cannot write. My eyes fail and I + cannot see. To the window! + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + The lights of Oxford St. once more; the glare and the rattle without, the + fever and the ruin, the nerves and the heart within. Poor nerves, poor + heart; it is food you want and wine and rest, and I cannot give them to + you. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + Sing, Hortense, will you? Sit by my side, by our dear river St. Maurice, + the clear, the sparkling. See how the floating cribs sail by, each with + its gleaming lights! It is like Venice I suppose. Shall we see Venice + ever, Hortense, you and I? Sing now for me, + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Descendez à l'ombre, + Ma Jolie blonde. +</pre> + <p> + Only you are <i>petite brune</i>, there is nothing <i>blonde</i> about + you, <i>mignonne</i>, my dear mademoiselle, I should say if I were with + you of course as I used to do. But surely I <i>am</i> with you and those + lights are the floating cribs I see, and your voice it is that sings, and + presently the boatmen hear and they turn and move their hands and join in—Now + all together, + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Descendez à l'ombre, +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + It was like you, Hortense, to come all this way. How did you manage it, + manage to cross that great water all alone? My poor girl did you grow + tired of <i>Le bon Père</i> at last and of the Martyrs and the Saints and + the Jesuit Fathers? But you have got your amulet on still I hope. That is + right, for there is a chance—there is a chance of these things + proving blessings after all to good girls, and you were a good girl + Hortense. You will not mind my calling you Hortense, will you? When we are + in <i>Le Bas Canada</i> again, in your own seignieury, it will be + “Madamoiselle,” I promise you. You say it is a strange pillow, Hortense? + Books, my girl, and manuscripts; hard but not so hard as London stones and + London hearts. Do you know I think I am dying, or else going mad? And no + one will listen even if I cry out. There is too much to listen to already + in England. Think of all the growing green, Hortense, if you can, where + you are, so far away from it all. Where you are it is cold and the snow is + still on the ground and only the little bloodroot is up in the woods. Here + where I am Hortense, where I am going to die, it is warm and green full of + color—oh! Such color! Before I came here, to London you know London + that is going to do so much for me, for us both, I had one day—one + day in the country. There I saw—No! They will not let me tell you, I + knew they would try to prevent me, those long gray fingers stealing in, + stealing in! But I <i>will</i> tell you. Listen, Hortense, please. I saw + the hawthorne, pink and white, the laburnum—yellow—not + fire-color, I shall correct the Laureate there, Hortense, when I am + better, when I—publish!—It is dreadful to be alone in London. + Don't come, Hortense. Stay where you are, even if it is cold and gray and + there is no color. Keep your amulet round your neck, dear!—I count + my pulse beats. It is a bad thing to do. It is broad daylight now and the + fingers have gone. I can write again perhaps.—The pen—The + paper—The ink—God. Hortense! There is no ink left! And my + heart—My heart—Hortense!!! + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Descendez à l'ombre, + Ma Jolie blonde. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0003" id="link2H_4_0003"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Monsieur, Madame and the Pea-Green Parrot + </h2> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0001" id="link2HCH0001"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER I. + </h2> + <p> + I am an Englishman by birth. Having however lived for fourteen years out + in America or rather in Canada, I am only half an Englishman. All the love + for the dear old land which I am now revisiting is still there, deep in my + heart, but from so long a residence in another country certain differences + arise of character, habit and thought, not to be easily shaken off. I was + in the Civil Service in Canada and did very well until I meddled with + literature. Discovering that I had a faculty for verse and story-telling, + I was ambitious and at the same time foolish enough to work so hard at my + new pursuit that I was compelled to “cut” the service, in other words to + resign. Some other Englishman got my post and I found myself, rather + unexpectedly, it is true, free to write to my heart's content. + </p> + <p> + I got off a number of things, poems, sketches, etc., but my great work + turned out to be a comedy. I slaved at this all day and amused myself by + rehearsing it in my lodgings all night. I incurred the odium of the + landlady by coaxing the maid of all work to learn a part and act it with + me. Finally I resolved to take a great step. I would go down to New York + and get my comedy produced. That was exactly five years ago and though the + comedy was <i>not</i> produced, I am still sanguine that it yet may be, + and perhaps not in New York after all, but in a much more important + creative centre. + </p> + <p> + I was at the time of my visit to New York perfectly unacquainted with the + ways of a metropolis, and it was fortunate for me that I possessed one + friend there who if not exactly a friend <i>at court</i> as we say, was in + truth a much more useful person to me, as, having once been young and + inexperienced himself, he knew the ropes well and handled them thoroughly + to his own satisfaction and with an eye to my comfort and safety. + </p> + <p> + In the matter of cheap dives, for instance, he was invaluable. Left to + myself I either drifted to the most expensive place, for a meal short + perhaps of Delmonicos, or else to a shabby and altogether-to-be-repudiated + den, where the meat would be rags as well as the pudding. But under his + guidance we invariably turned up in some clean, bright, cheap and + wholesome “oysterbar” or coffee room round the corner or up a lane, and + were as happy as kings over our <i>lager beer</i>. + </p> + <p> + One day De Kock came to me (he is a grand-nephew or something, I believe, + of the great Frenchman) and said, with his knowing air, + </p> + <p> + “You will please put on your best coat, your tall hat and a pair of + gloves, for we are going to <i>dine</i> to-night.” + </p> + <p> + “Have we not dined once to-day!” + </p> + <p> + “Pish! Pshaw! You have had a soup, a mutton-chop, a triangle of pie, a + lager beer, but you have not dined. You are not starving, and yet you + have, from my present point of view, eaten nothing the whole of this day. + <i>Mon cher</i>, it is necessary that you should dine for once in your + life. <i>Allons</i>! We go to Giuseppe, Giuseppe Martinetti with the pale + wife and the pea-green parrot—<i>allons, allons</i>!” To + Martinetti's accordingly we went. I don't know what the dinner cost. It + was dearer, certainly, than it would have been in London, but it was quite + as good. We sat at a table formed for holding four at an open window, + which, filled with exotics, overlooked Union Square, lighted by hundreds + of incandescent lamps. The room contained about twenty of these small + tables, and was, I suppose, very much like other rooms of its kind to <i>habitués</i> + of such places, but it was all new to me, and I stared and wondered + accordingly. The waiters seemed to be all foreigners, De Kock addressing + them in a mythical but magical language of his own. The tables were all + full, and the people at them were mostly foreigners as well. + </p> + <p> + “The Leicester Square of New York,” remarked De Kock, as he helped me to + the delicious Chiante wine out of a basket-covered bottle into a dainty + glass. The soup was excellent, I remember. So was the macaroni, served in + the best Italian method. I wondered to see De Kock manipulate it in + finished style, winding yards of it around his fork, and swallowing it + duly without any apparent effort. I cut mine at that time, although I have + learned better now. I recollect the asparagus, too: served by itself on a + great flat dish, and shining pale and green through the clear golden sauce + that was poured over it. I was just finishing my first luscious, liquid + stalk, and indulging in anticipations of my second, when the highest, the + shrillest, the most piercing, and most unearthly voice I ever heard, + shouted out— + </p> + <p> + “<i>And for goodness sake don't say I told you</i>!” + </p> + <p> + It was electrifying, at least to me. I dropped my half eaten asparagus + stalk and fork at the same time, and looked up to see my companion quietly + going on as before. One or two others had stopped eating too, but the + majority appeared quite unruffled. I concluded that it was the parrot to + which my friend had referred. + </p> + <p> + “The last comic song,” said the imperturbable De Kock. + </p> + <p> + “But where is the beast!” I inquired. “It seemed to be over my head.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! Not so near as that. But take my advice and don't call it a beast, + although it is a nuisance undoubtedly. Besides, its master is not very far + away from your elbow.” + </p> + <p> + “What of that?” said I, still injured, though in a lower tone. + </p> + <p> + “What of that? Ah! You shall see. Look now! This short, stout person with + the diamond pin and the expansive shirt front is Giuseppe. Ah, he sees me! + Good evening, Giuseppe!” + </p> + <p> + “Good evening, Monsieur, good evening, good evening! De friend not like de + <i>parrot</i>, eh?” + </p> + <p> + The man was smiling at me with his hands crossed behind him. An Italian + Jew I dubbed him immediately. + </p> + <p> + “On the contrary, he admires it very much,” said De Kock. + </p> + <p> + Following their eyes presently I saw the cage hanging from the centre of + the room, and in it a parrot as nearly pea-green in hue as it is possible + for a parrot to be. + </p> + <p> + “Tell my friend her name, Giuseppe,” said De Kock, beginning on some more + asparagus. + </p> + <p> + Giuseppe stood in his patronizing way—quite the <i>grand seigneur</i>—with + the light falling on his solitaire, making it so brilliant that it + fascinated and at the same time fatigued my eyes. + </p> + <p> + “The name of my parrot? Monsieur De Kock, he know that well. It is + Félicité—you catch—Fé-li-ci-té. It was the name of my wife.” + </p> + <p> + Then his wife was dead. De Kock must have made a mistake. + </p> + <p> + “It is an unusual name for a bird, is not it?” said I. + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur is right. Not often—not often—you meet with a bird + that name. My first wife—my <i>first</i> wife, gentlemen, she was + English. <i>You</i> are English—ah. Yes. So was she. The English are + like this.” Giuseppe took a bottle out of the cruet-stand and set it on + the table in front of him. He went on, “When an Englishman an Englishwoman + argue, they say”—here he took the bottle up very slowly and gingerly + and altered his voice to a mincing and conventional tone—“Is it oil + or is it vinegare? Did you not say that it was vinegare? I thought that it + was oil Oh! Now I see that it is vinegare.” + </p> + <p> + “Bravo!” exclaimed De Kock. “And so you did not get on with the + Englishwoman then I suppose, Giuseppe, and took Madame the next time?” We + were both laughing heartily at the man's mimicry when once again the + parrot shrieked. “But for goodness sake don't say I told you!” Giuseppe + walked off to speak to it and my friend and I were left alone. + </p> + <p> + “Was Félcité the name of his first or second wife!” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “Of his second, of course. Didn't you hear him say the first was an + Englishwoman? The second is a tall, rather good-looking pale Frenchwoman. + You may see her to-night, and on the other hand you may not, she doesn't + often appear in here. I wish she did, I am rather fond of her myself, + which is more than her husband is. It's pretty well known that Mr. and + Mrs. Joseph do <i>not</i> get on comfortably. In fact, he hates her, or + rather ignores her, while she doats upon him and is tremendously jealous + of the parrot.” + </p> + <p> + “What, that green thing?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, its a lovely parrot, you must know, and the moment it came into his + possession—he has had it about three years—he seemed to + transfer whatever affection he had for his wife to that creature, with a + great deal beside. Why, he hugs it, and kisses it, and mows over it—look + at him now!” + </p> + <p> + Sure, enough, there was Martinetti with the bird on his finger, kissing + it, and otherwise making a fool of himself. He finished by actually + putting it away inside his coat in a kind of breast pocket, I should + imagine. + </p> + <p> + “All this is good for business, perhaps,” I said. + </p> + <p> + “What, the parrot and so on? Oh, yes I daresay, that has something to do + with it. Still they are a queer couple. I come here mostly on account of + this Chiante wine; you can't get it so good in many places in New York, + and besides I confess Monsieur and his wife interest me somewhat. And the + people one see here are immensely funny. That is your English expression, + isn't it? There are three actresses over there at that table with <i>amis + intimes</i>; they are 'restin' now, and can cut about and dine out as much + as they please. There is a French dressmaker who lives on the floor above + and is to be found here every day. She is superbly built and is hopelessly + ugly, isn't she? There is young Lord Gurgoyle, an Englishman like + yourself, you see—what the devil is he staring at like that?” + </p> + <p> + From behind a <i>portière</i> which fell across the end of the room came a + woman, tall, pale, and with a peculiar air of distinction about her. + Perhaps it was her very unusual pallor which so distinguished her for + there was nothing absolutely fine or handsome about the countenance. It + was a weak face I thought, with an ugly red mark over the upper lip, and + had she not been so very pale and so exceptionally well-dressed I should + not have looked at her twice. She wore a gown of black silk, dead-black, + lustrous, and fitting her slender figure to perfection. It was cut square + and low in the front and fell away in long folds upon the floor at the + back. What an apparition she made in the midst of this noisy crowd, + smoking, chatting, swearing, laughing! Especially so when I noticed that + as she walked very slowly down between the tables, her lips were moving + nervously and her hands clutching at her beautiful dress. As for her eyes, + they were everywhere in an instant. + </p> + <p> + “'Tis Félicité. You are fortunate,” murmured De Kock. “And she is a little + worse than usual.” + </p> + <p> + “What is it?” I demanded. “Drink?” “Hush-sh-sh! <i>Mon cher</i>, you are + stupid. It is jealousy, jealousy, my friend, with perhaps an occasional + over-dose of chloral. Chloral is the favorite prescription now-a-days, you + must remember that. But jealousy will do, jealousy will do. It will + accomplish a great deal, will jealousy; will destroy more, mark that! I + hope she will be quiet to-night for your sake.” + </p> + <p> + “Is she violent?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “Poor thing, yes. When she finds him now with that creature inside his + coat; she will wring her hands and denounce him and threaten to kill it—I + wonder she doesn't—then her husband will march her off behind the + curtain and he will make love to the parrot again.” Precisely what + happened. The lady soon found her husband, raised her hands tragically and + broke out into excited French that was liberally sprinkled with oaths both + English and French. The mania was asserting itself, the propensity + overcoming her. It was a sad and at the same time an amusing scene, for + one could not help smiling at Giuseppe's fat unconcern as he kept his wife + off at arms' length, while all the time the parrot inside his coat was + shrieking in muffled tones “And for goodness sake don't say I told you!” + </p> + <p> + Finally Madame succumbed and was taken behind the curtain in a dishevelled + and hysterical condition which increased De Kock's pity for her. We paid + the waiter—or rather De Kock did—and left, not seeing Giuseppe + again to speak to, though he came in and removed the parrot, cage and all. + </p> + <p> + It was a lovely night outside, and I suggested sitting for a time in Union + Square. Finding an unoccupied bench, we each made ourselves happy with a + good cigar and watched the exquisite shadows of the trees above as thrown + by the electric light on the pavement. + </p> + <p> + “Wonderful effect!” remarked my friends. “How did you enjoy your dinner? + That was a dinner, eh, and no mistake; rather have had it without the + 'episode'? Oh! I don't know; you literary fellows must come in for that + sort of thing as well as the rest of the world; I should think it would + just suit you. Put them—the three of them—Monsieur, Madame and + the Pea-Green Parrot—into a book, or better still, on the stage. + There's your title ready for you too.” + </p> + <p> + I was just thinking of the same thing. + </p> + <p> + “They are undoubtedly originals, both of them—all three,” said I, + “but as far as I have seen them, there is hardly enough to go upon.” + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean by 'enough'?” + </p> + <p> + “I mean, for one thing, we do not understand the woman's mental and moral + condition sufficiently to make a study of her. You say it is jealousy, and + at the same time the use of chloral. That would have to be understood more + clearly. Then, one would like something to—” + </p> + <p> + “Go on,” said my friend. “To—” + </p> + <p> + “Happen,” said I, lighting a second cigar. + </p> + <p> + Just then a couple of boys ran across the square. One of them stumbled + over my feet, picked himself up quickly and ran on again. Two or three + people now came, all running. De Kock jumped up. + </p> + <p> + “Something is happening,” he said, “and with a vengeance too I fancy. + Hark!” + </p> + <p> + The people now came fast and furious through the square, increasing in + numbers every moment, but through the bustle and hurry and clatter of + tongues, we could hear a woman's voice screaming in evident distress. + Mingled with it was another sound which may have mystified the general + crowd, but which De Kock and I could easily place. + </p> + <p> + “It is the parrot!” I exclaimed, as we started to run. + </p> + <p> + “You have your wish, <i>mon cher</i>, is it not so? But take it not so + fast; we will be there in time. <i>Ciel</i>! What a row!” + </p> + <p> + The steps leading up to the restaurant were thronged with people, + including two or three policemen. The dining-room was ablaze with light, + and still full of visitors, most of whom, however, were moving about in a + state of agitation. The upper windows were also lighted and wide open. The + screaming suddenly ceased, but not the parrot. + </p> + <p> + “For goodness sake don't say I told you!” It went on, louder than ever, + over and over again. + </p> + <p> + “Damn the bird!” exclaimed De Kock. “Policeman excuse me, but I am rather + at home here. Let me go up, will you?” + </p> + <p> + “It looks bad, sir. I'd better keep behind.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh. It isn't murder or anything of that sort. I know them, pretty couple, + they are!” + </p> + <p> + The next moment we were in a kind of sitting room over the restaurant + proper. Madame Martinetti lay as if exhausted on a sofa while the highly + excited parrot sang and screamed and tore at its cage as if for life. + Giuseppe was nowhere visible. “Now then where's the other?” demanded the + policeman who had just entered behind us, “There's always two at this + business. Show him up, now.” But Madame at first would deign no + explanation. Presently on the entry of policeman No. 2 she admitted there + had been a quarrel. Yes, she had quarrelled with her dear Giuseppe, (the + officers grinned) and had driven him away. Yes, he had gone—gone + forever, he had said so, never to come back, never, never! + </p> + <p> + “And leave this fine business to you, eh? No fear of that. I guess Mr. + Martinetti'll turn up all right in the morning, however, let us make a + search, Joe.” But Giuseppe was not found; there were no traces of a + struggle, and the policemen having done all they could retired. My friend + and I, by what right I know not were the last to leave the room. De Kock + stood for some moments looking out of the window. I approached the parrot + who was still screaming. + </p> + <p> + “If throwing a cloth over your head would stop you, I'd do it, my dear,” + said I. To my surprise, it ceased its noise directly, and became perfectly + quiet. Madame Martinetti looked around with a contemptuous smile. + </p> + <p> + “You have the secret as well,” said she. The bird turned to her and then + returned to me. I became quite interested in it. “Pretty Poll, pretty + bird; would you like a cracker?” + </p> + <p> + De Kock laughed softly at the window. “A cracker to such a bird as that! + Ask it another.” I actually, though with a timid air, opened the door of + the cage and invited Polly to perch on my finger. She came, looking at me + intensely all the while. I petted her little, which she took resignedly + and with a faint show of wonder, then in answer to De Kock's summons put + her back in the cage. + </p> + <p> + “I have the honour to wish madame a <i>bonsoir</i>,” said he, but the lady + was still sulky and vouchsafed no answer. + </p> + <p> + We were soon out in the street. + </p> + <p> + “Do you know,” said De Kock slowly, lighting a cigar and looking up at the + house, “Do you know, I thought something had happened.” + </p> + <p> + “And don't you now.” + </p> + <p> + “I am not sure,” answered my friend. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0002" id="link2HCH0002"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER II. + </h2> + <p> + We were pardonably curious to see the papers next morning. The affair was + dismissed in three lines, and although as De Kock swore, the case was one + for Gaboriau, it certainly was not our business to look into it and in + fact in a week's time I was back in Canada, and he up to his eyes in + commercial pursuits. The main point remained clear, however, that + Martinetti did <i>not</i> come back, nor was he found, or traced or ever + heard of again. Somebody took the business out of hand, as they say, and + De Kock would occasionally write a P. S. to his letters like this—“Dined + at poor Martinetti's, Chiante as usual. Ever yours.” Or it would be—“Drank + to the production of your last new comedy at Martinetti's.” Once he stated + that shortly after that memorable night Madame disappeared also, taking + the parrot along. “I begin to think they are a pair of deep ones and up to + some big game” he wrote. For myself, I never entirely forgot the + circumstance, although it was but once vividly recalled to my mind and + that was in a theatre in Montreal. An American company from one of the New + York theatres was performing some farcical comedy or other in which + occurred the comic song, admirably sung and acted by Miss Kate Castleton, + “For goodness sake don't say I told you!” The reminiscences forced upon me + quite spoiled my enjoyment; I could see that pale, nervous woman, hear her + screams, and hear too the fearful voice of the poor parrot. Where is it + now, thought I? That same winter I was much occupied in making studies of + the different classes of people among the French-Canadians. The latter + turn up everywhere in Montreal, and have a distinct “local color” about + them which I was curious to get and hope to preserve for use some future + day. I went everywhere and talked to everybody who might be of use to me; + cabmen, porters, fruit dealers and tobacconists. I found much to interest + me in the various Catholic institutions, and I was above all very fond of + visiting the large, ugly gray building with the air of a penitentiary + about it called the Grey Nunnery. Going through its corridors one day I + took a wrong turning and found I was among some at least quasi-private + rooms. The doors being open I saw that there were flowers, books, a warm + rug on the floor of one and a mirror on the wall of another. The third I + ventured to step inside of, for a really beautiful Madonna and child + confronted me at the door. The next moment I saw what I had not expected + to see—a parrot in a cage suspended from the window! I made quite + sure that it was not <i>the</i> parrot before I went up to it. It was + asleep and appeared to be all over of a dull grey color, to match the + Nuns, one might have said. I stood for quite a little while regarding it. + Suddenly it stirred, shook itself, awoke and seeing me, immediately broke + out into frantic shrieks to the old refrain “And for goodness sake don't + say I told you.” + </p> + <p> + So it was the parrot after all! Of that I felt sure, despite the changed + color, not only because of the same words being repeated—two birds + might easily learn the same song, but because of the bird's manner. For I + felt certain that the thing knew me, recognized me, as we say of human + beings or of dogs and horses. I felt an extraordinary sensation coming + over me and sat down for a moment. I seemed literally to be in the + presence of something incomprehensible as I watched the poor excited bird + beating about and singing in that way. The words of the song became + painfully and awfully significant—“for goodness sake don't say I + told you!” They were an appeal to my pity, to my sense of honor, to my + power of secrecy, for I felt convinced that the bird had seen something—in + fact that, to use De Kock's convenient if ambiguous phrase, <i>something + had happened</i>! Then to think of its recognizing me too, after so long + an interval! What an extraordinary thing to do! But I remembered, and hope + I shall never forget, how exceeding small do the mills of the gods grind + for poor humanity. I would have examined the creature at once more closely + had not two of the nuns appeared with pious hands lifted in horror at the + noise. They knew me slightly but affected displeasure at the present + moment. + </p> + <p> + “Who owns this bird?” said I. It was still screaming. + </p> + <p> + “The good Sister Félicité. It is her room.” + </p> + <p> + “Can I see her?” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! <i>non</i>. She is ill, so very ill. She will not live long, <i>cette + pauvre soeur</i>!” + </p> + <p> + I reflected. “Will you give her this paper without fail when I have + written upon it what I wish?” + </p> + <p> + “<i>Mais oui, Monsieur</i>!” + </p> + <p> + In the presence of the two holy women standing with their hands devoutly + crossed, and of the parrot whom I silenced as well as I could, and in + truth I appeared to have some influence over the creature, I wrote the + following upon a leaf torn out of my scratch-book: “To the Soeur Félicité. + A gentleman who, if he has not made a great mistake, saw you once when you + were Mdme. Martinetti, asks you now if in what may be your last moments, + you have anything to tell, anything to declare, or anybody to pardon. He + would also ask—what <i>was done to the parrot</i>? He, with his + friend M. De Kock, were at your house in New York the night your husband + disappeared.” + </p> + <p> + “Give her that,” said I to the waiting sister, “and I will come to see how + she is to-morrow.” + </p> + <p> + That night, however, she died, and when I reached the nunnery next day it + was only to be told that she had read my note and with infinite difficulty + written an answer to it. + </p> + <p> + “I am sorry I should have perhaps hastened her end,” said I. “Before you + give it to me, will you permit me to see her?” + </p> + <p> + “<i>Mais oui, Monsieur</i>, if monsieur will come this way.” + </p> + <p> + Until I gazed upon the dead I did not feel quite sure of the identity of + this pious Sister of Charity. But I only needed to look once upon the + ghastly pallor, the ugly lip mark and the long slender figure on the bed + before me to recognize her who had once been Mdme. Martinetti. + </p> + <p> + “And now for the paper,” I said. + </p> + <p> + “It will be in the room that was hers, if monsieur will accompany.” We + walked along several corridors till we reached the room in which hung the + parrot, I quite expected it to fly at me again and try to get rid of its + miserable secret But no! It sat on its stick, perfectly quiet and + rational. + </p> + <p> + “I cannot find dat paper, it is very strange!” muttered the good sister, + turning everything over and over. A light wind playing about the room had + perhaps blown it into some corner. I assisted her in the search. + </p> + <p> + “It surely was in an envelope?” I said to the innocent woman. + </p> + <p> + “Yes monsieur, yes, and with a seal, for I got the <i>cire</i>—you + call it <i>wax</i>—myself and held it for her, <i>la bonne soeur</i>.” + </p> + <p> + “It is not always wise to leave such letters about,” I put in as meekly as + I could “Where was it you saw it last?” + </p> + <p> + “On dees little table, monsieur.” + </p> + <p> + Now, “dees little table” was between the two windows, and not far, + consequently from the parrot's cage. My eye travelled from the table to + the cage as a matter of necessity, and I saw that the bottom of it was + strewn with something white—like very, very tiny scraps of paper. “I + think you need not look any further,” said I. “Polly, you either are very + clever, or else you are a lunatic and a fool. Which is it?” + </p> + <p> + But I never found out The parrot had got the letter by some means or other + and so effectually torn, bitten and made away with it that nothing + remained of it for identification except the wax, which it did not touch + and left absolutely whole. The secret which had been the parrot's all + along belonged to the parrot still, and after having devoured it in that + fashion it became satisfied, and never—at least, as far as I am + aware—reverted morbidly to the comic refrain which has but one + significance for me. + </p> + <p> + I took the bird and kept it. I have it now with me. It has been examined + hundreds of times; for a long time I was anxious to know the secret of its + changed color, but I have never deciphered it. It is healthy, in good + condition, sweet-tempered and very fond of me. It does not talk much, but + its talk is innocent and rational. No morbid symptoms have ever appeared + in it since I took it from the nunnery in Montreal. Its plumage is soft + and thick, and perfectly, entirely gray. My own impression is that it was + naturally a gray parrot and had at that time of my sojourn in New York, + either been dyed or painted that peculiar pea-green which so distinguished + it then. I wrote to De Kock before leaving for England and told him + something of the story. I have seen the last of Madame; in all probability + I shall see the last of the Pea-Green Parrot, and I cannot help wondering + when I enter a café or ride on an omnibus whether I shall ever run across + Giuseppe Martinetti in the flesh, or whether the last of him was seen in + truth, five years ago. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0006" id="link2H_4_0006"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + The Bishop of Saskabasquia. + </h2> + <p> + I have not a story, properly speaking, to tell about him. He, my Bishop, + is quite unconscious that I am writing about him, and would, I daresay, be + quite astonished if he knew that I could find anything that relates to him + to write about. But I will tell you just how I came to do so. I went to + see the “Private Secretary” some months ago. I had never been a great + admirer of clergymen as a sex (vide Frenchman's classification), and I + thoroughly enjoyed the capital performance of so clever a play. Here, + thought I, is a genuine and perfectly fair, though doubtless exaggerated, + portrait of the young and helpless curate. I quite lived on that play. I + used to go about, like many another delighted playgoer, I expect, quoting + the better bits in it, and they are many, and often laughing to himself at + its admirable caricature. However, to go on with what I am going to tell + you, about two months after I had seen the “Private Secretary,” I had + occasion to undertake a sea voyage. I had to go out on business to Canada, + and embarked one fine Thursday at Liverpool. One of the first things you + do on board an ocean steamer is to find your allotted place at table, and + the names, etc, of your companions. I soon found mine, and discovered with + a pang that I was six seats from the Captain at the side, between a lady + and her daughter I had already met at the North-Western Hotel and did not + like, and opposite to the Bishop of Saskabasquia, his wife and sister and + three children. There was no help for it, I must endure the placid small + talk, the clerical platitudes, the intolerable intolerance born of a + deathless bigotry that would emanate from my <i>vis-a-vis</i>. What a fuss + they made over him, too! Only a Colonial Bishop after all, but when we + were all at the wharf, ready to get into the tender, we were kept waiting—we + the more insignificant portion of the passengers, mercantile and so on—till + “my lord” and his family, nine in number, were safely handed up, with boys + and bundles and baggage of every description. + </p> + <p> + The Bishop himself was a tall thin man, rather priestly in aspect and + careworn. Mrs. Saskabasquia as I called her all through the voyage and the + seven children—seven little Saskabasquians—and Miss + Saskabasquia, the aunt, were all merry enough it seemed though dressed in + the most unearthly costumes I had ever seen. Where they had been procured + I could not imagine, but they appeared to be made of different kinds of + canvas, flannel shirting, corduroy, knitted wool and blankets. Of course + we all mustered at the lunch table that first day, people always do, and + affect great brightness and hysterical intellectuality and large + appetites. I took my seat with a resigned air. There was not a single + pretty girl on board. There were plenty of children, but I did not care + much for the society of children. The lady and her daughter between whom I + sat, presumably to hand them the dishes, did not like me any better than I + liked them. They were Canadians, that was easy to discover by their + peculiarly flat pronunciation, a detestable accent I hold, the American is + preferable. They were connected with the Civil Service in some way through + “papa” who figured much in their conversation and I fancy the mother + rather disliked the idea of such close contact with a member of the + commercial world. So much for colonial snobbery. The lunch was good + however, excellent, and we did justice to it. The Bishop did not appear + nor any of his family until we had almost finished. Then he entered with + his wife and the two eldest boys. The only vacant seats were those + opposite me which they took. I wondered they had not placed him next the + Capt., but divined that the handsome brunette and the horsey broker, Wyatt + and his wife of Montreal, fabulously rich and popular, had arranged some + time before to sit next the Capt. My Bishop was perhaps annoyed. But if + so, he did not show it. He and his wife ate abundantly, it was good to see + them. I involuntarily smiled once when the Bishop sent his plate back the + second time for soup, and he caught me. To my surprise, he laughed very + heartily and said to me: + </p> + <p> + “I hope you do not think I am forgetting all the other good things to + come! I assure you we are very hungry, are we not, Mary?” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Saskabasquia laughed in her turn, and I began to perceive what a very + pretty girl she must have been once, and her accent was the purest, most + beautiful English. We seemed to warm up generally around the table as we + watched the Bishop eat. The boys behaved beautifully and enjoyed their + meal as well. Presently we heard a baby crying. It was evidently the + youngest of the seven young Saskabasquians. The Bishop stopped directly. + </p> + <p> + “Go on, go on with your dinner, my dear; I'll see to him, its only James. + Dropped his rattle and put his finger in his eye, I expect.” + </p> + <p> + He jumped up and went, I suppose, to the stateroom. Mrs. Saskabasquia + laughed softly, and when she spoke she rather addressed herself to me. + </p> + <p> + “My husband is very good, you know. And James is such a little monkey, and + so much better with him than with anyone else, so I just let him go, but + it does certainly look very selfish, doesn't it?” + </p> + <p> + “Not at all,” I responded gallantly. “I am sure you need the rest quite as + much as he does, particularly if the ba—if the little boy is very + young and you—that is—” I was not very clear as to what I was + going to say, but she took it up for me. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, James is the baby. He is just six months' old, you know.” + </p> + <p> + “That is very young to travel,” said I. I began to enjoy the charming + confidences of Mrs. Saskabasquia, in spite of myself. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, he was only <i>three</i> months old when we left for England, quite a + young traveller as you say. But he is very good, and I have so many to + help me.” + </p> + <p> + Here the Bishop returned and sat down once more to his lunch. We had some + further conversation, in which I learned that he and his wife had gone out + to the North-West just twelve years ago for the first time. All their + children had been born there, and they were returning to work again after + a brief summer holiday in England. They told me all this with the most + delightful frankness, and I began to be grateful for my place at table, as + without free and congenial society at meal-time, life on board an ocean + steamer narrows down to something vastly uncomfortable. It was a bright + and beautiful afternoon on deck, and I soon found myself walking + energetically up and down with the Bishop. I commenced by asking him some + questions as to his work, place of residence and so on, and once started + he talked for a long time about his northern home in the wilds of Canada. + </p> + <p> + “My wife and I had been only married two months when we went out,” said + he, with a smile at the remembrance. “We did not know what we were going + to.” + </p> + <p> + “Would you have gone had you known?” I enquired as we paused in our walk + to take in a view of the Mersey we were leaving behind. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I think so. Yes, I am quite sure we would. I was an Oxford man, + country-bred; my father is still alive, and has a small living in Essex. I + was imbued with the idea of doing something in the colonies long after I + was comfortably settled in an English living myself, but I had always + fancied it would be Africa. However, just at the time of our marriage I + was offered this bishopric in Canada, and my wife was so anxious to go + that I easily fell in with the plan.” + </p> + <p> + “Anxious to go out there?” I said in much surprise. + </p> + <p> + “Ah! You don't know what a missionary in herself my wife is! Then, of + course, young people never think of the coming events—children and + all that you know. We found ourselves one morning at three o'clock, having + gone as far as there was any train to take us, waiting in a barn that + served as a station for the buckboard to take us on further to our + destination. Have you been in Canada yourself? No? Then you have not seen + a buckboard. It consists of two planks laid side by side, lengthwise, over + four antiquated wheels—usually the remains of a once useful wagon. + Upon this you sit as well as you can, and get driven and jolted and bumped + about to the appointed goal. I remember that morning so well,” continued + the Bishop. “It was very cold, being late in November, and at that hour + one feels it so much more—3 a.m., you know. There was one man in + charge of the barn; we called him the station-master, though the title sat + awkwardly enough upon him. He was a surly fellow. I never met such + another. Usually the people out there are agreeable, if slow and stupid.” + </p> + <p> + “Slow, are they?” said I in surprise. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, frightfully slow. A Canadian laborer is the slowest person in + existence, I really believe. However, this man would not give us any + information, except to barely tell us that this buckboard was coming for + us shortly. It was pitch dark of course and the barn was lighted by one + oil lamp and warmed by a coal stove. The lamp would not burn well, so my + wife unstrapped her travelling bag and with a pair of tiny curved nail + scissors did her best, with the wick, the man remaining perfectly + unmoveable and taciturn all the while. At four o'clock our conveyance + arrived, and would you believe it—both the driver and the station + master allowed me to lift my own luggage into it as well as I could? What + it would not take I told the man in charge I would send for as soon as + possible. There was no sleighing yet, and that drive was the most + excruciating thing I ever endured over corduroy roads through wild and + dark forests, along interminable country roads of yellow clay mixed with + mud till finally we reached the house of the chief member of society in my + district where we were to stay until our own house was ready.” + </p> + <p> + “How long did that take you?” I was quite interested. This was unlike the + other clergymen's conversation I remembered. + </p> + <p> + “O, a matter of eight hours or so. We had the eggs and bacon—the <i>piece + de resistance</i> in every Canadian farmhouse—at about half-past 12, + for which we were thankful and—hungry. But now you must excuse me + for here come two of the boys. Now, then, Alick, where's your mother? + Isn't she coming on deck with James? Run and fetch her and you, George, + get one of the chairs ready for her. And get the rugs at the same time + Alick, do you hear?” + </p> + <p> + I excused myself in turn and watched the family preparations with much + amusement. Mrs. Saskabasquia came up from her state room with a baby in + her arms, and a big fellow he was, followed by the other six and their + aunt. The Bishop placed chairs for the two ladies and walked up and down + the deck I should think the entire afternoon, first with two children and + then with two more and finally with the baby in his arms. This was a funny + sight but still not one to be ridiculed, far from it. Well, every day + showed my new friend in an improved light. Who was it took all the + children, not only his own but actually the entire troop on board up to + the bow and down to the stern in a laughing crowd to see this or that or + the other? Now a shoal of porpoises, now a distant sail or an iceberg, now + the beautiful phosphorescence or the red light of a passing ship—the + Bishop. Who divined the innate cliquism of life on board ship and + cunningly got together in intercourse the very people who wanted to know + each other, and even brought into good temper those unfortunate souls who + thought only of their own dignity and station in life? The Bishop. Who + organized the Grand Concert and Readings in the saloon, writing the + programmes himself, pinning them on the doors, discovering the clever and + encouraging the timid and reading from the “Cricket on the Hearth,” and + the “Wreck of the Grosvenor,” as I had never imagined a divine could read? + The Bishop again. Who might be seen in the mid-day hours when the cabin + passengers were asleep, quietly and without ostentation reading or talking + to the steerage, ay, and Mrs. Saskabosquia too with her baby on her arm, + going about amongst those poor tired folk, many of them with their own + babies, not too well fed and not too well washed nor clothed? Still the + Bishop, always the Bishop. They appeared as if they could not rest without + helping on somebody or something, and yet there was in Mrs. Saskabasquia + at least, a delightful sense of calm which affected all who came near her. + I used often to sit down by her, she with the inevitable baby on her lap + and two or three of the others at her feet on rugs, and she would talk + most frankly and unaffectedly of their strange life in Canada. I learnt + that she was the daughter of a clergyman in Essex, and had, of course, + been brought up in a refined and charming country home like an English + gentlewoman. What she had had to do in the new world seemed like a dream. + </p> + <p> + “What servants do I keep?” she said one day in answer to a question of + mine “Why, sometimes I am without any. Then Kathleen and I do the best we + can and the children they do the same and my husband takes what we give + him! Indeed, my house is a sort of dispensary you know. The most + extraordinary people come to me for the most extraordinary things. Now for + a bottle of medicine, now for some cast off clothing, now for writing + paper and old newspapers or a few tacks. So we have many wants to relieve + besides our own and really, that is good for us you know. One Xmas dinner + was an amusing one. Roast beef was out of the question, we couldn't get + any, and the old woman who usually brought us a turkey came eight miles in + the snow to bitterly lament the failure of her turkey crop. The one she + had intended for me had been killed and trussed and then the rats which + abound out there, got at it in the night and left not a bone of it! So I + got the poor old thing a warm cup of tea and gave her some thick socks and + sent her away relieved, resolved to spread myself on the pudding. Do you + remember Kathleen!” + </p> + <p> + And Miss Saskabasquia did and smiled at the remembrance. + </p> + <p> + “What was it like?” + </p> + <p> + “The pudding? Oh! It was the funniest pudding! George—no—Ethel, + was the baby then and very troublesome. Yes, you were my dear and cutting + teeth. I was far from strong and in the act of stirring the pudding was + taken quite ill and had to give it up. Kathleen was naturally forced to + attend to me and the three children, and only for Henry, we should have + had no Xmas dinner at all! He went to work with a will, stirred it well, + put it into the cloth and was just I believe dropping it into the water + when the string broke and the poor pudding tumbled into the water! Of + course it was useless, and my husband scarcely knew what to do with + himself. Fancy what he did do, though! He went to work and made another + out of what he could find without telling us. He'll tell you about it if + you ask him, how puzzled he was at first. There was some suet over, only + not minced, you know. So he took that just as it was in a lump and buried + it in bread-crumbs, luckily we had plenty of bread. Then he broke in the + eggs, but when he came to look for the fruit, that was all in the pot of + hot water, not a raisin left. He just ladled them out and put them in the + second time. I think that was delicious of him don't you? But he forgot + the flour and there was so little sugar seemingly in the bag (he didn't + know where my Xmas stores were kept) that he took fright and wouldn't use + it but broke up some maple sugar instead, then tied it up and got it + safely launched the second time. And it was not at all bad, though <i>very</i> + shapeless and unlike a trim plum pudding, with the holly at the top.” + </p> + <p> + And many another tale did she tell me of “Henry's” ceaseless activity, and + courage and patience. He had learnt three Indian dialects, the <i>patois</i> + of the <i>habitant</i>, and the Gaelic of two Scotch settlements, in order + to converse freely with his people and understand their wants properly. He + could doctor the body as well as the soul, set a fractured limb, bind a + wound, apply ice for sunstroke and snow for chilblains. He could harness a + horse and milk a cow; paddle a canoe and shoot and fish like an Indian, + cook and garden and hew and build—indeed there seemed nothing he + could not do and had not done, and all this along with the care of his + office, as much a missionary one as any could be. Peril of shipwreck and + peril of fire, peril of frost and peril of heat, peril of sickness, pain + and death, peril of men, ignorant and wicked, of wild beasts and wilder + storms—all these he had braved with his wife and little ones for the + sake of his convictions added to a genuine love of his fellow-man. I began + to consider, and rightly I think, the unknown, obscure Bishop of + Saskabasquia one of the most interesting men of the day. + </p> + <p> + Our journey, however, could not always last. Our pleasant chats, our + lively table-talk, Mrs. Saskabasquia's pretty womanly confidences and her + husband's deep-voiced readings from Dickens which he told me were of the + utmost moral value to his people, all came to an end. We all felt sorry to + part, yet greatly relieved at seeing the mighty cliff of Quebec draw + nearer and nearer with each succeeding hour. I had been quite ill for the + last two days like nearly all the other passengers. Coming up the Gulf of + St. Lawrence that is sometimes the case, and we were a miserable party + that Friday, hardly anyone on deck except the irrepressible Bishop and his + family and myself. I was wretched, sick and cold and trembling in every + limb, undoubted <i>mal de mer</i> had fastened upon me. We were standing + close by the railing of the promenade deck when a something swept by on + the water. “Child overboard!” I sang out as loudly as I could. Instantly + the steerage was in a state of commotion—the child was missed. There + didn't appear to be a sailor on the spot. The Bishop looked at me, and I + looked at the Bishop. Like lightning he tore off his coat. I put my hand + on his arm. + </p> + <p> + “Dear sir, you will not do such a thing!” + </p> + <p> + “What is it, Henry?” cried his wife. “Somebody must.” + </p> + <p> + “I wish to God I could, sir!” In another moment he was over. + </p> + <p> + How he ever recovered from that awful plunge I don't know, but a boat was + immediately lowered for him and the child—he had it safe, + miraculously enough. How I cursed my weakness which prevented my going in + his place. But when I saw the two lives saved I was glad I had not gone, + for in my weak state I could not even have saved the child. + </p> + <p> + I am invited to a Christmas dinner, <i>whenever I like</i>, with the + Bishop of Saskabasquia, whom I count as perhaps the finest specimen of + healthy Christian manhood I have ever met, and although I can still laugh + at the fun of “The Private Secretary” I can say that even among her clergy + England can boast of heroes in these latter days as noble and + disinterested as in years gone by. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “As it was in the Beginning.” + </pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0007" id="link2H_4_0007"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h3> + A CHRISTMAS SKETCH. + </h3> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0003" id="link2HCH0003"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER I. + </h2> + <p> + It is Christmas day in the morning. There is no doubt about it. The shine + of the sun, the frost on the trees, the voice of the birds, and the + unusual crow, and cackle and clatter and confusion outside the house can + leave no doubts upon the subject, to say nothing of the inside of the + house. Here it is Christmas day and no mistake. On what other day is the + larder so full?—Full is not expressive enough; crammed, rammed, + jammed full is more like the actual condition of things, so tightly wedged + are pheasants and partridges, grouse and quail, great roasts of beef and + haunches of venison, pork and pasty, mutton and fowl. On what other day is + the still-room so alluring, where cordials are at their liveliest of brown + and amber, and the white fingers of the lady of the house gleam in and out + of the piling of herbs and the stirring of compounds—both innocent + and inebriating? On what other day is the kitchen so important? Why, the + cook is actually thinner than she was the yesterday! Christmas day in the + morning is taking it out of her. “No men cooks about me”, growls Sir + Humphrey Desart, “we'll keep Sarah.” So Sarah is kept, and though she be + fat, aye, and getting on to three score, yet her strength faileth not, as + you may observe. Somewhat of a martinet, yet kindly withal and leading the + hubbub in the kitchen with all the gusto of twenty years ago. My lady will + descend presently to see if all goes on properly, and Sarah must lose no + time. Heavens, how many eggs is she going to break? What are they all for? + Will not the resources of the farmyard fail her? This, then, explains all + the crow and cackle outside. Now what is she at? Lemons this time, and + anon giving a fine stimulus with her master-hand to the lumpy yellow + contents of a smooth yellow bowl. Ah! No lumps now; one turn and all + resolved into a perfect cadence. Anyone is an artist and a great one who + can so resolve a discordant measure. And now she is busy with the brandy! + Ah! Sarah, will no temptation accrue from the pouring of the warming + draught? “Out upon thee!” says Sarah. “Am I not already as warm over my + work as I want to be, and shall I not have my good glass of beer at my + dinner? Leave the quality upstairs their brandy,” says Sarah, “and let me + get to my work.” + </p> + <p> + Well, and the upshot of all this is, that, despite all one may affirm to + the contrary, the one grand essential, the peculiar and individualizing + attribute of Christmas is—the dinner. The parson may think of his + preaching (and if he ever does so, surely most of all on this day) and the + virtuous may think of the poor; the old may remember the young, and the + young be pardoned for only remembering each other, but the chief thought, + the most blissful remembrance is still—The Dinner. + </p> + <p> + If the parson preach a little better sermon than usual, it is because his + nine children have not been forgotten by Lady Bountiful, and are actually + going to have—A Dinner. + </p> + <p> + My Lady Bountiful in her turn may go to church, and appear devoutly + removed from the <i>mundus edibilis</i>, yet if you could look into her + reflections, you would perceive that she has but one thought—The + Dinner. Do you suppose, much as the youths from Oxford and their friend + the captain, from London, are devoted to mamma and her daughters, they are + not at the same time being eaten up, as it were, devoured, by the intense + wish for the hour to come when they may partake of—That Dinner! + </p> + <p> + Sir Humphrey has asked a particularly large party down this Christmas, and + seems to have forgotten nobody he ever knew. Not a poor relation but has + been remembered, and things are on a grander scale than usual. The candles + build famously, set in the chimney candelabra; the logs are all of the + biggest, and as for the Yule himself, he is a veritable Brobdignag; the + staircases drop flowers, and holly and mistletoe hang all about. + Everything shines, and gleams, and glows. There is to be a boar's head, + with, no lack of mustard and minstrelsy, and nothing eatable or drinkable + that pertains to Christmas will be wanting. Carols, and waits, and + contended tenants; merry chimes and clinking glasses; twanging fiddles and + the rush down the middle—nothing is spared and nobody is forgotten. + So the hour draws on, the guests pull through the dreary day (for as I + have said before, everything on Christmas day gives place to the dinner), + and at last the dinner becomes an absolute fact, something to be + apprehended, sat down to, and finally eaten. It <i>is</i> eaten, and + everyone has come into the long hall, at one end of which the Yule burns. + There is merry talk, and it is easier now for the captain to devote + himself to the girls, having left the dinner behind; there is talk, too, + of a little wonder at the gorgeousness of the dinner, for Sir Humphrey has + not been so gay for years, yes, just twenty years, when it is evident that + Sir Humphrey is going to make a speech. He stands alone in front of the + fire, and this is what he says. If you want to know what he looks like, + you may think of an old man who is a gentleman, white-haired, noble and + resolute, but with a sense of broken fortunes and deferred hopes upon him. + </p> + <p> + “I have been young and now am old,” says Sir Humphrey, “and I have never + yet seen the house, known the family, or penetrated the life where there + did not exist some trouble or some secret. Therefore, if I refer to-night + to the skeleton in my own house,” he continues, with a slight shudder, “I + only do what perhaps each individual before me might also do were there + the like necessity. The necessity of such reference, in my own case, does + not make it less hard for me.” Here, Sir Humphrey pauses. When he speaks + again he is something straighter and firmer than before. “But as at this + season the Church and our good friend the parson would teach us all to + remember each other and to help those we can help, I am about to speak. + You have heard, all of you, how twenty years ago I sent my two eldest sons + out of the house. You have heard, all of you, that they were foolish, and + that I was hard, something about a girl and cut off with a shilling, I + suppose. Well, to-night you shall hear the true story. I do not think even + Lady Desart knows it. She was not their mother, but, as you know, my + adored and adoring second wife. I do not know if many of you remember my + boys. I can see Humphrey now—a man does not easily forget his + first-born, and Hugh was no less dear. My dear friends, if I drove the + lads from my house twenty years ago to-night, I did it in obedience to the + rules of my own conscience and with regard to the laws of nature, which I + should have put before my conscience, as I have far greater respect for + them. I did it, as we so often futilely say, for the best. But how often, + oh, my dear friends, how often since I have thought that I may have made a + terrible mistake.” + </p> + <p> + “They were, Hugh and Humphrey, both madly in love with the same girl. She + was no pauper, as you may have been led to believe, but the Lady Barbara + Hastings. Her name is familiar to you. She was beautiful and talented, + never married, and you may remember that about a month ago she died at the + house of friends in London. I knew her, fortunately or unfortunately, + however, moving in society as the adopted daughter of a refined + gentlewoman, to be the child of a lunatic mother and a father who drank + his life away in a Continental retreat. Knowing this I would not for a + moment consent even to the thought of either of my sons marrying her, + although I knew her to be all that was gracious in womankind. I could not + tell them the reason: the secret was hers, poor girl, and I did not betray + it. I said 'No,' and each knew what that meant. So we separated, but the + worst of it was, my friends, that each lad thought I had refused my + consent to save the other the pain of seeing his brother happy; so that + greater than their anger with me was their jealousy of one another. With + murder in their hearts they fled to America, I believe, pursuing in + self-torture that phantom of revenge which we have all seen sometime or + another, and whose hot breath we must have felt.” + </p> + <p> + Sir Humphrey pauses oftener now. + </p> + <p> + “I tell you all this because I want you to see how possible it may be for + a man to think he is doing the very best, the only right thing, and then + for perhaps an infinitely worse one to crop up. I read not long ago in a + wild Western paper a story of two Englishmen who fought a lonely duel on + some slope of those great mountains out there, and I think I have not + slept since I read it. To have exiled my boys only that they might kill + one another in foreign lands and sleep so far away from our English + ground!” + </p> + <p> + Sir Humphrey's voice is failing now and his eyes grow moist A man, you + see, does not easily forget his first-born. + </p> + <p> + “I tell you all this,” he continues, “that it may help you to be kind and + to think twice. I only thought once, and perhaps the worst may have come + of it. Then I tell it to you, too, because I am an old man now, and my + voice is not as strong as it was, and I can't get out to church as + regularly as I used to do, and I want you all to help me to remember these + absent ones and with them any of your own. There is virtue in the holding + up of many hands and the lifting up of many hearts. Whether I see them + again or not, that does not matter; but for the assurance that they have + not harmed each other, let us pray Almighty God this night.” + </p> + <p> + Ah! Sir Humphrey, there are those who would give their life for yours, but + they cannot bring you that assurance to-night. Can you wait? + </p> + <p> + “I can wait,” says Sir Humphrey. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0004" id="link2HCH0004"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER II. + </h2> + <p> + It is Christmas day in the morning. At least, so Almanack says, and + Almanack ought to know, though he is given in those days to such ornate + and emblazoned titivation of himself outwardly, putting himself in the + hands of fair Mistress Kate Greenaway at the head of a mischievous throng, + that he causes one to seriously consider whether his old head be turned or + no. A scholar and statistician buried in heaps of flowers, with a rope of + daisies round his neck, and a belt of primroses round his waist; a + sunflower in his buttonhole, and a singing bird upon his shoulder; and, + worst of all, the picture of a pink-frocked, pink-faced girl next his + heart—can he be relied upon? But he persists in his claim to be + listened to, and we must take his word for it that this is Christmas day + in the morning, although it just looks like any other day. On any other + day the sun is just as bright, and the air just as keen. On other days the + snow is just as white, just as deep—two feet where the constant + tramping has levelled its crystalline beauty, ten, twelve, fifteen there + where a great soft cloud of drift reaches halfway up the side of a small + wooden house. On other days there is just as much blue in the sky, in the + smoke, in the shadows of the pines, and the shadows of the icicles. On + other days the house looks just as neat, just as silent, just as poor. The + clearing is small, the house is small, a small terrier suns himself on a + pile of wood, and the only large object apparently in existence is the + tall, broad-shouldered, well-proportioned man who presently emerges from + the wooden house. His ear has just caught the sound of a bell. It is not a + bad bell for Muskoka, and it has a most curious effect on this white, cold + silent world of snow and blue shadows. The owner of the house, who is also + the builder of it, stands a few moments listening. There is only the + twitter of the snowbirds to listen to, then the bell; more snowbirds, and + then the bell again. + </p> + <p> + “It has quite a churchy sound,” he remarks; “I never noticed how churchy + before, but it reminds me of some other bell. Ten years I have read for + them here, and I never noticed it before.” More twitter from the snowbirds + and the bell again. Time for church, although the functions of the + lay-reader will be this day laid aside, giving place to the more exacting + ones of the <i>rector chori</i>. This being Christmas day in the morning, + it devolves upon one clergyman to preach in four different places, if not + literally at once, at least on the same day. + </p> + <p> + “It isn't possible,” thinks the tall man swinging along at a tremendous + pace, “that this bell—there it is again, confound it; yet no, not + confound it—can resemble that other bell I used to know. No, quite + impossible. Is it likely that anything here,” and the thinker spreads both + long arms out to take in the entire landscape, “can resemble or remotely + suggest the Old Country, or, as people call it, home? Home? Why this is + home. That four-roomed and convenient, if not commodious, mansion I have + just quitted is my home. Talking of commodiousness, it's quite large + enough, too. I have no wife, no children, no partner, not even a sleeping + one, no one ever comes to see me. So I do not need a drawing-room, a + nursery, a guest chamber, or a smoking-room. I have no books, therefore I + need no library; I indulge in no chemical pursuits, therefore I need no + laboratory; my music-room is the forest in summer and the chimney in + winter, while my studio, according to the latest aesthetic fad—I + think that is the word—opens off the music-room. + </p> + <p> + “Now, if you take away art, science, literature, and society from the + daily life of a man, what do you leave? Simply the three radical + necessities of sleeping, eating, working. My work I do mostly in the open + air, so that, practically, I need but two rooms, one to cook in and the + other to sleep in. I have always felt convinced that to be happy I only + require two rooms, except on extra cold nights, when I find that one + suffices. That is when Tim and I lie near the kitchen fire to keep warm. + Home! Why of course it is home. Didn't I build the house myself? What + association is dearer than that? To come into a pile of half-ruined + towers, all gables and gargoyles, built somewhere about the fourteenth + century, and added to by every fool who liked, without the slightest + pretence to knowledge of architecture and civilization may be very + gratifying, but, strange as it may seem, I prefer the work of my own + hands. I am quite a Canadian, of course, though I once was an Englishman. + I array myself in strange raiment, thick and woollen, of many colours; my + linen is coarse and sometimes superseded by flannel; I wear a cast-off fur + cap on my head and moccasins on my feet. I have grown a beard and a fierce + moustache. I have made no money and won no friends except the simple + settlers around me here. And I shall grow old and grey in your service, my + Muskoka. I shall be forty-one on my next birthday. Then will come + fifty-one, another ten years and sixty-one. All to be lived here? Yes, I + have sworn it. Not Arcady, not Utopia, only Muskoka, but very dear to me. + There is the forest primeval! I know everything in it from the Indian pipe—clammy + white thing, but how pretty!—to that great birch there with the bark + peeling off in pieces a yard wide. There is the lovely Shadow river. + Masses of cardinal flowers grow there in the summer, and when I take my + boat up its dark waters I feel that no human being has felt its beauty so + before. I think, for a small river it is the loveliest in the world. And + as to my larder now, why I am going to make my Christmas dinner off a + piece or pork and ask for nothing better! I shall have a glorious + appetite, which is the main point. The bell again!” + </p> + <p> + Yes, and the snow birds, too, flying round the porch of the little church. + It is a very small and plain edifice and not over warm, and the + officiating clergyman, who has just driven eighteen miles with the + prospect of eighteen back after service, hurries the proceedings somewhat. + There is a harmonium played by the tall man, and there is a choir + consisting of himself and a small boy. In place of the usual Anglican + hymns two carols are sung by the choir, which have the quaintest effect in + such a place, and which appear to interest and even excite one of the + congregation. This is a man of middle age, most richly dressed with a + certain foreign air about him and evidently in a very delicate state of + health. He is accompanied by a lady whose dress is also a marvel of beauty + and costliness though hardly of fitness. The broad bands of gold which + adorn her wrists and neck would alone procure for her the entire attention + of the congregation were she seated in a more conspicuous place. As it is + they are seated near the stove for increased comfort. “Good King + Wenceslas” sings the choir, the small boy finding the long word very + trying, and coming utterly to grief in the last two verses, for his + companion appears to have lost his place. With the last verse of the carol + comes the close of the service, the straggling congregation disperse and + the jolly clergyman drives off again. Then an important thing happens, and + happens very quietly. So quietly that the richly dressed lady who is a + bright, shallow and unsentimental Californian does not mind it at all. + “Humphrey!” says the tall man, “Hugh!” says the other, and all is said. + There is not much sentiment in the meeting, how can there be? Their ways + have gone too far apart. The years—nearly twenty, since they parted + in Los Angeles—have brought gold and kith and kin to the one, with + an enfeebled constitution and an uncertain temper. To the other, they have + brought the glory of health for his manhood's crown, content and peace + unutterable. To learn to subdue the ground is to learn one great lesson. + So the strange meeting is soon over. The Christmas spell may not always + last and the brothers separate once more. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0010" id="link2H_4_0010"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + FINIS. + </h2> + <p> + The bright little lady who is taking her husband for a winter's Canadian + tour gets restive in this silent snowy world. But before they part a + letter is written to a white-haired old gentleman' in England, who has + only a month to wait. + </p> + <p> + “Whether I see them again or not does not matter,” says Sir Humphrey, “but + for the assurance that they have not harmed each other, I thank Almighty + God this night!” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0011" id="link2H_4_0011"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE IDYL OF THE ISLAND. + </h2> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + Here lies mid-way between parallels 48 and 49 of latitude, and degrees 89 + and 90 of longitude, in the northern hemisphere of the New World, serenely + anchored on an ever-rippling and excited surface, an exquisitely lovely + island. No tropical wonder of palm-treed stateliness, or hot tangle of + gaudy bird and glowing creeper, can compare with it; no other northern + isle, cool and green and refreshing to the eye like itself, can surpass + it. It is not a large island. It is about half-a-mile long and quarter of + a mile broad It is an irregular oval in shape, and has two distinct and + different sides. On the west side its grey limestone rises to the height + of twenty feet straight out of the water. On the east side there occurs a + gradual shelving of a sumac-fringed shore, that mingles finally with the + ever-rippling water. For the waters in this northern country are never + still. They are perpetually bubbling up and boiling over; seething and + fuming and frothing and foaming and yet remaining so cool and clear that a + quick fancy would discover thousands of banished fountains under that + agitated and impatient surface. Both ends of the island are as much alike + as its sides are dissimilar. They taper off almost to a distinct + bladepoint of rock, in which a mere doll's flagstaff of a pine-tree grows; + then comes a small detached rock, with a small evergreen on it, then a + still smaller rock, with a tuft of grass, then a line of partially + submerged stones, and so out to the deep yet ever-bubbling water. This + island might seem, just the size for two, and there were two on it on a + certain July morning at five o'clock. One of these was a lady who lay at + full length and fast asleep upon a most unique couch. These northern + islands are in many places completely covered with a variety of + yellowish-green moss, varying from a couple of inches to a foot and a half + in thickness; and yielding to the pressure of the foot or the body as + comfortably as a feather bed, if not more so, being elastic in nature. A + large square of this had been cut up from some other part of the island + and placed on the already moss-grown and cushioned ground, serving as a + mattress, while two smaller pieces served as pillows. A sumac tree at the + head of the improvised couch gave the necessary shade to the face of the + sleeper, while a wild grapevine, after having run over and encircled with + its moist green every stone and stem on the island, fulfilled its longing + at length in a tumultuous possession of the sumac, making a massive yet + aerial patched green curtain or canopy to the fantastic bed, and ending + seemingly in two tiny transparent spirals curling up to the sky. + </p> + <p> + If there were a fault in the structure it was that it was too clever, too + well thought out, too rectangular, too much in fact like a bed. But it + told certainly of a skillful pair of hands and of a beautiful mind and the + union of art with nature perfectly suited the charms—contradictory + yet consistent—of the occupant. For being anything but a beautiful + woman she was still far from a plain one, which though no original mode of + putting it does convey the actual impression she made upon a gentleman in + a small boat who rowing past this island at the hour of five o'clock in + the morning was so much struck with this curious sight, quite visible from + the water below, that he was rude enough to stand up that he might see + better. The lady was dressed in some dark blue stuff that evidently + covered her all over and fitted tightly where it could be seen. A small + linen collar, worn all night and therefore shorn of its usual freshness + was round her neck, and she was tucked up from the waist under a Scotch + woollen rug. Her hair, of a peculiar red-brown, was allowed to hang about + her and was lovely; her mouth sad; her nose, rather too prominent; her + complexion natural and healthy, but marred by freckles and moles, not many + of either but undeniably scattered over the countenance. All told but her + eyes which, if they proved to match with her hair, would atone for these + other shortcomings. The gentleman sat down again and reflected. + </p> + <p> + “How still it is!” he said under his breath. “Absolutely not a thing + stirring. This is the time when the fish bite. I ought to be fishing I + suppose. Going to be warm by-and-bye.” + </p> + <p> + It was indeed almost absolutely silent. The sun climbed higher but the + lady slept on, and the gentleman gazed as if fascinated. The only sound + that broke the beautiful early morning silence was the occasional weird + laugh of the loon. It came twice and then a third time. The sleeper + stirred. + </p> + <p> + “If that thing out there cries again she will wake,” said the gentleman to + himself. “I must be off before that happens. But I <i>should</i> like to + see her eyes. What a pretty picture it is!” Once more the loon gave its + maniacal laugh and the lady started, sat bolt upright and wide awake. Her + admirer had not time to retreat but he took his oars up and confronted her + manfully. It was an awkward moment. He apologized. The lady listened very + politely. Then she smiled. + </p> + <p> + “Most of the islands in this lake are owned by private people,” she said, + “who use them during the summer months for the purpose of camping out upon + them. I should advise you, if you row about much here, to keep to the open + water, unless you wish to be seriously handled by the fathers and mothers + of families.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you very much,” returned the gentleman, standing up in his boat, “I + assure you I intended no rudeness, but I have never seen so charming a + summer couch before, and I was really fascinated by the—ah,—the + picture you made. May I ask what you mean by 'camping out'? Is it always + done in this fashion?” + </p> + <p> + The lady stared “Have <i>you</i> never camped out?” + </p> + <p> + “Never in my life,” said the gentleman. “I am an Englishman, staying at + the hotel near the point for a day or two. I came out to see something of + the country.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you should at least have camped out for a week or so. That is a + genuine Canadian experience,” said the lady with a frankness which + completely restored the equanimity of the Englishman. + </p> + <p> + “But how do you live?” he went on in a puzzled manner that caused the lady + with the red-brown hair, still all hanging about her, much amusement. + </p> + <p> + “O, capitally! Upon fish and eggs, and gooseberry tarts, and home-made + bread and French coffee. Just what you would get in town, and much better + than you get at the hotel.” + </p> + <p> + “O, that would be easy!” the gentleman groaned. “I eat my meals in a + pitch-dark room, in deadly fear and horror of the regiments of flies that + swarm in and settle on everything the minute one raises the green paper + blinds.” + </p> + <p> + The lady nodded. “I know. We tried it for two or three seasons, but we + could not endure it; the whole thing, whitewash and all, is so trying, + isn't it? So we bought this lovely island and bring our tent here and live + <i>so</i> comfortably.” The gentleman did not reply at once. He was + thinking that it was his place to say “Good morning,” and go, although he + would much have liked to remain a little longer. He hazarded the remark: + </p> + <p> + “Now, for instance, what are you going to breakfast on presently?” + </p> + <p> + The lady laughed lightly and shook her red brown hair. + </p> + <p> + “First of all I have to make a fire.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” + </p> + <p> + “But that is not so very difficult” + </p> + <p> + “How do you do it?” + </p> + <p> + “Would you like to know?” + </p> + <p> + “Very much indeed. I should like to see, if I may.” + </p> + <p> + The lady reflected a moment. “I suppose you may, but if you do, you ought + to help me, don't you think?” The gentleman much amused and greatly + interested. + </p> + <p> + “Ah but you see, it is you I want to see make it. I am very useless you + know at that sort of thing, still, if you will allow me, I will try my + best. Am I to come ashore?” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly, if you are to be of any use.” + </p> + <p> + The lady jumped lightly off the pretty couch of moss and wound her + plentiful hair round her head with one turn of her arm. Her dress was + creased but well-fitting, her figure not plump enough for beauty but + decidedly youthful. She watched her new friend moor his boat and ascend + with one or two strides of his long legs up the side of the cliff that was + not so steep. He took off his hat. + </p> + <p> + “I am at your service,” he said with a profound bow. The lady made him + another, during which all her long hair fell about her again, at which + they both laughed. + </p> + <p> + “What do we do first?” said he. + </p> + <p> + “O we find a lot of sticks and pieces of bark, mostly birch bark, and + anything else that will burn—you may have to fell a tree while you + are about it—and I'll show you how to place them properly between + two walls of stones, put a match to them and there is our fire. Will you + come with me?” + </p> + <p> + He assented of course, and they were soon busy in the interior of the + little wood that grew up towards the centre of the island. I must digress + here to say that the gentleman's name was Amherst. He was known to the + world in latter life as Admiral Amherst, and he was a great friend of + mine. When he related this story to me, he was very particular in + describing the island as I have done—indeed he carried a little + chart about with him of it which he had made from memory, and he told me + besides that he never forgot the peculiar beauty of that same little tract + of wood. The early hour, the delicious morning air, the great moss-grown + and brown decaying tree trunks, the white, clammy, ghostly, flower or + fungus of the Indian Pipe at his feet, the masses of ferns, the elastic + ground he trod upon, and the singular circumstance that he was alone in + this exquisite spot with a woman he had never seen until five minutes + previously, all combined to make an ineffaceable impression upon his mind. + The lady showed herself proficient in the art of building a fire and + attended by Amherst soon had a fine flame rising up from between the + fortifications evidently piled by stronger hands than her own. + </p> + <p> + “What do we do now?” asked Amherst “I should suggest—a kettle.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course, that is the next step. If I give it to you, you might run and + fill it, eh?' + </p> + <p> + “Delighted!” and away went Amherst. When he returned the lady was not to + be seen. The place was shorn of its beauty, but he waited discreetly and + patiently, putting the kettle on to boil in the meanwhile. + </p> + <p> + “It's very singular,” said he, “how I come to be here. I wonder who are + with her in her party; no one else appears to be up or about. That striped + red and white thing is the tent, I see, over there. Ah! That's where she + has gone, and now she beckons me! Oh! I'll go, but I don't want to meet + the rest of them!” + </p> + <p> + But when he reached the tent, it was quite empty, save for rugs and wraps, + boxes, etc., and the lady was laughingly holding out a loaf of bread in + one hand and a paper package in the other. + </p> + <p> + “You will stay and breakfast with me?” + </p> + <p> + “What will you give me?” said Amherst, smiling. + </p> + <p> + “I can only give you eggs, boiled in the kettle, coffee and bread and + butter. The fish haven't come in yet.” + </p> + <p> + “What can be nicer than eggs—especially when boiled in the kettle, + that is, if you make the coffee first.” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly I do.” + </p> + <p> + “And it is really French coffee?” + </p> + <p> + “Really. Café des Gourmets, you know; we—I always use it—do + not like any other.” + </p> + <p> + Amherst was fast falling in love. He told me that at this point his mind + was quite made up that if it were possible he would remain in the + neighborhood a few days at least, in order to see more of this charming + girl. She seemed to him to be about twenty-six or seven, and so frank, + simple and graceful, one could not have resisted liking her. Her hair and + eyes were identical in colour and both were beautiful; her expression was + arch and some of her gestures almost childish, but a certain dignity + appeared at times and sat well upon her. Her hands were destitute of any + rings as Amherst soon discovered, and were fine and small though brown. + While she made the coffee, Amherst threw himself down on the wonderful + moss, the like of which he had never seen before and looked out over the + water. An unmistakeable constraint had taken the place of the unaffected + hilarity of the first ten minutes. A reaction had set in. Amherst could of + course only answer to me in telling this for himself, but he divined at + the time a change in his companion's manner as well. + </p> + <p> + “I hope you like your eggs,” she said presently. + </p> + <p> + “They are very nice, indeed, thank you,” rejoined Amherst. + </p> + <p> + “And I have made your coffee as you like it?” + </p> + <p> + “Perfectly, thank you. But you—you are not eating anything! Why is + that?” + </p> + <p> + As he asked the question he turned quickly around, in order to rise that + he might help her with the ponderous kettle that she was about lifting off + the camp-fire, when a long strand of her hair again escaping from its coil + blew directly across his face. Amherst uttered a radiant “Oh!”, and taking + it to his lips forgot himself so far as to press kiss after kiss upon it. + The lady stood as if transfixed and did not move, even when Amherst + actually swept all her hair down over one arm and turning her face to his, + pressed one long long kiss on her forehead. + </p> + <p> + The moment he had done this his senses returned and he stepped back in + indignation with himself. But his companion was still apparently + transfixed. Amherst looked at her in dismay. She did not seem to see him + and had grown very pale. He touched her gently on the arm but she did not + show that she felt the touch. He retreated a few paces and stood by + himself, overcome with shame and contrition. What had he done? How should + he ever atone for such an unwarrantable action? Had it been the outcome of + any ordinary flirtation, he would have felt no such scruples, but the + encounter, though short, had been one of singular idyllic charm until he + had by his own rash act spoilt it. A few minutes passed thus in self + contemplation appeared like an eternity. He must speak. + </p> + <p> + “If you would allow me—” + </p> + <p> + But the lady put out her left hand in deprecation as it were and he got no + further. The silence was unendurable. Amherst took a step or two forward + and perceived great tears rolling down her cheeks. + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” he began desperately, “won't you allow me to say a word to tell you + how very, very sorry I am, how grieved I am and always shall be? I never—I + give you my word of honor—I never do those sort of things, have + never done such a thing before! But I can't tell what it was, the place is + so beautiful, and when all that lovely hair came sweeping past my face, I + could not help doing as I did, it was so electrical! Any man would have + done the same. I know that sounds like a miserable, cowardly excuse, but + it is true, perfectly true.” The lady seemed to struggle to appear calm + and with a great effort she turned her face towards Amherst. + </p> + <p> + “I know one man,” she said, in a voice choked with sobs, “who would not + have done it?” + </p> + <p> + Amherst started. “I am sorrier than ever, believe me. I might have known + you were engaged, or had a lover—one so Charming”— + </p> + <p> + “It is not that,” said the lady. “I am married.” She was still struggling + with her emotion. + </p> + <p> + Amherst recoiled. He was torn with conflicting thoughts. What if he had + been seen giving that involuntary salute? He might have ruined her peace + for ever. Who would believe in the truth of any possible explanation? + </p> + <p> + “I will leave you at once;” he said stiffly, “there is nothing more to be + said.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! You will reproach me now!” said his companion, wiping her eyes as the + tears came afresh. + </p> + <p> + “I will try not to;” said Amherst, “but you could so easily have told me; + I do not think it was—quite—fair.” Yet he could not be + altogether angry with the partner of his thoughtlessness, nor could he be + entirely cold. Her beautiful eyes, her despairing attitude would haunt him + he knew for many a day. She had ceased weeping and stood quietly awaiting + his departure. Amherst felt all the force of a strong and novel passion + sweep along his frame as he looked at her. Was she happy, was she a loved + and loving wife? Somehow the conviction forced itself upon him that she + was not. Yet he could not ask her, it must remain her secret. + </p> + <p> + Amherst looked at his watch. It aroused her. + </p> + <p> + “What is the time?” she said lifting her head for the first time since he + had kissed her. + </p> + <p> + “Ten minutes past six,” Amherst replied. + </p> + <p> + “You must go,” she said, with an effort at self-control. “I shall have + much to do presently.” + </p> + <p> + He cast one look about and approached her. + </p> + <p> + “Will you forgive me”—he began in a tone of repression, then with + another mighty and involuntary movement he caught her hands and pressed + them to his breast. “My God,” he exclaimed, “how I should have loved you!” + </p> + <p> + A moment after he flung her hands away and strode down the cliff, + unfastened his boat and rowed away in the direction of the hotel as fast + as he could. Rounding a sharp rock that hid what lay beyond it, he nearly + succeeded in overturning another boat like his own, in which sat a + gentleman of middle age, stout and pleasant and mild of countenance. The + bottom of the boat was full of fish. Amherst made an incoherent apology, + to which the gentleman answered with a good-natured laugh, insisting that + the fault was his own. He would have liked to enter into conversation with + Amherst, but my friend was only anxious to escape from the place + altogether and forget his recent adventure in the hurry of departure from + the hotel. Three days after he embarked at Quebec for England, and never + revisited Canada. But he never married and never forgot the woman whom he + always asserted he might have truly and passionately loved. He was about + twenty-eight when that happened and perfectly heart-whole. Why—I + used to say to him, why did you not learn her name and that of her + husband? Perhaps she is a widow now, perhaps you made as great an + impression upon her mind and affections as she did upon yours. + </p> + <p> + But my friend Admiral Amherst, as the world knew him, was a strange, + irrational creature in many ways, and none of these ideas would he ever + entertain. That the comfortable gentleman in the boat was her husband he + never doubted; more it was impossible to divine. But the cool northern + isle, with its dark fringe of pines; its wonderful moss, its fragrant and + dewy ferns, its graceful sumacs, just putting on their scarlet-lipped + leaves, the morning stillness broken only by the faint unearthly cry of + the melancholy loon, the spar-dyked cliffs of limestone, and the fantastic + couch, with its too lovely occupant, never faded from his memory and + remained to the last as realities which indeed they have become likewise + to me, through the intensity with which they were described to me. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0012" id="link2H_4_0012"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + The Story of Delle Josephine Boulanger + </h2> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0005" id="link2HCH0005"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER I. + </h2> + <p> + Delle Josephine Boulanger, Miss Josephine Baker, Miss Josephine Baker, + Delle Josephine Boulanger. What a difference it makes, the language! What + a transformation! I thought this to myself as I stood on the opposite side + of the street looking at the sign. To be sure, it, was only printed in + French and sad little letters they were that composed the name, but my + mind quickly translated them into the more prosaic English as I stood and + gazed. Delle Josephine was a milliner and I had been recommended to try + and get a little room “<i>sous les toits</i>” that she sometimes had to + let, during my stay in the dismal Canadian village with the grand and + inappropriate name of <i>Bonheur du Roi</i>. Bonneroi, or Bonneroy, it was + usually called. Such a dismal place it seemed to be; one long street of + whitewashed or dirty wooden houses, two raw red brick “stores,” and the + inevitable Roman Catholic Church, Convent and offices, still and orderly + and gray, with the quiet priests walking about and the occasional sound of + the unmistakeable convent bell. I arrived on a sleety winter's day early + in December. Everything was gray, or colorless or white; the people's + faces were pinched and pale, the sky was a leaden gray in hue, and I + thought as I stood opposite to my future abode under Delle Josephine's + roof that the only bit of “local color” so far was to be found in her + window. I could distinctly see from where I stood the most extraordinary + <i>hat</i> I had ever seen. I immediately crossed the road to examine it. + It was a triumph in lobster-color. In shape like a very large + Gainsborough, it was made of shirred scarlet satin with large bows of + satin ribbon of the same intense color and adorned with a bird of + paradise. I can see it now and can recall the images it suggested to my + mind at the time. These were of cardinals and kings, of sealing-wax and + wafers, of tropic noons and tangled marshes, of hell and judgment and the + conventional Zamiel. It looked fit to be worn by a Mrs. Zamiel, if there + be such a person. I looked so long and earnestly that I evidently + attracted the notice of the mistress of the shop, for I saw a hand push + back the faded red curtain that veiled the interior and a queer little + visage appeared regarding me with something I thought of distrust. Did I + look as if I might break the glass and run off with the hat? Perhaps I + did, so I entered the shop immediately and said in a reasoning tone, + </p> + <p> + “I am looking for rooms in the village, Mademoiselle, and hear you have + one to let. Can I see it now, if not too much trouble?” + </p> + <p> + “You come from Morréall?” + </p> + <p> + This I learnt was meant for Montreal. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” I returned. + </p> + <p> + “You are by yourself, Monsieur, you are sure? No ladees, eh?” + </p> + <p> + “O dear! No” said I laughing. “I am making some studies—sketches—in + this locality and am entirely alone. Do you find ladies a trouble?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, perhaps not always. But there was one Mees I had. I did not like her, + and so I said—we will have no more Mees, but again and always + Messieurs.” She was frank enough but not unpleasant in her manner. A + little bit of a woman, thin and shrivelled, with one shoulder slightly + higher than the other, black beads for eyes, and the ugliest mouthful of + teeth that I had ever seen on any one. Had it not been that her expression + was honest and good natured and her manner bright and intelligent, I + should have recoiled before the yellow tusks of eye-teeth, and the + blackened stumps and shrunken gums revealed to me every time she spoke. + She wore a print dress made neatly enough which was very clean, and a + black crape ruff round her sallow neck. The shop was small but clean and + at the back I saw, a kind of little sitting room. Into this I went while + she ran up-stairs to prepare the room for my inspection. The carpet was + the usual horribly ingenious affair of red squares inside green octagons, + and green squares inside red octagons, varied by lengthwise stripes of + bright purple. The walls were plain white, covered with many prints in + vivid colors of the Crucifixion, the Annunciation and the Holy Family; + also three pictures of three wonderful white kittens which adorn so many + nurseries and kitchens. There were no ornaments, but there was a large + looking glass framed in walnut, and over it a dismal wreath of roses and + their leaves done in human gray hair. The glass was opposite the door and + I saw Delle Josephine descending to meet me just as I was turning away + from this suggestive “in memoriam.” A crooked little stairway brought me + to a small landing, and three more steps to my room. I may call it that, + for I took it on the spot It was large enough for my wants and seemed + clean and when the paper blinds, yellow, with a black landscape on them, + were raised, rather cheerful. We were opposite the chief “<i>epicerie</i>,” + the only <i>“marchandise sèches</i>” and a blacksmith, whose jolly red + fire I could sometimes catch a glimpse of. + </p> + <p> + Now, this is a really a true story of French Canadian life, or rather let + me say, a true story of one of my own French Canadian experiences, and so + I must confess that once installed in my little room <i>chez</i> Delle + Josephine Boulanger, nothing whatever of any interest took place until I + had been there quite a week. I lived most regularly and monotonously; + rising at eight I partook of coffee made by my landlady, accompanied by + tinned fruit for which I formed a great taste. Then I went out, getting my + mid-day meal where I could, eggs and bacon at a farmhouse, or tough steak + at the hotel, and sometimes not getting anything at all until I returned + ravenously hungry to my lodging. On these occasions the little Frenchwoman + showed herself equal to the extent of cooking a chicken or liver and bacon + very creditably and then I would write and read in my own room till + eleven. I must not forget to say that I never failed to look at the + wonderful scarlet hat in the window every time I went out or came in. + Purchasers for it would be rare I thought; I half formed the idea of + buying it myself when I went away as a “Souvenir.” + </p> + <p> + One day I came home very tired. After walking about, vainly waiting for a + terrific snowstorm to pass over that I might go on with my work—the + frozen fall of Montmorenci, framed in the dark pines and somber rocks that + made such a back ground for its glittering thread of ice, I gave it up, + chilled in every limb, and began to consider whether I was not a fool for + pains. Although I started quite early in the afternoon on my homeward + walk, the snow, piled in great masses everywhere along the route, impeded + my progress to such an extent that it was nearly seven o'clock and + pitch-dark when I got into the village. Bonneroy was very quiet. Shutters + were up to every shop, nobody was out except a dog or two and the snow + kept falling, falling, still in as persistent a fashion as if it had not + been doing the same thing for six hours already. I found the shop shut up + and the door locked. I looked everywhere for a bell or knocker of some + description. There was neither, so I began to thump as hard as I could + with my feet against the door. In a minute or two I heard Delle Josephine + coming. Perhaps I had alarmed the poor soul. She did look troubled on + opening the door and admitted me hurriedly, even suspiciously, I thought. + The door of the little sitting-room was closed, so fancying that perhaps + she had a visitor I refrained from much talking and asking her to cook me + some eggs presently and bring them up, I went to my room. + </p> + <p> + These cold days I had to keep a fire in the small open “Franklin” stove + going almost constantly. She had not forgotten to supply it with coals + during my absence, and lighting my two lamps I was soon fairly + comfortable. How it did snow! Lifting the blind I could actually look down + on an ever-increasing drift below my window and dimly wonder if I should + get out at all on the morrow. If not, I proposed to return to Montreal at + once. I should gain nothing by being confined in the house at Bonneroy. + Delle Josephine appeared with eggs and tea—green tea, alas for that + village shortcoming—there was no black tea to be found in it, and I + looked narrowly at her as she set it down, wondering if anything was amiss + with her. But she seemed all right again and I conjectured that I had + simply interrupted a <i>tête-a-tête</i> with some visitor in the + sitting-room at the time of my return. When I had finished my tea I sat + back and watched my fire. Those little open “Franklin” stoves are almost + equal to a fireplace; they show a great deal of fire and you can fancy + your flame on an English hearth very easily—if you have any + imagination. As I sat there, it suddenly came home to me what a curious + life this was for me; living quite alone over a tiny village shop in <i>Le + Bos Canada</i>, with a queer little spinster like Delle Josephine. Snowed + up, with her too! To-morrow I would certainly have to go and shovel that + snow away from the front door and take down the shutters and discover + again to the world the contents of the one window, particularly that + frightful hat! I would—here I started it must be confessed almost + out of my seat, as turning my head suddenly I saw on a chair behind the + door the identical hat I was thinking about! I sat up and looked at it. It + must have been there all the time I was eating my tea. I still sat and + looked. I felt vaguely uncomfortable for a moment, then my common sense + asserted itself and told me that Delle Josephine must have been altering + it or something of that kind and had forgotten to take it away. I wondered + if she sat in my room when I was away. I had rather she did not. Just as I + was about to rise and look at it more closely, a tap came at my door. I + rose and admitted Delle Josephine. She took the tea-things away in her + usual placid manner, but came back the next moment as if she had forgotten + something, clearly the hat. With a slight deprecatory laugh she removed it + and went hurriedly down the stair. Whatever had she been doing with it, I + thought, and settled with a sigh of satisfaction once more to my work, now + that the nightmare in red, a kind of mute scarlet “Raven,” was gone from + my room. How very quiet it was. Not a single sleigh passed, no sounds came + from the houses opposite or from next door, the whole world seemed + smothered in the soft thick pillows of snow quietly gathering upon it. + After a while, however, I could distinctly hear the sound of voices + downstairs. Delle Josephine had a visitor, undoubtedly. Was it a man or a + woman? Not a large company I gathered; it seemed like one person besides + herself. I opened my door, it sounded so comfortably in my lonely bachelor + ear to catch in that strange little house anything so cheerful as the + murmur of voices. My curiosity once aroused, did not stop here. I went + outside the door, not exactly to listen, but as one does sometimes in a + lazy yet inquisitive mood, when anything is going on at all unusual. This + was an unusual occurrence. If Delle Josephine had visitors often, I was + not aware of it. Never before had I noticed the slightest sound proceed + from her sitting-room after dusk. So I waited a bit listening. Yes there + was talking going on, but in French. As I did not understand her <i>patois</i> + very clearly, I thought there would be no harm in overhearing, and further + I thought I should like to have a peep at her and her companion. I could + see that the door was partly open. Taking off my slippers, I ran softly + down and found it wide enough open to admit of my seeing the entire room + and occupants in the looking-glass, that being opposite. It was quite dark + in the little hall and I should be unobserved. So I crept—most + rudely I am willing to say—into the furthest shadow of this hall and + looked straight before me. + </p> + <p> + I saw none but Delle Josephine herself. But she was a sight for the gods. + Seated on a kind of ottoman, directly in front of the looking-glass, she + was holding an animated conversation with <i>herself</i>, wearing a large + white antimacassar—one of those crocheted things all in wheels—pinned + under her chin and falling away at the back like a cloak, and upon her + head—the wonderful scarlet hat! I was amazed, startled, dismayed. To + see that shrivelled little old woman so travestying her hideous charms, + smiling at and bowing to herself, her yellow skin forming a frightful + contrast to the intense red of her immense hat and her bright black eyes, + was a pitiful and unique spectacle. I had intended but to take a peep at + the supposed visitor and then go back to my room, but the present sight + was one which fascinated me to such an extent that I could only look and + wonder. She spoke softly to herself in French, appearing to be carrying on + a conversation with her image in the glass. The feathers of the bird of + paradise swept her shoulder—the one that was higher than the other—and + mingled with the wheels of the white antimacassar. I looked as long as I + dared and then, fearing from her movements that the strange scene would + soon be over I went softly up again to my room. But I thought about it all + evening, all night in fact. The natural inquiry was—was the poor + girl a maniac? Even if only a harmless one, it would be well to know. As I + sat down again by my fire I considered the matter in every light. It was a + queer prospect. Outside the snow still fell. Inside, the fire languished + and the time wore on till at half-past ten I really was compelled to call + on my landlady for more coal. I could hear the muttered French still going + on, but I did not know where the coal was and could not fetch it myself. I + must break in upon her rhapsodizing. + </p> + <p> + “Delle Boulanger!” I called from my open door. “Delle Boulanger!” + </p> + <p> + The talking stopped. In a few moments Delle Josephine appeared, calm and + smiling, <i>minus</i> the hat and the antimacassar. “Coming, <i>monsieur</i>” + </p> + <p> + “I shall want some more coal,” said I, “It is getting colder, I think, + every minute!” + </p> + <p> + “<i>Mais oui, monsieur; il fait fret, il fait bien fret ce soir</i>, and + de snow—oh! It is <i>comme</i>—de old winter years ago, dat I + remember, <i>monsieur</i>, but not you. <i>Eh! bien</i>, the coal!” + </p> + <p> + I discovered nothing morbid about her manner; she was amiable and + respectful as usual, if a little more garrulous. The French will talk at + all times about anything, but our conversation always came to a sudden + stop the moment one of us relapsed into the mother tongue. As long as a + sort of common maccaronic was kept to we managed to understand one + another. After I made up my fire I sat up till long past twelve. I heard + no more talking downstairs but I could fancy her still arrayed in those + festive yet ghastly things, seated opposite her own reflection, intent as + a mummy and not unlike one restored in modern costume. Pulling the blind + aside before going to bed, I could see with awe the arching snowdrifts + outside my window. If it went on snowing, I should not be able to open it + on the morrow. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0006" id="link2HCH0006"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER II + </h2> + <p> + My prediction was verified in the morning. The snow had ceased falling, + but lay piled up against the lower half of my window. On the level there + appeared to be about three feet, while the drifts showed from six to + twenty feet I had never seen anything like it, and was for sometime lost + in admiration. Across the road the children of the <i>epider</i> and the + good man himself were already busy trying to shovel some of it away from + the door. It seemed at first sight a hopeless task and I, looking down at + Delle Josephine's door, wondered how on earth we were ever to get out of + it when not a particle of it was to be seen. Not all that day did I get + out of the house, and but for the absorbing interest I suddenly found + centred in Delle Josephine I would have chafed terribly at being so shut + up. Trains, were blockaded of course, it was the great fall of '81, and + interrupted travel for half of a week. All that day I waited so to speak + for the evening. Snow-boys there were many; customers none. The little + Frenchwoman brought me some dinner at one o'clock, pork, tinned tomatoes, + and a cup of coffee. About five o'clock I strolled down into the shop, it + was lighted very meagrely with three oil lamps. Delle Josephine was seated + on a high chair behind the one counter at work on some ribbon—white + ribbon. She was quilling it, and looked up with some astonishment as I + walked up to her. + </p> + <p> + “Do you object to a visitor Miss Josephine?” said I with the most amiable + manner I could muster. Poor soul! I should have thought she would have + welcomed one. + </p> + <p> + “<i>Mais non Monsieur</i> but I speak so little English.” + </p> + <p> + “And I so little French. But we can manage to understand each other a + little, I think. What do you say to the weather? When shall I be able to + go out?” + </p> + <p> + Delle Josephine laughed. She went on quilling the ribbon that looked so + white against her yellow hands. + </p> + <p> + “O <i>Monsieur</i> could go out dis day if he like, but de snow ver bad, + very thick.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you ever go out, Miss Josephine?” + </p> + <p> + “<i>Non Monsieur</i>. I have not been out for what you call a valk—it + will be five years that I have not been.” + </p> + <p> + “But you go to church, I suppose?” + </p> + <p> + “<i>Mais oui Monsieur</i>, but that is so near. And the good <i>Père Le + Jeune</i>—he come to see me. He is all the frien Delle Josephine + has, ah! <i>oui Monsieur</i>.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! Bonneroi isn't much of a place, is it? Have you ever been to Quebec + or Montreal?” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! <i>Quebec—oui</i>, I live there once, many years ago. I was + taken when I was ver young by <i>Madame de la Corne de la Colombière pour + une bonne; vous comprenez</i>?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! <i>bonne</i>, yes, we use that word too. It means a nursemaid, eh! + Were there children in the family?” + </p> + <p> + Delle Josephine dropped her ribbon and threw up her hands. + </p> + <p> + “<i>Mon Dieu! les enfants! Mais oui, Monsieur</i>, they were nine + children! There was <i>Maamselle Louise</i> and <i>Maamselle Angelique</i> + with the tempaire of the <i>diable</i> himself <i>oui Monsieur</i>, and + François and Réné and <i>l'petite Catherine</i>, and the rest I forget <i>Monsieur</i>. + And dey live in a fine <i>château</i>, with horse and carridge and + everything as it would be if they were in their own France. <i>Monsieur</i> + has been in France?” + </p> + <p> + Only in Paris, I told her; a spasmodic run across the Channel—Paris + in eight hours. Two days there then return— + </p> + <p> + “That does not give one much idea of France.” + </p> + <p> + “<i>Nou, non, Monsieur</i>. But there is no countree like France dey say + dat familee—and that is true, eh, <i>Monsieur</i>?” + </p> + <p> + “I am afraid I cannot agree with you, Delle Josephine,” said I. “To me + there is no country like England, but that may be because I am an + Englishman. Tell me how long did you live in Quebec with this family?” + </p> + <p> + “I was there ten year <i>Monsieur</i>. Then one day, I had a great + accidence—oh! a ver sad ting, ver sad!” The Frenchwoman laid down + the ribbon and went on. “A ver sad ting happen to me and the <i>bébé + Catherine</i>. We were out <i>l'ptite</i> and me, for a valk, and we come + to a part of the town ver slant, ver hilly. <i>L'ptite Catherine</i> was + in her carridge and I let go, and she go all down, <i>Monsieur</i>, and I + too over the hill—the cleef, you call it—but the <i>bébé</i> + was killed and I <i>Monsieur</i>, I was alive, but like this!” showing her + shoulder. “And what did they do?” + </p> + <p> + “At the <i>château</i>? Ah, <i>figure-toi, monsieur</i>, the agony of dat + <i>pauvre dame</i>! I was sent away, she would not see me, and I left <i>Quêbec</i> + at once. I was no more <i>bonne</i>, monsieur; Delle Josephine was enough + dat. I could make de hats and de bonnets for de ladees, so I come away out + to Bonneroi, and I haf made de hats and de bonnets for the ladees of + Bonneroi for twenty year.” + </p> + <p> + “Is it possible?” I said, much touched by the little story. “And the + ladies of Bonneroi, are they hard to please?” + </p> + <p> + Delle Josephine, who had spoken with the customary vim and gesture of the + French while—telling her tale, resumed her quilling and said, with a + shrug of one shoulder, + </p> + <p> + “They do not know much, and dat is true.” I laughed at the ironical tone. + </p> + <p> + “And you—you provide the <i>modes</i>?” + </p> + <p> + “I haf been to Quêbec” she said quietly. + </p> + <p> + “Twenty years ago,” I thought, but had too much respect for the queer + little soul to say it aloud. + </p> + <p> + “I see amongst other things,” I went on, “a most—remarkable—a + very pretty, I should say—hat in your window. The red one, you know, + with the bird of paradise.” + </p> + <p> + Delle Josephine looked up quickly. “Dat is not for sale, <i>monsieur</i>.” + </p> + <p> + “No? Why, I had some idea of perhaps purchasing it for a friend of mine. + Did you make that hat yourself?” + </p> + <p> + She nodded with a sort of conscious pride. Yet it was not for sale! I + wondered why. The strange scene of the foregoing evening came into my + mind, and I began to understand this singular—case of monomania. It + must be that having lived so many years in almost solitary confinement, + one might say, her mind had slightly given away, and she found her only + excitement and relaxation in posing before the glass in that extraordinary + manner. I hardly knew whether it would be an act of kindness to remove the + hat; she talked quite rationally and cheerfully, and remembering the + innate vanity of the French as a nation, I concluded to let the matter + rest That night I heard no talking in the sitting-room. I slept + profoundly, and woke up later than usual We were not dug out yet, though + two snow-boys with their shovels were doing their best to unearth us. I + waited some time for Delle Josephine to appear with the tray; but she too + was late, evidently, for at ten o'clock she had not come. I dressed and + went down stairs. As I passed the sitting-room I saw her tricked out as + before in the hat and the antimacassar seated on the ottoman in front of + the looking-glass. Heavens, she looked more frightful than ever! I made up + my mind to speak to her at, once, and see if I could not stop such hideous + mummery. But when I advanced I perceived that indeed I had come too late. + The figure on the ottoman was rigid in death. How it ever held itself up + at all I could never think, for I gave a loud cry, and rushing from the + room knocked against the open door and fell down senseless. + </p> + <p> + Outside, I suppose, the snow-boys shovelled away as hard as ever. When I + came to myself I did not need to look around; I knew in a flash where I + was, and remembered what had happened. I ran to the shop door and hammered + with all my might. + </p> + <p> + “Let me out!” I cried. “Open the door! open the door! for Heaven's sake!” + Then I ran upstairs, and did the same at my window. It seemed years upon + years of time till they were enabled to open the door and let me out. I + rushed out bareheaded, forgetful of the intense cold, thinking first of + all of the priest <i>Père Le Jeune</i>, so strong is habit, so potent are + traditions. I knew where he lived, up the first turning in a small red + brick house next the church of St. Jean Baptiste. I told him the facts of + the case as well as I could and he came back at once with me. There was + nothing to be done. Visitation of God or whatever the cause of death Delle + Josephine Boulanger was dead. The priest lifted his hands in horror when + he saw the ghostly hat. I asked him what he knew about her, but he seemed + ignorant of everything concerning the poor thing, except the <i>aves</i> + she repeated and the number of times she came to confession. But when we + came to look over her personal effects in the drawers and boxes of the + shop, there could be no doubt but that she had been thoroughly though + harmlessly insane. We found I should think about one hundred and fifty + boxes: from tiny little ones of pasteboard to large square ones of deal, + full of rows and rows of white quilled ribbon, similar to the piece I had + seen her working at on that last night of her life on earth. Some of the + ribbon was yellow with age, others fresher looking, but in each box was a + folded bit of paper with these words written inside, + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + <i>Pour l'ptite Catherine</i>. +</pre> + <p> + “What money there was, <i>Père Le Jeune</i> must have appropriated for I + saw nothing of any. After the dismal funeral, to which I went, I gathered + my effects together and went to the hotel. The first day I could proceed, + I returned to Montreal and have not visited Bonneroi since. The family of + <i>de la Corne de La Colombière</i> still reside somewhere near Quebec, I + believe. The <i>château</i> is called by the charming name of Port Joli, + and perhaps some day I may feel called upon to tell them of the strange + fate which befell their poor Josephine. Whether the melancholy accident + which partly bereft her of her reason was the result of carelessness I + cannot say but I shall be able, I think, to prove to them that she never + forgot the circumstance, and was to the day of her death occupied in + making ready for the little coffin and shroud of her '<i>p'tite Catherine</i>.' + My sketch of the frost bound Montmorenci was never finished, and indeed my + winter sketching fell through altogether after that unhappy visit to + Bonneroy. I was for weeks haunted by that terrible sight, half ludicrous, + half awful, and I have, now that I am married, a strong dislike to scarlet + in the gowns or head-gear of my wife and daughter.” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0015" id="link2H_4_0015"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + The Story of Etienne Chezy D'Alencourt + </h2> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0007" id="link2HCH0007"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER I. + </h2> + <p> + As my friends know, I was born an Englishman, spending the first + twenty-four years of my life in England. On my twenty-fifth birthday I set + foot on the shore of the great North American Continent, destined for a + time to be my home. Two days afterwards I entered the office set apart for + me in the handsome Government Buildings at Ottawa, and began my duties. A + transfer had recently been effected between the Home and Canadian Civil + Service, and I had been chosen to fill the vacant colonial post. Having no + ties or obligations of any kind I had nothing to lose by the transaction + except the pleasure and advantage of living in England, which, however, + had ceased for one or two reasons to be dear to me. + </p> + <p> + I did not, however, remain very long in the Service. I found it pleasant + work but monotonous, and receiving shortly after I went out a legacy + bequeathed by a widowed aunt I had almost forgotten, determined to leave + it and devote myself to study and travel. Like many Englishmen, I had + taken no trouble to ascertain the real points of interest about me. I had + been content with mastering and getting through my work, and with mingling + out of hours with the small but thoroughly charming set I had found ready + to welcome me on my arrival as the “new Englishman.” On the whole, I was + popular, though one great flaw—<i>i.e.</i>—lack of high birth + and desirable home connections, weighed to an alarming extent with the + dowagers of the Capital. + </p> + <p> + I had, on leaving the Service, made up my mind to study the people of the + Dominion. The English Canadians were easily disposed of in this way; most + of them were Scotch, and the rest appeared to be Irish. I then began on + the Indian population. But this was not so easy. It seemed impossible to + find even a single Indian without going some distance. + </p> + <p> + At last I unearthed one descendant of the Red man who kept a small tavern + in the lower part of the town; a dirty frame tenement almost entirely + hidden by an immense sign hanging outside, having the figure, heroic size + of an Iroquois in full evening dress, feathers, bare legs and tomahawk. + </p> + <p> + This place was known as “Tommy's.” But Tommy himself was only half an + Indian, and swore such bad swears in excellent English, that I was forced + to leave after a minute's inspection. + </p> + <p> + Then I began on the French-Canadians. There were plenty of them. In the + Buildings, on the streets, in the markets, in shops, they were all over. + Some of the most charming people I know were French-Canadians. My landlady + and her husband, quiet, sober devout people, were French-Canadians. + </p> + <p> + What I wanted to find, though, was a genuine unadulterated French-Canadian + of the class known as the <i>habitans</i>. I could recollect many + dark-eyed, fierce-mustached men whom I had seen since my residence in + Canada, and whom I conjectured must have been <i>habitans</i>. Up the + Gatineau and down the St. Lawrence, it would be easy to find whom I + wanted, but I preferred to wait on in town. I had many a disappointment. + One day it would be a cabman, another day a clerk. Though they all <i>looked</i> + French, they invariably turned out to be English or Scotch. My notions of + hair and skin and eyes were being all turned upside down; my favorite + predispositions annulled, my convictions changed to fallacies—in + short I was thoroughly bewildered. I could not find my <i>habitant</i>. At + the same time, when I did find him, he would have to know how to speak + some English, for I could only speak very little French. I read it well of + course, wrote it quite easily, but on essaying conversation was always + seized with that instinctive horror of making a fool of myself, which + besets most Englishmen when they would attempt a foreign language. + Besides, the <i>patois</i> these people spoke was vastly different from + ordinary French, as taught in schools and colleges, and what it might be + like I had not in those days the faintest idea, not having read Rabelais. + </p> + <p> + The worst <i>désillusionnement</i> I suffered I will recount. One day I + noticed an elderly man clad in corduroy trousers, shabby brown velveteen + coat, conical straw hat and dirty blue shirt, lounging about a wharf I + sometimes frequented where, at one time, would lay from thirty to fifty + barges laden with lumber. Bargetown it might have been called; it was a + veritable floating colony of French and Swede, Irish and Scotch, jabbering + and smoking by day and lying quietly at night under the stars, save for + the occasional jig and scrape of the fiddle of some active Milesian. Here, + had I fully known it, was my chance for observation, but I was ignorant at + that time of the ways of these people and did not venture among them. But + the man in the velvet coat interested me. He gesticulated the whole time + most violently, waved his arms about and made great use of his pipe, which + he used to point with. I could not hear what he was saying for his back + was turned to me and the wind carried all he said to the bargemen, as he + wished it to do I suppose. + </p> + <p> + How splendidly that coat becomes him, thought I. The descendant of some + fine old French settler, how superbly he carries himself! + </p> + <p> + The conical becomes on him a cocked hat and in place of ragged fringe and + buttons hanging by a single string, I see the buckles and bows, the sword + and cane of a by-gone age! + </p> + <p> + I made up my mind to address him, when to my disgust he got into one of + the barges, which moved off slowly, transporting him, as I supposed, to + his northern home. + </p> + <p> + The next morning the bell of my front door attracted my attention by + ringing three or four times. Evidently my landlady was out. I sauntered to + the door and found my <i>habitant</i> of the velveteen coat and duty blue + shirt! + </p> + <p> + Gracious heaven! I was overcome! By what occult power had he been driven + here to deliver himself into my hands? Before I could speak, he said: + </p> + <p> + “Av ye plaze, sorr, will yez be having any carrpets to bate? I'm taking + orders against the sphring claning, sorr.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! are you?” said I. I began to feel very sorry for myself, very sorry, + indeed, at this supreme instant. “Do you live near here?” I further + inquired. + </p> + <p> + “Shure and I do, sorr. Jist beyant yez. I pass yez every day in the week. + Me number's 415”—He was about handing me a greasy bit of paper, when + I slammed the door in his face and retired to my own room to meditate on + the strange accent and peculiar calling of this descendant of the “fine + old French settler.” + </p> + <p> + My next choice, however, proved a fortunate one. I got into a street-car + one evening late in the month of March. It was the winter street-car, a + great dark caravan, with a long narrow bench down either side and a mass + of hay all along the middle, with a melancholy lamp at the conductor's + end. Although fairly light outside, it was quite dark inside the caravan, + so the conductor set about lighting the lamp. This is the way he did it. + Opening the door he put his head in, looked all around, shut the door and + stopped his horses. Then he opened the door again and put his head in + again, keeping the door open this time that we might inhale the fresh + March night air. I say we, because when I grew accustomed to the dark, I + saw there was another occupant of the car, a man seated on the opposite + seat a little way down. The conductor felt under the seat for something + which I suppose was the can which, taken presently by him to the corner + grocery before which we had stopped, came back replenished with coal oil. + After he had filled the lamp, he lit in succession three matches, + persistently holding them up so that they all went out one after the + other. He felt in his pockets but he had no more. Then he asked me. I had + none. Then he asked the other man. The other man laughed and replied in + French. I did not understand what he said but saw him supply the conductor + with a couple of matches. When the lamp was finally lighted I looked more + closely at him. He was a working man from his attire: colored shirt, coat + of a curious bronze colour much affected by the Canadian labourer, old fur + cap with ears, and moccasins. At his feet stood a small tin pail with a + cover. His face was pale and singularly well-cut. His hair was black and + very smooth and shiny; a very slight moustache gave character to an + otherwise effeminate countenance and his eyes were blue, very light blue + indeed and mild in their expression. We smiled involuntarily as the + conductor departed. The man was the first to speak: + </p> + <p> + “De conductor not smoke, surely,” he said, showing me his pipe in one + hand. “I always have the matches.” + </p> + <p> + “So do I, as a general thing,”. I rejoined. “One never knows when a match + may be wanted in this country.” I spoke rather surlily, for I had been + getting dreadfully chilled while the conductor was opening and shutting + the door. The man bent forward eagerly, though without a trace of rudeness + in his manner. + </p> + <p> + “You do not live here, eh?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! yes, I do now, but I was thinking of England when I spoke.” + </p> + <p> + “That is far away from here, surely.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! yes,” I sighed. So did the man opposite me. We were silent then for a + few moments when he spoke again. + </p> + <p> + “There is a countree I should like to see and dat is France. I hear, sir, + I hear my mother talk of dat countree, and I tink—I should like to + go there. But that is far away from here, too far away, sure.” + </p> + <p> + My heart leapt up. Here, if ever, must be the man I was in search of. + </p> + <p> + “You are a French-Canadian, I suppose?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Sir, I am dat.” + </p> + <p> + “And where do you live?” said I. + </p> + <p> + “I work in de mill; de largess mill in the Chaudière. You know dat great + water, the fall under the bridge, dat we call the Chaudière.” + </p> + <p> + “I know it well,” said I, “but I have never gone properly over any of the + mills. I should like to go some day very much. Should I see you anywhere + if I went down?” + </p> + <p> + He stared, but gave me the name of his mill. It belonged to one of the + wealthiest lumber kings of the district. I resolved to go down the next + day. + </p> + <p> + “What is your name,” I asked. The man hesitated a minute before he + replied, + </p> + <p> + “Netty.” + </p> + <p> + “Netty!” I repeated “What a curious name! You have another name, I expect. + That must only be a nickname.” + </p> + <p> + “<i>Mais oui Monsieur</i>. My name is much longaire than dat. My whole + name is Etienne Guy Chèzy D'Alencourt, but no man call me dat, specially + in de mill. 'Netty'—dey all know 'Netty.'” + </p> + <p> + It was a long name, truly, and a high-sounding one,—but I preferred + thinking of him by it than by the meaningless soubriquet of “Netty.” At + the next corner he got out, touching his cap to me quite politely as he + passed. + </p> + <p> + I was in high spirits that evening, for I believed I had found my <i>habitant</i>. + I went down to the Chaudière the following day, and got permission to go + over Mr. ——'s mill I found it very interesting, but my mind + was not sufficiently centered on planks and logs and booms to adequately + appreciate them. I wanted “Netty.” After I had made the complete round of + the mill I came upon him hard at work in his place turning off planks in + unfailing order as they whizzed along. The noise was deafening, of bolts + and bars, and saws and chains, with the roar of the great cascade outside. + He saw me and recognized me on my approach, but he could not speak for + some time. It was most monotonous work, I thought. No conversation + allowed, not even possible; the truly demoniacal noise, yet just outside + on the other side of a small window, the open country, the mighty waters + of the ever-boiling “Kettle,” or Chauldron, and the steep spray-washed + cliff. Standing on my toes I could, looking out of Netty's small window, + discover all this. The ice was still in the river, half the fall itself + was frozen stiff, and reared in gabled arches to the sky. I watched the + two scenes alternately until at 6 o'clock the wheels ran down, the belts + slackened and the men knocked off. + </p> + <p> + Netty walked out with me at my request, and learning that he had to return + in an hour I proposed we should have a meal together somewhere and a talk + at the same time. He must have been greatly astonished at a complete + stranger in another walk of life fastening upon him in this manner, but he + gave no hint of either surprise or fear, and maintained the same mild + demeanour I had noticed in him the day before. + </p> + <p> + It was darkening rapidly and I did not know where to go for a meal. Netty + told me he ought to go to St. Patrick St. I knew the locality and did not + think it necessary to go all that way, “unless anybody will be waiting for + you, expecting you.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! not dat I live in a boarding house, my mother—she in the + countree, far from here.” + </p> + <p> + “Then, 'I said,' you can go where you like. Do you know any place near + here where we can get a cup of tea and some eggs? What will do for you, I + daresay, and I hardly want as much.” + </p> + <p> + But he knew of no reliable place and after walking about for a quarter of + an hour we finally went to the refreshment room at the station and ordered + beer and tea and sandwiches. + </p> + <p> + “I daresay you wonder at my bringing you out here with me. You'd get a + better meal perhaps at your boarding-house. But do you know I've taken a + fancy to you and, I want to see a little more of you and learn how you + live, if you will kindly tell me. I am interested in your people, the + French-Canadians.” + </p> + <p> + This sounds very clumsily put and so it did then, but I was obliged to + explain my actions in some way and what is better than the truth? Lies, I + have no doubt to some people, but I was compelled to be truthful to this + man who carried a gentle and open countenance with him. No gentleman could + have answered me more politely than he did now. + </p> + <p> + “Sir I am astonish—<i>oui un peu</i>, but if there is anyting I can + tell you, anyting I can show you I shall be ver glad. The mill—how + do you find dat, Sir? + </p> + <p> + “I like to watch you work very much, but the noise”— + </p> + <p> + Netty laughed, showing his radiant white teeth. + </p> + <p> + “<i>Mais oui</i>, de noise is bad, but one soon custom to dat. I am in de + mill for four year. I come from up in de north—from the Grand + Calumet—do you know there, Sir?” + </p> + <p> + “That is an island is it not? Yes, I know where it is, near Allumette, but + I have never been so far up on the Ottawa. And the Gatineau, that is a + river, is it not? What pretty names these French ones are! Gatineau!” I + repeated thinking. “That comes, I fancy having heard somewhere, from + Demoiselle Marie Josephe Gatineau Duplessis, wife of one of the first + French settlers. By the way your name is a curious one. Say it again.” + </p> + <p> + Netty very gravely repeated, “Etienne Guy Chézy D'Alencourt.” + </p> + <p> + “Was your father a native Canadian?” + </p> + <p> + “<i>Oui Monsieur</i>.” + </p> + <p> + “The name seems familiar to me,” I remarked. “I daresay if you cared to + look the matter up, you might find that your great grandfather was + something or other under the Intendant Bigot or Vaudreuil, or earlier + still under Maisonneuve the gallant founder of Montreal. Ah! how everybody + seems to have forgotten those old days. Even in Canada, you see, there is + something to look back upon.” + </p> + <p> + My companion seemed rather puzzled as I talked in this strain. Very + probably it was over his head. I found he could neither read nor write, + had been reared in the pine-clad and icy fastnesses of Grand Calumet + Island all alone by his mother—an old dame now about seventy. He + himself was about thirty he judged, though he was far from sure. He was a + good Catholic in intention, though very ignorant of all ritual. From his + youth he had been employed on the rafts and lumber-slides of the Ottawa + river until his four years' session at the mill, where he had picked up + the English he knew. He had made no friends he told me. The more I + conversed with him the more I was impressed with his simple and polite + manners, his innate good breeding, and his faith and confidence in the + importance of daily toil and all honest labour. He smoked a little, drank + a little, but never lost his head became obtrusively familiar, noisy or + inquisitive. I felt ashamed to think how deliberately I had sought him + out, to pry into the secrets and facts of his daily life, but solaced + myself into the assurance that it could not at least bode him harm and it + might possibly do him some service. + </p> + <p> + When we returned to the mill, I was astonished at the weirdness of the + scene. The entire premises were flooded with the electric light and the + men were working away, and the saws, belts and bars all in motion as if it + were the middle of the day. What a pandemonium of sound and colour and + motion it was! The strong resinous odor of the pine-wood mingled with the + fresh air blown in from the river, and I inhaled both eagerly. + </p> + <p> + It was almost powerful enough to affect the head, and I fancied I caught + myself reeling a little as I walked out on to the bridge, swaying just the + least bit as the torrent of angry water swept under it I had said “<i>Bonsoir</i>” + to my friend the Frenchman and was free to go home. But I lingered long on + the heaving bridge, though it was cold and starless, and I got quite wet + with the dashed-up spray. + </p> + <p> + Up the river gleamed the icy masses of the frozen fall, beyond that the + northern country of the northern waters stretched away up to the North + Pole with little, if any, human interruption. + </p> + <p> + Down the river on the three superb cliffs, rising high out of the water, + sparkled the many lights in the Gothic windows of the buildings. On either + side were the illuminated mills with their rushing logs and their myriad + busy hands piling, smoothing and sawing the monsters of the forest + helpless under the fetters of leather and steel. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0008" id="link2HCH0008"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER II. + </h2> + <p> + For the events which followed, I hold myself alone and altogether + responsible. Nearly every evening I spent at the Chaudière, either + watching my new friend at his work or lounging on the bridge, and always + finishing the day by walking home with him to his boarding house. Thus I + got to know him very well, and I soon discovered one thing that he was far + from strong. Even a life-long residence among the purifying and + strengthening airs of the keen fresh North had not protected him from the + insidious ravages of that dread complaint—consumption. I fancied the + hereditary taint must be on his father's side, for he always alluded to + his mother as being exceptionally healthy. On Sundays I accompanied him to + Church in the morning at the Basilica; in the afternoons we used to walk + all over the town in various directions. Of course, on all these + excursions, I did most of the talking. He was a good listener, and readily + improved in understanding and appreciation. Noticing that he was + particularly fond of any story connected with the life of the early French + in Canada, I read up all the works I could find on the subject, going + often to the Parliamentary Library for that purpose, and retailing the + more interesting and intelligible facts to him afterwards. Crusoe did not + watch over and educate Friday any more carefully than I my mild and + gentlemanly “Shantyman” in his blue shirt and canvas trowsers. + </p> + <p> + I grew at last, after three months' intimacy with him, quite to love him, + and I am sure my affection was reciprocated for he ever welcomed me with a + strong, clinging pressure of my hand and a smile which was a brighter one + than that which his face had worn when I met him first. A strange + friendship, but one which I felt to be so absorbing that I could not have + endured other friends. April passed, and May, and with the hot weather + Etienne, whose health gave way all at once, would have to return for a + short visit to the old mother all by herself on the island of Grand + Calumet. + </p> + <p> + I feared to let him go, he looked more delicate in my eyes every day, but + I knew it would be good for him in many ways. So a day came that saw my + friend D'Alencourt go back to his northern home. He would not ask me to go + and visit him, he had too much natural pride for that, but I made up my + mind to find him out, for all that. As may be supposed I was like the + traditional fish out of the traditional water for some time after his + departure. + </p> + <p> + I read and amused myself in any way that offered, but cared not to + experiment on any more French-Canadians. + </p> + <p> + In my reading I read for two, and made notes of anything I thought would + interest Etienne. One day I came across the same name as his own, borne by + a certain young soldier, a sprig of the French <i>noblesse</i> who had + followed in the train of Bigot, the dissolute and rapacious Governor of + New France. I meditated long over this. The name was identical—Guy + Chézy D'Alencourt. In the case of my friend the mill-hand there was simply + the addition of Etienne, the first Christian name. Could he possibly be + the descendant of this daring and gallant officer, of whose marriage and + subsequent settling in Canada I could find no mention? The thing seemed + unlikely, yet perfectly possible. I had predicted it myself. As if to + fasten my thoughts even more securely on the absent Etienne that very day + arrived a letter from Grand Calumet. It was addressed to me in a laboured + but most distinct hand. I thought that Etienne had commissioned the priest + doubtless to write for him or some other friend, but when I opened it I + found to my great surprise that it was from Etienne himself and in his own + handwriting, the result he told me of work at home in his Lower Town + boarding-house. + </p> + <p> + I dropped the letter. He had taught himself to, write! This was the first + fruit of my intimacy with him, and I hardly knew whether I was pleased or + not. But I clearly saw that this night-work added to the arduous toil and + late hours imposed upon him by his place in the mill had probably been the + cause of undermining his bodily strength. The letter itself ran: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Dear Sir,—The frend of Etienne D'Alenconrt, he can write you—he + can send you a <i>lettre</i> from the Grand Calumet, his island that + is green, Monsieur, and full of sweet berries. If you would come, + Mossier, you would find Etienne and his mother reddy to do all they + can. Still, Monsieur shall in this please alway himself, the friend + and benefactor of Etienne Chézy D'Alencourt.” + </pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + GRAND CALUMET ISLAND. + + “It was at night, when Monsieur had gone home, that I learnt myself + to write and thank him for all teaching from the books beside.” + + “E.” + </pre> + <p> + Of course, I would accept the invitation. I decided to go in a week's time + and wrote to that effect. I wished to reprimand him for having overtaxed + his strength as I was sure he had done in sitting up teaching himself how + to write, but respect for the dear fellow's perseverance and ability + restrained me. + </p> + <p> + Only when I got him again, I said to myself, I would stop that. I took + with me a gun, fishing rods and tackle, a mosquito net, plenty of cigars + and a hamper of tinned meats, tea, coffee and biscuits. + </p> + <p> + My journey was nearly altogether by water and I enjoyed every inch of the + beautiful river. After I reached the landing stage, a place called + Lichfield, I had to wait an hour before proceeding in the direction which + I had found out it would be necessary to follow in order to find Etienne + and his mother. + </p> + <p> + I shall never forget the delight of that one hour passed in rambling + through the lonely green wood that covered the island down to the shore. + The ferns were young and freshly unfurled, the moss was everywhere, green + and close and soft like velvet and star-clustering, gray and yellow. The + surviving flowers were the large white blossoms of the woodland lily, and + the incoming <i>Linnæa</i> began to show the faint pink of its twin bells, + afterwards to be so sweet and fragrant. + </p> + <p> + I thought of that passage in the letter which told of “the island that was + green and full of sweet berries.” Not a bad description for a person whom + the world must perforce term an illiterate man. + </p> + <p> + When my conveyance arrived, it proved to be a stage of antiquated type and + I suffered horribly during the journey of three hours. At the end of that + time, I was set down with my luggage at the gate of a small log hut, with + a little garden in front, bordered with beautiful pink and green stones, + the like of which I had never seen before. A snake fence ran in front of + this and on two sides, at the back was a thick wood. + </p> + <p> + Etienne was ready for me at which I rejoiced, fearing to make myself known + to the dame his mother. + </p> + <p> + Once more I felt that honest and affectionate hand grasp, once more I met + those clear and steady blue eyes, and I noted the flush of pride which + overspread his face when I told him that I had received his letter and + marvelled at it. + </p> + <p> + “Mossieu know so much and Etienne so ver little.” But when the flush had + died away, I was pained exceedingly to see the pallor of his cheeks and + the prominence of his high cheekbones. His walk was unsteady too, he put + his feet down, I noticed, as if they were light instead of solid supports + for his body, a sure sign of great physical weakness. My worst fears were + realized when I saw on the deal table in the front room, furnished with + home-made rugs drawn from woolen rags dyed all colors and some plain deal + furniture stained brown, a little pile of books. There were two + copy-books, two dictionaries, a small “Histoire de Canada” and some + illustrated magazines. I saw that he could read, too, pretty well, for he + presently drew my attention to a very old book indeed, that lay on a + shelf, a little Roman Catholic missal with tarnished gold clasps and + scarlet edges. + </p> + <p> + “Dat was belong to my fader,” he said, “for many a year; and it was from + his fader he get it.” + </p> + <p> + I looked at it eagerly all over. The fly-leaf bore no inscription, but up + in one corner, in faded red ink, was something that looked like a monogram + with a device underneath. I would have examined it at once but that + Etienne was anxious to read me a little of the Latin which he had picked + out with infinite patience, I should think. I promised to help him a + little occasionally, but told him that he was not looking well and had + better be content with ignorance in this lovely summer weather. + </p> + <p> + “When the winter comes and you are back at the mill, you can study as much + as you like.” + </p> + <p> + The old dame was sallow and sunken from a life of incessant hard work. The + climate itself, so changeable as well as inclement in these northern + wilds, is enough to pinch the face and freeze the blood, although at the + time of my visit it was hot, intensely hot for so early in the summer. + Moreover, the old dame was not given to talking. So taciturn a Frenchwoman + I never met elsewhere. They are usually characterized by a vivacious + loquacity which is the seal of their nationality. But this one was silent + in the extreme and had, as her son told me, never once held a conversation + with him on any subject whatever. Of his father he knew literally only + this fact—that he had been a “shantyman” in his time too, and was + killed by a strained rope striking him across the middle. Etienne did not + remember him. The time sped on. They made me as comfortable as they could + in the front or “best” room, but, when I thought it would not offend them, + I slept outside—“<i>couchant à la belle etoile</i>” as Rousseau has + it—and beautiful nights those were I spent in this manner. We had + plenty of fruit—wild strawberries and raspberries—pork and + beans and potatoes forming the staple articles of diet. There was no cow, + no horse, no dog belonging to the house. Fish we could get ourselves in + plenty, and eggs made their appearance in a farmer's wagon about twice a + week. Etienne and I spent entire days out-of-doors, shooting, fishing, + walking, reading. I tried to take his mind off his books, but it was of no + use. He had got so attached to his studies and new pursuits in life that + one day he startled me by asserting that he did not intend to go back to + the mill in future. I remonstrated gently with him, reminding him that as + yet his education was very incomplete, that few situations of the kind he + probably aspired to would be open to him for some time to come, and that + in the meantime he must suffer from want of money, and thus be the cause + of seeing his mother suffer as well. But he startled me further in reply + by stating that he knew himself to be slowly dying of consumption and that + he would shortly be of little use to anyone. His wish was to leave Canada + altogether and die in—France! France, the country of his dreams, the + goal of his dying ambition, the land of the golden <i>fleur de lis</i>, of + the chivalrous soldiers, the holy women and the pious fathers who + colonized the land of his birth! + </p> + <p> + I remonstrated with him as I have said. I expostulated in every key; I + took his mother into my confidence as well as I could since she knew not a + word of English; I laughed at him, I wept over him, I endeavoured by every + argument in my power to make him change my mind, but— + </p> + <p> + I failed. Then when I understood how firmly his mind was set upon this + extraordinary idea, I made up my mind to accompany him, in fact, not to + leave him at all until he either grew wiser and stronger, or else died the + death he predicted for himself. I found that the old dame had quite a + store of money saved by her little by little every year from Etienne's + earnings, and from what she made by selling the rugs I mentioned. These + sold for a dollar and upwards according to the size. Putting some of my + own to this fund of hers, I calculated she had enough to go upon for at + least a year. Wants are few in that district. Then I turned my attention + to Etienne. He was growing worse; he would lie for hours reading or + attempting to read with great beads of perspiration mounting on his brow. + The heat was excessive and proved very bad for him. I judged he would be + better in town and after I had been on the island for about two months, I + begged him to return with me. I promised him that once there, I would not + leave him for a day, and would even consider the possibility of taking him + across the ocean. He still maintained his calm and perfect manners and + insisted upon paying his fare down the river which I let him do, knowing + that soon his stock of money would be exhausted and he would then be at my + mercy. No sign of cupidity was apparent in his demeanor, yet I wondered + how he ever thought to reach France unless I paid his way. Like all + consumptives, he had a trick of rallying now and then and appearing better + than he really was. This occurred on our arrival in town. He took long + walks with me again daily and seemed so much stronger that I again dared + to suggest the propriety of his returning to the mill, but to no purpose. + He drooped at the very thought, and I perceived that his apparent recovery + was but a delusion, I soon saw he was weaker than ever. But whenever he + was at all able, he persisted in reading what he could understand and + really his progress was a marvel to me. So it came about that one evening, + towards the close of September where we had sometimes to light the lamp as + early as half-past six, I returned to my rooms about that hour of the day + (we shared rooms together, so fond had I grown of him, and I trust, he of + me) to find him poring over the little Catholic Missal. + </p> + <p> + “In this light? This will never do. And you could not light the lamp + yourself, my poor Etienne!” + </p> + <p> + When it was lighted, I saw indeed from his weak and excited appearance + that he was unable to do anything for himself. Lying on my sofa, he had in + one hand the scarlet-edged missal, and in the other the book I have + referred to, which contained a short sketch of Guy Chézy D'Alencourt the + handsome and reckless lieutenant of <i>La Nouvelle France</i>. + </p> + <p> + He could hardly speak but through his gasping I could gather that he + wished me to examine the words in the corner of fly-leaf I had once + noticed before and believed to be a monogram. I quieted him a little, then + bringing the lamp-light to bear upon the faded ink, I was able to decipher + the device, which comprised a crown, three <i>fleurs-de-lis</i> under, and + a lamb bearing a banner, with the letters I.H.S. upon it. + </p> + <p> + “The arms of Rouen!” I exclaimed “and above them, some initials, yes, a + monogram!” + </p> + <p> + My companion sat up in his excitement. + </p> + <p> + “Ah! dat is what I cannot make quite out! Tree letter—<i>oui, vite, + cher mosdieu, vite</i>!” + </p> + <p> + I had to look very closely indeed to decipher these, but with the aid of a + small lens I found them to be “G. C. D'A.” + </p> + <p> + There could be little doubt but that Etienne was the lineal descendant of + Guy Chézy D'Alencourt, native of Rouen, who came to Canada in the same + year as Bigot. I told him so and wondered what his thoughts could be, for + clasping my hands with as much force as he possessed—and that is at + times a wonderful force in the clasp of the dying—he said with a + great effort: + </p> + <p> + “If dat is so, <i>mossieu</i>, if dat is so, I have <i>O le bon Dieu</i>—I + have—<i>mossieu</i>, I have—O if dat is true”— + </p> + <p> + He fell back and I caught no more. The excitement proved too much for my + poor friend. When I spoke to him, he was unconscious and he never fully + recovered his senses. Alas! he lay in a few weeks, beneath the sod of + Grand Calumet Island, and France is ignorant of the fact that a true + aristocrat and simple-hearted gentleman existed in the humble person of my + friend the <i>habitant</i>, Etienne Guy Chézy D'Alencourt, <i>alias</i> + “Netty.” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0018" id="link2H_4_0018"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Descendez a L'Ombre, ma Jolie Blonde. + </h2> + <p> + The Honourable Bovyne Vaxine Vyrus refused to be vaccinated. Stoutly, + firmly and persistently refused to be vaccinated. Not even the temptation + of exposing to the admiring gaze of a medical man the superb muscles and + colossal proportions of an arm which had beaten Grace and thrashed + (literally) Villiers of the Guards, weighed with him. + </p> + <p> + “It's deuced cool!” he said, to his cousin Clarges, of Clarges St. + Mayfair, a fair, slight fellow, with a tiny yellow moustache. “Haven't I + been six times to India, and twice to Africa; that filthy Algiers, you + remember, and Turkey, and New Orleans, and Lisbon, and Naples? and now, + when I was done only eight years ago at home, here I am to be done again, + where, I am sure, it all looks clean enough and healthy! It makes me ill, + and I <i>won't</i> be done; laid up for a week and lose all the fun I came + for!” + </p> + <p> + “Bovey, though you <i>are</i> the strongest fellow in England, you're no + less a coward!” + </p> + <p> + Young Clarges looked up as he spoke, seriously: “<i>I</i> shall be done!” + </p> + <p> + “You? Well, so I should expect from a baby like you, Arthur! You will + never grow up, never learn to think for yourself! Now let me alone on the + subject, and let us look up this country place we were told about!” But + Clarges was not easily silenced. + </p> + <p> + “Think of Lady Violet, Bovey! If anything were to happen to you out here, + and the children, Bovey,—Rex and Florence, you know!” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! cut it, now, Arthur; I tell you it's of no use!” + </p> + <p> + Young Clarges looked out across the river, and bit the tiny yellow + moustache. “Then I won't be done, either!” said he to himself. “It's borne + in upon me that one of us has got to get this accursed thing, and if I can + prevent it, it shan't be Bovey!” What a strange scene it was beneath, + around, above and opposite them! Beneath flowed the river, solid with + sawdust, the yellow accumulation of which sent up a strong resinous smell + that almost made them giddy; to the left the tumultuous foam of the + Chaudière cast a delicate veil of spray over the sharp outlines of the + bridge traced against a yellow sky; to the right, the water stretched away + in a dull gray expanse, bordered by grim pines and flat sterile country. + Around them the three mighty cliffs on which the Capital is built, above + them the cold gray of an autumnal sky, and opposite them the long + undulations of purplish brown hills that break the monotony of the view, + and beyond which stretch away to an untrodden north the wastes and forests + of an uncleared continent. + </p> + <p> + “Are we looking due north, now, Arthur, do you know?” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose so,” returned Clarges. He was astride a cannon and still biting + the tiny moustache. “Yes, by the direction of the sunset we must be, I + suppose. I say, if we are, you know, I should like to be able to tell + between what two trees—it would have to be between two of those + trees there—we should have to walk to get to the North Pole.” + </p> + <p> + The Hon. Bovyne looked around suddenly and laughed. He was fishing + apparently in his pockets for a paper or something of the kind, as he had + a number of letters in his hand, looking them over. + </p> + <p> + “What two trees? Where? Arthur, you <i>are</i> a donkey. What are you + talking about?” + </p> + <p> + “I say,” returned Clarges, “that it is perfectly true that as we sit here, + facing due north, all we have to do is to walk straight over this river—” + </p> + <p> + “On the sawdust?” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly, over those hills and between two of those trees in order to + get to the North Pole. Curious, isn't it? If you look awfully close, real + hard, you know, you can almost count their branches as they stand up + against the sky. Like little feathers—huff-f-f-f—one could + almost blow them away!” + </p> + <p> + The Honorable Bovyne laughed again. Clarges was a mystery to him, as to + many others. Half-witted he sometimes called him, though on other + occasions he stood in awe of his bright, candid, fearless nature, and his + truthful and reckless tongue. + </p> + <p> + “I say,” went on Clarges excitedly, shading his eyes with his hand. “There + are two trees out there in a straight line from this very cannon that—that + I should know again, Bovey! Do look where I point now like a good fellow. + Don't you see there, following the chimney of that big red place, factory + or other, right in a line with that at the very top of the hill at its + highest point, two trees that stand a little apart from the others and + have such funny branches—Oh! you must be able to see them by those + queer branches! One crooks out on one side just as the other does on the + other tree. That isn't very lucid, but you see what I mean can't you? They + make a sort of—of—lyre shape.” + </p> + <p> + The Hon. Bovyne shaded his eyes with his hand and looked out over the + river and distant hills. “I see a line of trees, feathery trees, you aptly + call them my dear Arthur, but I can't make out your particular two. How is + it possible, at such a distance, to see anything like a <i>lyre</i> of all + things? Come along, I've found the address I wanted. It reads most + peculiarly. It seems there are still a great number of French people + around here, in fact, all over this Province which they sometimes call + Lower Canada. Do you remember much of your French?” I spoke a lot in + Algiers of course but I fancy it isn't much like this jargon. Our + destination is or appears to be, <i>c/o Veuve Peter Ross, Les Chats</i>, + pronounced <i>Lachatte</i>, so Simpson told me. + </p> + <p> + “Who told you about the place?” enquired young Clarges getting off the + cannon? “Simpson? What sort of a fellow is he?” + </p> + <p> + “Who? Simpson?” said his cousin in turn. “Um—not bad. Been out here + too long, though. Awfully quiet, goes in for steady work and takes hardly + any exercise. I wonder why it is the fellows here don't walk more! New + country and all that; I should have thought they would all go in for + country walks and shooting and sports of all kinds. They don't, you know, + from some reason or other. It can't be the fault of the country.” + </p> + <p> + “You forget the roads, Bovey, and the fences, and the interminable + distances and the immense rivers, and the long winter. I say, it looks + like snow to-night, doesn't it?” + </p> + <p> + “What do you know about snow!” rejoined the Hon. Bovyne. “Let us get on, + there's a good fellow—confound you! don't stare at those imaginary + trees any longer, but come along.” + </p> + <p> + Certainly young Clarges was possessed with the queerest fancy about those + trees. “I say, Bovey, they were funny, though, to strike me like that, out + of all the others! I am sure I should know them again. Perhaps some day + we'll take a fly and go out there—I wonder if there's an inn? Does + what's her name, your old Scotch lady, keep an inn, or is it a farm we're + going to?” + </p> + <p> + “Scotch? Why do you say Scotch? She's French, I tell you. Simpson says she + can't speak a word of English.” + </p> + <p> + “But 'Peter Ross' is Scotch, isn't it? At least you can't make it French, + however you twist it.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm not anxious to twist it. Don't you see, Arthur, she is evidently a + Frenchwoman who married a man called Peter Ross; she is the <i>veuve</i>, + widow, you know! of the lamented Scotchman. Now do you understand? But it + <i>is</i> peculiar.” + </p> + <p> + “Very,” said Clarges. “When do we start?” + </p> + <p> + “There's a train to-morrow morning at eight o'clock, but I thought we had + better hire a trap, and a man to bring the trap back, and put all our + things, tents and so on, into it, and go out comfortably so as to see the + country.” + </p> + <p> + “All right!” said Clarges. “By Jove, what a splendid night it's going to + be, stars out already, Bovey! Don't you hope it'll be like this tomorrow? + Shall we camp out the first night and think of—of—Lady Violet + by our camp fire, and Rex and Florence—how they'd like to see us, + wouldn't they? And they can't, you know, they're three thousand miles + away, trying to make out each other's faces in the November fog, eh! + Bovey? I say, what shall we get to eat out there, at Lachatte, you know, + the country always makes me desperately hungry.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! we shall do well enough. Simpson says she is a capital old woman, + lives entirely alone; will cook for us, wait on us, make us pancakes, I + expect, and give us plenty of that stuff we had this morning at the + hotel.” + </p> + <p> + “Sweet stuff?” asked Clarges. “<i>I</i> know. Syrup, maple syrup, that'll + do.” + </p> + <p> + Simpson, the authority, thrice quoted by the elder of the two Englishmen, + appeared at dinner with them that evening. He was a hard-working, stodgy + son of person who had come out to the Canadian Civil Service fifteen + years, ago, lived much by himself until he took a wife out of a Canadian + village, a phlegmatic, stolid, unimaginative sort of a girl, who was + nevertheless a good wife and an excellent housekeeper. Simpson sniffed at + the dinner. It wasn't as good as his own. He felt ill at ease in the + presence of the two men, whose airy talk and loud laughter struck him with + a keen sense of its novelty. They joked about everything. Clarges + particularly was in high feather. The wine, which came partly from the + hotel and partly from the Hon. Bovyne's hamper, flowed often and freely, + and Simpson, who was a very moderate fellow, wondered at the quantity his + friends seemed to be able to imbibe. “Without showing any traces of it, + either,” he said to himself. “All this vivacity is natural; I remember the + type; in fact, I was something like it myself ten or twelve years ago.” + </p> + <p> + After dinner, Clarges rushed up stairs and down again with a small silk + plush packet of photographs tied with ribbons. The men were in the smoking + room. + </p> + <p> + “I say, I want Simpson to see Lady Violet, Bovey.” + </p> + <p> + “All right, and the children too? You sentimental ass, Arthur!” Clarges + laughed. It was a funny laugh, a kind of inane ripple that nevertheless + tickled everybody who heard it. “But it's too smoky here. Come up stairs + to the drawing room. There's a jolly big drawing room with a piano, and we + can say what we want to, everyone stares here so!” + </p> + <p> + “I should think they would,” said Simpson quietly. “Why do you get + yourself up like that, simply because you're in Canada? A knitted + waistcoat, three sizes too large for you—” + </p> + <p> + “That's to admit of heavy underclothing,” said Clarges, not in the least + perturbed. “Knickerbockers,” continued Simpson, “that are certainly one + size too small; a cap that looks like a hangman's, and a coat that must + have come off Praed St.” + </p> + <p> + The Hon. Bovyne laughed long and loud. “Oh, Arthur, Arthur!” he said. But + young Clarges did not mind in the least. Indeed, had he but known it, and + be it remembered to his merit that he did not know it, he made a fair and + manly picture as he stood under the light of the chandelier. His slim, + well-knit figure was more prepossessing than the herculean proportions of + his cousin, “the strongest man in England;” his crisp fair hair brushed + boyishly up on one side and his well-trimmed moustache of silky yellow, + his keen gray eyes and delicate features, all went far in point of + attractiveness, especially when added to these mere physical details, rang + the infectious laugh, clear, hearty and youthful, and spoke the natural, + honest, unrestrained tongue. + </p> + <p> + In the drawing room Clarges established himself on a sofa between the + other two. “Now, Simpson,” he said, “you must excuse me calling you + Simpson so freely, by the way, but you know, Bovey always calls you + Simpson—you don't mind, do you? You bang away at my clothing all you + like, and in return I'll call you Simpson. Now I'm going to show you Lady + Violet. You know who she is, she is Bovey's wife, <i>and</i> the loveliest + woman in England. Loveliest woman in England, look at that!” Clarges held + up very carefully, out at arm's length, a very fine photograph of an + undeniably beautiful woman. “Bovey's wife.” he ejaculated again. “You + never saw her, so you don't know what beauty is, do you? But here's the + next best thing, her photograph, and such a photograph! Now, you be good, + as we say to the children, and I'll show you that again after all the + others.” Next he showed him in a sort of ecstasy, Bovey's children. + </p> + <p> + “Rex and Florence,” he said, in an awe-struck tone. Bovey laughed, so did + Simpson. So would anybody have done. + </p> + <p> + “What are you laughing at,” said young Clarges, solemnly. “Oh, at me! + that's all right, everybody laughs at me. I knew it couldn't be the + children. Now here's another lovely girl,” and then there was another and + still another, and then a group in hunting attire just after the + breakfast; then pretty interiors with dainty rooms and women and children + and dogs, a capital likeness of Fred Burnaby, Vyrus' fellow-officer, + autographs of Gordon and Wolseley, a garden party at Clarges Mount, a + water-party at Richmond, photograph's and sketches taken in Algiers, + Cairo, Damascus, Bombay and Edinburgh. Simpson sat through all this + slightly bored and confused. What had he to do with this kind of life? + Once he had had some gleams of it, it is true, but that was years ago, + before his modest little establishment was in existence, presided over by + the plain, but virtuous Matilda of his later days. + </p> + <p> + “Well, now,” said he, preparing to take his leave, “is there anything + further you want to know about your plans, for I suppose I shall scarcely + see you again before you leave if you get off tomorrow morning as you + intend. One thing—of course you've been vaccinated?” + </p> + <p> + The Hon. Bovyne muttered, “bah!” Clarges began putting the photographs + away, all but Lady Violet. + </p> + <p> + “Then you haven't been done, eh?” said Simpson, interrogatively. “I would + if I were you. You can't tell where you're going or whom you'll meet. Why, + you can 'do' yourself if you object to a medical man fussing around.” + </p> + <p> + “Can you?” said Clarges. + </p> + <p> + “I don't object,” said Bovey, loftily; “but I must say I think it is + making a ridiculous and most unnecessary fuss about the matter. Why, there + are half a dozen diseases as virulent as the small-pox stalking about in + every large town, and we don't take those! Why should we take the + small-pox when we don't take the cholera, or the—the—” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” observed Simpson, in his quiet manner, “I thought you would stick + for want of details. The fact is, that you can inoculate for small-pox, + and you can't as yet, for cholera or leprosy, and so wise people accept + the fact, the revelation if you will, and get vaccinated. However, as far + as your immediate surroundings go, you're safe enough. Old Mrs. Ross will + do all she can for you, and it isn't far, only twenty two miles from town + after all. You'll be walking in in a day or two for another tent or a + barrel of whiskey. Nothing like whiskey, Canadian whiskey, out in camp on + cold nights.” Simpson got up. + </p> + <p> + “I wonder,” said he, suddenly, “how you escaped being done on the train. + You came up from Quebec <i>via</i> St. Martin's Junction, didn't you?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! your importunate Inspector did make an effort on my behalf, but I was + firm. Nearly had a lodging in the Police Station though, but I told him + who we were and swore to having marks the size of flat-irons on both arms, + so he let me go.” + </p> + <p> + “And you,” said Simpson, turning to Clarges. “Me! oh! I shall be done. I + say, couldn't I walk out with you now and see a doctor about it? I believe + I will, Bovey, if you can spare me. For look you, Simpson, I am the + plaything of his leisure hours, a kind of Yorick, you know, and he might + be dull.” + </p> + <p> + The Hon. Bovyne looked grave for a second, “I believe I <i>should</i> be + dull without you, dear boy, though you are a crank. Let me see, how old + are you, Arthur?” + </p> + <p> + “Twenty-two,” answered Clarges. “Good heaven!” exclaimed the Hon. Bovine, + “and I am getting perilously near to forty. We'll change the subject. I'm + very sleepy. Don't expect to find me up when you come in, Arthur; + to-morrow night, remember, we may be sleeping on the cold ground, I shall + get all the rest I can to-night.” Clarges and the other man took their + leave. + </p> + <p> + “Once more, Bovey,” said the former, “won't you be done? Simpson, make + him! See here, look once more at Lady Violet, speak with <i>her</i> lips, + look with <i>her</i> eyes—the loveliest woman in England!” + </p> + <p> + “Go and get 'done,' as you call it, for heaven's sake, and let me alone!” + was all he got in reply. + </p> + <p> + But Clarges did not get done. He had an idea and this was his idea: To + walk to some doctor recommended by Simpson and procure an instrument + suitable for the purpose, and the necessary material, and to vaccinate his + cousin himself. The first part was easy enough. Simpson vaguely wondering + at his light-hearted talk, left him at a doctor's surgery door, and + Clarges, who could always get what he wanted from anybody in any part of + the world, soon persuaded the doctor to give him a “point” and all + necessary instructions. + </p> + <p> + “A small lancet is really a better thing,” said that gentleman, “but you + will manage all right, I daresay. We must really take every precaution we + can. Good evening.” + </p> + <p> + All this was easy; now arose the difficulty, how best to tackle Bovey. + </p> + <p> + “He's such a giant of a fellow,” thought Clarges. “But if he is only + asleep as he hinted he would be, there'll not be much difficulty. What + will he do when he finds it out in the morning, supposing I am successful + in operating upon him to-night? What a suggestive word! I am quite the + surgeon. But I'll do it—Arthur Clarges, see that you <i>do</i> do + it, by all you hold dear and sacred in old England!” + </p> + <p> + On his return, however, to the hotel, he found that his cousin was clearly + wide-awake again. + </p> + <p> + “Hang it all!” he said to himself, “why isn't he asleep?” But the Hon. + Bovyne was not in the least sleepy. He rallied Arthur on his poor arm but + fortunately did not ask to look at it. He ordered up a sherry cobbler + apiece and brought out some of his rarest weeds. “I say, what do you think + of Simpson, Bovey?” said Clarges, suddenly. + </p> + <p> + “Think? why, that there's nothing in him to think about.” + </p> + <p> + “Did you know he was married?” + </p> + <p> + “No; is he?” Bovey was always laconic. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, and he has four children. Just think, four! Two boys and two girls.” + </p> + <p> + “How interesting!” The two men smoked silently for a few minutes, then + Clarges said, “It must be a beautiful thing to be married, you know.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I <i>ought</i> to know,” returned his cousin. + </p> + <p> + Clarges put his cigar down and went on. “To have somebody that belongs to + you, and to know that you belong to somebody; that's marriage, and I think + it must be very beautiful. Of course, you belong to other people too, just + the same, and they belong to you, but not so much, not in the same way. + You don't go to church all in a tremble with your father and your mother, + or your sister or your brother. You don't wear a ring—a beautiful, + great broad band of gold, you know, always shining there on your finger—or + you don't put one on for anybody else save just the person that belongs to + you in that way, in the way of marriage, you know. And to be able to think + wherever you are, 'Well, there is that person, anyway, thinking of me, + waiting for me; the whole world doesn't matter if that person is really + there, anywhere, thinking of me, waiting for me.' Now, you know, <i>I'll</i> + never feel that, never, in this world. What good is there in me? I may be + Arthur Clarges, of Clarges, of course, but without money, that means + nothing. I say, Bovey, it's rather ghastly, but it's perfectly true. I + haven't a single soul in the world but you and Lady Violet to think of me + at all, or for me to think of.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't suppose you have,” said the Hon. Bovyne, thoughtfully. “You are a + lone beggar, Arthur, but a cheery one nevertheless.” + </p> + <p> + “So you see,” Clarges went on, “If in accompanying you around the world in + search of new pleasures and exciting experiences, anything happens to me, + you know, Arthur Clarges, of Clarges, nobody need mind. There isn't + anybody to mind.” + </p> + <p> + “All this because Simpson has got four children! Well, I hope you'll get + married yet, Arthur, you queer fish, and have six, two more than Simpson. + I know what you are driving at, however. You think me a selfish brute. You + can't understand how I can leave Lady Vi., and the two kids, and go off + annually on tours of exploration and so forth. I tell you, I am the better + for it, and she is the better for it, and nobody is any the worst for it, + unless it be yourself. Men who have knocked about as I have done, will + continue to knock about as long as they live. In the army, out of the + army, all the same. Lady Vi. understands me, and I her, and you forget, + Arthur, that you are very—young.” + </p> + <p> + “Then may I never get any older,” said Charles, almost rudely. + </p> + <p> + Not long afterwards his cousin, slightly heavy with wine, went to bed. + Clarges, abnormally wakeful, tried to read <i>Bell's Life</i> which lay + before him and waited until Bovey was fast asleep. They occupied the same + room, a large double-bedded one, which opened into a bathroom and parlour + <i>en suite</i>. When he was perfectly certain that his cousin was sound + asleep, so sound that “a good yelp from the county pack, and a stirring + chorus of 'John Peel' by forty in pink could not wake him,” thought + Clarges, the latter undertook his delicate task and accomplished it. He + did it quickly and skilfully with a tiny lancet he found in his cousin's + well-appointed travelling bag. Bovey never stirred. Clarges next undertook + to “do” himself. Then a strange thing happened. He had gone to the glass + and bared his left arm when a sudden faintness overcame him. He tried to + shake it off and sat down. Presently it left him and he felt quite as + usual. Then he made a second attempt. The same thing occurred again. This + time it was worse, and sight and strength failing, he sank on his own bed, + fainting. By a tremendous effort he prevented entire unconsciousness from + taking place and lay there half dressed and tremulous. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I <i>am a fool</i>! I can't help it. I can't try any more to-night, + for I am as weak and sleepy—if I can get up and undress it's as much + as I am capable of. But Bovey's all right. There's Lady Violet”—turning + his eyes to the photograph he had stuck in the looking glass frame—“she'd + thank me if she knew.” Sweet Lady Vi—so good to all around her—so + good to me—dear Lady Vi, the loveliest woman in England! + </p> + <p> + When Clarges awoke he was chilled and dazed, couldn't remember where he + was and what he had done. When he did recollect, he rose quietly, + extinguished the gas and made the room as dark as possible, in hopes that + Bovey might outsleep himself in the morning. Then he went to bed properly, + putting as a final precaution, his watch an hour in advance. It thus + happened that by Clarges' watch it was a quarter past ten when he awoke. + He rose first and bullied his cousin to that extent that the latter + tumbled out of bed and flung on his clothes without indulging in his usual + bath. At eleven the trap was due and Bovey was all on fire, bundled his + things around recklessly and swore a little at Clarges for keeping him up + the night before. Clarges was nervous, but up to the present time was + master of the situation. At breakfast, Bovey discovered the mistake, but + attributed it to Clarges' carelessness in such matters aggravated by a + probable bad arm. + </p> + <p> + “Why I took your watch for an authority instead of my own, I don't know,” + said he. “But last night I thought you were the clearer of the two, in + fact, I don't recollect winding mine at all, and it seems now that <i>you</i> + were the delinquent.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I must have been,” said Clarges, self-reproachfully. + </p> + <p> + At eleven the trap came, and by noon they were half-way to their + destination. The road winding higher and higher as it followed the + magnificent curves of the Gatineau was very beautiful, and revealed at + each turn a superb panorama of water, and wood and sky. For a long time + the Buildings were visible, towering over trees and valleys. Once the sun + came out and lit up the cold, gray scene. + </p> + <p> + “Pull up, Johnny,” said the Hon. Bovyne, “I want to see this. Why, its + immense, this is! Arthur, how's your arm?” + </p> + <p> + But Clarges was evidently struck with something. “I say, over there, is + where we were yesterday, Bovey, I can imagine I see the very spot, cannon + and all.” + </p> + <p> + “Just as then you imagined you saw a couple of trees here, eh? Now go + along, Johnny, and sit down, Arthur. It doesn't agree with you to be + vaccinated. I'm afraid you're too imaginative already my boy. By the way, + how <i>is</i> your arm?” + </p> + <p> + “Its a novel situation,” thought Clarges. “<i>He's</i> the one, not me. + Its <i>his</i> arm, not mine. But my turn will come to-night; pretty soon + he'll find it out for himself.” + </p> + <p> + Arrived at the house of <i>Veuve</i> Peter Ross, they found it clean and + inviting; warmed by a wood stove and carpeted with home-made rugs. The old + woman took a great interest in their arrival and belongings and jabbered + away incessantly, in French. Did they but request her to “cherchez un + autre blankette!” or fry an additional egg, up went her hands, her eyes + and her shoulders, and such a tirade of excited French was visited upon + them that they soon forebore asking her for anything but went about + helping themselves. At first they thought she was angry when these + outbreaks took place, but Bovey, who could partially understand her, + gathered that she was far from offended, but given over to the national + habit of delivering eloquent and theatrical monologues on the slightest + provocation. She had no lodgers at the present moment; a Frenchman had + left the day before, and the prospect was in every way favorable, to the + comfort of the two friends. + </p> + <p> + When the dusk fell, Bovey made a camp-fire. + </p> + <p> + “It's what we came for,” he said, “and we can't begin too early or have + enough of it, and I feel chilly, queer, quite unlike myself to-night. It's + a depressing country just about here.” + </p> + <p> + “It is,” said Clarges, anxious to keep his friend a little longer in the + dark. “We'll be all right when it's really night, you know, and the fire + blazes up. What a jolly tent and what glorious blankets? We ought to go to + bed early, for it was awfully late the last night There! now its getting + better. Hoop-la! more sticks Bovey! Throw them on, make it blaze up. Here + we are in the primeval forest at last, Bovey, pines and moss, and shadows + and sounds—What's that now? Is that on the river?” + </p> + <p> + For suddenly they heard the most wonderful strain coming from that + direction. The river was about three or four hundred yards away across the + road, in front of them, and upon a raft slowly passing by were a couple of + <i>habitans</i> singing. What strain was this, so weird, so solemn, so + earnest, yet so pathetic, so sweet, so melodious! + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Descendez à l'ombre + Ma jolie blonde.” + </pre> + <p> + Those were the words they caught, no more, but the tune eluded them. + </p> + <p> + “It's the queerest tune I ever heard!” ejaculated Clarges. He had a + smattering of music, and not a bad ear. + </p> + <p> + “Can't get it for the life of me. It's like—I tell you what it's + like Bovey, its got the same—you know—the same intervals—that's + the word—that the priests chant in! And then, just when you're + thinking it has, off it goes into something like opera bouffe or those + French rounds our nurse used to sing. But isn't it pretty? I say—where's + Lady Violet now, Bovey, eh? Don't you wish she could see us, see you + there, quite the pioneer, looking like Queen Elizabeth's giant porter in + this queer light? and how she would catch up that tune and bring it out on + the piano, and make ever so much more of it with her clever fingers, first + like a battle-cry, men marching and marching you know, and then put in a + wonderful chord that would make us all creep and sigh as she would glide + into the loveliest nocturne, you know—I say, what a nocturne we're + having, eh! Do you think it's any livelier now?” + </p> + <p> + “My boy,” said the Hon. Bovyne, solemnly, “You are right, it is a nocturne + and a wonderful one. I'm not given to expressing myself poetically as you + know, so I shall content myself with saying that its immense, and now will + you pass the whiskey? I certainly feel shaky to-night, but I shall sleep + out here all the same. What are you going to do?” + </p> + <p> + “I prefer to try the house, I think,” answered Clarges, and so he did. + When he was going to bed, heartily grateful that his cousin was as yet + ignorant of his interference, he looked long and earnestly from his one + window in the roof at the scene outside before he attempted again the + process of self-vaccination. He could see the mighty flames of Bovey's + camp-fire, a first-class fire, well planned and well plied. He could see + the pale outline of the tent and the dark figure of his cousin wrapped in + rugs and blankets by the side of the fire. He could see the tall pines and + the little firs, the glistening line of river and the circles of gleaming + white stones that marked the garden beds in front. The first snow of the + year was just beginning to fall in tiny flakelets that melted as soon as + they touched the ground. + </p> + <p> + “When they're all covered with snow, it must be pretty,” thought Clarges. + “Like all the Christmas trees in the world put together! The winter is + beginning, the long cold, constant Canadian winter we have heard so much + about. Good-bye, dear Lady Violet, good-bye, dear old England!” Clarges + sat on the side of the bed with his arm ready. But the faintness came + again, this time with a sickening thrill of frightful pain and + apprehension, and he rolled over in a deathly swoon with his own words + ringing in his ears. + </p> + <p> + When the morning broke, it broke in bright sunshine and with an inch or so + of snow on the ground. The Hon. Bovyne, though feeling unaccountably ill + and irritable, was delighted. + </p> + <p> + “Still I fear we are too late in the season for much camping,” he said, “I + must see Arthur about it.” + </p> + <p> + He waited till ten, eleven, half-past eleven. No Arthur, not even the old + woman about. He wondered very much. He approached the house, and finding + nobody coming at his knock, opened the door and went in. Something wrong. + He knew that at once. The air was stifling, horrible, with an unknown + quantity in it, it seemed to him. He threw open the front room door. <i>Veuve</i> + Peter Ross was in her bed, ill, and of small-pox. He could tell her that, + for certain. He rushed up-stairs and found Clarges on his bed, raving, + delirious. + </p> + <p> + What was it he heard? + </p> + <p> + “Bovey's all right! Bovey's all right?” This was all, repeated over and + over. + </p> + <p> + The Hon. Bovyne was neither a fool nor a coward. He tore off his coat and + looked at his arm, then he dragged his cousin out of the room, down the + stairs and out of the fatal house. Propping him up against a sturdy pine + and covering him with all available warm clothing, he sped like wind to + the nearest house. But neither the swift, keen self-reproaches of Bovey, + nor the skill of the best physician to be found in the town, nor the pure, + fresh pine-scented air, nor the yearning perchance of a dead yet present + mother could prevail. The young life went out in delirium and in agony, + but “thank God,” thought Bovey, “in complete unconsciousness.” + </p> + <p> + When he set about removing his tent and other camping apparatus some time + later, he was suddenly struck with the appearance of the tree against + which poor Clarges had been propped. He looked again and again. “I must be + dreaming,” said the Hon. Bovyne. “That tree—oh! its impossible—nevertheless, + that tree has its counterpart in the one opposite it, and both have + extraordinary branches! They bend upward, making a kind of—of—what + was it Arthur saw in those imaginary trees of his only—<i>yesterday</i>—my + God—it is true—a kind of lyre shape! There it is, and the more + I look at it the clearer it grows, and to think he has <i>died</i> there—!! + And beneath there he is buried, and the raftsmen will pass within a few + hundred yards of him where he lies, and will sing the same strain that so + fascinated him, but he will not hear it, and learn it and bring it back + for Lady Violet, the loveliest woman in England! For he has gone down into + the eternal shadow that no man ever penetrates.” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0019" id="link2H_4_0019"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + The Prisoner Dubois. + </h2> + <p> + Miss Cecilia Maxwell was the only child of Sir Robert Maxwell, K. C. M. + G., member of the Cabinet, chief orator of the Liberal party, and + understudy for the part of Premier, who, although a Scotchman by birth, + was a typical Canadian—free, unaffected, honest and sincere. His + bushy iron-gray hair, his keen gray eyes, his healthy florid color, and + the well-trimmed black moustache, which gave his face an unusually + youthful appearance for a man of his age, went with a fine stalwart + physique and a general bodily conformation apparently in keeping with the + ideas of early rising, cold ablutions and breakfasts of oatmeal porridge + that the ingenuous mind is apt to associate with Scotch descent and + bringing-up. His daughter was a very beautiful girl. Born in the shadow of + the pines, she had been educated successively in Edinburgh, Brussels and + Munich, had been presented at Court, been through two London seasons, + spent half of one winter in South America, another in Bermuda, had been + ogled by lords, worshipped by artists, and loved by everybody. + </p> + <p> + Once more in Canada, she took her place in the limited yet exacting + political circles of the Capital, of Toronto, and of distant Winnipeg. + Life was full of duties, and she shirked none, though on days when they + were put away earlier than usual she would fall to musing of the country + place down the river she had not seen for years, with the beautiful woods, + and the simple, contented French, and the evenings on the water. + </p> + <p> + “That great, lonely river,” she thought on one occasion, looking idly out + of her window. “What other river in the world is like it?—and the + tiny French villages with the red roofs and doors, and the sparkling + spires and the queer people. Delle Lisbeth, and <i>veuve</i> Macleod, and + Pierre—poor Pierre. I have never forgotten Pierre, with his solemn + eyes and beautiful brown hair. And how he knew the flowers in the wood, + and what were those songs he used to sing?” And Cecilia sang a couple of + verses of: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Un Canadian errant, + Banni de ses foyers.” + </pre> + <p> + When Sir Robert entered later he found her listless and preoccupied. “You + mustn't look like that to-night,” he said. “Don't forget that this is your + first important dinner-party: three French members and their wives, and La + Colombière, the new Minister of Finance, to whom you must be as charming + as possible. This North-West business is quickening as fast as it can. The + Métis are really up, there's no doubt about it.” + </p> + <p> + “In rebellion?” asked Cecilia breathlessly. There was an added interest in + life directly to the imaginative girl. + </p> + <p> + “Ay,” said her father, “there's a rascal at the bottom of it we've been + after for a long time; but now, run away and look bright at dinner, like a + good girl.” + </p> + <p> + The small clique of Frenchmen and their wives could not but have been + charmed with their reception that evening. The dinner was good, and not + too heavy nor long, the wines excellent (for Sir Robert did not as yet + favor the “Scott” Act), and the suavity of his manner combined with the + appearance and grace of his daughter, in a delicate dress of primrose and + brown, with amber in her beautiful golden plaits and round her whitest + neck, left nothing to be desired. And yet on that very first night in her + capacity as hostess, Cecilia found she had to learn to play a part, the + part of woman, which all women who have just left off being girls find so + hard to play at first. For naturally the report of the Métis revolt had + spread. Sir Robert did a brave thing. He referred to it directly they were + seated, and then everybody felt at ease. Now it could be talked about if + anybody chose—and Cecilia did so choose. + </p> + <p> + “Who is this young Frenchman,” she asked of La Colombière, “that is + identified with this new rising? I have been away, and am ignorant of it + all.” + </p> + <p> + “His name is Dubois—Pierre Dubois,” returned La Colombière with a + gleaming smile. “He calls himself the representative of the + French-Canadian party. Bah! such men!” But Cecilia's heart had given a + mighty leap and then stopped, she almost thought, for ever. + </p> + <p> + “Pierre—Pierre Dubois?” she reiterated in her surprise. Her fan of + yellow feathers dropped from her lap, and her face showed extraordinary + interest for a moment. + </p> + <p> + “You know him M'lle.?” said La Colombière, returning her the fan. For an + instant she was the centre of attention. Then with a flutter of the yellow + feathers that subjugated the four impressionable Frenchmen completely, she + resumed her usual manner. + </p> + <p> + “I know the name, certainly. There was somebody of that name living at + Port Joli where we go in the Summer you know.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” said Laflamme carelessly, a little man with a bald head and a + diplomatist's white moustache, “Dubois is not a new offender. He has been + recognized as an agitator for three or four years. He has the eyes of the + ox and the wavy hair of the sculptor. He is to be admired—<i>vraiment</i>—and + has the gift of speech.” + </p> + <p> + When the dinner was over Cecilia played for them in the drawing-room. + Somehow or other, she wandered into the tender yet buoyant melody of the + <i>chanson</i> she had hummed earlier in the day. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Un Canadien errant, + Banni de ses foyers.” + </pre> + <p> + “Hum-hum,” trolled little Laflamme. “So you know our songs? <i>Ca va bien</i>!” + </p> + <p> + “That was taught me” said Cecilia, “once down the river at Port Joli.” But + she did not say who had taught her. Later on when the guests were gone and + Sir Robert was preparing to go back to the office, his daughter said very + quietly. + </p> + <p> + “Papa do you remember that young man at Port Joli who was staying with the + curé for his health, the one who was so kind and showed me so many things, + the woods, you know and the water, and who talked so beautifully?” + </p> + <p> + “I remember the one you mean, I think, but not his name. Why, dear child?” + </p> + <p> + “His name was Dubois,” returned Cecilia. “Pierre Dubois!” + </p> + <p> + “Dubois? Are you sure? That is very singular” said her father. “And he + talked beautifully you say? It must be <i>this</i> one.” + </p> + <p> + “That is what I think” said Cecilia, seeing her father to the door. + </p> + <p> + Then ensued a period of hard work for Cecilia. She read the papers + assiduously, going up every day to the Parliamentary reading-rooms for + that purpose that she might lose no aspect of the affair. She followed + every detail of the rebellion, even possessing herself of many of her + father's papers bearing on the matter. Those details are well known; how + the whisper ran through our peaceful land, breathing of war and battle and + blood-shed; how our gallant men marched to the front in as superb a faith + and as perfect a manhood as ever troops have shown in this country or the + Old; how some fell by the way, and how others were reserved to be clasped + again to the bosoms of wife and mother and how some met with the finest + fate of all, or at least the most fitting fate for a true soldier—death + on the battle-field. For a month the country was in a delirium. Then + joy-bells rang, and bonfires blazed, and hands were struck in other hands + for very delight that the cause of all the mischief, the rebel chief, the + traitor Dubois was taken. Cecilia alone sat in her room in horror. + </p> + <p> + “What will they do with the prisoner Dubois?” she said with a vehemence + that dismayed Sir Robert. + </p> + <p> + “The prisoner Dubois? Why, they will hang him of course. He has caused too + much blood to be shed not to have to give some of his own.” Cecilia + writhed as if in extreme pain. Her beauty, her grace, her youth all seemed + to leave her in a moment, and she stood faded and old before her father. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, they will not do that! Imprison him or send him away—anything, + anything save that! See, they do not know him—poor Pierre, so kind, + so good—they do not know him as I knew him. Father, he could not + hurt a thing—he would step aside from the smallest living thing in + the path when we walked together that summer, and he helped everybody that + wanted help, there was nothing he could not do. And he loves his country—at + least he did so then. There is that song, <i>'O mon cher Canada</i>,' he + used to sing, and he told me of the future of his country, and how he had + prayed to be allowed to aid it and push it forward. And he does not hate + the English, only how can he help loving the French more when he is one of + them, and has good French blood in his veins—better than many of the + so-called English! And he was born to be a leader and to bring men away + from their home into battle and make war for them, and where in that does + he differ from other heroes we are taught to love and admire? If you had + ever heard him talk, and had seen the people all gathered round him when + he spoke of all these things—as for his church and the Virgin, and + the priests, it would be well if you and all of us thought as much about + our religion, and loved and revered it as he did his!” + </p> + <p> + Cecilia broke down into incoherent sobs. Sir Robert sat aghast at this + startling confession. No need to tell him that it was prompted by love. + </p> + <p> + “But what if he be insane, my dear?” he asked very quietly. + </p> + <p> + “Then it is still bad—it is worse,” said Cecilia. “Will hanging an + insane man bring back the others that are slain? Will it make foul fair + and clean still cleaner? Will it bring peace and friendliness, and right + feeling, or will it bring a fiercer fire and a sharper sword than our + country has yet seen—a hand-to-hand fight between rival races, a + civil war based on national distinction!” + </p> + <p> + “What would you do?” said her father, walking up and down the room. “What + can I or anybody do? It is common law and common justice; if he be found + guilty he must swing for it. Personal intercession—” + </p> + <p> + “Might save him!” said the girl. + </p> + <p> + “Must not be thought of!” said her father. + </p> + <p> + “You mean, <i>you</i> may not think of it. But others may—<i>I</i> + may. I am a woman, free and untrammelled by either party or personal + considerations of any kind. Father, let <i>me</i> try!” + </p> + <p> + “Cecilia, it is madness to take such a thing upon yourself. How is it + possible? What are your plans?” + </p> + <p> + “I do not know. I have not thought. All is in a haze through which I see + that vision of the hangman and the rope Father, let me try!” + </p> + <p> + Sir Robert thought for a moment, then he said: “Very well, my dear, you + shall try, on one condition; that first of all you have an interview with + Dubois himself. In fact, for your purpose it is absolutely necessary that + you should see him, in order to identify him with the other Dubois you + used to know. After that interview, if you still persist in your course, I + promise—rash as it certainly seems—to help you. Now hold + yourself in readiness to start for the North-West at a moment's notice. I + have private information that tells me Dubois will be hung and any + intervention on your part or that of anybody else must be set on foot + immediately, do you see?” + </p> + <p> + A few days afterwards Cecilia, unveiled, and dressed in an irreproachable + walking costume of gray, was taken to the gloomy prison outside the little + northern town of ——, where the prisoner Dubois was confined. + There was a bit of tricolor in her hat and her cheeks were very pale—As + the beautiful daughter of Sir Robert Maxwell her way was sufficiently + paved with politeness as she presented her private order to see the + prisoner. Her heart was beating tumultuously and the blood surged round + her temples. The turnkey showed her into a small whitewashed room, + opposite the cell in which Dubois spent his time and informed her that in + compliance with strict orders he would have to be present during the + interview, to which Cecilia bent her head in assent; she could not have + spoken just then. “It is a strange thing that I am doing,” she thought, + “but I shall see Pierre—poor Pierre.” Approaching footsteps were + soon heard and the prisoner Dubois entered, escorted by two warders. He + started when he saw his visitor, and—stared. + </p> + <p> + “Mademoiselle,—” he said, evidently trying to recall her name and + failing. + </p> + <p> + “Cecile,” she said, eagerly, “Ma'amselle Cecile you always called me, and + I liked it so much better than Cecilia. I think I like it still—Pierre—I—.” + </p> + <p> + The prisoner Dubois frowned. + </p> + <p> + “If Mdme. Dubois had ears through these walls, you had not called me + 'Pierre.' But—” laying his hand on his heart and bowing low, “Pierre + himself is flattered—<i>oui, mademoiselle</i>—by your + attention—<i>oui, vraiment</i>—and he is rejoiced to know that + his image is still cherished in that heart so fair, so <i>Anglaise</i>, so + pure, so good. <i>Belle-enfant, Je n'ai pas oublié nos amours</i>!” + </p> + <p> + The three men in the room suppressed a smile. Dubois stood with his head + thrown back, his arms folded and his soft dark eyes fixed on Cecilia. She + was still standing, indeed there was no chair in the room, and her eyes + were fixed on him as his upon herself. It was Pierre, and yet not her + Pierre. Rather an exaggerated growth—of the man she had once known. + The same soft brown hair, only thicker and rougher, one drooping wave + looking tangled and unkempt—the dreamy eyes with the latent sneer in + them dreamier than ever and yet the sneer more visible, the thin sensitive + nose thinner, the satisfied mouth more satisfied and conscious, the weak + chin fatally weaker. And he was married, too! Mdme. Dubois—that must + be his wife! How strange it was! Cecilia's brain was in a frightful state + of doubt and fever and hesitation. It was necessary for her to explain her + presence there, however, for she could not but resent the opening speech + of the prisoner Dubois. She was growing very tired of standing, moreover, + but she would have died rather than have demanded a chair. At length the + turnkey observed her fatigue and sent one of the warders for a chair. + </p> + <p> + “Fetch two,” interposed Dubois, with a flourish of his hand. “I myself + shall sit down.” When the man returned, bringing only one chair on the + plea that he could not find another, Cecilia, whose nerve was returning, + offered it to Dubois. He accepted it calmly and sat down upon it, waiting + to hear what she had to say. At this signal instance of arch selfishness + Cecilia felt her heart tighten and her temples grow cold as if fillets of + fire had been exchanged for ribbons of snow. + </p> + <p> + “Sir,” she began, “I am sorry to find you here.” Dubois smiled the smile + of a great man who listens with condescension to what an inferior has to + say. “I am glad you have not forgotten me, because all the time I was + away, and it has been a long time, I never—it is quite true—forgot + you—I mean (for Dubois smiled again) I never forgot that summer you + spent near us at Port Joli, and the things you talked about, about your + future. When I came home I found you had gone so much further than I know + you ever intended to, and have been the cause of so much trouble, and the + death of brave men, and I was very sorry.” Cecilia leant on the bare table + before her, and felt that every moment as it passed brought with it a + cooling of the once passionate feeling she had entertained for the Dubois + of her childhood. But if the lover were gone, there remained the man, + husband and father, maybe the leader, the orator, the martyr, the dear + human being. + </p> + <p> + “So I thought that if it were possible at all, some step should be taken + to—to prevent the law from taking its course—its final course + perhaps.” Cecilia felt her throat tighten as she spoke. “You have plenty + of friends—you must have—all the French will help and many, + many English, for it is no cause to die for, it is no cause at all! There + should never have been bloodshed on either side!” + </p> + <p> + Dubois uncrossed his long legs at last and said in his loftiest tone: + </p> + <p> + “<i>Chère enfant</i>, the French will not let me die. I—I myself—Pierre + Dubois—allowed to hang by the neck until I am dead! That will never + happen. <i>Voyez-vous donc chérie</i>, I am their King, their prophet, + their anointed, their fat priests acknowledge me, their women adore me!” + </p> + <p> + Cecilia shrunk together as she listened. She had sought and she had not + found, she had expected and it had been denied her. At this moment, the + turnkey signified that time was up. She felt her heart burning in an agony + of undefined grief and disappointment in which was also mingled the relief + of resignation. The prisoner Dubois bowed low with his hand on his heart + and then pressing her own hand lingeringly, gave her a tenderly + insinuating glance. As she turned away she heard him exchange a laugh and + a jest with one of the wardens, and her cheeks flamed with indignant + anger. “Were he a good or suffering man as I dreamed he was, I would have + bent low and kissed his hand; as it was, I am sorry I let him take mine.” + </p> + <p> + She was calm when she reached her carriage in which sat her father + waiting. He divined at once that his plan had been successful. “You look + tired, my dear,” was all he said. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I have been standing for some time,” Cecilia returned in a peculiar + voice. + </p> + <p> + “Could they not find you a chair in the establishment?” + </p> + <p> + “They found one,” she said grimly, “and that was appropriated by the + prisoner Dubois.” + </p> + <p> + “The prisoner Dubois!” thought Sir Robert. “It is well. We shall hear no + more of Pierre.” + </p> + <p> + Two days before Christmas the prisoner Dubois underwent the extreme + penalty of the law. Cecilia sat in her room all that day. She never quite + made up her mind as to whether Pierre had been a lunatic or a fanatic, a + martyr or a fiend, an inspired criminal or a perverted enthusiast. Perhaps + he was a mixture of all. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0020" id="link2H_4_0020"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + How the Mr. Foxleys Came, Stayed and Never Went Away. + </h2> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0009" id="link2HCH0009"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER I. + </h2> + <p> + There flows in Western Canada, by which I mean a region east of the + Saskatchewan and west of the Thousand Islands, a singular and beautiful + stream. It is beautiful because it is narrow, undulating and shallow, + because it has graceful curves and rounded bends, because its banks are + willow-clad and its bed boulder-strewn, because it flows along between + happy farms and neat white villages, because at one spot, it boasts a + picturesque and ruined mill and a moss-covered bridge and because—chiefly + because—it is above all things—placid. The mind familiar with + our Canadian streams will easily understand then, that if these be its + attributes of beauty, they also attest to its claim of singularity. For + the Canadian river is seldom placid, but oftener seething and steaming and + foaming; or else deep and dark and dangerous with many a mighty gorge and + tumbling cascade, wide and lonely and monotonous for the most part; pine + hung down to the very edge, black and lowering, or displaying waving wisps + of dry gray foliage that only resembles human hair. What a contrast, then, + does this cherished river I speak of, afford! No local Laureate has as yet + written it up, though picnic parties used to gather themselves together on + its banks and in its well-wooded shades, defiling everything they touched + from bark to beach, leaving bits of bread here, dead pie there, buttering + the leaves, peppering the grass, salting the stones, and scattering greasy + crumpled paper—PAPER—PAPER—everywhere. That is what + picnic parties do all over the world, and with such gusto all of them, + even the Sunday-schools, Dorcases, W. C. T. U's. and all the rest of them, + that I really think it must be intended as a serious part of the + Picnicker's Ritual and forms very likely a peace-offering or sacrifice of + propitiation towards some unknown God. I don't think the Druids left paper + about underneath their oaks. But presumably they left worse. Well, if as + yet, this river I love so well has not been immortalized in fiction, + travels or verse, it has however attracted the attention of several gifted + members of the Royal Academy—Royal Canadian of course, who have from + time to time invaded its peaceful shores and stuffing themselves into + adjacent if inconvenient farmhouses, sketched it in water and oil, in the + common-place pencil, and the more ambitious charcoal. The results are + charming and you may see them any day in the studios of our foremost + artists or in the picture dealers' windows or haply on the terra-cotta + tinted walls of our esteemed collectors, the retired grocers of Montreal, + or the aesthetic lawyers of a more western and more ambitious city. Still + though the sketches are charming both in conception and execution, I, were + I a Canadian artist, eager to secure Canadian subjects for my pencil, + would hardly choose this particular river as one likely to give the most + correct idea of Canadian scenery. No, I would chose the St. Maurice or the + Richelieu, the Lièvre or the Saguenay, the Ottawa or portions of the St. + Lawrence, with the grim Azoic rocks, the turbulent rapids and the somber + pines. What a superb river system it is! Tell them off on your fingers and + you'll have to go on borrowing from them afterwards and then all over + again. Think of all those rivers that cluster in the French Canada and + feed the mighty Gulf of St. Lawrence. There are the Ottawa, the Gatineau, + the Rideau, the Richelieu, the Lièvre, the Matanne, the Metapedia, the + Métis, the Saguenay. Those are the ones we know. Then look at the + Peribonka, the Maniconagan, all the Ste. Anne's, all the Rouge or Red + rivers, the Du Moine, the Coalonge, the Vermilion, the St. Francis. Then, + look at that cluster of great Saxon named streams, the Churchill, the + Nelson, the Severn, the English, the Albany! Lastly, glance at the + magnificent Saskatchewan with the historic streams of Battle and + Qu'Appelle Rivers! And now I have omitted the Athabasca, the Peace, the + Moose and the Assiniboine! There is no end to them; they defy enumeration + while they invite it. + </p> + <p> + Now, most of these Canadian rivers are Azoic in character; hence their + grim and formidable beauty. But my river has nothing the least Azoic about + it. It belongs to a more recent, a more comfortable, more placid, more + satisfying a formation. It is as idyllic a stream as any English one that + Tennyson noted in a contemplative ramble to work up later into the + “Brook.” + </p> + <p> + Crossing the moss-grown bridge I have alluded to, a gradual ascent + presents itself on the opposite side, of firm white road well macadamized + and leading through small neat low houses, each with a little garden in + front, to a church with a needle-like spire on the top of the hill, and + the parson's house adjoining. On a June day, for example, it made a + pleasant picture. Pastoral and prosperous the landscape, contented the + people on foot, in the fields, at the windows, and most delightful of all—a + certain Old World haze hanging over it. + </p> + <p> + This is what struck the Mr. Foxleys, driving out slowly from the town one + Saturday afternoon. George, the elder, pale with dark hair, lay back in + the phaeton with folded arms. Joseph, the younger, fair-haired and + freckled, sat up, driving. They had hardly exchanged a word since entering + the phaeton. For eight miles they had proceeded in almost perfect silence. + This did not mean that they were out of sorts, or not on pleasant terms + with one another. On the contrary, it proved that they were the very best + of friends, and never bored each other. I may as well say at once that + they were Englishmen, which was easy to gather from their picturesque and + unusual attire of neat gray small-clothes meeting gray stockings at the + knee, low white shoes, a striped blue and white flannel shirt and + canoe-shaped hats of gray, each bearing a snow-white “puggree” with blue + and gold fringed ends. Such was the outward adorning of the Mr. Foxleys. + Behind the phaeton ran a pretty brown retriever answering to the name of + “Bess,” and laid across the floor of the little carriage were a couple of + walking canes, a couple of fishing rods and a gun case strapped together, + while under the seat was a medium-sized portmanteau, and a peculiar long + box with a leather handle. The eight miles having been traversed by them + in silence, George, the elder, broke it by remarking, as they slackened + their pace, before advancing over the bridge, “This is better.” + </p> + <p> + “Very much so. Rather. I should think so,” answered Joseph, the younger, + who had a slightly more lively manner than his brother, and very laughing + eyes. “It looks a little more like the—the Old Country.” + </p> + <p> + The elder brother made no reply. A kind of weary smile flitted across his + face instead. + </p> + <p> + “It's a little bit after—Devonshire, don't you think?” went on + Joseph, surveying the green meadows, the neat painted fences, the sleeping + cows, the rising uplands in the distance leaning lovingly next the sky, + the bridge, the distant church, and the placid narrow river with the + overhanging willows and the stony amber floor. + </p> + <p> + “A long way after,” said George, without unfolding his arms or looking + around him at all. He was gazing straight before him. + </p> + <p> + “But you don't half see the beauty of it,” said the younger brother, + stopping the horse and standing up in the phaeton, “especially after that + horrid eight miles of half-cleared ugly-stumpy stubble! This is really + beautiful, such soft lines you know and little corners—oh! quite + English!” Some of his enthusiasm reached the quieter brother, who + apparently roused himself and looked around as directed. A faint pink came + into his pale cheeks, a new gleam into the weary eyes, “Well, it is <i>better</i>, + as I said before—you'll remember, I noticed it first—but not + English.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, not English altogether of course, I know,” said Joseph gathering up + his reins, “but its a jolly spot enough whatever it is, and—I say, + look at that now, that oak, on the other side of the road, in front of + that little cottage, we'll be up with it now in a minute.” + </p> + <p> + “By Jove, what a splendid tree!” Now I do not in the least wonder at the + Mr. Foxleys stopping opposite this mighty oak to admire it, because I + myself am quite familiar with it and have seen it scores of times, and + must agree with them in pronouncing it one of the finest trees I have ever + seen anywhere. Of course it has no story attached to it that the world + knows, at least it never talked that I am aware of, never hid or screened + anybody of importance—or anything of that sort—so naturally it + has little or no interest about it. And yet, for that very reason, it is + so much easier to think of it as a tree, to consider it and admire it, and + learn to love and understand it just as a tree. So the Mr. Foxleys + thought, as they gazed at its monstrous trunk, its glorious branches of + deep, dark glossy green with here and there an upstart arm of glowing + bronze or a smaller shoot of younger yellow. + </p> + <p> + “It might have grown in the <i>Manor Park</i>!” said the younger brother + airily with a keen sense of pleasure in the suggestion. + </p> + <p> + “It might have grown in the <i>Manor Park</i>, as you say”, rejoined the + elder brother gravely. + </p> + <p> + Then they went on again, slowly up the hill, that they might the better + examine the church, the parsonage and the road beyond. What they wanted + now was an Inn. Presently they espied one, just on the other side of a + tiny bridge spanning a tinier brook. It was no upstart brick building of + flaring red with blind white windows and a door flush with the street, a + dirty stable at one side and a ragged kitchen garden at the other. But low + and white and irregular with a verandah running along in front, it had red + curtains that would draw over the lower halves of the windows and hints of + chintz at the upper portions; the door was open and revealed a tall clock + in the hall, a stand of flowers, and a cat asleep in a large round chair; + at one side a flight of steps led down to the kitchen door at which a + buxom maid in bare arms stood in a pink gown and a pinker face, and at the + other side was the boarded square that held the pump—the village + pump—around which were gathered five or six bare-footed children, + the hostler of the Inn, the village butcher, tailor, and cobbler. A sign + swung out from the verandah. + </p> + <p> + “The Ipswich Inn, by M. Cox,” said the younger Mr. Foxley. Then he looked + at his brother. His brother looked at him. They understood one another at + once, and Joseph pulled up in good style at the door. The hostler, dressed + in old corduroy and with a fiddle under his arm, sprang forward to assist + them. He dropped his H's. “Delightful,” cried Mr. Joseph. So did the + landlady, a cheery person of about fifty in a silk apron. The brothers + were so content that they remained all night, “to look at the place.” + </p> + <p> + Next morning, endless surprises awaited and greeted them. They found that + the large room in front was a kind of drawing-room, in which rose-leaves, + china-bowls, old engravings, a shining mahogany book-case, and a + yellow-keyed piano atoned for the shortcomings of funeral horsehair and + home-made carpets. They thought it on the whole a charming room, only to + be eclipsed by the kitchen. For the kitchen, which was underneath the + ground floor and nearly the entire size of the house, was therefore very + spacious and comfortable, possessing three large pantries and an out-house + or summer kitchen; besides, moreover, it was dark-raftered, ham-hung, with + willow-pattern slates in a neat dresser, and peacock feathers over the + high mantel; with, in one corner—the darkest—a covered well, + into which I used to see myself the beautiful golden pats of butter + lowered twice a week in summer time. One window, a small one, curtained + with chintz and muslin drawn on a string, looked out on a small terraced + garden at the back leading to an orchard; the other window, large and + long, with twelve small panes and no curtains at all, adjoined the door + opening on the court or yard at the side of the house. This yard was paved + irregularly with grey stone slabs, between which the grass had wedged + itself, with an occasional root of the persistent and omnipresent + dandelion; it contained a cistern, a table with flower-pots, a parrot in + one cage, a monkey in another, garden implements, rods, buckets, tins and + tubs! A pleasant untidiness prevailed in the midst of irreproachably clean + and correct surroundings, and the Mr. Foxleys having finished their + breakfast up-stairs in the public dining-room—a bare, almost ugly + apartment, devoid of anything in furniture or appointments to make it + homelike, except a box of mignonette set in the side-window, looked + longingly out at the little paved court-yard beneath. They had had the + most delicious rasher of ham, eggs <i>sans peur et sans reproche</i>, some + new and mysterious kind of breakfast cake, split and buttered while hot, + and light and white inside as it was golden and glazed outside, and three + glasses of fresh milk each! They had been waited on by the buxom girl in a + blue gown this time, against which her arms looked pinker than ever, and + during the meal the landlady of the inn had looked in, with her hands too + floury and her mind too full of coming loaves to do more than inquire + generally as to their comfort. Looking over the mignonette, Mr. Joseph + Foxley espied her presently talking to the parrot and tending the monkey. + This was more than the frivolous Mr. Joseph could stand. He took his + brother and made a tour of the house accordingly, discovering in turn as I + have said the drawing-room, the kitchen, the court-yard, the garden and + orchard and lastly the bar! <i>That</i> proved the most comfortable, most + enticing room of all. More red curtains, at the windows and over one door, + an old-fashioned hearth paved with red brick and bearing even in June a + couple of enormous logs against the possible cold of a rainy evening, two + cases of stuffed birds, a buffalo's head over the fireplace, colored + prints of Love Lies Bleeding, Stocks and Bachelor's Buttons, and over all, + that odour of hot lemons and water, with something spirituous beyond, that + completely won the refractory heart of the elder Mr. Foxley and caused him + to drop down in a chair by the hearth with an incoherent expression of + wonder and relief that did not escape his brother. + </p> + <p> + “How long shall we say, George,” he asked. “She will want to know, because + there are other men who come out here from town occasionally it seems, and + of course it's only fair to let her know about the room. + </p> + <p> + “What shall I say?” Mr. George Foxley crossed his long legs in evident + comfort and took in the entire room in a smiling gaze before he answered. + Outside it was beautifully quiet, in front of the house. From the back + there came the faintest sounds of crow and cackle and farm-yard stir just + audible, from the kitchen rose cheerful laughter, and merry voices, the + smell of baking, and a fainter odor of herbs. Milly, the girl, in the blue + gown, passed with a milk pail in either hand. She looked in shyly. Mr. + Joseph waved his hand gallantly then laughed. Then Mr. George said, very + slowly. + </p> + <p> + “Say? Oh, say that we will take the room—the one we have now, you + know—for the rest of the Summer.” + </p> + <p> + “That is, you will take it, and remain here, while I knock about in town + and come out on Saturdays or whenever I can,” said Joseph. + </p> + <p> + “Exactly,” said his brother. + </p> + <p> + That afternoon Mr. Joseph returned to town in the neat hired phaeton + leaving his brother in full possession of the charming and comfortable + Inn. In a couple of days he came back, this time in the stage that passed + through Ipswich three times a week, and bringing with him a couple of + English trunks and a stout portmanteau. Thus the Mr. Foxleys entered upon + life in earnest in this dear placid little village, not far from the river + described in the beginning of my story. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0010" id="link2HCH0010"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER II. + </h2> + <p> + The Mr. Foxleys, after a week's sojourn or so at the Ipswich Inn, made a + mutual discovery. This was, that not only were the landlady of the Inn, + her son and the ostler all of English origin and descent, but that the + entire village appeared to be populated by people of English extraction. + The butcher was a Englishman, the blacksmith was a Cockney answering to + the name of 'Enry Ide, the cobbler was from South Devon somewhere, and the + parson was an undergraduate of Oxford. The farmers were mostly Scotch, and + the village store-keeper was David Macpherson. The driver of the stage was + an Irishman, and the sexton of the pretty church on the hill was an odd + product of that odd corner of the world known as the Isle of Man. + Certainly the two brothers found and made themselves at home. Milly + perhaps was the only native Canadian that came in their way. It was a + thoroughly British settlement, and it is a noteworthy fact that the only + well-to-do man in the place was an American. It was he who lived in the + square, red brick house with white blinds always pulled down, even in soft + welcome spring days, and with plaster casts of lions and deer couchant on + futile little wooden pedestals in the garden. It was he who owned the new + and prosperous mill which had superseded the worn-out one lower down the + stream, the old mill that the artists loved, and that reminded the Mr. + Foxley's of home. It was he who owned the only family carriage in the + neighborhood, other people had “buggies.” It was his daughter who had been + sent to New York for her education—who now appeared in church on + Sundays, in muslin costumes garnished with a greater number of yards of + ribbons in myriads of bows and ends than the village store had ever + possessed at one time in its life. It was he who once or twice a year + walked as far as the Inn and sitting down stiffly in the stiff dining room + would hold a short conversation with the landlady on village matters and + subjects in general. On these occasions the good woman was secretly amused + and not a little bored. She knew gentlemen when she saw them and he was + not one—that is, he was not one according to her knowledge of types. + The aristocracy of money was as yet a phase unknown to her simple English + mind accustomed to move in traditional and accepted groves. So not much + interchange of civilities took place between the mill and the Inn. Not for + Mr. Simon P. Rattray did the oleanders blossom in the big green tubs and + the wall-flowers and mignonette in the windows. Not for him did the + Jessamine climb and the one hawthorn tree at the back gate leading to the + orchard yield its sweet white May, not for him did the tall clock strike + and the parrot talk. Talk!! Why, the only time the creature was ever known + to be quiet was when Mr. Simon P. Rattray made his portentous visits twice + or three times a year. And as for the hidden sweetness of the drawing-room + or the comforts of the kitchen or the fascinations of the bar, Mr. Simon + P. Rattray knew nothing whatever about them. He was a total abstainer you + see, and the blue ribbon appeared in his buttonhole on certain important + ceremonial days and even on Sundays, and he was known to be interested in + the fortunes of a cold, dismal little place built of plaster and presided + over by a male Methodist just outside the village limits, known as a + “Temperance Hotel.” It will be easily gathered that the advent of the Mr. + Foxleys did not affect the fortunes of such a person as Mr. Simon P. + Rattray, nor was their subsequent career as residents in Ipswich affected + in any way by his existence, prejudices or peculiarities. But to the + remaining portions of the village, their arrival proved full of interest + The landlady took them to her heart at once. They were <i>gentlemen</i>, + she said, and that was enough for her. Her son, a heavy lout, unlike his + mother, accepted them as he did everything and everybody by remaining + outwardly profoundly unconscious of their existence; the hostler adored + them, especially Mr. Joseph; when the latter was there, which he was every + Saturday till Monday, he would stroll over the stable with Squires—that + was the hostler's name—joking incessantly, and treating the latter + to an occasional cigar. Urbane Mr. Joseph would joke with anybody, Mr. + George was more severe and had according to the landlady, the most perfect + and distinguished manners. + </p> + <p> + “What they call <i>hawtoor</i> in the Family Herald,” she told Milly, + “only I never see it gone too far with.” Milly of course was in love with + them both. + </p> + <p> + In time, the entire village succumbed to the charms of the Mr. Foxleys. + The parson called, accompanied by his eldest daughter who was the organist + of the choir and chief promoter of the Sunday-school. They found the + objects of their social consideration seated outside the kitchen in the + little paved yard that had rapidly grown dear. When the brothers appeared + upstairs in the drawing-room into which rose-scented and chintz-hung + apartment the reverend Mr. and Miss had been shown in appreciation of + their station, Mr. Joseph had tuned his laughing eye to a decorum as new + as it was unnatural. It was a hot day in August and Mr. George was so + excessively languid and long and speechless that but for his brother + conversation would have been an impossibility. But he and the parson soon + discovered mutual friends at home, a cousin in the Engineers, and a + friendly coach at the University. + </p> + <p> + “Charles James Foxley? Oh! I knew him well, very well” said the Rev. Mr. + Higgs, referring to the latter. “It is a somewhat—ah—unusual + name. The only other time I remember meeting with the name was once—let + me see—it was a meet, I think, at Foxley Manor, in Derbyshire it + was, and a very beautiful place.” + </p> + <p> + “In Nottinghamshire,” said Mr. Joseph smiling. “Yes, that is—or was—our + home. My father still resides there.” + </p> + <p> + “Indeed?” said Mr. ——. “Is it possible! And you have come out + here? Really, it is most interesting, most fortunate that you should have + chosen our little village, should have pitched your tent so to speak—ah! + quite so.” + </p> + <p> + “My brother likes the country,” said Mr. Joseph. + </p> + <p> + “Ah! yes, quite so. And there is much to see in this new country, in + Canada, much to see. You will remain some time?” + </p> + <p> + “We will remain as long as it suits my brother,” said Mr. Joseph. “At + present, we can hardly tell.” + </p> + <p> + “Quite so, quite so. I hope—I am sure my daughter concurs in the + hope, that we shall see you in church as often as you can come and also—ah! + at the Rectory. Such society as we can give you here you may be assured we + will endeavor to give with all our—ah! heart to the best of our + ability.” + </p> + <p> + “Thanks very much” returned Mr. Joseph. “I am sure my brother and I will + be exceedingly glad to go and see you at the Rectory. About church I will + say that we never go very regularly anywhere, but when it isn't too hot, + too hot, you know, or too cold, or anything of that sort, I am sure we'll + try to turn up there as well.” + </p> + <p> + The rector, smiled indulgently. No call to be hard on the Mr. Foxleys, of + Foxley Manor. Miss Maria left the Inn smitten for the fiftieth time. + </p> + <p> + “I knew I should marry an Englishman,” she exclaimed ecstatically up the + road with her father. + </p> + <p> + “The dark one, oh! the dark one!” + </p> + <p> + “They are somewhat peculiar young men I fancy, Maria. Of course Mrs. Cox + is a very careful and a very good woman and—ah! her place is a very + respectable and comfortable one, and the order of travellers one meets, + that is, one would meet if one went there, is quite proper indeed, but + still, I thought, mind I do not say anything, I do not express any opinion + Maria, I simply say, I <i>thought</i>, that they would have smoked for + instance in the dinning-room or the bar, or on the verandah instead of in + that very conspicuous manner just outside the kitchen door.” But this was + the first and last stricture that the rector made as to the conduct of the + Mr. Foxleys, for by appearing in church two Sundays after his call and + spending an evening on the vine-covered verandah of the pretty Rectory, + they were speedily entered in the very best books kept by that worthy if + slightly common-place gentleman and his gushing daughter. + </p> + <p> + The next persons of distinction in the village were the Miss Dexters, who + lived with their father, at one time a prominent medical man, in the + little cottage graced by the presence of the mighty oak which had so + charmed the strangers when they first beheld it. Their father was old, + very old indeed, and slightly shaken in his mind. He was also an + Englishman and the daughters, not daring to enter upon life in town with + their small income and a helpless old man on their hands into the bargain + had retired to the country some ten years before the advent of the Mr. + Foxleys. Charlotte the elder was now forty and Ellen over thirty-five. + Neither of them had ever been beautiful and now they were, more or less + pinched and worn in their aspect, but they were gentlewomen, neat and + sweet spoken, and capable of offering small evening entertainments of + cribbage and hot weak tea with bread and butter with a gracious and well + bred air that marked them off as people who had seen “better times.” God + help such all over the world and thank Him too for the colonies, where + such people can retreat without being said to hide, and live down their + misfortunes or their follies or their weaknesses, and be of some use to + others after a while! It would be hard to say why the Mr. Foxleys went as + often as they did, especially Mr. Joseph—to the Miss Dexters for + tea. Perhaps the oak had much to do with it. + </p> + <p> + It had something I am sure, for indeed, it was the most beautiful tree for + miles around and it was worth a good deal to sit under its cool shade in + the Summer afternoons or to look up into its dark vault in the slowly + dusking twilights. I can't defend Mr. Joseph further than this. For + between cribbage and choir practice, Sunday rambles in the woods and rows + on the river, the lending of books and the singing of songs, the handing + of bread and butter and the drinking of tea, Mr. Joseph had caused both + the Miss Dexters to fall hopelessly and indeed fatally in love with him. + When the Xmas holidays came, Joseph, who had a clerkship in town, spent + his vacation naturally at the Inn with his brother, and then ensued a + period of very mixed delight for the Miss Dexters. + </p> + <p> + For the callous Joseph made as violent love to the unresisting Miss Higgs + over the Xmas tree and carols as she herself would have chosen to make to + Mr. George had she been given the chance. + </p> + <p> + As for Mr. George, he was just as languid and silent as ever. He hardly + ever went into the town at all, but preferred to remain on quietly at the + inn, fishing, shooting and taking long walks in the summer days when it + was fine, and when it rained, lounging in Mrs. Cox's kitchen. Here he + always had his meals, for the kind friend he had found in his landlady + gratified every whim, and any fancy he chose to profess, and cooked for + him, washed for him and waited on him with unceasing and in fact + ever-increasing devotion. Mr. Foxley's shirts and Mr. Foxley's socks, Mr. + Foxley's white coats and Mr. Foxley's jane boots, his dog, his gun, and + his effects generally were all sacred, all in irreproachable order, all + objects of the greatest value and interest to Mrs. Cox and her niece. You + see there were no children in this comfortable <i>ménage</i> and really, + when the baking and the washing and the preserving and the churning were + all done with early in the day or in the week there remained a good deal + of time on Mrs. Cox's hands, which in her earnest womanly heart she felt + she must fill up in some way. So it came that all this time and energy and + devotion were after a while centred on Mr. George Foxley, late of Foxley + Manor, Notts. As for Mr. Joseph, the good woman oftener told him to “go + along!” than anything else, for though she liked him, his love of mischief + and several practical jokes he had played her which she termed “his ways,” + had rendered her cautious and a little distrustful of him. Such an + existence proved very charming to all parties concerned, excepting perhaps + the Miss Dexters, and their companion in misery, at the rectory. For the + worst of it was, Xmas passed and Easter came, and another spring dawned + for the pretty little village of Ipswich and found the Mr. Foxleys still + there. They never spoke of going away and nobody hinted it to them. The + impression, natural in the extreme, that they were a couple of wealthy + young Englishmen going about for pleasure, who just happening to come to + Ipswich and being taken with it had stayed a little longer than they + intended, was fast giving way to another. For it was a well-known fact + that the Mr. Foxleys did not spend too much money either on themselves or + on other people. They paid their way and that was all one could say about + them. Squires was not included in this arrangement, however, but was + forced to remain content with cigars, cast-off studs and a present at + Christmas-time of a collie pup. I grieve to think of those poor Miss + Dexters—foolish souls—going without butter on their bread and + sugar in their tea that they might have both to offer Mr. Joseph when he + might come in airily for a cup, and making their already too thin gowns + last another winter, that they might spend a little money on a smoking cap + for the same gentleman and a pair of knitted wristlets for his brother. + All these tokens of friendship and attachment the brothers accepted in the + most charming and unconcerned way and never troubled themselves about + returning the compliment as we say. It was quite true that they had not + much money, but a little management of what they did possess would have + left a small sum over each year, which might have been expended on say a + pair of fur-lined gloves for Charlotte or a canary for Ellen, who was fond + of pets and used to keep Bess with her for days, feeding the unconscious + animal for its master's sake better than she was fed herself. And all this + time Mr. Joseph never proposed and never hinted at his prospects or + affairs in any way whatever! + </p> + <p> + The second summer of his stay saw old Mr. Dexter die. After his death + Ellen drooped visibly. General disgust at life, insufficient food and + sleep, and a hopeless passion for Mr. Joseph sapped a naturally weak + constitution, and her sister soon realized another bitter shock when she + helped Ellen to her bed one sultry September night from which she never + rose again. The windows of the little cottage were open, and the unhappy + girl could see the giant oak outside their door. How often she had sat + there with her cruel friend, her hand on his shoulder, and her eyes fixed + on his sharp, clear-cut features and laughing eyes! He had seemed so + gentle, so earnest, so winning—had talked so cleverly, so hopefully, + so gleefully. He had been the sunshine of her life, and alas!—of + Charlotte's too! Each knew the other's secret, but by intuitive sympathy + they had never alluded to it. They referred to him only as “Mr. Joseph,” + and on her death-bed Ellen sent her “kindest wishes to Mr. Joseph.” She + lingered till near the Christmas season, and then one day a small packet + per English mail arrived. They occasionally heard from friends in the Old + Country, and this special parcel contained a couple of silk handkerchiefs + and a sprig of holly. Charlotte took them up to her in the evening, + spreading them out on the bed. Ellen sat up, eagerly pressing the holly to + her lips. Alas! what were the recollections it brought that the poor, weak + frame and the poor, tired spirit could not brook them? Perhaps—not + perhaps—O most certainly, most truly of home and of England; of the + mother so long vanished, dimly remembered, almost forgotten; of winding + green lanes and of ivied walls, of little solemn churchyards—in none + of which she would never lie; of peeps of blue sea from the middle of a + wood; of a primrose at the foot of a tree; of the crowded coach and the + sounding horn; and lastly of the recreant one whom she could not even call + her lover, but who had made her love him so that her very life was eaten + away by sickness of fear, of apprehension, of despair! + </p> + <p> + With the holly pressed to her lips, Ellen Dexter passed out of this world + into another. + </p> + <p> + Did Mr. Joseph Foxley care? Who knows? I should know if anybody ever did, + but I do not hold Mr. Joseph so very much to blame after all. For a man is + often innocent of love-making at the very moment a woman is fancying + herself violently in love with him, and fancying, moreover, that he is in + love with her. Can anything be more fatal, more pernicious, more terrible? + And yet I believe there is nothing more common. There are some men who + press more tenderly than the requirements of ordinary social intercourse + call for or allow, the hand of every woman they meet They are not + necessarily flirts. Perhaps they never go farther than that clinging + hand-pressure. It is a relic of the customs of the days of chivalry—a + little more and this man will kiss the hand. Let the lady be beautiful, + gracious, the hour dusk, or close on midnight, the room a pretty one, and + the environment pleasing, he will bend over the hand, and if he does not + kiss it he will retain it just long enough to make her wish he had kissed + it. If she is a woman of the world she will laugh as she returns the + pressure, making it purposely as thrilling as she can—then she will + forget it completely the next moment as she dispenses five o'clock tea or + late coffee and cake to her husband or brother. But if she be not a woman + of the world, then God help her on her tear-wet pillow, or before her + slowly-dying fire as she thinks of that hand-pressure. It is enough to + last her all her life, she thinks—and yet, should it not come again? + But—<i>should</i> it come again! And the pillow is wet with fresh + tears, or the brow is prematurely wrinkled watching the decaying embers, + while the man—let us do him justice—is as blindly unconscious—unconscious! + Why, at that very moment he is making love—what <i>he</i> calls + making love—to the woman of his choice, his wife, his mistress, or + his <i>fiancée</i>! These are the men who do the most mischief in the + world. Your brute, your beast, your groveller in ditches, is not nearly so + dangerous. Women recoil from him. They understand him. But the man who + presses their hand awakes them, rouses their susceptibility, causes the + tender trouble to steal over them that so often ends in grief, or despair, + or death! And this is because neither sex is as yet properly trained in + the vital duty of responsibility, by which I mean that faculty of + self-repression which will cause a woman to try and understand what a man + means when he presses her hand, and cause the man to try and understand + what a woman feels when he does so. As for poor Ellen Dexter, it is dear + that she was not a woman of the world; but her sister Charlotte and Miss + Maria at the Rectory, if not precisely women of the world, were yet made + of much sterner stuff than she had been, and consequently, after much + reflection, decided that they were not going to be made fools of, in + village parlance. Miss Maria had, of course, long ago given up Mr. George + Foxley altogether. + </p> + <p> + “He is not human,” she said to her father, “and I don't believe he <i>is</i> + one of the Foxleys of Foxley Manor at all.” + </p> + <p> + “There can be no doubt about that, my dear,” answered the actor. + “Difficulties I should say—ah—difficulties have brought these + young men out here, but we must do our duty by them, we must do our duty. + Their father is a fine old gentleman, and well off, and a stanch Tory, my + dear. Patience, my dear Maria. The photographs are quite correct and the + seals bear quite the proper crest—ah—quite so.” + </p> + <p> + So Miss Maria transferred her affections to Mr. Joseph. The second + Christmas passed away, and a third spring dawned for Ipswich. The Inn was + just as comfortable as ever and so were apparently the two Mr. Foxleys but + for one fact and that was, Mr. George's health was not as good as it had + been. Always delicate, he had gradually failed, growing more and more + languid, more and more whimsical in spite of his comfortable abode and the + diligent care of his landlady. Poor Milly! How she worked for him too, + between hours, after hours, before hours! When the attacks of pleurisy, + painful in the extreme, from which he suffered, came on either in the + night or during the day, Milly was always near with her strong young arms, + not quite so pink as they used to be, and her quick young eyes, a shade + more subtle than they used to be, ready to apprehend and quiet the pain + before it came. How Miss Maria at the Rectory and Charlotte Dexter in her + lonely cottage would have envied her had they known, but though there were + gossips in plenty in the village, nothing that occurred in the + rose-scented drawing-room ever went out into that tattling little + Ipswichian world. + </p> + <p> + “Are your young gentlemen with you yet, Mrs. Cox? And one of 'em not over + strong? Deary me! that makes it hard for you and the young gal But you be + standing it remarkable well. And gentlemen born you say! They do say that + the other one wi' the specked skin be making fools of Miss Maria up at the + Rectory and old Miss Dexter at the cottage. Well! well! Poor Miss Ellen + was gone afore we knew it like, poor soul, that was so kind!” + </p> + <p> + Much of this cunning volubility sprung upon Mrs. Cox in pumping fashion + failed to extort from her anything but good-humoured smiles and laughs. If + I have not taken the trouble to describe this beloved Mrs. Cox to you + before this, it is because I fear you will say the picture is Unreal, no + such landlady, no such woman could exist out of England But why not? My + story, remember, deals with people and things as they were twenty years + ago. Twenty years ago there were such Inns, though few at number, to be + found in Western Canada—ay—and as English as any that a + certain Mrs. Lupin presided over in fascinating fiction, and much more + English than many Inns of the present day in England. Twenty years ago + there was such a landlady, rosy and plump and cheerful, wearing a flowered + gown, a black silk apron and a cap with a purple pansy in it and broad and + comfortable lappets, who, when her work was done, would sit in her small + private room opposite the bar also hung with red curtains, making + patchwork quilts or playing a demure rubber with the Scotch store-keeper, + or Irish stage driver, or an occasional gentleman from town. Such was Mrs. + Cox, widow of Captain Cox, able seaman, but bad lot, who died when they + had been five years in Canada, leaving her with her one child. The public + business had attracted her after her loss and she accordingly went into it + on the advice of her numerous friends. People who despise her calling need + not listen to me if I allude to—for I have not time to recount—all + her kindness, her cheerfulness, her powers of dispensing comfort, and + warmth, and happiness, and promoting the direct and indirect welfare of + everyone who came in her path. By what strange coincidence the brothers + Foxley had been led to her glowing fireside and her motherly arms brimming + over with zeal and kindness for the whole human race, does not matter. It + is sufficient that they found her and found with her a sense of + comparative peace and security which compensated for the one big slice of + trouble Fortune had treated them to before their departure from England. + For them did the wall flowers bloom and the mignonette at the window, for + them did the oleander blossom and the old clock strike, for them did the + jessamine climb and the one hawthorn tree yield its annual soft white + drift of snow, and yet who shall say that they were altogether unworthy, + even, if with that picture of poor Ellen Dexter in my mind, I have to say + that they did not deserve it? + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0011" id="link2HCH0011"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER III. + </h2> + <p> + If Mr. Joseph Foxley had but known the sentiments animating the couple of + maiden breasts that awaited his Saturday visits in Ipswich, he would have + been genuinely surprised. The truth is Mr. Joseph was rather what is + termed a general lover. He liked the sex in its entirety. Collectively he + loved all women and belonged to that hand-pressing section of humanity + which I have alluded to as mischievous. Were there not at least five young + ladies in town, at whose houses he visited, and who were more or less + interested in the young Englishman as he in them? Did Miss Charlotte dream + of them or Miss Maria at the rectory? If so, they never dared to ask Mr. + Joseph to give any account of his doings in town, although they managed to + glean what he did with himself in the village. He respected Charlotte + Dexter enough to intend at some future day to tell her a little more about + himself and his brother than he had yet done; as for Miss Maria, she only + bored him and fed his contempt. + </p> + <p> + “When a rather elderly old girl giggles after everything she says, + conversation is difficult and sympathy out of the question,” he had said + to his brother! When Mr. Joseph had known these young ladies for four + years, Miss Maria took her revenge in <i>her</i> way, that was by marrying + the younger brother of Mr. Simon P. Rattray, partner in the mill and the + red brick house by the river. The vision of becoming the cherished wife of + an English aristocrat and going home to reside in a manor house built in + the sixteenth century, with occasional visits to London and glimpses of + the Royal Family had gradually faded, and she accepted the less + rose-coloured lot that Mr. Lyman B. Rattray offered her, sitting in her + father's study, with his hair very much brushed up on one side and very + much flattened down on the other, a white tie and light-yellow duster + adorning his spare person. + </p> + <p> + Such was the American of those days—twenty years ago—there are + none such now I allow. + </p> + <p> + Miss Maria, who was considered “very English,” shuddered as she regarded + him. It so fell out that it being Saturday, Mr. Joseph was just then + passing—“kind of happening along” Mr. Rattray would have said—<i>en + route</i> to the Inn and his brother, on foot in spite of the dusty road + and the hot August sun, clad in trim tight knickerbockers and carrying an + immense bunch of red field lilies, a gun, and a leather satchel over his + shoulder. Slight and straight and cool, he looked the picture of a + contented cheerful energetic young English man. Along the road he came + whistling an old country tune. Miss Maria who had sighted him afar off, + begged her visitor's pardon and went to the window to arrange the blind. + How her heart warmed to that cruel Mr. Joseph, how she loved him then just + for that last moment! Her heart—that foolish old maid's heart—beat + quickly, beat thickly, she remembered to have read something somewhere + about people who could will other people to look at them, to speak to + them, to even think of them, to move across a room at their pleasure. If + she could but do that! She did try, with her fingers clenched on the + blind, and her eyes fixed on Mr. Joseph, she did wish with all her might + that he would turn his head and see her at the window and wave his hand + gallantly as he had done on one or two previous occasions. Then she would + beckon and he would run across and entering the room disconcert this + odious Mr. Lyman B. Rattray and put an end to his stony wooing. But alas! + for Miss Maria and her mesmeric powers! The harder she tried, the less she + succeeded. On came Mr. Joseph, supremely unconscious of the injured heart + beating behind the windowpane. At one moment it seemed as if he were about + to turn and look in her direction. A very brilliant wild yellow canary + crossed over his head and lit on a small shrub just inside the garden + paling. Had it remained there, would Miss Maria have ever become the wife + of Mr. Lyman B. Rattray? No one knows, for the canary flew away again to + the other side of the road and Mr. Joseph's eyes followed it In a moment + he was past, and the chance was gone for ever. Miss Maria left her window + and sat down opposite her visitor. There was nothing to keep her now, + nothing to give her courage and hope for the future, new fire for her + faded eyes, new strength for her jaded limbs. Yet she was only + thirty-four. How strange it is that some unmarried women are old at that + age, even while living in luxury and surrounded by every care and all + affection, while many a married woman, though beset with trials and + weaknesses and perhaps a brood of restless little ones to pull her gown + and get in the way of her busy feet, retains her figure and her step, her + smile and her complexion, her temper and her nerves! + </p> + <p> + It but remained for Charlotte Dexter to take her revenge in her way. Going + very seldom out of her house, and never visiting at the Inn she was really + very ignorant of the doings of either Mr. George or Mr. Joseph Foxley. + Towards the one she had never been greatly drawn, for the other she felt + all the passion that only a supremely lonely woman can feel in middle age + for a man younger than herself who charms her as a child, while he + captivates her as a lover. Of Mrs. Cox and Milly moreover, she hardly ever + thought, and in fact had not seen the latter for a long time. If she had + it is not likely she would even have recognized in the tall pale shapely + young woman with braids of dark hair and white linen cuffs fastened—must + I tell it? with a pair of antique monogram studs, the plump little + handmaiden of four years back. As it was, she only waited on day after + day, to hear Mr. Joseph speak. Instead of Mr. Joseph however appeared + another and less welcome confidante. This was the most malignant gossip in + the village, Mrs. Woods, the wife of the butcher, a tall red faced woman + with high cheek-bones on which the color seemed to have been badly + smirched, watery eyes and a couple of protruding yellow teeth. She looked + more like a butcher than the butcher himself who was a mild little man + with soft silky fair hair and small nervous fluttering hands. Yet he + managed to summon sufficient character to go on a tremendous burst—I + know of no other word, every third or fourth month and disappear for a + week When these periodical eclipses took place, his wife would come flying + into the Inn with her bonnet hanging round her neck and a large green and + red plaid shawl streaming out behind her. + </p> + <p> + “Where's Woods?” She would say. “Where's Woods? Give me Woods! Give 'im + up, I tell you; give 'im up now!” + </p> + <p> + But Woods was never found inside Mrs. Cox's neat dwelling, nor indeed + anywhere, although it had been whispered on, one occasion that he had been + seen in the back room of the little “Temperance Hotel” with the male + Methodist in attendance. This, of course, was clearly impossible. + </p> + <p> + It was this Mrs. Woods then that stopped at Dexter's Oak one Friday + morning with her donkey-cart and a small piece of the neck of mutton in + it. She was not an entirely bad woman, though a downright cunning virago, + and perhaps some inkling of the nature of the blow that was about to fall + on Miss Dexter's head caused her to come prepared by an acceptable present + to somewhat mitigate its appalling approach. + </p> + <p> + “I be at the Inn bright and early this morning Miss,” she began, “and + brought 'em their bit of fresh meat. And I'm bringin' you a bit as was + over, and it is'nt a bad piece for a stew, if you like a stew, Miss, with + an onion or two.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you very much, Mrs. Woods,” said Charlotte, who had come out to the + front door and now stood on the lower step, looking over the cart. “I'm + afraid I can't settle with you just at present,” she said further, with + some effort, “you can call some other time when you are passing. Will that + do? and is it weighed?” + </p> + <p> + “It is, miss, and I'll not say a word about the payin'! Six pound and a + 'alf, and Woods gone agen—I weighed it myself.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! I am sorry to hear that,” said Charlotte. “Your husband gives you a + great deal of trouble. I am very sorry, and he is not at the inn?” + </p> + <p> + If Charlotte was guilty at that moment of purposely leading the + conversation up to this always for her most enthralling, most engrossing + subject, she soon enough received her punishment. On she went to her own + destruction. + </p> + <p> + “At the inn!” repeated the butcher's wife, with ineffable scorn on her + cruel mouth. She wiped her watery eyes and settled the refractory bonnet + before going on. + </p> + <p> + “No miss, he's not at the inn, and if he was sober, he wouldn't be at the + inn, and you'll never see him, nor me, nor 'Ide yonder, nor anyone on us + at all no more at the inn. For the inn's changed 'ands, miss. There's an + end of Mrs. Cox, who was a mother to many, if not to Woods. There's an end + to good old times and dancin' and singin', and honest Robert, though he + was a cross 'un—there's an end to it all now, miss, for the inn's + changed 'ands, and I'm the first in the village as knows it.” + </p> + <p> + “Good gracious. Is it possible?” said Charlotte, genuinely surprised. “Who + can have succeeded Mrs. Cox and why? I thought she was so popular and + making so much money, and what—what will become of the Mr. Foxleys?” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Woods gave a triumphant grin. “It's them, theirselves, miss; it's + them that 'as it now. And the younger one will be marrying Milly in a + little while and settling down comfortable in the inn. It's gentlefolks + and aristocrats we'll have now at the inn, miss, and 'ard workin' people + like me and Woods may trudge all day and freeze all night, and never a pot + of beer or a warm at the kitchen fire and meat paid regular for year in, + year out!” + </p> + <p> + Charlotte stood aghast. The woman's injured volubility rushed past her as + a scene outside a railway car rushes past us, leaving only one idea, one + word caught at, as from the window through which we apprehend the + landscape, one scene or portion of a scene enchains the eye and lingers in + the mind though other scenes fly past in varied succession. + </p> + <p> + “Marry?” she repeated. “Marry! Milly, did you say? That is the girl, isn't + it, Mrs. Cox's niece? Which—” + </p> + <p> + “Ay,” said the woman, “that's Milly, the 'ired girl; she's no I more than + that, if she be her aunt's niece. And 'ard work for one's niece. Me and + Woods, if we'd 'ad one, would have done better for her nor that, makin' + her work like a slave or a dummy. Cows, and pigs, and poultry, and + dish-washing, and scrubbing, and lamps, and starched fronts, and fine + gentlemen—but she's well paid, she's well paid. She's to marry one + of the fine gentlemen, Mr. Joseph it is, and they're to live on at the Inn + with Milly as mistress, and her fine husband behind the bar, very like. + Well, good-mornin', Miss Dexter; I wish you joy of the mutton. Me and + Woods often says—we'll take this or that little Dexter's Oak, but + it's most times forgot, for Woods is 'alf crazed, Miss Dexter, and I've + got to do the whole. Good-mornin'.” + </p> + <p> + Having adjusted her bonnet and the donkey-cart to her satisfaction, Mrs. + Woods drove off rather disappointed on the whole at Miss Dexter's calm + demeanour. Astonishment, perplexity, doubt, contempt and disgust she had + undoubtedly shown, but not a single sigh of weakness. Charlotte Dexter was + not the woman to swoon or lament or even turn pale as her sister Ellen + would have done. But when she came into her house and sat down in her + lonely parlour, she enacted a scene which would have petrified with + astonishment any inhabitant of the prosy little village in which she had + dwelt so long and indeed many other people as well, for when you and I, + dear reader, go to see one of these emotional plays in which the French + actress writhes on the sofa; grovels on the floor, rolls up her + handkerchief into a ball or tears it into strips, prays, weeps, curses, + censures, implores, looks at herself in the glass until she is on the + point of going mad, and strides about the stage as no woman in real life + has ever been seen to stride, ending by throwing herself across an + arm-chair as rigid as marble thereby assuring the audience that she is in + a “dead faint”—I say, that when we see all this performed by a + travelling “star,” and her truly eclectic Company, comprising a Diva, a + Duenna, a Diner-out and a Devil, we are apt to look around at the placid + Canadian or the matter-of-fact American audience and wonder if they + understand the drift of the thing at all, the situations, the allusions, + even in the slightest degree, forgetting that perhaps the most placid, + most commonplace person in the theatre has gone through some crisis, some + tragedy as thrilling, as subtle and as terrible as the scene we have just + witnessed. “Not out of Paris,” we say, “can such things happen?” Do we + know what we are saying? Is it only in Paris that hearts are won and + tossed aside this night—as in the play? Is it only in Paris that + honor is forgotten and promises are broken this night—as in the + play? Is it only in Paris that money allures and rank dazzles, and a dark + eye or a light step entrances, this night—as in the play? Is it only + in Paris that nature is human and that humanity is vile, or weak, or pure, + or firm, as this night in the play? Oh! in that obscure little Canadian + village, a lonely old maid locked her door that morning and pulled down + her blind that the daylight might not come in and see her misery, might + not mock even more malignantly than the ignorant, impertinent and + hard-hearted woman who had dealt her this blow. Like most women in such a + crisis, she lost the habit of thought. Reason entirely deserted her, and + she never dreamed but that it was true. For when a women has to own to + herself that she holds no dominion over a man, that it is only too + perfectly clear that the impulse of loving is all on her side and that she + has neither anything to expect nor anything to fear from him, since + indifference is the keynote of his attitude to her, she will all the more + readily believe that he loves elsewhere, worthily or unworthily the same + to her. A woman is not a noble object in such a situation. All trusting + feminine instincts, all sweet emotions of hope, all sentiment, all passion + even, retreat and fall away from her, leaving either a cold, bitter, + heartless petrifaction, in a woman's clinging robe, or the Fury that is + the twin sister of every little red-lipped, clear-eyed girl born into the + world. She never dreamed but that this story was true. In fact so entirely + had her woman's wit deserted her, she said to herself of <i>course</i> it + was true. Her brain could work sufficiently to conjure up hints, phrases, + words, looks, events, accidents that all bore testimony to the truth of + the extraordinary tale. For it was extraordinary. Miss Dexter herself was + the great grand-daughter of an Admiral, and the grand-daughter of a judge, + and as such, respected all these accidents of birth which we are supposed + to ignore or at least not expected to recognize in a new country. That + such men as the Mr. Foxleys could make themselves as completely at home in + the Inn as rumor had frequently asserted, and with truth, seemed at all + times monstrous to her. She had lived so long out of England, over thirty + years now, that she had forgotten the sweet relations that prevailed there + between the aristocracy or landed gentry and their inferiors. The Mr. + Foxleys were simply doing in Canada what they would have done had they + been still in England, only they were assisted in so doing by the + unusually English surroundings in which they found themselves. Miss Dexter + looked around her in the yellow inclosed light. There was a sampler in a + frame, worked by herself when a little child, another exactly similar, + worked by Ellen, a couple of fine old family portraits in heavy gilt + frames, half a dozen ivory miniatures scattered about on the walls, some + good carvings in ivory, a rare old Indian shawl festooned over the wooden + mantle-board, a couple of skins on the floor, a corner piece of furniture + known as a “whatnot” crowded with bits of egg-shell china, birds' eggs and + nests, a few good specimens of spar and coral and a profusion of plants + everywhere. It was all neat, respectable, even dignified, superior. There + was no such other room in the village. In the village? There were not many + at that time even in the town. Sooner than part with the eggshell china or + the Indian shawl the Miss Dexters had suffered the pains of poverty and + hunger; these cherished reminders of an absent father and an artistic + youth could never be lost or borne away by the hands of a stranger. And + how glad those foolish Miss Dexters had been to possess such beautiful and + interesting objects when it pleased Mr. George Foxley to drink tea out of + the cups on summer afternoons on the verandah of the little cottage + looking up into the splendid vault of the mighty oak, or when Mr. Joseph + would wind the Indian shawl round his silly head in the winter evenings + when the draughts of cold air would rush in through the thin walls. These + and other memories crowded into Charlotte Dexter's brain as she looked + around her room, crowded thick and fast, crowded fast and furious, surged, + broke, leaving an empty moment of perfect blankness, then crowded again + thicker, faster, surged and seethed and then broke again, leaving in the + void of perfect blankness this time a fixed idea, a resolve, a + determination, seen in the dark like a luminous point of phosphorus. + </p> + <p> + That afternoon as Farmer Wise was driving slowly along the road, the main + road leading through Ipswich to the town, he was accosted by Miss Dexter + from her verandah. She had her jacket on and held her bonnet in her hand. + </p> + <p> + “Can you give me a seat as far as the Albion?” said she. “I would have + sent a message to you yesterday if I had known I was going. But if it will + not trouble you—” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! no trouble no trouble at all, Miss Dexter,” replied Farmer Wise. “I'm + sorry I've only the waggon to offer ye. But I'm takin' in apples as you + see, nine barrel of 'em, and only a waggon will do for them.” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly, certainly,” said Miss Dexter, hurriedly trying on her bonnet. + “Can you wait a moment? I won't be longer, Mr. Wise, it is just to lock + the back door.” + </p> + <p> + The farmer nodded and drew up under the shade of Dexter's oak. It was a + beautiful afternoon late in November, characterized by the clear cold air, + the blue and gold of the sky, and the russet coloring of the foliage that + mark the close of the Autumnal season. He looked in at Miss Dexter's + little garden, admirably neat and well-trimmed; dahlias, hollyhocks, sweet + William and asters, though done with blossoms, still bore their green + leaves unsmitten by the frost. The windows appeared full of flowers too, + but the blinds were skimp and faded and drawn down behind them. He started + when he noticed this, for he knew the outer aspect of the house well, and + had never seen such a thing before, except in case of sickness or death. + The honest farmer thought and thought until Miss Dexter reappeared and + assisted by him, got up in her place beside him. Even after that he went + on thinking, and I must here tell you that it was not the first time + Farmer Wise's thoughts had dwelt so persistently upon his companion and + her house and personal history. For twelve years he had nursed a kind of + mild distant passion for Miss Dexter at the Oak, unguessed at by her and + his family, and only half understood by himself. He could not have said he + was in love with her. He had been in love once when he married his first + wife, who bore him a triad of splendid sons, one “keeping store” in the + Western States and the other two at home on the farm, all three great + giants of fellows, handsome in the fields or at barn-doors or in + market-waggons, but plain on Sundays in black coats or at evening dances + in the big ball-room at the Inn, when they would shuffle noisily through + cotillons or labor clumsily through a Highland Schottische. + </p> + <p> + For himself, Farmer Wise was an honest, sincere, good-hearted man, a maker + of money and a spender thereof—witness the fine red ploughs, the + painted barns, the handsome team, Kentucky bred, and the inner decorations + of his house, situated about five miles out of Ipswich, on the main-road. + After Mr. Simon P. Rattray, he was the representative man of the district, + although he did not come so closely into contact with the villagers. This + <i>penchant</i> for the elder Miss Dexter had been a gradual, a slow but + very sure and steady thing. Her father's death had increased it, so had + that of Ellen her sister, and the farmer lived too far away to know as + much as other people knew about the advent of the Mr. Foxleys. Had there + been a sister or a daughter, or a wife or a mother, or an aunt or a cousin + about the farm, he would have known very quickly. As it was, the girl who + did the housework on the farm was as ignorant of gossip, its existence and + the laws which govern its nature, as any male farm hand could be. When + Farmer Wise put up his horses at the Inn three or four times a year, and + sat down in the cheerful bar-room to drink a glass of whisky with his feet + to the fire if it were winter, or a taller glass of Belfast ginger ale if + it were summer, did he never notice Mrs. Cox? Mrs. Cox, well-to-do and + popular herself, fresh, blooming and hearty, a young woman yet, and just + the woman one would say, for him, and above all, the woman who thought + most of him and ran to change her cap—the black one with the knot of + rusty widow's crape—for the smart new one that held the velvet pansy + when she saw the team coming. There's where he should have chosen the + second time, there was the woman he should have noticed instead of poor, + proud, foolish Charlotte Dexter, whom he half feared as a “lady born,” and + who held in her heart, had he only knew it, the image of Mr. Joseph + Foxley. The farmer got on with the English gentlemen at the Inn whenever + he saw them “first-rate,” and it was of them he began most unsuspiciously + to talk when he and Miss Dexter had crossed the bridge, ascended the hill + on the other side of the river, and the team were settling to their work + as they entered upon the dreary eight miles called the Plains which lay + between them and the city. The farmer was consciously happy as he moved + his ponderous body slightly nearer to his companion and tucked her in with + his great hands, a single touch of one of them hurting her thin frame as + if they were made of iron or stiff rope. He thought he was gentle too—poor + man—but long years of manual labor had changed the natural soft + flesh to the consistency of leather, in which immense muscles and joints + seemingly of marble had been imbedded. + </p> + <p> + Besides, there was the delicate touch of another hand, as fine, as soft as + a woman's and yet almost as strong as the farmer's, in her mind, a hand + whiter than her own, though somewhat freckled, a hand that had taper + fingers and well-kept nails, a hand that bore an antique seal ring and a + fine pearl, a hand alas that had often retained her own in its warm + clinging pressure, and once—only once, and that was three years ago—clasped + her unresisting waist for a moment in the dark under the Oak while her + sister fumbled at the gate. And just as she cherished these memories of + Mr. Joseph, so did the widowed farmer retain the few occasions in his mind + on which he had met Miss Dexter, spoken with her, given her a “lift” into + town or up the road to the village store, for this was not the first use + she had made of his gallant good nature and the Kentucky team. + </p> + <p> + He looked down at her now as they drove along in silence and noticed her + thin black gown, her short jacket, her bit of black veil drawn over her + bonnet, and her dingy travelling-bag with its tarnished clasp, and he + heaved a sigh. + </p> + <p> + Charlotte was a “sizeable woman” thought Farmer Wise “and wants a good + live garment sometimes, to bring her figure out and make more of it and do + justice to it. A shawl now! How much would a good shawl be? I miss a woman + round the place; I wouldn't know what to ask for. I might ha' stopped nigh + the Inn and asked Mrs. Cox.” Ay, you might Farmer Wise, and have done + another mischievous thing, upsetting Mrs. Cox for a week as she waited for + a parcel from town and breaking her heart altogether as day after day + followed and no parcel arrived. + </p> + <p> + “I ha' never seen the ekil of those Mr. Foxleys yonder,” began the honest + farmer as something to start a conversation with. “I ha' never seen their + ekil.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” said Miss Dexter. “Yes? In what way?” + </p> + <p> + “So gentle and so funny as they be. Gentlemen both of them with delicate + hands and fine clothes—” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, yes,” murmured Miss Dexter under her breath, clutching at her bag + and closing her eyes. + </p> + <p> + “And not above anybody or anything going. I see the pale one this day, and + pale he is and weak they say, enough to be walked about on the girl's + shoulder—I see him to-day as I passed the Inn, he was on a long + chair out in the bit of paved yard, you know Miss Dexter, and when he saw + me he raises his head and says 'Farmer Wise, is that you?'” May be you + don't remember just how he speaks. He speaks better now nor when he came, + and his brother too. At first It was all in a jumble like one word run + into the other and hard to understand at least for us country folks. But + now 'tis a bit clearer, more as you speak, begging your pardon, Miss + Dexter, for noticing that or anything else that concerns you, Miss Dexter. + And I says, stopping these fellows a bit. “Yes it's me. I'm on my way to + town with nine barrels of apples.” + </p> + <p> + “How many?” he calls out again. + </p> + <p> + “Nine,” I replies. + </p> + <p> + “Let's taste one,” he says. + </p> + <p> + “A barrel?” I says, and Milly, the girl, she come oat by the door, with + another quilt to put over him, laughing, and showing her teeth, rare ones + too, they be and says she. “Throw us down one, Farmer Wise,” and I did, + for I had a couple in my pocket, and here's the tother, “now Miss Dexter, + if you see your way to eatin' it now in the waggon alongside of me, or + will you wait till we get to the Albion?” Charlotte Dexter put her hand + out mechanically and took the apple, a large red one, from the farmer who + again managed to hurt her as his great wrist touched her fingers for an + instant. He blushed perceptibly and moved a little nearer still. And how + unconscious Charlotte Dexter was of his mere presence, let alone tender + thoughts, except when he hurt her! + </p> + <p> + “I have heard this morning, that is I believe everyone has known for some + time, though it is only spoken about generally today, for the first time, + that Mrs. Cox is giving up the Inn. Her niece, the girl you mention, is + going to be married—indeed, it is one of those gentlemen—the + Mr. Foxleys—whom she is to marry, and they will take the Inn out of + Mrs. Cox's hands.” + </p> + <p> + The farmer was as surprised as she had been. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” he ejaculated “didn't I say I'd never seen their ekil? Milly's + going to marry one of the Mr. Foxleys? Which—” + </p> + <p> + “It is Mr. Joseph,” returned Miss Dexter, staring down at the apple in her + lap. “The youngest one, you know. He is a very merry young gentleman and + always has something to say. I daresay it will be a very comfortable + arrangement.” + </p> + <p> + “But it's a great thing for Milly,” said her companion, “it'll be a great + thing for her. She'll live in the tone, no doubt and may be cross the + ocean to see his home and his parents—it'll be a great thing for + Milly. A gentleman born! Ay, ay; ay, ay!” + </p> + <p> + “No, no,” said Miss Dexter, irritably. “Don't I tell you, Farmer Wise, + that they will live on at the Inn? These young gentlemen like comfort, + like being waited upon. They do this in order to insure—in order to—oh! + it is difficult to explain my meaning, but you must see, Farmer Wise, that + it is not a proper marriage at all, it is a very sad thing for the girl, I + should consider, and some one—some friend should tell her so. She + can never be a lady, and what kind of life will it be for him, a gentleman + born, as you say, when he could have chosen too, where he liked. My great + grandfather, Mr. Wise, was an Admiral, and my grandfather was a Judge. My + father was a member of a respected profession, although not brought up to + it in early life, and <i>none</i> of my relations, or ancestors <i>ever</i> + married out of their own proper circle, except my poor father. He made a + most perverse and foolish marriage, Farmer Wise, which though only lasting + a few years, brought sorrow and trouble and poverty and oppression to his + family.” + </p> + <p> + “Ay, ay,” said the farmer, softly. He was thinking still about those + down-drawn blinds. + </p> + <p> + “Ay, ay. You're right in the main, Miss Dexter—yes, you're right in + the main. Now, I thought I'd ask ye—I said to myself this morning, + when I see Miss Dexter the next time, her as is a lady, and no mistake, + I'll ask her—what would you say, or what your sister have said if + someone here right in this village, that is, there in Ipswich, I mean of + course, someone who wanted to just be kind and lend an 'elpin 'and, had + asked ye—or her—say her—had asked her anytime to marry + him, startin' fair, startin' fair, with a year to think on it. And a + comfortable 'ome awaitin' 'er with two 'ired girls to do the work and + plenty of hands on the farm and the best of cheese and butter and the + Harmonium in the parlor and drives to and fro' the Church and behind it + all a—solid man—a solid man—what do ye think she'd 'uv + said?” + </p> + <p> + Was ever man more in earnest, now that it had suddenly broken from him + after all these years, than honest Farmer Wise? The team jogged on, but + the reins were lying loosely in their owner's hands. + </p> + <p> + “I thought I'd ask ye,” he repeated looking away from his companion. “I + thought I'd ask ye.” + </p> + <p> + Miss Dexter had hardly gathered the import of his speech. She looked up + startled. + </p> + <p> + “My sister?” she said with increased irritability. “Ask my sister? What do + you mean? I never knew that anybody here, in the village, had proposed to + her, or dared—dared to think of her at all as a possible mate—wife, + whatever it is you mean. Surely you don't mean yourself, Farmer Wise! It + would never enter your head, I am sure, to propose to my sister!” + </p> + <p> + “No it never did,” said the farmer quietly. + </p> + <p> + “Then it is someone else? Really, you must tell me, if you know anything + about it, Farmer Wise. But I think you are making some mistake, it is + quite impossible that anyone in the village—any native of the + village, or indeed any native of this country should so far forget himself + as to propose to my sister.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course,” said the farmer as quietly, “it is quite impossible. No one + 'ud 'av done it. No one did do it, that I know on. But I thought I'd ask + ye. And about yourself, too? There'd be no gettin' ye to forget all—all + that has been and to take up with things as they be, to be makin' a new + start, startin' fair, as I said, startin' fair, both parties agreed to + think a year on it, and one party to save up and buy nothin' till the year + 'd be out and then the other party to give the word for both to take 'ands + and make the start together! For what's past is past, and what's done is + done, and ye can't make this out the old country any more nor ye can bring + back those that are gone, which they wouldn't be, I 'low to say, if they'd + stayed behind in it. This” said the farmer, in a louder firmer voice, + indicating with his whip the dreary pine forests that bordered the road on + either side, “isn't the old country. I come from it myself, and I know it + taint. Them rustlin' leaves ain't the old country, heaps of brown and + yella up to your knees after a while, nor yet this road, nor that sky, nor + this waggon, nor them apples, nor them horses. Nor me myself. I'm no + longer old country. I'm fond of it—sho! I'm fonder of it now than I + was forty years ago, when I come away from it, I'm fonder of it every year + that goes by. But it's the New Country that's made me, that's give me all + I have and more than all I want, and accordin' I'm grateful to it, and + wouldn't turn my back on it. No Miss Dexter I wouldn't, and so I says, to + all as come out to it, it's better to try and forget the past, or at least + as much of it as 'll bear forgetting in order to let you live, and to take + up with things as they be, and not lookin' always to things as they were, + and to make the best of what the New World has to offer to ye And I don't + think that in England—God bless her—to-day, you 'll find a + finer team, nor redder apples, nor an easier going waggon, nor even a + prettier sky, than that there yella light breakin' all over the landscup + like!” + </p> + <p> + There was perfect silence after that. It had suddenly dawned upon + Charlotte Dexter with accession of disgust and embittered hostility that + the farmer's words related to himself. What new and hateful complication + was this to be reminded by such an ill-timed declaration of the ironical + in her life which had always been near enough to her apprehensions! + Anything and everything but what she wanted, she could have. It had always + been so. A dark frown gathered on her forehead, she clutched her bag and + drew herself away from the side of the honest farmer. + </p> + <p> + “I do not know what you are talking about,” she cried. “Such words can + have nothing to do with me. I could not disgrace myself and my father's + family by allying myself with anybody out here, least of all, one of the + working classes, or a farmer. You are very inconsiderate, Farmer Wise, and + I must ask you to distinctly understand that even conversation on such a + subject is quite out of the question. I cannot even discuss it with you or + with anyone in your position. I have told you what my connections are; + what my family is, you have now, I hope, some correct idea, and you will + see how utterly impossible it is that I should, even to better my + circumstances which I admit are somewhat precarious, make such a <i>mésalliance</i>—such + a mistake, I mean, as you refer to. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said the farmer very quietly this time. “You're right in the main, + Miss Dexter, you're right in the main. But I thought I'd ask ye, I thought + I'd ask ye. Far from harm bein' done, there's only good, there's only + good, for now you understand me and I understand <i>you</i> and thank ye + for your confidences and there's an end on it.” + </p> + <p> + So begun, so ended the honest man's wooing. Did he suffer disappointment + as Miss Dexter's contemptuous eye and her irritated tone showed him—ah! + how plainly—she was forever out of his reach? Was an idol broken, a + dream dissolved, a blossom nipped, or hope murdered, just as much, in the + case of this comfortable placid unimaginative elderly farmer as in the + case of younger, warmer, more impetuous, more idealistic men? If so, + Farmer Wise was as self-contained as the best actor among them and handed + Miss Dexter out at the Albion with as gallant, though cautious politeness + and sat as far away from her at the hotel tea table and met her in the + hall afterwards with as severe an air, as if the situation were perfectly + pleasant and completely ordinary. He asked her when she would be going + back, and learnt that she would pass the night at the Albion, returning to + the village by the Saturday's stage. + </p> + <p> + “Then shall I take a seat for ye?” asked the willing farmer. + </p> + <p> + “No” said Miss Dexter, who appeared to be in a great hurry, “I can arrange + in the morning, thank you.” + </p> + <p> + “In any case, ye're sure ye won't want a 'lift' again, Miss Dexter,” said + the farmer respectfully, though there might have been the least tinge of + irony in the tone. “I'm not goin' back myself till to morrow.” + </p> + <p> + “No, thank you,” returned Miss Dexter for the last time. + </p> + <p> + The Albion was a small hotel or tavern situated just on the outskirts of + the town, which did a flourishing business with the country people. Two + roads, the Ipswich and the Richmond, formed a sort of junction before its + door, one leading into the fine agricultural district or valley of + Richmond, Guernsey and Trenton, and the other following, the dreary Plains + through Ipswich to Orangetown, a thriving little community of mills and + saws and booms and planks picturesquely situated on the Upper Orange + River. + </p> + <p> + There was always a knot of farmers round the Albion, all of them English + or Scotch or native Canadians born of British parents. A French-Canadian + would have been hoisted on a table and examined minutely all over, hair, + eye, skin and costume, had one been present. But though the men were + respectable and decent and hard-working and most of them earned a good + income and few of them drank or gambled it away, they were noisy, smoky, + staring fellows for companions and Miss Dexter, having walked some + distance to a shop, made a purchase, and returned to the parlor of the + hotel while it was yet light, uncertain what to do with herself or where + to go to escape the bustle and clatter of tongues. Farmer Wise was smoking + in the bar, she had seen him as she passed in, and the mere sight of him, + with his head up against the counter, and his legs out on a chair made her + shudder. She sat in the parlor listening to the intolerable noise, heavy + delf and cutlery being momentarily banged down on tables and chairs, an + occasional broken plate and whirling pewter mug or kitchen spoon reaching + her ear with more than usual reverberation. Then would come a volley of + laughter, oaths, and bets on next week's races from the bar, then more + breaking of china from the scullery, the stamping of horses in the stable, + then the bar door would be closed and comparative silence ensue. In one of + these intervals, the girl who had waited at the tea-table appeared in the + parlor and inquired of Miss Dexter if she would like a fire put in the + wood stove that stood on a square of zinc in the middle of the room. It + came as a relief from the nervous broodings that were settling down on her + mind occupied in introspection neither healthy nor cheerful, and she + eagerly assented. + </p> + <p> + When the fire burned up, she opened the door that she might see the blaze + and spread out her thin hands to it and put her cold feet to its warmth. + Then for the first time she unclasped her bag and taking out her purchase, + looked at it. The shop she had gone into was a druggist's, and her + purchase had been a small bottle of a bluish fluid that she now held up to + the light and looked at long and steadily but with no change in her + countenance. The bar-door opened with a creak and closed with a bang. She + started and replaced the bottle in the bag and put the bag over her arm as + before. For a long time she sat before the fire warming first one foot, + then the other and never looking away from the blaze. When half-past ten + came, so did the girl with a lamp and two damp towels for Miss Dexter who + took them without opening her mouth much to the astonishment of the girl, + who though taciturn herself was well used to speech and “language” from + all she came in contact with, and who was also struck with the fact that + the strange lady had never removed her bonnet or jacket “since she come in + the house.” + </p> + <p> + She would have had additional ground for surprise had she known that the + strange lady did not remove them even upon reaching her own room, but + lowering the lamp, lay down fully dressed upon the bed still clasping her + small travelling bag in her hands, and slept until seven o'clock in the + morning. She then rose and hastily straightening her attire, descended to + the dining-room, partook of ham and eggs. Upon the close of this meal, she + went up again to the parlor and sat slightly back from the window that + overlooked the main road until twelve o'clock, when she partook of the + dinner served to the travellers at the Albion, including Farmer Wise who + had sold his apples and soon after dinner hitched up ready to go + homewards. After dinner she went up as before to the parlor and sat there + again. Two o'clock came, half past two, three o'clock, and Miss Dexter + began to look along the road in the direction of the town. Half-past three + found her, still looking along the road. Four o'clock came, half-past + four, then five. She grew visibly uneasy, walked to and fro in the little + parlor, sat down again. Half-past five, the clatter in the kitchen which + had been silent for a little while renewed itself. Six!! The men stumped + into their tea, and the girl ascending asked Miss Dexter if she was coming + down to hers. + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Miss Dexter, “I expect to have a late tea at home, thank you. + And I am just going in a moment or two.” + </p> + <p> + Ten minutes past six. The late November afternoon had almost entirely + faded, it would soon be dark. A quarter past six and Miss Dexter, looking + continuously out of her window perceived the figure she had waited for so + long at length approaching. Gay, Mr. Joseph, you have thrown off the + fetters of town and work and dull care and responsibility, and here you + are free and untrammelled as the air, good humored, cheerful, humming your + Old Country tunes as usual, brisk, <i>débonnair</i>, untouched by thought + of present trouble or evil, unthinking and unsuspecting! Gay Mr. Joseph, + urbane Mr. Joseph, what have you got in your hand this time? Last time it + was a bunch of the red field lily. Now it is, or it looks like—yes, + it is—a genuine florist's bouquet. Something to open the eyes of the + Ipswich villagers. A gorgeous wired platoon of roses, and smilax tuberose + and mignonette—Mr. Joseph, Mr. Joseph, what does this mean, who is + this for? On he came, brisker, more <i>débonnair</i>, more smiling than + Miss Dexter had ever seen him in her life. Her breath came fast as he + neared the window. Exchanging a word with the hostler and a couple of + laboring men who stood almost in the centre of the road Mr. Joseph passed + on, looking down with a smile at the bouquet in his hand. Miss Dexter then + arose and quietly settling her bonnet at a glass walked out of the hotel + having paid her small bill at dinner-time. + </p> + <p> + She walked steadily on in the direction of Ipswich in the wake of Mr. + Joseph who did not appear to be walking as fast as usual himself. So by + straining every nerve as we say—in reality, walking as she had never + attempted to and dreamt of walking in her life—she slowly but surely + gained upon the unconscious Mr. Joseph. They were about in the middle of + the plains, that dreary bit of road bordered by pine forests on either + side when Miss Dexter found she could distinguish the <i>clink, clink</i> + or jingle of his watch-chain, a thing of steel links which she knew well + by sight as well as by sound as it struck against the buttons of his coat. + Slowly Miss Dexter gained on him, until it was necessary either to accost + him or pass him. Which did she mean to do? Dark as it was rapidly growing, + Mr. Joseph, in half turning his head to observe something in the trees or + sky, became conscious of a figure close behind him. The path was narrow, + for he had left the middle of the road since passing the Albion, and he + stepped aside with his usual ready politeness to allow the lady room to go + on before him. But in a moment he recognized Miss Dexter. She waited for + him to speak. + </p> + <p> + “I—really, why—is it possible it is you, my dear Miss Dexter? + I never knew you took such lonely walks so far from home. You don't mean + to say you've walked out from town?” + </p> + <p> + For an answer, Miss Dexter, who had previously unclasped her bag and taken + out the bottle, lifted her right hand and threw the contents over Mr. + Joseph. + </p> + <p> + “In the name of God!” shrieked the unfortunate man, warding off as he + imagined a second attack. But Miss Dexter had done her work and stood + rigid, unmovable, stony as marble, the bag fallen at her feet, her hands + fallen straight down at her sides. Mr. Joseph had sunk upon the ground + moaning and writhing, but through all the torture of the terrible pain he + was suffering, he thought of nothing but the inconceivable brutality of + the act itself. Why had she done it? + </p> + <p> + “I suppose it is vitriol,” he gasped. “Was it an accident—or—did + you—mean—to—do it? How have—I—injured—you? + Oh—say—say—” + </p> + <p> + He could get no further for a few moments in the appalling consciousness + of that living fire which had burnt into his poor eyes and played round + his poor temples. Otherwise he was not injured, for Miss Dexter's aim had + been a faulty one and nearly all the contents of the bottle had in reality + descended on the ground. + </p> + <p> + “Say—say” he went on. “Which it is? My—dear—Miss Dexter—I + am—sorrier for you—than—for—myself, and cannot + imagine—oh! Good God, I shall be blind, blind—ah!!—” + </p> + <p> + Charlotte Dexter still stood in the rapidly darkening air, a stem, rigid, + immovable figure. It was too soon for remorse. That would come in good + time. But a certain pity stole over her as she gazed at the huddled mass + on the ground before her, which a short time ago, had been the gay, + laughing, upright Mr. Joseph. + </p> + <p> + “Are you suffering very much?” She said at length in her ordinary voice. + </p> + <p> + “Good God! How—how—can you ask? Again—tell me—was + it—an accident?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” she replied still in her most ordinary voice. “No. It was no + accident. It <i>is</i> vitriol, and I <i>did</i> mean to throw it.” + </p> + <p> + “It is horrible,” groaned Mr. Joseph, still in agony on the ground where + he had sunk at first. “And you will not—fiend that you appear now to + be—though Heaven knows—I thought you sweet and womanly enough + once—you will not—tell me why! It is infamous!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, it <i>is</i> infamous,” returned Charlotte Dexter. “It <i>is</i> + horrible, and I am a fiend. I am not a woman any longer. I once was, as + you say, sweet and womanly enough for—for what? Joseph Foxley. For + you to come to any house and my sister's house, and blast <i>her</i> life + and strike <i>her</i> down as you thought you would strike me, for this + and that and for much more, but not enough for truth and honesty and an + offer of marriage in fair form, not enough for common respect and decent + friendship.” + </p> + <p> + “My dear lady,” said Mr. Joseph with great difficulty, “there was no one I—” + </p> + <p> + “And all that time, when I thought you at least free, at least your own + master, at least unbiased and unbound, for unlike a gentleman you never + hinted to me of these—other ties—you were engaged to this + miserable girl, this common drudge, the scullery-maid of a country inn. + You, you, you!” + </p> + <p> + “My dear lady,” said Mr. Joseph again with greater difficulty than before, + “I—upon my word—I have—I—” + </p> + <p> + Charlotte Dexter, suddenly regaining the use of her limbs, bent down + quickly and peered into the poor sightless face. Mr. Joseph had fainted. + She owned no fear yet however, though it was now quite dark, and five + miles lay between them and her own door. Pity was just giving away to + remorse. What if she had killed him? She bent down again but found that + there was no fear of that and even consciousness appeared to be returning. + At this moment the sound of wheels struck her ear. Nearer and nearer it + came and she soon descried a waggon coming along the road sharply in which + sat one man. The rest of the waggon was empty and as it was proceeding in + the direction of the village, into that, she made up her mind, should Mr. + Joseph be put. As it drew near, she stepped out of the dark shade of the + pines and bade the man stop. + </p> + <p> + “Whose there!” said he, “What's here? What's the matter? Why, if it ain't + Miss Dexter!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said she, stooping to assist her unfortunate companion. “How do you + do, Farmer Wise! I—do you know Mr. Foxley—Mr. Joseph Foxley—is + here—can you just see him—if you have a lantern, or, will you + help me to get him into the waggon?” + </p> + <p> + Farmer Wise forgot Miss Dexter and her family pride in an instant, though + at first sight the feeling of injury had somewhat revived, and he made + haste to come to her relief. He found Mr. Joseph just coming to himself. + </p> + <p> + “Why, why, what's the matter?” said the Farmer. “It minds me of old times, + this, when highway-men and tramps were a-infestin' the road and a-lyin' in + wait for honest travellers—in the Old Country of course, Miss + Dexter, not here, not here. Yet somethin's been at work here, eh! Mr. + Joseph, or else I'm much mistaken. Here, lend an 'and, Miss Dexter; now, + sir, can you see me?” + </p> + <p> + “Not very well,” gasped poor Mr. Joseph. “It's dark, I know,” said the + farmer, “and I hadn't begun carrying my lantern yet. Never mind Here, now, + place your foot there—are ye hurt anywhere that I may touch ye—tell + me where I hurt ye, if I do—now then, the other foot— + </p> + <p> + “There, now it's done! Miss Dexter, ma'am there's an old blanket at the + back there, lie him on that. Put his head down and let him look straight + up at them stars and he'll soon get himself, I warrant. If I knew where ye + were hurt, perhaps I could bind ye up. There's no wound,” anxiously. + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Mr. Joseph. “Thank you, Farmer Wise. I am—much—better—really. + I was unconscious!” + </p> + <p> + “Ay,” said the farmer, “A little, and can you stand the joltin' now, are + ye sure? For if ye are, we'll drive on.” + </p> + <p> + “Stay a moment,” said Mr. Joseph. “I had some flowers—a bouquet—in + my hands when I—fell. I can't see—very well—in this + light—look for me, will you!” + </p> + <p> + “I do spy somethin' white on yonder ground where you was when I came up. + Maybe it's a pocket-handkerchief, may be it's the flowers you dropped.” + </p> + <p> + The former sprang down and returned with two articles one of which—the + bouquet he gave to Mr. Joseph, the other, a small bottle—he put in + his own pocket The bouquet was as fresh and untumbled as when it emerged + from the careful florist who had prepared it. Not a single drop of the + fiery liquid had fallen upon it nor scorched its fragrant beauty and it + presently lay upon the face of the suffering man, healing with its cool + moist sweet leaves and petals his poor scarred skin. + </p> + <p> + “I won't ask him,” thought the farmer, “I won't ask him. But what are they + doin' here together? Well, I won't ask that neither. And why did not she + came out by the stage as she said? I won't ask that neither. There's three + things I needn't go for to enquire into. But a little general conversation + in a nice kind of way, neither spyin' nor lyin' may do him good and not be + altogether despised by the—the other party.” He looked back and + could dimly see Mr. Joseph sitting up on the blanket. He had removed his + hat, and his hands were pressed to his head. Charlotte Dexter was in the + furthest corner of the waggon, a dark, stern, ominous figure. + </p> + <p> + “Strange that you and me <i>are</i> goin' home together, Miss Dexter, + after all,” said the farmer. + </p> + <p> + “Miss Dexter drove in to the Albion alongside of me yesterday, sir, and I + ask her if so be she need a second lift back to-day, and she said 'no.'” + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” said Mr. Joseph. “Yesterday, did you say? I was—to have—come + out—yesterday—in answer to my brother's note—but I could + not manage—it. I wish,” with a grim attempt at the old humor—“I + had, 'pon my soul I do.” + </p> + <p> + “Your brother is well, I hope, sir?” said the farmer. “Don't talk too + much, I beg of ye, Mr. Joseph. To see ye with yer hands like that!” + </p> + <p> + “It is—better—easier—that way,” returned Mr. Joseph. “My + brother is well for him, thank you. You know, he is—not strong he—is—never—perfectly + well.” + </p> + <p> + “D—” said the farmer to himself. “Of course, of course, I know. I + see him yesterday morning, pale like and weak, but smiling and lookin' + happy enough too, I tell ye.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, yes” said Mr. Joseph, again lying down and pressing the flowers to + his hot lips. “I—these flowers—are for him and—her.” + </p> + <p> + “Her!” said the farmer. + </p> + <p> + “Milly, you know. Ah—perhaps you haven't heard. My brother is going + to—marry Milly, Mrs. Cox's niece, you know.” + </p> + <p> + An absolutely death-like stillness prevailed in the waggon. The Kentucky + team jogged on. The stars shone down on poor Mr. Joseph turning up his + sightless orbs to their beauty and majesty, and on the passion of grief + and remorse that now surged in Miss Dexter's suffering breast. + </p> + <p> + “It may be vanity,” thought Farmer Wise as the bridge and the river and + Dexter's Oak came in sight one after the other, “it may be vanity, though + I'm too old a man to be much given to that, but I can't help thinkin' I'm + a wiser man than I was yesterday by a good lot. I don't half know what's + happened, but somethin's goin' on, whether it's understandable or not to + me and the likes of me, I don't know as yet, and I don't think I'll try to + find out. If ifs bad it'll come out fast enough, and if it's good, leavin' + it alone maybe will make it a little better. But here we are,” he + continued aloud, “at Dexter's Oak. What's to be done, Miss Dexter, now, + and with you, Mr. Joseph? Of course, I'll take you straight to the Inn—as + for Miss Dexter—” + </p> + <p> + “I will get out at once,” said the unhappy woman. “You are sure you can + take him to the Inn all right and—and—lift—that is—without—” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I guess so,” said the farmer, grimly relapsing into an Americanism + that was just beginning to leaven the whole country. “I guess I'll take + care on him, and as for gettin' him out at the Inn, there's plenty there. + Good-night Miss Dexter, take care there!—now you're all right” + </p> + <p> + Charlotte Dexter, with a long look at the prostrate form of Mr. Joseph, + leapt from the waggon and sped through the gate up to her desolate + dwelling. + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” sighed the farmer to himself, one great long sigh that stirred his + hardy frame to its centre. He never sighed like that again either for + Charlotte Dexter or any other woman. + </p> + <p> + The next mile they traversed in silence broken only by occasional moans + from Mr. Joseph which moved the old farmer to wonder and dismay that + almost unnerved him. + </p> + <p> + Presently Mr. Joseph murmured some word the farmer did not catch all at + once. + </p> + <p> + “Is he out of his mind on top of it all!” he said to himself, and + listened. + </p> + <p> + “Farmer Wise,” said the same low voice, “are we near the Inn?” + </p> + <p> + “Just there, Mr. Joseph.” + </p> + <p> + “On the little bridge yet?” + </p> + <p> + “Just come on it, Mr. Joseph.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! Can you—stop your horses?” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly. There! Now what is it?” Mr. Joseph sat up. + </p> + <p> + “I am in your waggon—the market waggon, Farmer Wise, I think?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Mr. Joseph. You can't tell where we are, I see, being so much + shook.” + </p> + <p> + “No. That's not it,” said Mr. Joseph. “I—are you on the seat—the + front seat, Farmer Wise?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Mr. Joseph. You can't make me out by this queer light, and I don't + wonder. The stars is beautiful, but they don't make up for havin' no + moon.” + </p> + <p> + “No. That's not it either, Farmer Wise. Did you say the stars were + shining? Orion, I suppose, and the Bull and the rest of them! Can't you—try—like + a dear old fellow—can't you—tell what's the matter with me? + You say you are sitting on the front seat, and I—have no doubt but + that you are, but your voice sounds so much further away—so very + much further away than that—and when one—can't—see you, + Farmer Wise,—” + </p> + <p> + A frightful pause. + </p> + <p> + “Can't see me, can't see me! Mr. Joseph, Mr. Joseph! Not blind—God + forgive me for sayin' the word out to ye like that! But I thought it, I + thought it, and so, out it come! But it is'nt that! Ye'll forgive me for + sayin' the word out to ye like that! It isn't that!” + </p> + <p> + “I'm afraid it is, Farmer Wise. It can be—nothing—else.' + </p> + <p> + “If, as you say, the stars are shining and to be sure they generally are + about—this time—of night, and if, as you say, you are sitting + directly opposite me on the front seat of your waggon, and I have no + reason to doubt it, if this is so, and I—can see neither—these + stars shining—nor you—yourself—dear old fellow—on + the seat before me—it can be, I fear—nothing else.” + </p> + <p> + “And how—” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! I can't—quite remember. Some time, perhaps, I'll tell you how—shall + I go to my brother or—how can I?” + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Joseph,” entreated the farmer, seizing one of those delicate hands + and patting it as if it had been his own. “Will you come with me? I'll + make you comfortable, and have ye seen to and we'll find out about it and + what can be done, and that'll save your brother, look, and he not strong! + Come, Mr. Joseph! Lie down there as you was, just as ye was—God + forgive me for tellin' you to look up at them stars—and I'll speak a + word for you at the Inn, as we're passing. Won't that do, nor be better + than goin' in like that? Not knowin' either just what is the matter. Come, + Mr. Joseph! I'll drive straight home after that and make ye comfortable + for the night, and there'll be no—womankind, or, or anyone to + disturb ye, just me and the two boys—come, Mr. Joseph!” + </p> + <p> + “I am willing enough to go, old fellow,” answered Mr. Joseph with a groan. + “Willing enough to go anywhere, but where my brother—my poor brother—is. + Yes, it will be best. Drive on.” + </p> + <p> + The warm cheery Inn soon appeared in view. The firelight from the bar and + the lamp-light from the other rooms beamed out from the red-curtained + windows. The scrape of a fiddle came from the kitchen. “Squires,” murmured + Mr. Joseph, feebly. “He's always at it.” The farmer pulled up the team at + the pump corner one instant and looking around descried not a soul in + view. He got down and went to the side door leading to the bar and opening + it put his head in. Mrs. Cox herself was dispensing early gin and water to + three or four indolent but talkative gentlemen before the fire. But she + was not so busy as not to perceive the farmer. Had she already had that + cap on in which bloomed the violet velvet pansy, Mr. Joseph's whereabouts + might have been discovered, for invariably on those occasions she + accompanied the farmer not only to the door but even to the very feet of + the horses as he straightened up one thing or loosened another and would + often joke about the empty waggon or the purchases made in the town which + might happen to fill it. + </p> + <p> + But Farmer Wise left her no time even to adjust her head-dress, far from + changing it. + </p> + <p> + “Good evening, ma'am,” said he, with his head in the door. “No. Don't + trouble about Squires. He's hard at work, I can hear, and besides, I don't + want him. I'm late, and the boys will wait for their supper. I just have + to tell ye that I see Mr. Foxley in town, Mr. Joseph Foxley, and he says + how he can't come out till—say—Monday. He was stuck full of + work—he was indeed—and said positive—he couldn't come. + But he give me this for his brother and for—her,” producing the + bouquet, which caused a thrill of amazement and awe to pervade the + loungers in the bar. “For his brother and for—her,” said the farmer, + taking a long stride across the little room and giving it to Mrs. Cox. “I + congratulate you, ma'am, I do indeed.” + </p> + <p> + Before she could well answer, he had shut the door and mounting the waggon + drove away as quickly as he could. He was too full of thoughts and plans + concerning Mr. Joseph to notice that quick as he was, Mrs. Cox, not + waiting this time to change her cap, had come out to the door and with her + hand shading her eyes, was looking wistfully after the departing team. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0012" id="link2HCH0012"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IV. + </h2> + <p> + It was as Mr. Joseph had said. His brother, George Albert Dacre Foxley, of + Foxley Manor, Notts, was indeed contemplating marriage with Milly, niece + of Mrs. Cox, landlady of the Ipswich Inn. If it seem strange, remember + that he had passed the meridian of his years, health was gone, life + rapidly passing away and it was impossible now for him to make any new + departure in his life or habits. He had become firmly attached to Mrs. + Cox's comfortable <i>ménage</i> and wanted nothing more. Never in England, + even while in the enjoyment of fairly good health and luxurious + surroundings had he ever felt so completely at rest, satisfied with + himself and his small immediate world, every want cared for, every wish + guessed at, and the best of company to his idea—company that called + for nothing but pure naturalness. He could smoke for hours in Mrs. Cox's + kitchen, or in her neat yard or even in the chintz-hung drawing-room and + no one would interrupt him with dissertations on politics, art or + literature. Like all Englishmen of the quiet country-loving stamp, he + cared little about politics except when some general crisis assented + itself, and knew less about art or literature. He thought Wilkie and + Landseer about the summit of the one and Byron the chief modern pillar of + the other. Twenty years ago, Tennyson had not made a very deep impression + on a mind of his calibre. Yet this handsome, quiet, delicate gentleman + when he did choose to talk had such an audience as is not given to many + men, for Mrs. Cox would leave her work (if she dared) and Milly would + listen with her young eyes fastened in a kind of ecstasy on the dark ones + turned to hers, and Squires would come along with his hands in his + trousers pockets and his fiddle under his arm, and Bess would put her paws + upon her master's knees and devour him with her own dark eyes—a + quintette of friends unsurpassed in the world for loyal attachment and + generous devotion. What if what he had to tell was but some simple story + of hunting England, or some bald description of London life seen under the + surveillance of a tutor fifteen or twenty years previous to the time of + narration—he was their oracle, prophet, God, what you will, and they + were his dearest, yes, his very dearest friends. When Mr. Joseph appeared + as one of this happy circle, it became more boisterous of course though + not necessarily any happier, for it was already as happy as it could be. + But the news from town and the occasional English mail, flowers and a + cheap new novel—these were some of the simple delights that Mr. + Joseph used to bring with him. During the first couple of years, both the + brothers would saunter out to the Miss Dexters' or to the Rectory, Mr. + Joseph in particular, never failing to appear on Saturday nights at + choir-practice and Sunday evening service—but Mr. George gradually + discontinued his visits as I have hinted and towards the fourth year of + his stay hardly ever went beyond the Inn. For at the back the small + terraced garden met the orchard, and the orchard sloping down met a small + pebbly brook, and the brook flowing along in sweet rippling fashion met + the most charming of wheat covered golden meadows in which it was pleasant + and good to stroll and which moreover all belonged to that matchless + paragon among landladies, Mrs. Cox. In those days people grew their own + kitchen stuff, and their own fruit and their own grain, fed their own live + stock, made their own butter and cheese, cured their own hams, laid their + own eggs, even brewed their own beer. Now, everything is different, and + let no confiding Englishman, allured by my tempting picture come out to + Canada today in search of such a Utopia for he will not find it. Moreover + all this pleasant prospect of wood and stream and meadow and orchard lay + well <i>behind</i> the Inn, let it be understood, and it was perfectly + possible for Mr. George Foxley to have all the air, walking and + exploration he desired and even a little shooting and fishing if he wanted + them without, as I have said, going beyond it. When he grew really weak, + he was obliged to give up both the latter occupations of course, but he + still walked or strolled a great deal, generally with Milly by his side. + She would leave anything she was at when he called her and opening the + little gate by the one hawthorn tree leading into the orchard, see him + safe down the slope to the side of the little brook where she would give + him her arm, and thus their walk would commence in earnest. Four years had + brought a great change in Milly. New ideas, new habits, association with + such thorough and high-bred gentleman and the natural desire to improve + and grow worthy of such dearly esteemed company, had altered her + completely. Where before she had been pink, now she was pale; thin, where + she had been plump; her features actually aquiline from the girlish snub + of the rounded contour four years back, her hair, three shades darker, her + dress, almost that of a lady. The most perfect sympathy appeared to exist, + and really did, between these two strangely met natures. + </p> + <p> + One day, they had sat down at the side of the brook as a couple of + children would have done to cast in sticks and leaves and watch them float + by. Sometimes these would get caught in the numberless little eddies that + such a stream possesses and be whirled round and round until it was + necessary to dislodge them and send them on their way after the others. + One fine yellow leaf on this November day attracted Mr. Foxley's attention + particularly, for it was obstinate in returning again and again to a cosy + little bay formed by a couple of large stones. Often as he poked it out, + back it came into the bay and anchored itself contentedly on the calm + water. + </p> + <p> + Milly laughed. + </p> + <p> + “He has found a haven,” said Mr. George. “Yes, without doubt he has found + his haven. What do you think, Milly?” + </p> + <p> + “I think so, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “Don't call me sir, child. What makes you do so?” + </p> + <p> + “There is nothing else I can call you, is there,—sir.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” said Mr. Foxley. He lay back at full length on the grass and put his + hands over his eyes. The river rippled on and Milly watched him anxiously. + “Is the leaf there still, Milly?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “Now!” said Mr. Foxley in a warning tone. “I tell you I won't have it.” + </p> + <p> + “No, sir—I beg your pardon, Mr. George.” + </p> + <p> + “Nor that either,” said Mr. Foxley, slowly rising into a sitting posture + again. He had another poke at the yellow leaf. “Call me Dacre, my child, + will you?” Milly no longer watched him with those loving, anxious, eyes. + She was trembling from head to foot and had she spoken, she must have + wept. Mr. Foxley's voice was of itself enough to make any woman weep, it + was so soft, so tender, so subdued and indrawn. Once more he said, “Call + me Dacre, my child!” That pleading voice, so low, so musical, and that it + should plead to her? They were so close together that he could feel her + tremble. Weak as he was, he was the stronger of the two for a moment, and + turning slightly towards her met her rapturous eyes, and heard her call + him the name he wanted to hear. The same instant they kissed, a long + thrilling dark-enfolding kiss that was the first Milly had ever known from + a man and might have been, for its purity and restraint, the first also + that he had ever given to a woman. + </p> + <p> + “Have I found my haven too, like the wise leaf of autumn? Have I! Tell me, + my child, my darling!” + </p> + <p> + “O sir, dearest sir—I mean, dear Dacre, it is I who have found mine. + If indeed you care for me, sir!” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Foxley laid his head just on her shoulder, then let it slide into her + lap, taking her trembling hands and putting them over his eyes. + </p> + <p> + “I do more than care for you, my child. I love you. Stoop and kiss me. + There. Don't take your head away again like that. Leave it. Your face + against mine. Your lips on mine. Is it a haven, child? Truly, yes or no?” + </p> + <p> + “Dear Dacre!” + </p> + <p> + “Well!” + </p> + <p> + “You know it is. And I have always wanted so much to—to—care + for you, but I did not dare.” + </p> + <p> + “Dare! There is no dare about it my child. If you will give me your young + life—how old are you now, love?” + </p> + <p> + “Nineteen,” whispered Milly into his ear. + </p> + <p> + “Only nineteen, and such a tall girl, with such long hair—if you + will give it to me and be happy in giving it, child, that must be thought + of, there is no one else—” + </p> + <p> + “You know there is not, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “Then I will do all I can to deserve it. And nobody must call you Milly + any more. You are Mildred now. Miss Mildred if you like and soon, very + soon, to bear another name, mine. It is a good one, child.” + </p> + <p> + “I am sure of it, dear Dacre, and too good—far too good—for + me.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you know how old I am, my child?” + </p> + <p> + “I heard your brother say.” + </p> + <p> + “And did he dare? What did he say it was, my age?” + </p> + <p> + “He said—you were forty-one.” + </p> + <p> + “Then he was out. It is more than that I am exactly forty-three; I say + exactly, for, Milly, this is my birthday, and—I cannot hope—neither + of as must dare to hope, child—that I shall see many more. You will + marry me whenever I say, my love?” + </p> + <p> + The girl bent over him in a passion of weeping. + </p> + <p> + “There is nothing I would not do for you, dear sir—” + </p> + <p> + “Except call me by my dearly-beloved third name!” + </p> + <p> + It began to turn cold as they sat by the stream and Milly or Mildred as + she is henceforth to be called, drying her eyes, fell into a fever over + her lover and besought him to return to the house. + </p> + <p> + Standing face to face, he put her arms around his neck. + </p> + <p> + “Before we go, dear child, you are sure you love me?” + </p> + <p> + “O do not ask me again, dear Dacre!” + </p> + <p> + “That is right. And you know how old I am?” + </p> + <p> + Another assent. + </p> + <p> + “And that you are to marry me whenever I say?” + </p> + <p> + “If I can.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course you can. And that you are to give me all the love you possibly + have to give and more and more. I shall be exacting!” + </p> + <p> + “Dear Dacre!” + </p> + <p> + “Very well. Remember all those clauses, and now take me back to the house. + And some day, my child, I will tell you all my life and what it was—or + rather who it was—that sent me out of England, dear England—” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! you love it still,” murmured Mildred, looking at the ground. + </p> + <p> + “I shall always love it <i>now</i>, since I have found my happiness in + Canada, but once I hated it, Milly, yes, I hated it!” + </p> + <p> + So was accomplished the wooing of Mr. George Foxley. He was earnestly and + sincerely in love. The girl had grown up under his eye as it were and was + in fact almost a part of himself already. Marriage would complete the + refining and gilding process. The tones of her voice, her accent, her + pronunciation, her habits of sitting, of standing, of walking were all + more or less unconsciously imitated from him, she had modelled herself + upon him, she was indeed his “child” as he loved to call her. For a month + these two people enjoyed as pure and perfect and isolated an happiness as + can be experienced on earth. Then it became necessary to inform Mr. Joseph + and worthy Mrs. Cox. As if Mr. Joseph and Mrs. Cox didn't know! There are + two things that nothing can hide in this life. One is, the light in the + eyes of a girl who has found herself loved by the man she adores, and the + other is, the unutterable content in the mien of that man himself. And + there is no phase of passion sweeter, nor purer, nor warmer, nor more + satisfying, than that which is the result of a young girl's affection for + a man many years older than herself. + </p> + <p> + As for the telling, Mr. George, though he could talk fast enough and + fluently enough to Mildred, hated much talk or fuss about anything and so + made everything the easier by informing his brother, Mr. Joseph, by note. + A few lines sufficed as preparation for the news and he ended by + requesting him to purchase some small and inexpensive gift as from himself + in appreciation of the occasion. Mr. Joseph with characteristic good taste + and delicate feeling, concluded that flowers, though perishable, were the + most appropriate purchase he could light upon, and consequently walked out + from town a certain Saturday afternoon late in November with a monster + affair in smilax and roses in his hand. When it was placed, though not by + himself, in Mildred's hands she felt a disappointment she could not + altogether conceal. + </p> + <p> + “Never mind,” said Mr. George at full length on a sofa with Milly beside + him on a chair. He did indeed prove a most exacting lover. For a long time + her share of daily work in the Inn and out of it, had been growing less + and less, until now she hardly did anything at all besides wait on her + master, lover and friend, prepare what he eat, read to him, and sit by him + for hours, never leaving him in the evenings till long after twelve and + then it was understood that in case of night attacks of the dreadful + pleurisy and asthma combined that were slowing killing him, she would + always be at hand to come at the sound of his bell—or indeed his + voice, for Milly, sleeping in the room opposite his own, always left both + doors open and would lie fully dressed on her bed night after night, + listening in the dark, with wide open eyes and strained ears, for the + slightest cough or sigh that came from that worshipped one across the + narrow hall. + </p> + <p> + “Never mind,” said he on that Saturday night “My brother <i>is</i> busy + just now. Don't you remember, he found it difficult to come out last week. + It's an awful grind for Joseph, poor Joseph! But he enjoys life, I think; + at the present moment I expect he is flirting audaciously in town with + some charming girl. Or some fearfully plain one. You never know who next, + with my brother. He'll turn up on Monday.” + </p> + <p> + And Mr. Joseph did turn up on Monday. Farmer Wise had fetched some doctor + from Orangetown on Sunday, who after examining his injury, pronounced it + incurable. Mr. Joseph was as stoical as Englishmen are generally expected + to be and saw that it was absolutely imperative to tell his brother. + </p> + <p> + “I brought it on myself” he said to the farmer, “At least I try to believe + I did. By Jove! to think—to think of some men! Well, I <i>must</i> + tell my brother.” + </p> + <p> + When he did tell him late on Monday night, having been driven over by + Farmer Wise himself, with his poor eyes bandaged and the sturdy farmer's + hand to guide him into the little back parlor where Mr. George and Mildred + sat alone, for Mrs. Cox had been ordered out by that exacting gentleman as + early as eight o'clock. Nothing but the presence of Mildred herself and + the love divine and human that filled Mr. George's breast to overflowing + could have saved him from succumbing to the painful shock. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I should think you are cured now, my poor Joseph!” said his brother + presently. + </p> + <p> + “Of what, in heaven's name?” said poor Mr. Joseph. “By Jove to think—to + think of some men, George! What had I done, what had I done?” + </p> + <p> + “I do think of them,” said Mr. Foxley gravely. “I do think of them. And + but for my happiness here,” touching Mildred's dress reverently, “I could + wish—” wistfully, “That we had never come here—'twas I who + brought you my poor Joseph, 'twas I, 'twas I.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! that's rubbish!” pronounced Mr. Joseph energetically. “The main point + is now, how am I to get my living. God! I am perfectly useless! They won't + take me back in town there.” + </p> + <p> + “Dear Mr. Joseph,” said Mildred, with her eyes shining on the brother of + her lover. “You will live with us of course, with—Dacre, Dacre and + me, and my aunt. We all love you—see,” and Milly rose, first + pressing Mr. George's fingers as they touched her dress in passing and + giving him a look which was meant to keep him in order for a few moments, + “no one can nurse you as well as I can—ask Dacre—let me take + off that bandage and put it on again more comfortably for you! Will you, + dear Mr. Joseph?” Mr. Joseph groaned and hid his face against Milly's + heaving breast. + </p> + <p> + “She is to be your angel as well as mine, perhaps,” murmured his brother. + </p> + <p> + “I have always been so active,” groaned poor Mr. Joseph, “What is to + become of me? To live here with you would have been beautiful, but now—the + simple thought of existence at all anywhere is unbearable! And the money—good + God, George, how can I Help giving way!” + </p> + <p> + Some few other such scenes had naturally to be gone through before any + course could be suggested to Mr. Joseph. Mrs. Cox had been taken into + confidence, and Farmer Wise made to understand that nothing must be said + about the unhappy affair. Mr. Joseph wrote into town explaining in some + way his resignation of the rather important clerkship he had but just + begun to fill creditably, and sending for all his belongings took to Mrs. + Cox's remaining little room under the roof in the character of an invalid. + The secret was admirably kept, even by the doctor who had been written to + and who had seen a similar case some years ago. + </p> + <p> + “A jealous devil, I suppose,” said he, when he read Mr. George Foxley's + note. + </p> + <p> + “Well, he might have come off worse. But I should like to know who the + country lass was that he'd been sparkin', and who revenged herself like + that.” + </p> + <p> + A few weeks afterwards Mildred was married to George Albert Dacre Foxley, + of Foxley Manor, Notts, by the Rev. Mr. Higgs in the village church. Her + lover looked wonderfully well and strong on the occasion and was so happy + that he was actually mischievously inclined during the ceremony, nearly + causing his bride to laugh out audibly. Handsome and distinguished and + aristocratic a gentleman as he looked, Mildred was not unworthy of him, as + a straighter, firmer, more composed and more smiling a bride never entered + a church. The girl was too happy to know what nervousness meant nor + self-consciousness. She sat with her lover after he was dressed and had + lain down a few moments to rest, until it was time to start in the + carriage which Mr. Rattray had in the most unexpected manner offered them + and which Mr. George accepted with the easy languid grace that + characterized his acceptance of most things in this world excepting Milly. + He had plenty of force and passion and to spare concerning <i>that</i> + gift. Stipulating that “Squires” must sit on the box seat, he and Milly + and Mrs. Cox, an ideal little wedding party, drove off in actually high + glee, laughing and chatting and joking immoderately to the amazement of + the villagers, prominent among whom were Mrs. Woods and “Woods” himself, + rescued in a dazed condition from the back premises of the “Temperance + Hotel” according to popular local tradition, and Mrs. Lyman, B. Rattray, + <i>née</i> Maria Higgs. Mr. Joseph alas! could not be present. + </p> + <p> + In the year that followed this remarkable marriage, the relative positions + of the Mr. Foxleys underwent a great change. So much love and so much care + lightened the elder brother's existence so materially, that his health + actually improved, and by the end of the sixth month of marriage he was + able to shoot and fish once more, and walk with his adoring wife without + the help of her strong arm and shoulder. Indeed it was she who about this + time began to need his assistance during those long strolls by the side of + the brook or through the tall grain grown meadows—a matter which + astonished them both to the extent of stupefaction. Mr. George took his + trouble to Mrs. Cox. + </p> + <p> + “I don't know what you expected, Mr. George, I don't indeed,” said she, + secretly amused at his simplicity. “You went and got married, as was only + natural, and now you are frightened at the results, as is only natural.” + </p> + <p> + “But, my dear lady,” expostulated the perplexed gentleman, “it involves so + many things, all manner of complications. For instance, money. I shall + have—I really believe, my dear good Mrs. Cox—I shall have to + make some money.” + </p> + <p> + “You!” ejaculated Mrs. Cox. + </p> + <p> + “I know. It appears hopeless. I never turned a penny, honest or otherwise + in my life. Joseph you see—ah! poor Joseph!” + </p> + <p> + Poor Joseph indeed, darkness for light, solitude for society, enforced + idleness for long-continued habits of activity, who could enjoy life under + these circumstances—and careful of him as Mildred was, and + sympathetic as his brother was, these two were too intensely absorbed in + each other to give him all the amusement and attention he craved. He grew + thin and weak and slightly perverse and seemed to care more for Mrs. Cox's + company than for his brother's. And yet there was nothing wrong with him + except his terrible affliction. Mrs. Cox was sure he had something on his + mind, and one day she ventured to tell him so. He flushed all over his + pale freckled skin, and feeling for her motherly hands took them in his + own. + </p> + <p> + “There is,” he said. “I wonder no one has ever guessed it. Miss Dexter, + where is she? Does anyone ever see her?” + </p> + <p> + “My poor boy, my dear Mr. Joseph,” cried Mrs. Cox. “You did not really + care for her, did you? Surely! You did not care for her!” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said he decidedly. “No, I did not care for her—I didn't, never + could have cared for her as George cares for Mildred, say—but she + was a lady and kind to me, and I liked to go there, and the fact is—I + miss her—and I am so sorry for her! and yet, you know, I am half + frightened of her too and afraid to go out, thinking she may meet me and I + wouldn't see her coming, you know! Yet she wouldn't do it again, I think!” + </p> + <p> + “Heaven save us, no, Mr. Joseph! And you so forgiving! Mercy me, and + people say men make all the trouble!” + </p> + <p> + “It's half-and-half, Mrs. Cox, dear old soul,” muttered Mr. Joseph, + leaning back on his cushions. “I suppose we were both to blame. I can't, + for the life of me, fall to talking of it as a judgment, for before + heaven, I had done nothing. Yet I forgot how lonely she was and how proud, + and I forgot too, that Ellen—that Ellen—” + </p> + <p> + “Ay, Mr. Joseph. It was Ellen too. Poor Ellen, that passed away out of it + all!” + </p> + <p> + “And she—Miss Dexter—is still here, still living by herself in + the cottage by the oak! I remember so well, Mrs. Cox, the first time my + brother and I ever saw that oak!” + </p> + <p> + “I daresay, Mr. Joseph, I daresay. Yes, she is still there, living in her + cottage unloved and unheeded, Mr. Joseph. And may she ever continue so!” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! don't say that, dear old soul! Don't say that! Do you know, I should + like to see her—I mean—meet her once again!” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Cox was certain he was not in “his right head” as she said to + herself. + </p> + <p> + “See her again! Meet her, talk to her! The woman who served ye like this! + what can you be thinking of? Let me call your brother. There he is coming + along the road, brown and bonny, with his wife on his arm, bless them + both?” + </p> + <p> + “Did you say he was brown, Mrs. Cox? My brother brown! What a change! He + looks so well then, dear old soul!” + </p> + <p> + “If you could but see him, Mr. Joseph, you would see how well.” + </p> + <p> + “Well and brown! And Mildred, she is pale, I suppose, and with her eyes + turned up to his and her lips brushing his shoulder every now and then—O + I can see them—I suppose they go on a worse than ever.” + </p> + <p> + “Indeed and they do, Mr. Joseph. After, breakfast this morning I sent them + up into the drawing-room to be out of the way of the drover's meeting to + be held in the bar, and when I went up to ask them about the lunch they + would take with them on the river this afternoon I heard no sound like and + just whispered at the door a bit if I might come in. When I went in, there + was your brother standing behind her in a chair, with all her hair down, + and a brush in his hand and his wife fast asleep! He looked frightened for + a minute when he saw me and I besought him to bring her to, thinking he'd + mesmerized her. He'd been brushing it and playing with it and the morning + over warm—she had fallen asleep. And I left them, Mr. Joseph, I left + them, for they love each other so. And when I think of the honor he has + done my girl, and how particular he is that she shall be called Mrs. + Foxley—it—” + </p> + <p> + “Well, well, Mrs. Cox, ours is a good name, and I do not think my brother + would have ever allowed any but a good girl to bear it. And if a girl is + lovely and gentle and pure-minded, and innocent, and neat, and clean, and + refined as your niece was, it matters not about her birth. Birth! O my + dear old soul, I am sick of the word! Miss Dexter now, is a lady, you + know.” + </p> + <p> + “Ay.” + </p> + <p> + “And I must see her again,” enforced Mr. Joseph, brought back to his one + idea. “I must see her again.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Cox communicated this intelligence to her niece, Mrs. Foxley. + </p> + <p> + “I think I can understand why,” said she, lying back in her husband's arms + one hot summer night under the trees at the back of the blouse. “It seems + a hard wish to understand and a harder one to comply with, but it may have + to be done. Dacre—” + </p> + <p> + “What my darling!” + </p> + <p> + “When are you going to tell me about your life in England and—and—about + the woman who sent you out of it?” + </p> + <p> + “The woman! I never told you about a woman, child!” + </p> + <p> + “No. But I guessed. It is sure to have been a woman, Dacre.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I don't mind when I tell you. Nothing of all that time is anything + to me now. Shall I tell you now?” + </p> + <p> + “If you please, dearest Dacre. For I must be close to you when I listen to + that, and must not have you see me, for I know I shall cry.” + </p> + <p> + “Dearest child! Well then, it shall be now, for you could scarcely be + closer to me than you are now? And if you cry, as you must try not to do, + you shall be allowed to cry here upon my breast and I will not look. I can + hardly see you as it is, it is so dark. Let me think, how I shall begin. + You know Joseph—our poor Joseph—is my only brother and I never + had any sisters. My father—you know this too—is an English + country gentleman living in one of the most beautiful seats in England. If + I were to describe the old place to you, you would want to go, and I could + not spare you, so I will only say—well, you have seen those + photographs?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, dearest Dacre.” + </p> + <p> + “They only give you a faint idea of what it is. It is Tudor you know—do + you know what Tudor is, Mrs. Foxley—and all red brick, weathered all + colors, and terraced, with lots of little windows and some big ones with + stained glass in them, and urns on the terrace, and a rookery, and an old + avenue of poplars, haunted too, and so on, and so on—there's no end + to it, Mildred! Yes, it's a fine old place, without doubt Well, that is + where I was born. I don't remember my mother. I wish I did. She died when + Joseph was born, he is just four years younger than I am. Our youth was + passed there—at the Manor, of course, and we had the usual small + college education not extending to a university career that gentleman's + sons have in England, you know. I didn't make many friends at school, and + where we lived, there was no one to visit, and we had very few relations. + It is quite unusual I believe for two boys to grow up as we did, in + comparative isolation. My father was a kind of Dombey—you know + Dombey, Mildred—wrapped up in his old place and the associations of + his youth and in his family pride. The Foxleys are better born I believe + than half of the aristocracy; we go back to the Conquest on my father's + side—a thing which he never permits himself to forget for an + instant. Well, Milly, it was a dull life for two lively, affectionate lads + like Joseph and me, wasn't it, and had it not been for all this, child, + nature, you know, and the trees and the streams and the out-door sports I + love so well, I could never have got on at all. Then when I was nineteen—just + your age, love—came a change. I, being the elder and heir to the + estate was sent off to town—I mean, London, my dear—and the + Continent, with a tutor. Joseph—well, I believe I have never fully + understood what became of Joseph during the four years I was away, but I + suppose he amused himself. He has a knack of doing that I never had, + except when I am in the country. Well, this tutor wasn't a bad sort of a + fellow and at first we got on splendidly, living in town in chambers, + going to the plays and the opera, and dining all over, just wherever I + liked or he knew, and excursions oat of London, you know—oh! jolly + enough for a little while! Then we went across to Paris—” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, dearest Dacre?” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Foxley stopped a moment to lift his wife's face closer to his own. He + kissed it—a long long kiss that entranced them both to the degree of + forgetting the story. + </p> + <p> + “If you would rather not go on—” said Mildred. + </p> + <p> + “Oh! I must now. Well, we did Paris, and then the other capitals and Nice—Nice + was just then coming into vogue, and ran down into Italy—I remember + I liked Genoa so much—and then we came back to Paris, for Harfleur—that + was the tutor's name, and it doesn't sound like a real one, does it—preferred + Paris to any other European town and of course so did I. About this time, + his true character began to show itself. He went out frequently without + me, smoked quite freely, would order in wine and get me to drink with him, + and was very much given to calling me fresh, green, and all that you know. + I began to think he was right. I was past twenty-one, and I had never even + had a glimpse into the inside of life. Women, now and all that kind of + thing—I was positively ignorant of—but to be sure, one quickly + learns in Paris.” + </p> + <p> + For one night, Harfleur asked me in his usual sneering tone how I was + going to spend my evening. + </p> + <p> + “I am going out to a charming <i>soirée</i> at the house of Madame de + L'Estarre, the most charming woman in Paris,” said he. + </p> + <p> + “'Then I shall accompany you,' I said, fired by his insulting tone. And I + went, Mildred. I suppose I was good-looking, eh, my child—and had + sufficient air of distinction about me to impress Madame de L'Estarre, for + she left the crowd of waxed and perfumed Frenchmen and devoted herself + entirely to me. Although she was—beautiful—she was not tall, + and I, standing at her side all that evening, never took my eyes off her + dazzling face and her white uncovered bosom. In a week, my child, I had + learnt to know and love every feature in that dazzling face and began to + dream of the day when I should be allowed to kiss that bosom. Yes, I + certainly loved her.” + </p> + <p> + “I am sure you loved her, Dacre my darling. And how could she help loving + you, dear, in return?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh that is another thing entirely, quite another thing. After that night, + Harfleur showed me more respect than he had done for some time previously + and we began to hit it off again better. I went to her <i>hotel</i>—her + house you know, every day. At first she would always receive me alone, + sending anybody away who happened to be there and refusing to admit + anybody who came while we were together.—It is difficult, even to my + wife, to explain what kind of a woman she was. All that first time, when + we would be alone, she would—make love, I suppose it must be called—with + her eyes and her hands, and her very skirts and her fan, and the cushion, + and the footstool. The room was always beautiful and always dim, and she + would greet me with outstretched hands and a shy smile, making room for me + beside her on the sofa—she always sat on a sofa. We would talk of + nothing at all perhaps but look into each other's eyes, until the force of + her look would draw me close, close to her till we were almost in one + another's arms, and I could feel her breath coming faster every moment + when just as I imagined she would sink upon my shoulder—she would + draw herself up with a laugh and push me away, declaring somebody was + coming. Then, if nobody came, she would go through the same farce again. + This would happen perhaps two or three times a day. In the evening, I was + again at her side, night after night regarding her with a devotion that + amazed even my friend Harfleur. + </p> + <p> + “She treats you like a dog. It will kill you yet, George. Come away.” But + of course I would not go. I accompanied her to the theatre, to the Bois, + to the shops, to church—yes, even to church, Mildred, think of that—and + she was very careful and circumspect and all that. I even believe as far + as direct actions go, she may have been a virtuous woman, for she + certainly, had no other lover when I knew her. She was a widow, enormously + rich and nothing to do. Therefore, I suppose she went in for the torturing + business as a profession. Her Frenchmen did not mind; that was the secret + of her charm with them—so clever, they called her, but it nearly + killed me, her cleverness. I grew pale and worn—sleep—I never + slept. All my life I had lived without natural affection, and now I was + pouring forth upon this woman the love I might have rendered friends, + sister, brother, mother, as well as the passion of a young man. I say to + you now, Mildred, my wife, that the woman who tramples on the passion of a + young man is as bad as the man who slays the innocence of a young girl. + And that's what she did. Finally, when this had lasted for a year and a + half, and Harfleur had gone back to England, one day, when I was perfectly + desperate and could have killed her, Milly, as she lay at full length on + her damned sofa—pardon, my dear, no, don't kiss my hand, child, + don't—dressed in some rose-colored stuff all trailing about her and + her hands clasped under her head, I fell by her on my knees and besought + her to tell me what she meant and if she ever could care for me. I give + you my word, my dear, and with my hand over your innocent heart, you know + I dare not lie—in all that year and a half I had not even touched + her lips. You cannot, happily imagine the torture of such a position. + </p> + <p> + Well, that day, she bent over to me on her side and said “What do you + want, is it to kiss me? Chut! wait for that till we are married.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you mean to marry me?” I gasped out. “She said 'yes,' Mildred, and + brushed my cheek with her lips. What do you think I did then, Mildred?” + </p> + <p> + “How can I tell, dearest Dacre!” + </p> + <p> + “I fainted, dearest. Think of it. But I believed her, you see, and the + revulsion was too great. In a moment or two I came to myself with the + sounds of laughter in my ears. I was on her sofa—that damned sofa—pardon + again, my dear—and she was standing with three of her cursed + Frenchmen around her all laughing fit to kill themselves. I saw through it + all in a moment. They had been on the other side of the curtains. I went + straight up to her and said 'Did you say that you were ready to become my + wife?' She only laughed and the men too with her. Then I struck her—on + her white breast, Milly—and struck the three Frenchmen on the face + one after the other. They were so astonished that not one of them moved, + and I parted the curtains, and left the house.” + </p> + <p> + “Did you never see her again?” + </p> + <p> + “Never. I left Paris considerably wiser than I had entered it and avoided + society generally. I had one year's life in London, and was considered no + end of a catch by the mammas, I believe, but you can imagine I did not + easily fall a victim. No. That is all my story, my dear, all at least that + has been unguessed at by you. My health was very bad at home and beyond my + love of sport I cared for nothing. I grew to hate my life in England, even + England, though she had done me no harm. Finally, I quarrelled with my + father who married again, a woman we both disliked, Joseph and I, and so + we turned our backs on the Old World and came out to Canada and to—you.” + </p> + <p> + Mildred still lay, crying softly, in her husband's arms. “I had sometimes + dreamt,” continued Mr. Foxley, “of meeting some young girl who could love + me and on whose innocence and sweetness I could rest and whom besides I + should really love. It did not dawn upon me when I first saw you, that <i>you</i> + were the one I wanted, for we must confess, dear, that you were very plump + and rather pink and spoke—” + </p> + <p> + “Why, Dacre, how can you? I was only fifteen! Cruel!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I know. And how you changed! Now, you are so different that it is + not the same Mildred at all. Such is the power of a true love, my child, + and we must always be happy,—ours is one of those marriages.” + </p> + <p> + Theirs was indeed one of those marriages. Mr. Foxley took to farming and + enriched his purse as well as his health. Mr. Joseph had an interview with + Miss Dexter the nature of which I am not going to reveal, but which + resulted in a placid intimacy between the two to the surprise of all save + Milly who always said that “she thought she knew why.” Miss Dexter + frequently accompanied blind Mr. Joseph on his lonely walks or would sit + with him when the others were out, as none but he cared to meet her. + Towards his death which occurred in about four years time, she was with + him constantly, and died herself in a fortnight after, having left in her + will, all her maiden belongings to her “good friend, Farmer Wise.” The + farmer was not much moved when informed of this fact, so incomprehensible + to the rest of the village. He had always kept the little bottle with its + cruel label, and had always feared and avoided poor, proud, foolish, + wicked Charlotte Dexter since that Saturday night. + </p> + <p> + As for Mr. George and his wife, I see a vision of a successful and happy + husband and father in the prime of early old age (which means, that at + fifty-three one is not old with a young wife and three sweet children) and + of Mildred, who is always a little pale, has her eyes constantly turned up + to her husband's with her lips brushing her shoulder every now and then. + </p> + <p> + Still? + </p> + <p> + Ay, still and forever. And so ends my sketch of how the Mr. Foxleys came, + stayed and never went away. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0025" id="link2H_4_0025"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + The Gilded Hammock. + </h2> + <p> + Who does not know the beautiful Miss De Grammont? Isabel De Grammont, who + lives by herself and is sole mistress of the brown-stone mansion in Fifth + Avenue, the old family estate on the Hudson, the villa at Cannes, the + first floor of a magnificently decayed palace at Naples, who has been + everywhere, seen everything and—cared for nobody? + </p> + <p> + She reclines now in her latest craze—a hammock made of pure gold + wire, fine and strong and dazzling as the late October sun shines upon it + stretched from corner to corner of her regally-furnished drawing-room. Two + gilded tripods securely fastened to the floor hold the ends of the hammock + in which she lies. The rage for yellow holds her as it holds everyone who + loves beauty and light and sunshine. Cushions of yellow damask support her + head, and a yellow tiger-skin is under her feet. The windows are entirely + hidden with thick amber draperies, and her own attire is a clinging gown + of some soft silk of a deep creamy tint that as she sways to and fro in + the hammock is slightly lifted, displaying a petticoat of darker tint, and + Russian slippers of bronzed kid. Amber, large clear and priceless, gleams + in its soft waxy glow in her hair, on her neck, round her waist, where it + clasps a belt of thick gold cloth and makes a chain for a fan of yellow + feathers. + </p> + <p> + Because you see, although it is autumn, it is very warm all through Miss + De Grammont's mansion, as she insists on fires, huge bonfires, you may + call them, of wood and peat in every room and on every hearth. Out of the + fires grew the desire for the hammock. + </p> + <p> + “Why,” says Miss De Grammont, with a faint yawn, “why must I only lie in a + hammock in the Summer, and then, where nobody can see me? I will have a + hammock made for the winter, to lie in and watch my fires by.” + </p> + <p> + And so she did, for money is law and beauty creates duty, and one day, + when the fashionable stream, the professional cliques and the artistic + hangers-on called upon her “from three to six,” they were confronted by + the vision of an exquisitely beautiful woman dressed in faint yellow with + great bunches of primroses in brass bowls from Morocco on a table by her + side, who received them in a “gilded hammock,” with her feet on a + tiger-skin, and her chestnut hair catching a brighter tinge from the + flames of her roaring fire, and the sunlight as it came in through the + amber medium of the silken-draped windows. + </p> + <p> + The tea was Russian, like the slippers, and the butler who presented it + was a mysterious foreigner who spoke five languages. The guests all + wondered, as people always did, at De Grammont. Nobody knew quite what she + had done with herself since she had been left an orphan at the age of + nineteen. She suddenly shot up into a woman, beautiful, with that + patrician and clear-cut loveliness with yet a touch of the <i>bohémienne</i> + about it which only <i>les belles Américaines</i> know. Then she took unto + herself a maid, two dogs, and three Saratoga trunks and went over to + Europe wandering about everywhere. At Cannes, she met and subjugated the + heir to the crown; of this friendship the tiger-skin remained as a <i>souvenir</i>. + The heir to the crown was not generous. Next came various members of + embassies, all proud, all poor, and all frantically in love. She laid all + manner of traps for her lovers and discovered in nearly every case that + these men were after her money. A certain Russian Grand Duke, from whom + had come some superb amber ornaments—he being a man of more wealth + than the others—never forgave her the insult she offered him. He + sent her these ornaments from the same shop in Paris that he ordered—at + the same time—a diamond star for a well-known ballet dancer, and the + two purchases were charged to his account. Through some stupidity, the + star came to her. She ordered her horses and drove the same day to the + jewelers, who was most humble and anxious to retrieve his error. He showed + her the amber. She examined it carefully. “It is genuine, and very fine,” + she said gravely. “I have lived in Russia and I know. I am very fond of + amber. I will buy this myself from you, and you may inform His Highness of + the fact.” + </p> + <p> + The delighted shop-keeper did not ask her very much more than its genuine + value and next day all Paris knew of the transaction and flocked to the + Opera to see her in the ornaments which had cost the Russian Duke his + friendship for the bearer. But though eccentric, impulsive and + domineering, no whisper had ever attached itself to her name. On her + return to her native New York, was she not welcomed, fêted, honored, + besieged with invitations everywhere? People felt she was different from + the girl who went away. <i>She</i> had been undecided, emotional, a trifle + vain, self-conscious, guilty of moods—no small offence in society; + this glorious creature was a queen, a goddess, always calm, always serene, + always a trifle bored, always superbly the same. Her house she + re-furnished altogether. The three Saratoga trunks were now represented by + nine or ten English ones, dress baskets, large packing cases, and one + mysterious long box which when opened contained several panels of old + Florentine carved wood-work which interested all New York immensely. + Pictures and tapestries, armor and screens, and a gate of mediæval wrought + iron were all among her art treasures. The foreign butler was her <i>chargé + d'affaires</i>, and managed everything most wisely and even economically. + He engaged a few servants in New York, her maid, housekeeper and the two + housemaids she had brought out with her. Her house was the perfect abode + of the most faultless æstheticism. It was perfection in every detail and + in the <i>ensemble</i> which greeted the eye, the ear, every sense, and + all mental endowments, from the vestibule in marble and rugs to the inner + boudoir and sanctum of the mistress of the house, hung with pale rose and + straw-color in mingled folds of stamped Indian silks, priceless in color + and quality. Two Persian cats adorned the lounge and one of her great dogs—a + superb mastiff—occupied the rug before the door night and day, + almost without rest. + </p> + <p> + Such were the general surroundings of Isabel de Grammont. Art and letters, + music and general culture were inseparable from the daily life of such a + woman as well as immediate beautiful presences, so that into this + faultless house came everything new that the world offered in books, + magazines, songs and new editions. Thanks to European travel, there was no + language she could not read, no modern work she had not studied. Also came + to her receptions the literary lions of New York. Aspiring journalists, + retiring editors, playrights and composers, a few actors and crowds of + would-be poets flocked to the exquisite drawing-rooms hung with yellow, + wherein the owner of so much magnificence lounged in her golden hammock. + Sonnets were written of her descriptive of orioles flying in the golden + west, and newspaper paragraphs indited weekly in her praise referred to + her as the “Semiramus of a new and adoring society world.” Baskets of + flowers, tubs of flowers, barrels of flowers were sent weekly to her + address, and she was solicited—on charitable, fashionable, + religious, communistic, orthodox and socialistic grounds as lady patroness + of this or member of that and subscriber to the other. In short, she was a + success, and as nothing succeeds like success, we may take it that as the + months rolled on, and the great house still maintained its superb + hospitality and Miss De Grammont still appeared in her sumptuous carriage + either smothered in furs or laces according to the seasons, she still + maintained in like manner her position in society and her right to the + homage and admiration of all classes. + </p> + <p> + But this was not the case. Even a worm will turn and public opinion is + very often a little vernacular, let us say. And it happened, that public + opinion in the case of Miss De Grammont, began to turn, to raise itself up + in fact and look a little about it and beyond it as we have all seen worms + do—both in cheeses and out of them—when the fact that she lay + most of the time in a gilded hammock swung in front of her drawing-room + fire was announced from the pulpits of society journals. It may have been + that her friends were devoid of imagination, that they were cold, prudish, + satirical, unpoetical, unaesthetic, anything we like to call them, that + will explain their action in the matter, for they clearly, one and all, + disliked the notion of the hammock. One spoke of it disparagingly to + another, who took it up and abused it to a third, who described it to a + friend who “wrote for the papers.” This gifted gentleman who lodged with a + lady of the same temper and edited a fashion journal, concocted with her + help a description of the thing which soon found its way into his paper + and was then copied into hers. The public grew uneasy. It would swallow + any story it was told about the Heir Apparent, for instance and a Russian + Grand Duke—is it not the sublime prerogative of American women to + dally with such small game as those gentlemen—but it kicked against + the probability of such an actual fact as the hammock already described + which seemed too ridiculous a whim to possess any real existence. However, + the tongues of the fashionable callers, the professional cliques and the + artistic hangers-on coincided in the affair to that extent that soon the + existence of the gilded hammock was established and from that time Miss De + Grammonts' popularity was on the wane. Dowagers looked askance and matrons + posed in a patronizing manner, the flippant correspondents of society + journals and the compilers of sonnets in which that very hammock had been + eulogized and metaphored to distraction now waited upon her, if at all in + an entirely different manner. Strange how all classes began to recall the + many peculiar or unaccountable things she had done, the extraordinary + costumes she had worn, the fact that she lived alone, and the other fact + that she made so few friends. From aspersions cast on her house, her + equipage, her dresses, there came to be made strictures on her private + character, her love affairs, her friends and career in Europe, her <i>ménage</i> + at present in New York and the members thereof. Finally public opinion + finding that all this made very little impression outwardly, upon the + regal disdain of Miss De Grammont in her carriage or in her Opera-stall, + however she might writhe and chafe when safely ensconced within that rose + and straw-colored boudoir, made up its mind that the secret of the whole + three volume novel, the key to the entire mystery lay with the—butler. + </p> + <p> + That black-moustached functionary, they whispered, had his mistress in his + power. He had been a courier, and she had fallen in love with him abroad. + Or he had been a well-known conjurer and coerced her through means little + less than infernal to run away with him. He was a mesmerist, so they said, + and could send her into trances at will. Then he had been the famous Man + Milliner of Vienna, whose disappearance one fine day with the entire + trousseau of an Austrian Grand Duchess had been a nine days' wonder. These + dresses she wore, strange mixtures never seen on earth before of violet + and blue, pink and pea-green, rose and lemon, were the identical ones + prepared for the Grand Duchess. Finally, he was an Italian Prince rescued + from a novel of “Ouida's,” whom she had found living in exile, having to + suffer punishment for some fiendish crime perpetrated in the days of his + youth. + </p> + <p> + When the stories had reached this point, Miss De Grammont, to whom they + were conveyed through papers, notes from “confidential friends,” her maid + and others, wrote a letter one day directed to the: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + REV. LUKE FIELDING, + Pastor, Congregational Church, + Phippsville, Vermont. +</pre> + <p> + A week or ten days after, Miss De Grammont, seated—not, in the + gilded hammock though it still swung gracefully before the glowing fire—but + in the cushions which graced her window looking on the front of the house, + saw a gentleman arrive in a cab. She rose hastily and opened the door of + the room herself for her visitor. This was the Rev. Luke Fielding, a + gentleman of the severest Puritanical cut and a true New Englander to + boot. With his hat in his hand he advanced with an expression on his face + of the deepest amazement and dismay which increased momentarily as he saw + not only the gorgeous coloring and appointments of the room but the fair + figure of its occupant. To be sure, she had with infinite difficulty + selected the plainest dress she could find in her wardrobe to receive him + in, a gown of dark green velvet made very simply, and high to the throat. + But alas! there was no disguising the priceless lace at her wrists, or the + gems that glittered on her firm white hands. + </p> + <p> + “My dear cousin!” said the lady, giving him both her hands. + </p> + <p> + “My dear cousin Isabel,” returned the minister, laying his hat down on a + plush-covered chair on which it looked curiously out of place, and taking + her hands in his. + </p> + <p> + “My dear cousin Isabel, after so many years!” + </p> + <p> + “It is only eight years, cousin,” returned the lady. + </p> + <p> + “True,” replied the minister gravely. “Yet to one like myself that seems a + long time. You sent for me, cousin.” His gaze wandered round the room and + then fastened once more upon Miss De Grammont. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” she said faintly. “I could not tell you all in my letter. I wanted—I + want still—somebody's help.” + </p> + <p> + “And it is very natural you should apply for mine, cousin, I will do + anything I can. I have”—the minister grew sensibly more severe, more + grave—“I have this day, on the train, seen a paper—a new kind + of paper to me, I confess,—a <i>Society Journal</i> it calls itself, + in which a name is mentioned. Is your—trouble—connected with + that?” + </p> + <p> + Miss De Grammont blushed deeply. “Yes. That is my name. I would not have + troubled you—but I must ask your advice, for you are the only one of + the family, of my mother's family—” Her voice broke. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, cousin, you are right.” + </p> + <p> + The minister rose and stood up before her, a stern though not + unsympathetic figure in his stiff black coat and iron gray hair. “I know + what you are going to ask me to do. You will ask me to see these people, + these editors, reviewers, whatever they are, to talk to them, to impress + upon them what you are and who you are, and who your mother was, and what + is the end of the base man who imagines lies and the end of all the + workers of iniquity. You will ask me to tell them that it is all false, + all abominable intrigue and treachery and I shall demand in your name and + in my own as your only near relative and a minister of the Gospel, an + apology. It is but jealousy, cousin. Forgive me, but you are too beautiful + and too young to live alone in such a house, in such a manner. You must + marry. Or else you must give up such a life. It maketh enemies within your + gates and behold! there shall be no man to say a good thing of thee!” + </p> + <p> + The minister had lifted up his voice as if he had been in the pulpit and + for one instant laid his hand on his cousin's hair. Then he went back to + his seat. + </p> + <p> + Miss De Grammont was profoundly moved. Great tears coursed down her cheeks + and until they had stopped she could not trust herself to speak. + </p> + <p> + “The paper!” she said dismally. “You have seen a paper, you say, with—my—my + name in it! There is nothing new in that. I have been in the papers for + months past. I am never out of them. And this one says—” + </p> + <p> + The minister drew it out of his pocket. + </p> + <p> + “That with you, in this house lives, in the character of a butler, an + exiled Italian Prince who committed grave personal and political offences + many years ago and was sent to prison. That you are married to him. My + dear cousin, it is monstrous!” + </p> + <p> + Miss De Grammont took out her handkerchief already wet through with her + tears and pressed it to her eyes. + </p> + <p> + “It is not monstrous,” she said, “but it is most extraordinary. He <i>is</i> + an Italian Prince, and I <i>am</i> married to him.” + </p> + <p> + To use a hackneyed phrase, the room swam around Mr. Fielding for an + instant When he recovered he could only sit and gaze at the beautiful + woman before him. The details of village life, in Vermont had not educated + him up to exigencies of this sort. A fearful chasm seemed to have opened + under his feet, and he began to comprehend dimly that there were other + lives than his own and that of his estimable but commonplace wife being + daily lived out in this world. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Miss De Grammont, a little more bravely now that the worst + shock was over. “That is quite true. And the extraordinary part of it is + that they can only have guessed at it; evolved it, as it were from the + depths of their inner consciousness, they can't possible have discovered + it. It isn't known anywhere, save perhaps to one or two in Italy.” + </p> + <p> + “In Italy,” murmured the Rev. Mr. Fielding. “You met him in Italy? And why + keep it secret? My dear cousin, you have made a great mistake. And all + this sad and singular story is true?” + </p> + <p> + “Very nearly true. All but the offences. They never happened.” + </p> + <p> + “Your husband is not a political character then?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! not in the least. He knows nothing of politics. My José! he couldn't + hurt anything, moreover!” + </p> + <p> + “José is a Spanish name, surely,” said Mr. Fielding. + </p> + <p> + “His mother was a Castilian, fair and proud as only a Castilian can be. + She named him José—But he has other names, three, all Italian—Antonio—” + </p> + <p> + “I see,” said the minister dryly. “I am sorry that I cannot give you all + the sympathy in this matter that you may desire, but you have entered on a + course of action which is perplexing at least, to say no more. I feel, my + dear cousin, that as a—married woman—your confidences are—ill + placed and I must ask you to withdraw them. You must settle this matter + with your—ahem—husband.” Mr. Fielding took up his hat and in + another moment would have been gone forever, but that turning at the door + he saw such intense supplication in his cousin's eyes that his orthodox + heart melted. + </p> + <p> + “Forgive me cousin,” he said coming back. “There may be still a way out of + it. Will you tell me all?” Miss De Grammont then related her different + heart episodes abroad, entanglements, half-engagements, desperate + flirtations and all the rest of it to this sober, black-coated gentleman. + Such a revelation poured forth in truly feminine style nearly drove him + away the second time, but true to his word, he remained nevertheless, + sitting bolt upright in a padded chair only meant for lounging. Finally, + she told him of her snares to catch lovers and how one day she was caught + herself by the dark-browed, eloquent Prince Corunna. + </p> + <p> + She fell in love herself for the first time in her life, and he with her, + so he declared. But he was miserably poor and with the pride of a + Castilian would not woo her because of her money. She hated it, yet she + could not live without it. + </p> + <p> + The minister smiled pityingly. + </p> + <p> + However she made him marry her, and then proposed as a test, in which he + joyfully acquiesced, that he should make himself of use to her, be in + fact, her major-domo, steward, butler, amanuensis, anything and + everything. + </p> + <p> + “It is most unprecedented,” sighed the minister. “That a man with + Castilian blood in his veins—” + </p> + <p> + Miss De Grammont interrupted him. “He was happier so, dear cousin. But I—I + grew most unhappy. And since I have been here, I have been very unhappy + still. We are both in a false position and now—thanks to that + unlucky hammock—our secret has become common property.” + </p> + <p> + “The hammock!” said Mr. Fielding. “What has that got to do with it? It is + a pretty idea.” + </p> + <p> + “So I think,” said Miss De Grammont, delighted beyond measure. Then she + told him about the paragraphs, large and small, the confidential friends, + the small beginnings that had lead insensibly up to the culminating point—that + of scandal. + </p> + <p> + “I am being dropped gradually,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “Of course you are,” said the minister. “Of course you are. Soon you will + be—forgive me—a dead letter. There is only one thing to be + done and that I can do at once. A letter must be written to this paper, + stating calmly in as few words as possible that this paragraph is true, + that you <i>are</i> married to Prince—ah—Corunna, that he <i>is</i> + a political offender and for that reason the marriage <i>was</i> kept + secret, but that now of course as informers must already have given the + secret away, you are obliged to endorse it yourself.” + </p> + <p> + “But José is not a political offender! Never did anything wrong in his + life!” + </p> + <p> + “Of course not,” said the minister. “Some of us others, even clergymen, + are not so fortunate. Now that must be included, else there is no good + reason for having kept your marriage secret. Other explanations will not + be taken. Besides this will entitle you to sympathy at once. Will you + write the letter and I can leave it at the office for you? There is time + for me to do that before my train starts.” + </p> + <p> + Miss De Grammont wrote her letter as dictated by her cousin. He put it in + his pocket and rose to go. + </p> + <p> + “Will you not stay and see my husband?” she said timidly. + </p> + <p> + “Thank you, no.” returned Mr. Fielding. “I haven't met many foreigners. I + don't think, perhaps, we should get on. Down in Phippsville—well, my + circle is so different from yours, Isabel. It is the fashion I hear to + live abroad now, and desert America—at least to depreciate it, and + not to care about its opinion—but that hasn't spread yet to our + little village. It seems as if it might have been better for instance, had + you stayed in Europe. You see, having married an Italian, all this trouble + would have been avoided—I mean—it could have gone on over + there—but now—well, riches are a snare, my dear cousin, as you + have by this time found. Good-bye, dear cousin, and God be with you.” + </p> + <p> + When a letter addressed to the editor of the Society Journal appeared the + next day signed Isabel Corunna (née De Grammont) with its paralysing + statement in a few concise words, New York was startled to its foundation. + Public opinion which for a week had been at the culminating point of + distrust, malevolence and resentment, turned the corner in a moment and + for the moment believed implicitly in the faith of the lady it had + abandoned. The greatest sympathy was shown Madame La Princesse Corunna, or + Princess Corunna, or Miss De Grammont that was, or whatever her friends + chose to call her. The butler disappeared for ever and the Prince came in. + It was a transformation scene equal to Beauty and the Beast. Dark-browed + and eloquent as ever, the Prince was a social success whenever he chose to + be, but as time went on, he and his wife became more and more absorbed in + each other and the world saw little of either of them. For a time he posed + as a political offender which gave his wife no end of amusement. They were + so far reinstated into public favor that the hammock—source of + mingled joy and woe—was again considered as a thing of beauty and a + thing to be imitated. There are a dozen such hammocks now in New York + City. + </p> + <p> + But there are still a few ill-natured people, dowagers, matrons, an old + love or two, and a handful of shrivelled spinsters who declare that the + Prince is no Prince at all, but a Pastrycook. + </p> + <div style="height: 6em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Crowded Out! and Other Sketches, by +Susie F. Harrison + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CROWDED OUT! 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Crowded Out! and Other Sketches + +Author: Susie F. Harrison + + +Release Date: August, 2005 [EBook #8652] +This file was first posted on July 29, 2003 +Last Updated: May 19, 2013 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CROWDED OUT! AND OTHER SKETCHES *** + + + + +Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Robert Prince and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team + + + + + + + +CROWDED OUT! + +And Other Sketches, + +By Seranus + + + +The Story of Monsieur, Madame, and the Pea-Green Parrot. The Bishop of +Saskabasquia. "As it was in the Beginning." A Christmas Sketch. The +Idyl of the Island. The Story of Delle Josephine Boulanger. The Story of +Etienne Chezy d'Alencourt. "Descendez a l'ombre, ma jolie blonde." The +Prisoner Dubois. How the Mr. Foxleys Came, Stayed, and Never Went Away. +The Gilded Hammock. + + + + +PREFACE. + + +I present these "Sketches" in all proper fear and humility, to my +Canadian public, hoping that the phases of colonial life they endeavor +to portray will be recognized as not altogether unfamiliar. Some of them +are true, others have been written through the medium of Fancy, which +can find and inhabit as large a field in Canada as elsewhere; for, to my +mind, there is no country, no town, no village, as there is no nation, +no class of society, nor individual existence, that has not its own deep +and peculiar significance, its own unique and personal characteristics +that distinguish it from the rest of the world. + +SERANUS. + + + + +Crowded Out. + + +I am nobody. I am living in a London lodging-house. My room is up three +pair of stairs. I have come to London to sell or to part with in some +manner an opera, a comedy, a volume of verse, songs, sketches, stories. +I compose as well as write. I am ambitious. For the sake of another, +one other, I am ambitious. For myself it does not matter. If nobody will +discover me I must discover myself. I must demand recognition, I must +wrest attention, they are my due. I look from my window over the smoky +roofs of London. What will it do for me, this great cold city? It shall +hear me, it shall pause for a moment, for a day, for a year. I will make +it to listen to me, to look at me. I have left a continent behind, +I have crossed a great water; I have incurred dangers, trials of all +kinds; I have grown pale and thin with labor and the midnight oil; I +have starved, and watched the dawn break starving; I have prayed on +my stubborn knees for death and I have prayed on my stubborn knees for +life--all that I might reach London, London that has killed so many of +my brothers, London the cold, London the blind, London the cruel! I am +here at last. I am here to be tested, to be proved, to be worn proudly, +as a favorite and costly jewel is worn, or to be flung aside scornfully +or dropped stealthily to--the devil! And I love it so this great London! +I am ready to swear no one ever loved it so before! The smokier it is, +the dirtier, the dingier, the better. The oftener it rains the better. +The more whimsical it is, the more fickle, the more credulous, the more +self-sufficient, the more self-existent, the better. Nothing that it +can do, nothing that it can be, can change my love for it, great cruel +London! + +But to be cruel to _me_, to be fickle to _me_, to be deaf to _me_, to be +blind to _me_! Would I change then? I might. As yet it does not know +me. I pass through its streets, touching here a bit of old black wall, +picking there an ivy leaf, and it knows me not. It is holy ground to me. +It is the mistress whose hand alone I as yet dare to kiss. Some day +I shall possess the whole, and I shall walk with the firm and buoyant +tread of the accepted, delighted lover. Only to-day I am nobody. I +am crowded out. Yet there are moments when the mere joy of being in +England, of being in London, satisfies me. I have seen the sunbeam +strike the glory along the green. I know it is an English sky above +me, all change, all mutability. No steady cloudless sphere of blue but +ever-varying glories of white piled cloud against the gray. Listen to +this. I saw a primrose--the first I had ever seen--in the hedge. They +said "Pick it." But I did not. I, who had written there years ago,-- + + + I never pulled a primrose, I, + But could I know that there may lie + E'en now some small or hidden seed, + Within, below, an English mead, + Waiting for sun and rain to make + A flower of it for my poor sake, + I then could wait till winds should tell, + For me there swayed or swung a bell, + Or reared a banner, peered a star, + Or curved a cup in woods afar. + + +I who had written that, I had found my first primrose and I could +not pluck it. I found it fair be sure. I find all England fair. The +shimmering mist and the tender rain, the red wallflower and the ivy +green, the singing birds and the shallow streams--all the country; the +blackened churches, the grass-grown churchyards, the hum of streets the +crowded omnibus, the gorgeous shops,--all the town. God! do I not love +it, my England? Yet not my England yet. Till she proclaim it herself, +I am not hers. I will make her mine. I will write as no man has ever +written about her, for very love of her. I look out to-night from +my narrow window and think how the moonlight falls on Tintern, on +Glastonbury, on Furness. How it falls on the primrose I would not pluck. +How it would like to fall on the tall blue-bells in the wood. I see the +lights of Oxford St. The omnibuses rattle by, the people are going to +see Irving, Wilson Barrett, Ellen Terry. What line, of mine, what bar, +what thought or phrase will turn the silence into song, the copper into +gold?--I come back from the window and sit at the square centre table. +It is rickety and uncomfortable, useless to write on. I kick it. I would +kick anything that came in my way to-night. I am savage. Outside, a +French piano is playing that infernal waltz. A fair subject for kicking +if you will. But, though I would I cannot. What a room! The fire-place +is filled with orange peel and brown paper, cigar stumps and matches. +One blind I pulled down this morning, the other is crooked. The lamp +glass is cracked, my work too. I dare not look at the wall paper nor +the pictures. The carpet I have kicked into holes. I can see it though +I can't feel it, it is so thin. My clothes are lying all about. The soot +of London begrimes every object in the room. I would buy a pot of musk +or a silken scarf if I dared, but how can I? + +I must get my bread first and live for beauty after. Everything is +refused though, everything sent back or else dropped as it were into +some bottomless pit or gulf. + +Here is my opera. This is my _magnum opus_, very dear, very clear, +very well preserved. For it is three years old. I scored it nearly +altogether, by _her_ side, Hortense, my dear love, my northern bird! You +could flush under my gaze, you could kindle at my touch, but you were +not for me, you were not for me!--My head droops down, I could go to +sleep. But I must not waste the time in sleep. I will write another +story. No; I had four returned to-day. Ah! Cruel London! To love you +so, only that I may be spurned and thrust aside, ignored, forgotten. +But to-morrow I will try again. I will take the opera to the theatres, +I will see the managers, I will even tell them about myself and about +Hortense--but it will be hard. They do not know me, they do not know +Hortense. They will laugh, they will say "You fool." And I shall be +helpless, I shall let them say it. They will never listen to me, though +I play my most beautiful phrase, for I am nobody. And Hortense, the +child with the royal air, Hortense, with her imperial brow and her hair +rolled over its cushion, Hortense, the _Chatelaine_ of _Beau Sejour_, +the delicate, haughty, pale and impassioned daughter of a noble house, +that Hortense, my Hortense, is nobody! + +Who in this great London will believe in me, who will care to know +about Hortense or about _Beau Sejour_? If they ask me, I shall say--oh! +proudly--not in Normandy nor in Alsace, but far away across a great +water dwells such a maiden in such a _chateau_. There by the side of +a northern river, ever rippling, ever sparkling in Summer, hard, hard +frozen in winter, stretches a vast estate. I remember its impenetrable +pinewood, its deep ravine; I see the _chateau_, long and white and +straggling, with the red tiled towers and the tall French windows; I +see the terrace where the hound must still sleep; I see the square side +tower with the black iron shutters; I see the very window where Hortense +has set her light; I see the floating cribs on the river, I hear the +boatmen singing-- + + + Descendez a l'ombre, + Ma Jolie blonde. + + +And now I am dreaming surely! This is London, not _Beau Sejour_, and +Hortense is far away, and it is that cursed fellow in the street I hear! +The morrow comes on quickly. If I were to draw up that crooked blind +now I should see the first streaks of daylight. Who pinned those other +curtains together? That was well done, for I don't want to see the +daylight; and it comes in, you know, Hortense, when you think it is +shut out. Somebody calls it _fingers_, and that is just what it is, long +fingers of dawn, always pale, always gray and white, stealing in and +around my pillow for me. Never pink, never rosy, mind that; always faint +and shadowy and gray. + +It was all caste. Caste in London, caste in _Le Bos Canada_, all +the same. Because she was a _St. Hilaire_. Her full name--_Hortense +Angelique De Repentigny de St. Hilaire_--how it grates on me afresh with +its aristocratic plentitude. She is well-born, certainly; better born +than most of these girls I have seen here in London, driving, walking, +riding in the Parks. They wear their hair over cushions too. Freckled +skins, high cheek-bones, square foreheads, spreading eyebrows--they +shouldn't wear it so. It suits Hortense--with her pale patrician outline +and her dark pencilled eyebrows, and her little black ribbon and amulet +around her neck. _O, Marie, priey pour nous qui avous recours a vous_! +Once I walked out to _Beau Sejour_. She did not expect me and I crept +through the leafy ravine to the pinewood, then on to the steps, and so +up to the terrace. Through the French window I could see her seated at +the long table opposite Father Couture. She lives alone with the good +Pere. She is the last one of the noble line, and he guards her well and +guards her money too. + +"I do remember that it vill be all for ze Church," she has said to me. +And the priest has taught her all she knows, how to sew and embroider, +and cook and read, though he never lets her read anything but works on +religion. Religion, always religion! He has brought her up like a nun, +crushed the life out of her. Until I found her out, found my jewel +out. It is Tennyson who says that. But his "Maud" was freer to woo than +Hortense, freer to love and kiss and hold--my God! that night while I +watched them studying and bending over those cursed works on the +Martyrs and the Saints and the Mission houses--I saw him--him--that old +priest--take her in his arms and caress her, drink her breath, feast +on her eyes, her hair, her delicate skin, and I burst in like a young +madman and told Father Conture what I thought. Oh! I was mad! I should +have won her first. I should have worked quietly, cautiously, waiting, +waiting, biding my time. But I could never bide my time. And now she +hates me, Hortense hates me, though she so nearly learned to love me. +There where we used to listen to the magical river songs, we nearly +loved, did we not Hortense? But she was a _St. Hilaire_, and I--I was +nobody, and I had insulted _le bon Pere_. Yet if I can go back to her +rich, prosperous, independent--What if that happen? But I begin to fancy +it will never happen. My resolutions, where are they, what comes of +them? Nothing. I have tried everything except the opera. Everything else +has been rejected. For a week I have not gone to bed at all. I wait and +see those ghastly gray fingers smoothing my pillow. I am not wanted. I +am crowded out. My hands tremble and I cannot write. My eyes fail and I +cannot see. To the window! + + * * * * * + +The lights of Oxford St. once more; the glare and the rattle without, +the fever and the ruin, the nerves and the heart within. Poor nerves, +poor heart; it is food you want and wine and rest, and I cannot give +them to you. + + * * * * * + +Sing, Hortense, will you? Sit by my side, by our dear river St. Maurice, +the clear, the sparkling. See how the floating cribs sail by, each with +its gleaming lights! It is like Venice I suppose. Shall we see Venice +ever, Hortense, you and I? Sing now for me, + + + Descendez a l'ombre, + Ma Jolie blonde. + + +Only you are _petite brune_, there is nothing _blonde_ about you, +_mignonne_, my dear mademoiselle, I should say if I were with you of +course as I used to do. But surely I _am_ with you and those lights are +the floating cribs I see, and your voice it is that sings, and presently +the boatmen hear and they turn and move their hands and join in--Now all +together, + + + Descendez a l'ombre, + + + * * * * * + +It was like you, Hortense, to come all this way. How did you manage it, +manage to cross that great water all alone? My poor girl did you grow +tired of _Le bon Pere_ at last and of the Martyrs and the Saints and the +Jesuit Fathers? But you have got your amulet on still I hope. That is +right, for there is a chance--there is a chance of these things proving +blessings after all to good girls, and you were a good girl Hortense. +You will not mind my calling you Hortense, will you? When we are in _Le +Bas Canada_ again, in your own seignieury, it will be "Madamoiselle," I +promise you. You say it is a strange pillow, Hortense? Books, my girl, +and manuscripts; hard but not so hard as London stones and London +hearts. Do you know I think I am dying, or else going mad? And no one +will listen even if I cry out. There is too much to listen to already in +England. Think of all the growing green, Hortense, if you can, where you +are, so far away from it all. Where you are it is cold and the snow is +still on the ground and only the little bloodroot is up in the woods. +Here where I am Hortense, where I am going to die, it is warm and green +full of color--oh! Such color! Before I came here, to London you know +London that is going to do so much for me, for us both, I had one +day--one day in the country. There I saw--No! They will not let me +tell you, I knew they would try to prevent me, those long gray fingers +stealing in, stealing in! But I _will_ tell you. Listen, Hortense, +please. I saw the hawthorne, pink and white, the laburnum--yellow--not +fire-color, I shall correct the Laureate there, Hortense, when I am +better, when I--publish!--It is dreadful to be alone in London. Don't +come, Hortense. Stay where you are, even if it is cold and gray and +there is no color. Keep your amulet round your neck, dear!--I count my +pulse beats. It is a bad thing to do. It is broad daylight now and the +fingers have gone. I can write again perhaps.--The pen--The +paper--The ink--God. Hortense! There is no ink left! And my heart--My +heart--Hortense!!! + + + Descendez a l'ombre, + Ma Jolie blonde. + + + + + +Monsieur, Madame and the Pea-Green Parrot + + + + +CHAPTER I. + + +I am an Englishman by birth. Having however lived for fourteen years out +in America or rather in Canada, I am only half an Englishman. All the +love for the dear old land which I am now revisiting is still there, +deep in my heart, but from so long a residence in another country +certain differences arise of character, habit and thought, not to be +easily shaken off. I was in the Civil Service in Canada and did very +well until I meddled with literature. Discovering that I had a faculty +for verse and story-telling, I was ambitious and at the same time +foolish enough to work so hard at my new pursuit that I was compelled to +"cut" the service, in other words to resign. Some other Englishman got +my post and I found myself, rather unexpectedly, it is true, free to +write to my heart's content. + +I got off a number of things, poems, sketches, etc., but my great work +turned out to be a comedy. I slaved at this all day and amused myself +by rehearsing it in my lodgings all night. I incurred the odium of the +landlady by coaxing the maid of all work to learn a part and act it with +me. Finally I resolved to take a great step. I would go down to New York +and get my comedy produced. That was exactly five years ago and though +the comedy was _not_ produced, I am still sanguine that it yet may be, +and perhaps not in New York after all, but in a much more important +creative centre. + +I was at the time of my visit to New York perfectly unacquainted with +the ways of a metropolis, and it was fortunate for me that I possessed +one friend there who if not exactly a friend _at court_ as we say, was +in truth a much more useful person to me, as, having once been young +and inexperienced himself, he knew the ropes well and handled them +thoroughly to his own satisfaction and with an eye to my comfort and +safety. + +In the matter of cheap dives, for instance, he was invaluable. Left to +myself I either drifted to the most expensive place, for a +meal short perhaps of Delmonicos, or else to a shabby and +altogether-to-be-repudiated den, where the meat would be rags as well +as the pudding. But under his guidance we invariably turned up in some +clean, bright, cheap and wholesome "oysterbar" or coffee room round the +corner or up a lane, and were as happy as kings over our _lager beer_. + +One day De Kock came to me (he is a grand-nephew or something, I +believe, of the great Frenchman) and said, with his knowing air, + +"You will please put on your best coat, your tall hat and a pair of +gloves, for we are going to _dine_ to-night." + +"Have we not dined once to-day!" + +"Pish! Pshaw! You have had a soup, a mutton-chop, a triangle of pie, a +lager beer, but you have not dined. You are not starving, and yet you +have, from my present point of view, eaten nothing the whole of this +day. _Mon cher_, it is necessary that you should dine for once in your +life. _Allons_! We go to Giuseppe, Giuseppe Martinetti with the pale +wife and the pea-green parrot--_allons, allons_!" To Martinetti's +accordingly we went. I don't know what the dinner cost. It was dearer, +certainly, than it would have been in London, but it was quite as good. +We sat at a table formed for holding four at an open window, which, +filled with exotics, overlooked Union Square, lighted by hundreds of +incandescent lamps. The room contained about twenty of these small +tables, and was, I suppose, very much like other rooms of its kind to +_habitues_ of such places, but it was all new to me, and I stared and +wondered accordingly. The waiters seemed to be all foreigners, De Kock +addressing them in a mythical but magical language of his own. The +tables were all full, and the people at them were mostly foreigners as +well. + +"The Leicester Square of New York," remarked De Kock, as he helped me to +the delicious Chiante wine out of a basket-covered bottle into a dainty +glass. The soup was excellent, I remember. So was the macaroni, served +in the best Italian method. I wondered to see De Kock manipulate it in +finished style, winding yards of it around his fork, and swallowing it +duly without any apparent effort. I cut mine at that time, although +I have learned better now. I recollect the asparagus, too: served by +itself on a great flat dish, and shining pale and green through the +clear golden sauce that was poured over it. I was just finishing my +first luscious, liquid stalk, and indulging in anticipations of my +second, when the highest, the shrillest, the most piercing, and most +unearthly voice I ever heard, shouted out-- + +"_And for goodness sake don't say I told you_!" + +It was electrifying, at least to me. I dropped my half eaten asparagus +stalk and fork at the same time, and looked up to see my companion +quietly going on as before. One or two others had stopped eating too, +but the majority appeared quite unruffled. I concluded that it was the +parrot to which my friend had referred. + +"The last comic song," said the imperturbable De Kock. + +"But where is the beast!" I inquired. "It seemed to be over my head." + +"Oh! Not so near as that. But take my advice and don't call it a beast, +although it is a nuisance undoubtedly. Besides, its master is not very +far away from your elbow." + +"What of that?" said I, still injured, though in a lower tone. + +"What of that? Ah! You shall see. Look now! This short, stout person +with the diamond pin and the expansive shirt front is Giuseppe. Ah, he +sees me! Good evening, Giuseppe!" + +"Good evening, Monsieur, good evening, good evening! De friend not like +de _parrot_, eh?" + +The man was smiling at me with his hands crossed behind him. An Italian +Jew I dubbed him immediately. + +"On the contrary, he admires it very much," said De Kock. + +Following their eyes presently I saw the cage hanging from the centre +of the room, and in it a parrot as nearly pea-green in hue as it is +possible for a parrot to be. + +"Tell my friend her name, Giuseppe," said De Kock, beginning on some +more asparagus. + +Giuseppe stood in his patronizing way--quite the _grand seigneur_--with +the light falling on his solitaire, making it so brilliant that it +fascinated and at the same time fatigued my eyes. + +"The name of my parrot? Monsieur De Kock, he know that well. It is +Felicite--you catch--Fe-li-ci-te. It was the name of my wife." + +Then his wife was dead. De Kock must have made a mistake. + +"It is an unusual name for a bird, is not it?" said I. + +"Monsieur is right. Not often--not often--you meet with a bird that +name. My first wife--my _first_ wife, gentlemen, she was English. _You_ +are English--ah. Yes. So was she. The English are like this." Giuseppe +took a bottle out of the cruet-stand and set it on the table in front +of him. He went on, "When an Englishman an Englishwoman argue, they +say"--here he took the bottle up very slowly and gingerly and altered +his voice to a mincing and conventional tone--"Is it oil or is it +vinegare? Did you not say that it was vinegare? I thought that it was +oil Oh! Now I see that it is vinegare." + +"Bravo!" exclaimed De Kock. "And so you did not get on with the +Englishwoman then I suppose, Giuseppe, and took Madame the next time?" +We were both laughing heartily at the man's mimicry when once again the +parrot shrieked. "But for goodness sake don't say I told you!" Giuseppe +walked off to speak to it and my friend and I were left alone. + +"Was Felcite the name of his first or second wife!" I asked. + +"Of his second, of course. Didn't you hear him say the first was +an Englishwoman? The second is a tall, rather good-looking pale +Frenchwoman. You may see her to-night, and on the other hand you may +not, she doesn't often appear in here. I wish she did, I am rather fond +of her myself, which is more than her husband is. It's pretty well known +that Mr. and Mrs. Joseph do _not_ get on comfortably. In fact, he hates +her, or rather ignores her, while she doats upon him and is tremendously +jealous of the parrot." + +"What, that green thing?" + +"Well, its a lovely parrot, you must know, and the moment it came into +his possession--he has had it about three years--he seemed to transfer +whatever affection he had for his wife to that creature, with a great +deal beside. Why, he hugs it, and kisses it, and mows over it--look at +him now!" + +Sure, enough, there was Martinetti with the bird on his finger, kissing +it, and otherwise making a fool of himself. He finished by actually +putting it away inside his coat in a kind of breast pocket, I should +imagine. + +"All this is good for business, perhaps," I said. + +"What, the parrot and so on? Oh, yes I daresay, that has something to do +with it. Still they are a queer couple. I come here mostly on account of +this Chiante wine; you can't get it so good in many places in New York, +and besides I confess Monsieur and his wife interest me somewhat. +And the people one see here are immensely funny. That is your English +expression, isn't it? There are three actresses over there at that table +with _amis intimes_; they are 'restin' now, and can cut about and dine +out as much as they please. There is a French dressmaker who lives on +the floor above and is to be found here every day. She is superbly built +and is hopelessly ugly, isn't she? There is young Lord Gurgoyle, an +Englishman like yourself, you see--what the devil is he staring at like +that?" + +From behind a _portiere_ which fell across the end of the room came a +woman, tall, pale, and with a peculiar air of distinction about her. +Perhaps it was her very unusual pallor which so distinguished her for +there was nothing absolutely fine or handsome about the countenance. It +was a weak face I thought, with an ugly red mark over the upper lip, and +had she not been so very pale and so exceptionally well-dressed I should +not have looked at her twice. She wore a gown of black silk, dead-black, +lustrous, and fitting her slender figure to perfection. It was cut +square and low in the front and fell away in long folds upon the floor +at the back. What an apparition she made in the midst of this noisy +crowd, smoking, chatting, swearing, laughing! Especially so when I +noticed that as she walked very slowly down between the tables, her lips +were moving nervously and her hands clutching at her beautiful dress. As +for her eyes, they were everywhere in an instant. + +"'Tis Felicite. You are fortunate," murmured De Kock. "And she is a +little worse than usual." + +"What is it?" I demanded. "Drink?" "Hush-sh-sh! _Mon cher_, you are +stupid. It is jealousy, jealousy, my friend, with perhaps an occasional +over-dose of chloral. Chloral is the favorite prescription now-a-days, +you must remember that. But jealousy will do, jealousy will do. It will +accomplish a great deal, will jealousy; will destroy more, mark that! I +hope she will be quiet to-night for your sake." + +"Is she violent?" I asked. + +"Poor thing, yes. When she finds him now with that creature inside his +coat; she will wring her hands and denounce him and threaten to kill +it--I wonder she doesn't--then her husband will march her off behind +the curtain and he will make love to the parrot again." Precisely what +happened. The lady soon found her husband, raised her hands tragically +and broke out into excited French that was liberally sprinkled with +oaths both English and French. The mania was asserting itself, the +propensity overcoming her. It was a sad and at the same time an amusing +scene, for one could not help smiling at Giuseppe's fat unconcern as he +kept his wife off at arms' length, while all the time the parrot inside +his coat was shrieking in muffled tones "And for goodness sake don't say +I told you!" + +Finally Madame succumbed and was taken behind the curtain in a +dishevelled and hysterical condition which increased De Kock's pity for +her. We paid the waiter--or rather De Kock did--and left, not seeing +Giuseppe again to speak to, though he came in and removed the parrot, +cage and all. + +It was a lovely night outside, and I suggested sitting for a time in +Union Square. Finding an unoccupied bench, we each made ourselves happy +with a good cigar and watched the exquisite shadows of the trees above +as thrown by the electric light on the pavement. + +"Wonderful effect!" remarked my friends. "How did you enjoy your dinner? +That was a dinner, eh, and no mistake; rather have had it without the +'episode'? Oh! I don't know; you literary fellows must come in for that +sort of thing as well as the rest of the world; I should think it would +just suit you. Put them--the three of them--Monsieur, Madame and the +Pea-Green Parrot--into a book, or better still, on the stage. There's +your title ready for you too." + +I was just thinking of the same thing. + +"They are undoubtedly originals, both of them--all three," said I, "but +as far as I have seen them, there is hardly enough to go upon." + +"What do you mean by 'enough'?" + +"I mean, for one thing, we do not understand the woman's mental and +moral condition sufficiently to make a study of her. You say it is +jealousy, and at the same time the use of chloral. That would have to be +understood more clearly. Then, one would like something to--" + +"Go on," said my friend. "To--" + +"Happen," said I, lighting a second cigar. + +Just then a couple of boys ran across the square. One of them stumbled +over my feet, picked himself up quickly and ran on again. Two or three +people now came, all running. De Kock jumped up. + +"Something is happening," he said, "and with a vengeance too I fancy. +Hark!" + +The people now came fast and furious through the square, increasing in +numbers every moment, but through the bustle and hurry and clatter of +tongues, we could hear a woman's voice screaming in evident distress. +Mingled with it was another sound which may have mystified the general +crowd, but which De Kock and I could easily place. + +"It is the parrot!" I exclaimed, as we started to run. + +"You have your wish, _mon cher_, is it not so? But take it not so fast; +we will be there in time. _Ciel_! What a row!" + +The steps leading up to the restaurant were thronged with people, +including two or three policemen. The dining-room was ablaze with light, +and still full of visitors, most of whom, however, were moving about in +a state of agitation. The upper windows were also lighted and wide open. +The screaming suddenly ceased, but not the parrot. + +"For goodness sake don't say I told you!" It went on, louder than ever, +over and over again. + +"Damn the bird!" exclaimed De Kock. "Policeman excuse me, but I am +rather at home here. Let me go up, will you?" + +"It looks bad, sir. I'd better keep behind." + +"Oh. It isn't murder or anything of that sort. I know them, pretty +couple, they are!" + +The next moment we were in a kind of sitting room over the restaurant +proper. Madame Martinetti lay as if exhausted on a sofa while the highly +excited parrot sang and screamed and tore at its cage as if for life. +Giuseppe was nowhere visible. "Now then where's the other?" demanded the +policeman who had just entered behind us, "There's always two at +this business. Show him up, now." But Madame at first would deign no +explanation. Presently on the entry of policeman No. 2 she admitted +there had been a quarrel. Yes, she had quarrelled with her dear +Giuseppe, (the officers grinned) and had driven him away. Yes, he had +gone--gone forever, he had said so, never to come back, never, never! + +"And leave this fine business to you, eh? No fear of that. I guess Mr. +Martinetti'll turn up all right in the morning, however, let us make +a search, Joe." But Giuseppe was not found; there were no traces of +a struggle, and the policemen having done all they could retired. My +friend and I, by what right I know not were the last to leave the room. +De Kock stood for some moments looking out of the window. I approached +the parrot who was still screaming. + +"If throwing a cloth over your head would stop you, I'd do it, my +dear," said I. To my surprise, it ceased its noise directly, and became +perfectly quiet. Madame Martinetti looked around with a contemptuous +smile. + +"You have the secret as well," said she. The bird turned to her and then +returned to me. I became quite interested in it. "Pretty Poll, pretty +bird; would you like a cracker?" + +De Kock laughed softly at the window. "A cracker to such a bird as that! +Ask it another." I actually, though with a timid air, opened the door of +the cage and invited Polly to perch on my finger. She came, looking +at me intensely all the while. I petted her little, which she took +resignedly and with a faint show of wonder, then in answer to De Kock's +summons put her back in the cage. + +"I have the honour to wish madame a _bonsoir_," said he, but the lady +was still sulky and vouchsafed no answer. + +We were soon out in the street. + +"Do you know," said De Kock slowly, lighting a cigar and looking up at +the house, "Do you know, I thought something had happened." + +"And don't you now." + +"I am not sure," answered my friend. + + + + +CHAPTER II. + + +We were pardonably curious to see the papers next morning. The affair +was dismissed in three lines, and although as De Kock swore, the case +was one for Gaboriau, it certainly was not our business to look into it +and in fact in a week's time I was back in Canada, and he up to his eyes +in commercial pursuits. The main point remained clear, however, that +Martinetti did _not_ come back, nor was he found, or traced or ever +heard of again. Somebody took the business out of hand, as they say, +and De Kock would occasionally write a P. S. to his letters like +this--"Dined at poor Martinetti's, Chiante as usual. Ever yours." Or +it would be--"Drank to the production of your last new comedy at +Martinetti's." Once he stated that shortly after that memorable night +Madame disappeared also, taking the parrot along. "I begin to think they +are a pair of deep ones and up to some big game" he wrote. For myself, I +never entirely forgot the circumstance, although it was but once vividly +recalled to my mind and that was in a theatre in Montreal. An American +company from one of the New York theatres was performing some farcical +comedy or other in which occurred the comic song, admirably sung and +acted by Miss Kate Castleton, "For goodness sake don't say I told you!" +The reminiscences forced upon me quite spoiled my enjoyment; I could +see that pale, nervous woman, hear her screams, and hear too the fearful +voice of the poor parrot. Where is it now, thought I? That same winter +I was much occupied in making studies of the different classes of people +among the French-Canadians. The latter turn up everywhere in Montreal, +and have a distinct "local color" about them which I was curious to +get and hope to preserve for use some future day. I went everywhere and +talked to everybody who might be of use to me; cabmen, porters, fruit +dealers and tobacconists. I found much to interest me in the various +Catholic institutions, and I was above all very fond of visiting the +large, ugly gray building with the air of a penitentiary about it called +the Grey Nunnery. Going through its corridors one day I took a wrong +turning and found I was among some at least quasi-private rooms. The +doors being open I saw that there were flowers, books, a warm rug on the +floor of one and a mirror on the wall of another. The third I ventured +to step inside of, for a really beautiful Madonna and child confronted +me at the door. The next moment I saw what I had not expected to see--a +parrot in a cage suspended from the window! I made quite sure that it +was not _the_ parrot before I went up to it. It was asleep and appeared +to be all over of a dull grey color, to match the Nuns, one might +have said. I stood for quite a little while regarding it. Suddenly it +stirred, shook itself, awoke and seeing me, immediately broke out into +frantic shrieks to the old refrain "And for goodness sake don't say I +told you." + +So it was the parrot after all! Of that I felt sure, despite the changed +color, not only because of the same words being repeated--two birds +might easily learn the same song, but because of the bird's manner. For +I felt certain that the thing knew me, recognized me, as we say of human +beings or of dogs and horses. I felt an extraordinary sensation coming +over me and sat down for a moment. I seemed literally to be in the +presence of something incomprehensible as I watched the poor excited +bird beating about and singing in that way. The words of the song became +painfully and awfully significant--"for goodness sake don't say I told +you!" They were an appeal to my pity, to my sense of honor, to my power +of secrecy, for I felt convinced that the bird had seen something--in +fact that, to use De Kock's convenient if ambiguous phrase, _something +had happened_! Then to think of its recognizing me too, after so long an +interval! What an extraordinary thing to do! But I remembered, and hope +I shall never forget, how exceeding small do the mills of the gods +grind for poor humanity. I would have examined the creature at once +more closely had not two of the nuns appeared with pious hands lifted in +horror at the noise. They knew me slightly but affected displeasure at +the present moment. + +"Who owns this bird?" said I. It was still screaming. + +"The good Sister Felicite. It is her room." + +"Can I see her?" + +"Ah! _non_. She is ill, so very ill. She will not live long, _cette +pauvre soeur_!" + +I reflected. "Will you give her this paper without fail when I have +written upon it what I wish?" + +"_Mais oui, Monsieur_!" + +In the presence of the two holy women standing with their hands devoutly +crossed, and of the parrot whom I silenced as well as I could, and in +truth I appeared to have some influence over the creature, I wrote +the following upon a leaf torn out of my scratch-book: "To the Soeur +Felicite. A gentleman who, if he has not made a great mistake, saw you +once when you were Mdme. Martinetti, asks you now if in what may be your +last moments, you have anything to tell, anything to declare, or anybody +to pardon. He would also ask--what _was done to the parrot_? He, with +his friend M. De Kock, were at your house in New York the night your +husband disappeared." + +"Give her that," said I to the waiting sister, "and I will come to see +how she is to-morrow." + +That night, however, she died, and when I reached the nunnery next +day it was only to be told that she had read my note and with infinite +difficulty written an answer to it. + +"I am sorry I should have perhaps hastened her end," said I. "Before you +give it to me, will you permit me to see her?" + +"_Mais oui, Monsieur_, if monsieur will come this way." + +Until I gazed upon the dead I did not feel quite sure of the identity +of this pious Sister of Charity. But I only needed to look once upon the +ghastly pallor, the ugly lip mark and the long slender figure on the bed +before me to recognize her who had once been Mdme. Martinetti. + +"And now for the paper," I said. + +"It will be in the room that was hers, if monsieur will accompany." We +walked along several corridors till we reached the room in which hung +the parrot, I quite expected it to fly at me again and try to get rid +of its miserable secret But no! It sat on its stick, perfectly quiet and +rational. + +"I cannot find dat paper, it is very strange!" muttered the good sister, +turning everything over and over. A light wind playing about the room +had perhaps blown it into some corner. I assisted her in the search. + +"It surely was in an envelope?" I said to the innocent woman. + +"Yes monsieur, yes, and with a seal, for I got the _cire_--you call it +_wax_--myself and held it for her, _la bonne soeur_." + +"It is not always wise to leave such letters about," I put in as meekly +as I could "Where was it you saw it last?" + +"On dees little table, monsieur." + +Now, "dees little table" was between the two windows, and not far, +consequently from the parrot's cage. My eye travelled from the table to +the cage as a matter of necessity, and I saw that the bottom of it was +strewn with something white--like very, very tiny scraps of paper. "I +think you need not look any further," said I. "Polly, you either are +very clever, or else you are a lunatic and a fool. Which is it?" + +But I never found out The parrot had got the letter by some means or +other and so effectually torn, bitten and made away with it that nothing +remained of it for identification except the wax, which it did not touch +and left absolutely whole. The secret which had been the parrot's all +along belonged to the parrot still, and after having devoured it in +that fashion it became satisfied, and never--at least, as far as I +am aware--reverted morbidly to the comic refrain which has but one +significance for me. + +I took the bird and kept it. I have it now with me. It has been examined +hundreds of times; for a long time I was anxious to know the secret of +its changed color, but I have never deciphered it. It is healthy, in +good condition, sweet-tempered and very fond of me. It does not talk +much, but its talk is innocent and rational. No morbid symptoms have +ever appeared in it since I took it from the nunnery in Montreal. +Its plumage is soft and thick, and perfectly, entirely gray. My own +impression is that it was naturally a gray parrot and had at that time +of my sojourn in New York, either been dyed or painted that peculiar +pea-green which so distinguished it then. I wrote to De Kock before +leaving for England and told him something of the story. I have seen the +last of Madame; in all probability I shall see the last of the Pea-Green +Parrot, and I cannot help wondering when I enter a cafe or ride on +an omnibus whether I shall ever run across Giuseppe Martinetti in the +flesh, or whether the last of him was seen in truth, five years ago. + + + + + +The Bishop of Saskabasquia. + + +I have not a story, properly speaking, to tell about him. He, my Bishop, +is quite unconscious that I am writing about him, and would, I daresay, +be quite astonished if he knew that I could find anything that relates +to him to write about. But I will tell you just how I came to do so. I +went to see the "Private Secretary" some months ago. I had never been a +great admirer of clergymen as a sex (vide Frenchman's classification), +and I thoroughly enjoyed the capital performance of so clever a play. +Here, thought I, is a genuine and perfectly fair, though doubtless +exaggerated, portrait of the young and helpless curate. I quite lived on +that play. I used to go about, like many another delighted playgoer, +I expect, quoting the better bits in it, and they are many, and often +laughing to himself at its admirable caricature. However, to go on +with what I am going to tell you, about two months after I had seen the +"Private Secretary," I had occasion to undertake a sea voyage. I had +to go out on business to Canada, and embarked one fine Thursday at +Liverpool. One of the first things you do on board an ocean steamer +is to find your allotted place at table, and the names, etc, of your +companions. I soon found mine, and discovered with a pang that I was six +seats from the Captain at the side, between a lady and her daughter +I had already met at the North-Western Hotel and did not like, and +opposite to the Bishop of Saskabasquia, his wife and sister and three +children. There was no help for it, I must endure the placid small talk, +the clerical platitudes, the intolerable intolerance born of a deathless +bigotry that would emanate from my _vis-a-vis_. What a fuss they made +over him, too! Only a Colonial Bishop after all, but when we were all +at the wharf, ready to get into the tender, we were kept waiting--we the +more insignificant portion of the passengers, mercantile and so on--till +"my lord" and his family, nine in number, were safely handed up, with +boys and bundles and baggage of every description. + +The Bishop himself was a tall thin man, rather priestly in aspect and +careworn. Mrs. Saskabasquia as I called her all through the voyage and +the seven children--seven little Saskabasquians--and Miss Saskabasquia, +the aunt, were all merry enough it seemed though dressed in the most +unearthly costumes I had ever seen. Where they had been procured I could +not imagine, but they appeared to be made of different kinds of canvas, +flannel shirting, corduroy, knitted wool and blankets. Of course we all +mustered at the lunch table that first day, people always do, and affect +great brightness and hysterical intellectuality and large appetites. I +took my seat with a resigned air. There was not a single pretty girl on +board. There were plenty of children, but I did not care much for the +society of children. The lady and her daughter between whom I sat, +presumably to hand them the dishes, did not like me any better than +I liked them. They were Canadians, that was easy to discover by their +peculiarly flat pronunciation, a detestable accent I hold, the American +is preferable. They were connected with the Civil Service in some way +through "papa" who figured much in their conversation and I fancy the +mother rather disliked the idea of such close contact with a member of +the commercial world. So much for colonial snobbery. The lunch was good +however, excellent, and we did justice to it. The Bishop did not appear +nor any of his family until we had almost finished. Then he entered +with his wife and the two eldest boys. The only vacant seats were those +opposite me which they took. I wondered they had not placed him next +the Capt., but divined that the handsome brunette and the horsey +broker, Wyatt and his wife of Montreal, fabulously rich and popular, had +arranged some time before to sit next the Capt. My Bishop was perhaps +annoyed. But if so, he did not show it. He and his wife ate abundantly, +it was good to see them. I involuntarily smiled once when the Bishop +sent his plate back the second time for soup, and he caught me. To my +surprise, he laughed very heartily and said to me: + +"I hope you do not think I am forgetting all the other good things to +come! I assure you we are very hungry, are we not, Mary?" + +Mrs. Saskabasquia laughed in her turn, and I began to perceive what a +very pretty girl she must have been once, and her accent was the purest, +most beautiful English. We seemed to warm up generally around the table +as we watched the Bishop eat. The boys behaved beautifully and enjoyed +their meal as well. Presently we heard a baby crying. It was evidently +the youngest of the seven young Saskabasquians. The Bishop stopped +directly. + +"Go on, go on with your dinner, my dear; I'll see to him, its only +James. Dropped his rattle and put his finger in his eye, I expect." + +He jumped up and went, I suppose, to the stateroom. Mrs. Saskabasquia +laughed softly, and when she spoke she rather addressed herself to me. + +"My husband is very good, you know. And James is such a little monkey, +and so much better with him than with anyone else, so I just let him go, +but it does certainly look very selfish, doesn't it?" + +"Not at all," I responded gallantly. "I am sure you need the rest quite +as much as he does, particularly if the ba--if the little boy is very +young and you--that is--" I was not very clear as to what I was going to +say, but she took it up for me. + +"Oh, James is the baby. He is just six months' old, you know." + +"That is very young to travel," said I. I began to enjoy the charming +confidences of Mrs. Saskabasquia, in spite of myself. + +"Oh, he was only _three_ months old when we left for England, quite a +young traveller as you say. But he is very good, and I have so many to +help me." + +Here the Bishop returned and sat down once more to his lunch. We had +some further conversation, in which I learned that he and his wife had +gone out to the North-West just twelve years ago for the first time. +All their children had been born there, and they were returning to work +again after a brief summer holiday in England. They told me all this +with the most delightful frankness, and I began to be grateful for my +place at table, as without free and congenial society at meal-time, +life on board an ocean steamer narrows down to something vastly +uncomfortable. It was a bright and beautiful afternoon on deck, and I +soon found myself walking energetically up and down with the Bishop. +I commenced by asking him some questions as to his work, place of +residence and so on, and once started he talked for a long time about +his northern home in the wilds of Canada. + +"My wife and I had been only married two months when we went out," said +he, with a smile at the remembrance. "We did not know what we were going +to." + +"Would you have gone had you known?" I enquired as we paused in our walk +to take in a view of the Mersey we were leaving behind. + +"Yes, I think so. Yes, I am quite sure we would. I was an Oxford man, +country-bred; my father is still alive, and has a small living in Essex. +I was imbued with the idea of doing something in the colonies long after +I was comfortably settled in an English living myself, but I had always +fancied it would be Africa. However, just at the time of our marriage I +was offered this bishopric in Canada, and my wife was so anxious to go +that I easily fell in with the plan." + +"Anxious to go out there?" I said in much surprise. + +"Ah! You don't know what a missionary in herself my wife is! Then, of +course, young people never think of the coming events--children and all +that you know. We found ourselves one morning at three o'clock, having +gone as far as there was any train to take us, waiting in a barn that +served as a station for the buckboard to take us on further to our +destination. Have you been in Canada yourself? No? Then you have +not seen a buckboard. It consists of two planks laid side by side, +lengthwise, over four antiquated wheels--usually the remains of a once +useful wagon. Upon this you sit as well as you can, and get driven and +jolted and bumped about to the appointed goal. I remember that morning +so well," continued the Bishop. "It was very cold, being late in +November, and at that hour one feels it so much more--3 a.m., you +know. There was one man in charge of the barn; we called him the +station-master, though the title sat awkwardly enough upon him. He was a +surly fellow. I never met such another. Usually the people out there are +agreeable, if slow and stupid." + +"Slow, are they?" said I in surprise. + +"Oh, frightfully slow. A Canadian laborer is the slowest person in +existence, I really believe. However, this man would not give us any +information, except to barely tell us that this buckboard was coming for +us shortly. It was pitch dark of course and the barn was lighted by one +oil lamp and warmed by a coal stove. The lamp would not burn well, so my +wife unstrapped her travelling bag and with a pair of tiny curved +nail scissors did her best, with the wick, the man remaining perfectly +unmoveable and taciturn all the while. At four o'clock our conveyance +arrived, and would you believe it--both the driver and the station +master allowed me to lift my own luggage into it as well as I could? +What it would not take I told the man in charge I would send for as soon +as possible. There was no sleighing yet, and that drive was the most +excruciating thing I ever endured over corduroy roads through wild and +dark forests, along interminable country roads of yellow clay mixed with +mud till finally we reached the house of the chief member of society in +my district where we were to stay until our own house was ready." + +"How long did that take you?" I was quite interested. This was unlike +the other clergymen's conversation I remembered. + +"O, a matter of eight hours or so. We had the eggs and bacon--the _piece +de resistance_ in every Canadian farmhouse--at about half-past 12, for +which we were thankful and--hungry. But now you must excuse me for here +come two of the boys. Now, then, Alick, where's your mother? Isn't she +coming on deck with James? Run and fetch her and you, George, get one +of the chairs ready for her. And get the rugs at the same time Alick, do +you hear?" + +I excused myself in turn and watched the family preparations with much +amusement. Mrs. Saskabasquia came up from her state room with a baby in +her arms, and a big fellow he was, followed by the other six and their +aunt. The Bishop placed chairs for the two ladies and walked up and down +the deck I should think the entire afternoon, first with two children +and then with two more and finally with the baby in his arms. This was a +funny sight but still not one to be ridiculed, far from it. Well, every +day showed my new friend in an improved light. Who was it took all the +children, not only his own but actually the entire troop on board up to +the bow and down to the stern in a laughing crowd to see this or that or +the other? Now a shoal of porpoises, now a distant sail or an iceberg, +now the beautiful phosphorescence or the red light of a passing +ship--the Bishop. Who divined the innate cliquism of life on board ship +and cunningly got together in intercourse the very people who wanted +to know each other, and even brought into good temper those unfortunate +souls who thought only of their own dignity and station in life? The +Bishop. Who organized the Grand Concert and Readings in the saloon, +writing the programmes himself, pinning them on the doors, discovering +the clever and encouraging the timid and reading from the "Cricket on +the Hearth," and the "Wreck of the Grosvenor," as I had never imagined +a divine could read? The Bishop again. Who might be seen in the mid-day +hours when the cabin passengers were asleep, quietly and without +ostentation reading or talking to the steerage, ay, and Mrs. +Saskabosquia too with her baby on her arm, going about amongst those +poor tired folk, many of them with their own babies, not too well +fed and not too well washed nor clothed? Still the Bishop, always the +Bishop. They appeared as if they could not rest without helping on +somebody or something, and yet there was in Mrs. Saskabasquia at least, +a delightful sense of calm which affected all who came near her. I used +often to sit down by her, she with the inevitable baby on her lap and +two or three of the others at her feet on rugs, and she would talk most +frankly and unaffectedly of their strange life in Canada. I learnt that +she was the daughter of a clergyman in Essex, and had, of course, +been brought up in a refined and charming country home like an English +gentlewoman. What she had had to do in the new world seemed like a +dream. + +"What servants do I keep?" she said one day in answer to a question of +mine "Why, sometimes I am without any. Then Kathleen and I do the best +we can and the children they do the same and my husband takes what we +give him! Indeed, my house is a sort of dispensary you know. The most +extraordinary people come to me for the most extraordinary things. +Now for a bottle of medicine, now for some cast off clothing, now for +writing paper and old newspapers or a few tacks. So we have many wants +to relieve besides our own and really, that is good for us you know. One +Xmas dinner was an amusing one. Roast beef was out of the question, we +couldn't get any, and the old woman who usually brought us a turkey came +eight miles in the snow to bitterly lament the failure of her turkey +crop. The one she had intended for me had been killed and trussed and +then the rats which abound out there, got at it in the night and left +not a bone of it! So I got the poor old thing a warm cup of tea and +gave her some thick socks and sent her away relieved, resolved to spread +myself on the pudding. Do you remember Kathleen!" + +And Miss Saskabasquia did and smiled at the remembrance. + +"What was it like?" + +"The pudding? Oh! It was the funniest pudding! George--no--Ethel, was +the baby then and very troublesome. Yes, you were my dear and cutting +teeth. I was far from strong and in the act of stirring the pudding was +taken quite ill and had to give it up. Kathleen was naturally forced to +attend to me and the three children, and only for Henry, we should have +had no Xmas dinner at all! He went to work with a will, stirred it well, +put it into the cloth and was just I believe dropping it into the water +when the string broke and the poor pudding tumbled into the water! Of +course it was useless, and my husband scarcely knew what to do with +himself. Fancy what he did do, though! He went to work and made another +out of what he could find without telling us. He'll tell you about it if +you ask him, how puzzled he was at first. There was some suet over, +only not minced, you know. So he took that just as it was in a lump and +buried it in bread-crumbs, luckily we had plenty of bread. Then he broke +in the eggs, but when he came to look for the fruit, that was all in +the pot of hot water, not a raisin left. He just ladled them out and put +them in the second time. I think that was delicious of him don't you? +But he forgot the flour and there was so little sugar seemingly in the +bag (he didn't know where my Xmas stores were kept) that he took fright +and wouldn't use it but broke up some maple sugar instead, then tied +it up and got it safely launched the second time. And it was not at all +bad, though _very_ shapeless and unlike a trim plum pudding, with the +holly at the top." + +And many another tale did she tell me of "Henry's" ceaseless activity, +and courage and patience. He had learnt three Indian dialects, the +_patois_ of the _habitant_, and the Gaelic of two Scotch settlements, +in order to converse freely with his people and understand their wants +properly. He could doctor the body as well as the soul, set a fractured +limb, bind a wound, apply ice for sunstroke and snow for chilblains. He +could harness a horse and milk a cow; paddle a canoe and shoot and fish +like an Indian, cook and garden and hew and build--indeed there seemed +nothing he could not do and had not done, and all this along with the +care of his office, as much a missionary one as any could be. Peril of +shipwreck and peril of fire, peril of frost and peril of heat, peril +of sickness, pain and death, peril of men, ignorant and wicked, of wild +beasts and wilder storms--all these he had braved with his wife and +little ones for the sake of his convictions added to a genuine love of +his fellow-man. I began to consider, and rightly I think, the unknown, +obscure Bishop of Saskabasquia one of the most interesting men of the +day. + +Our journey, however, could not always last. Our pleasant chats, our +lively table-talk, Mrs. Saskabasquia's pretty womanly confidences and +her husband's deep-voiced readings from Dickens which he told me were +of the utmost moral value to his people, all came to an end. We all felt +sorry to part, yet greatly relieved at seeing the mighty cliff of Quebec +draw nearer and nearer with each succeeding hour. I had been quite ill +for the last two days like nearly all the other passengers. Coming +up the Gulf of St. Lawrence that is sometimes the case, and we were +a miserable party that Friday, hardly anyone on deck except the +irrepressible Bishop and his family and myself. I was wretched, sick and +cold and trembling in every limb, undoubted _mal de mer_ had fastened +upon me. We were standing close by the railing of the promenade deck +when a something swept by on the water. "Child overboard!" I sang out +as loudly as I could. Instantly the steerage was in a state of +commotion--the child was missed. There didn't appear to be a sailor +on the spot. The Bishop looked at me, and I looked at the Bishop. Like +lightning he tore off his coat. I put my hand on his arm. + +"Dear sir, you will not do such a thing!" + +"What is it, Henry?" cried his wife. "Somebody must." + +"I wish to God I could, sir!" In another moment he was over. + +How he ever recovered from that awful plunge I don't know, but a +boat was immediately lowered for him and the child--he had it safe, +miraculously enough. How I cursed my weakness which prevented my going +in his place. But when I saw the two lives saved I was glad I had not +gone, for in my weak state I could not even have saved the child. + +I am invited to a Christmas dinner, _whenever I like_, with the Bishop +of Saskabasquia, whom I count as perhaps the finest specimen of healthy +Christian manhood I have ever met, and although I can still laugh at +the fun of "The Private Secretary" I can say that even among her +clergy England can boast of heroes in these latter days as noble and +disinterested as in years gone by. + + + + + +"As it was in the Beginning." + +A CHRISTMAS SKETCH. + + + + +CHAPTER I. + + +It is Christmas day in the morning. There is no doubt about it. The +shine of the sun, the frost on the trees, the voice of the birds, and +the unusual crow, and cackle and clatter and confusion outside the house +can leave no doubts upon the subject, to say nothing of the inside of +the house. Here it is Christmas day and no mistake. On what other day +is the larder so full?--Full is not expressive enough; crammed, rammed, +jammed full is more like the actual condition of things, so tightly +wedged are pheasants and partridges, grouse and quail, great roasts of +beef and haunches of venison, pork and pasty, mutton and fowl. On what +other day is the still-room so alluring, where cordials are at their +liveliest of brown and amber, and the white fingers of the lady of +the house gleam in and out of the piling of herbs and the stirring +of compounds--both innocent and inebriating? On what other day is the +kitchen so important? Why, the cook is actually thinner than she was the +yesterday! Christmas day in the morning is taking it out of her. "No +men cooks about me", growls Sir Humphrey Desart, "we'll keep Sarah." +So Sarah is kept, and though she be fat, aye, and getting on to three +score, yet her strength faileth not, as you may observe. Somewhat of a +martinet, yet kindly withal and leading the hubbub in the kitchen with +all the gusto of twenty years ago. My lady will descend presently to see +if all goes on properly, and Sarah must lose no time. Heavens, how +many eggs is she going to break? What are they all for? Will not the +resources of the farmyard fail her? This, then, explains all the crow +and cackle outside. Now what is she at? Lemons this time, and anon +giving a fine stimulus with her master-hand to the lumpy yellow contents +of a smooth yellow bowl. Ah! No lumps now; one turn and all resolved +into a perfect cadence. Anyone is an artist and a great one who can so +resolve a discordant measure. And now she is busy with the brandy! +Ah! Sarah, will no temptation accrue from the pouring of the warming +draught? "Out upon thee!" says Sarah. "Am I not already as warm over my +work as I want to be, and shall I not have my good glass of beer at my +dinner? Leave the quality upstairs their brandy," says Sarah, "and let +me get to my work." + +Well, and the upshot of all this is, that, despite all one may affirm to +the contrary, the one grand essential, the peculiar and individualizing +attribute of Christmas is--the dinner. The parson may think of his +preaching (and if he ever does so, surely most of all on this day) and +the virtuous may think of the poor; the old may remember the young, and +the young be pardoned for only remembering each other, but the chief +thought, the most blissful remembrance is still--The Dinner. + +If the parson preach a little better sermon than usual, it is because +his nine children have not been forgotten by Lady Bountiful, and are +actually going to have--A Dinner. + +My Lady Bountiful in her turn may go to church, and appear devoutly +removed from the _mundus edibilis_, yet if you could look into her +reflections, you would perceive that she has but one thought--The +Dinner. Do you suppose, much as the youths from Oxford and their friend +the captain, from London, are devoted to mamma and her daughters, they +are not at the same time being eaten up, as it were, devoured, by the +intense wish for the hour to come when they may partake of--That Dinner! + +Sir Humphrey has asked a particularly large party down this Christmas, +and seems to have forgotten nobody he ever knew. Not a poor relation but +has been remembered, and things are on a grander scale than usual. The +candles build famously, set in the chimney candelabra; the logs are +all of the biggest, and as for the Yule himself, he is a veritable +Brobdignag; the staircases drop flowers, and holly and mistletoe hang +all about. Everything shines, and gleams, and glows. There is to be +a boar's head, with, no lack of mustard and minstrelsy, and nothing +eatable or drinkable that pertains to Christmas will be wanting. Carols, +and waits, and contended tenants; merry chimes and clinking glasses; +twanging fiddles and the rush down the middle--nothing is spared and +nobody is forgotten. So the hour draws on, the guests pull through the +dreary day (for as I have said before, everything on Christmas day gives +place to the dinner), and at last the dinner becomes an absolute fact, +something to be apprehended, sat down to, and finally eaten. It _is_ +eaten, and everyone has come into the long hall, at one end of which the +Yule burns. There is merry talk, and it is easier now for the captain +to devote himself to the girls, having left the dinner behind; there is +talk, too, of a little wonder at the gorgeousness of the dinner, for Sir +Humphrey has not been so gay for years, yes, just twenty years, when it +is evident that Sir Humphrey is going to make a speech. He stands alone +in front of the fire, and this is what he says. If you want to know +what he looks like, you may think of an old man who is a gentleman, +white-haired, noble and resolute, but with a sense of broken fortunes +and deferred hopes upon him. + +"I have been young and now am old," says Sir Humphrey, "and I have never +yet seen the house, known the family, or penetrated the life where +there did not exist some trouble or some secret. Therefore, if I refer +to-night to the skeleton in my own house," he continues, with a slight +shudder, "I only do what perhaps each individual before me might also +do were there the like necessity. The necessity of such reference, in my +own case, does not make it less hard for me." Here, Sir Humphrey pauses. +When he speaks again he is something straighter and firmer than before. +"But as at this season the Church and our good friend the parson would +teach us all to remember each other and to help those we can help, I am +about to speak. You have heard, all of you, how twenty years ago I sent +my two eldest sons out of the house. You have heard, all of you, that +they were foolish, and that I was hard, something about a girl and cut +off with a shilling, I suppose. Well, to-night you shall hear the true +story. I do not think even Lady Desart knows it. She was not their +mother, but, as you know, my adored and adoring second wife. I do not +know if many of you remember my boys. I can see Humphrey now--a man does +not easily forget his first-born, and Hugh was no less dear. My dear +friends, if I drove the lads from my house twenty years ago to-night, I +did it in obedience to the rules of my own conscience and with regard to +the laws of nature, which I should have put before my conscience, as +I have far greater respect for them. I did it, as we so often futilely +say, for the best. But how often, oh, my dear friends, how often since I +have thought that I may have made a terrible mistake." + +"They were, Hugh and Humphrey, both madly in love with the same girl. +She was no pauper, as you may have been led to believe, but the Lady +Barbara Hastings. Her name is familiar to you. She was beautiful and +talented, never married, and you may remember that about a month ago +she died at the house of friends in London. I knew her, fortunately or +unfortunately, however, moving in society as the adopted daughter of a +refined gentlewoman, to be the child of a lunatic mother and a father +who drank his life away in a Continental retreat. Knowing this I would +not for a moment consent even to the thought of either of my sons +marrying her, although I knew her to be all that was gracious in +womankind. I could not tell them the reason: the secret was hers, poor +girl, and I did not betray it. I said 'No,' and each knew what that +meant. So we separated, but the worst of it was, my friends, that each +lad thought I had refused my consent to save the other the pain of +seeing his brother happy; so that greater than their anger with me was +their jealousy of one another. With murder in their hearts they fled +to America, I believe, pursuing in self-torture that phantom of revenge +which we have all seen sometime or another, and whose hot breath we must +have felt." + +Sir Humphrey pauses oftener now. + +"I tell you all this because I want you to see how possible it may be +for a man to think he is doing the very best, the only right thing, and +then for perhaps an infinitely worse one to crop up. I read not long ago +in a wild Western paper a story of two Englishmen who fought a lonely +duel on some slope of those great mountains out there, and I think I +have not slept since I read it. To have exiled my boys only that they +might kill one another in foreign lands and sleep so far away from our +English ground!" + +Sir Humphrey's voice is failing now and his eyes grow moist A man, you +see, does not easily forget his first-born. + +"I tell you all this," he continues, "that it may help you to be kind +and to think twice. I only thought once, and perhaps the worst may have +come of it. Then I tell it to you, too, because I am an old man now, and +my voice is not as strong as it was, and I can't get out to church as +regularly as I used to do, and I want you all to help me to remember +these absent ones and with them any of your own. There is virtue in the +holding up of many hands and the lifting up of many hearts. Whether I +see them again or not, that does not matter; but for the assurance that +they have not harmed each other, let us pray Almighty God this night." + +Ah! Sir Humphrey, there are those who would give their life for yours, +but they cannot bring you that assurance to-night. Can you wait? + +"I can wait," says Sir Humphrey. + + + + +CHAPTER II. + + +It is Christmas day in the morning. At least, so Almanack says, and +Almanack ought to know, though he is given in those days to such ornate +and emblazoned titivation of himself outwardly, putting himself in +the hands of fair Mistress Kate Greenaway at the head of a mischievous +throng, that he causes one to seriously consider whether his old head +be turned or no. A scholar and statistician buried in heaps of flowers, +with a rope of daisies round his neck, and a belt of primroses round +his waist; a sunflower in his buttonhole, and a singing bird upon his +shoulder; and, worst of all, the picture of a pink-frocked, pink-faced +girl next his heart--can he be relied upon? But he persists in his +claim to be listened to, and we must take his word for it that this is +Christmas day in the morning, although it just looks like any other day. +On any other day the sun is just as bright, and the air just as keen. On +other days the snow is just as white, just as deep--two feet where the +constant tramping has levelled its crystalline beauty, ten, twelve, +fifteen there where a great soft cloud of drift reaches halfway up the +side of a small wooden house. On other days there is just as much blue +in the sky, in the smoke, in the shadows of the pines, and the shadows +of the icicles. On other days the house looks just as neat, just as +silent, just as poor. The clearing is small, the house is small, a +small terrier suns himself on a pile of wood, and the only large object +apparently in existence is the tall, broad-shouldered, well-proportioned +man who presently emerges from the wooden house. His ear has just caught +the sound of a bell. It is not a bad bell for Muskoka, and it has a +most curious effect on this white, cold silent world of snow and blue +shadows. The owner of the house, who is also the builder of it, stands +a few moments listening. There is only the twitter of the snowbirds to +listen to, then the bell; more snowbirds, and then the bell again. + +"It has quite a churchy sound," he remarks; "I never noticed how churchy +before, but it reminds me of some other bell. Ten years I have read +for them here, and I never noticed it before." More twitter from the +snowbirds and the bell again. Time for church, although the functions +of the lay-reader will be this day laid aside, giving place to the more +exacting ones of the _rector chori_. This being Christmas day in the +morning, it devolves upon one clergyman to preach in four different +places, if not literally at once, at least on the same day. + +"It isn't possible," thinks the tall man swinging along at a tremendous +pace, "that this bell--there it is again, confound it; yet no, not +confound it--can resemble that other bell I used to know. No, quite +impossible. Is it likely that anything here," and the thinker spreads +both long arms out to take in the entire landscape, "can resemble or +remotely suggest the Old Country, or, as people call it, home? Home? +Why this is home. That four-roomed and convenient, if not commodious, +mansion I have just quitted is my home. Talking of commodiousness, it's +quite large enough, too. I have no wife, no children, no partner, not +even a sleeping one, no one ever comes to see me. So I do not need a +drawing-room, a nursery, a guest chamber, or a smoking-room. I have no +books, therefore I need no library; I indulge in no chemical pursuits, +therefore I need no laboratory; my music-room is the forest in summer +and the chimney in winter, while my studio, according to the latest +aesthetic fad--I think that is the word--opens off the music-room. + +"Now, if you take away art, science, literature, and society from +the daily life of a man, what do you leave? Simply the three radical +necessities of sleeping, eating, working. My work I do mostly in the +open air, so that, practically, I need but two rooms, one to cook in and +the other to sleep in. I have always felt convinced that to be happy I +only require two rooms, except on extra cold nights, when I find that +one suffices. That is when Tim and I lie near the kitchen fire to keep +warm. Home! Why of course it is home. Didn't I build the house myself? +What association is dearer than that? To come into a pile of half-ruined +towers, all gables and gargoyles, built somewhere about the fourteenth +century, and added to by every fool who liked, without the slightest +pretence to knowledge of architecture and civilization may be very +gratifying, but, strange as it may seem, I prefer the work of my +own hands. I am quite a Canadian, of course, though I once was an +Englishman. I array myself in strange raiment, thick and woollen, of +many colours; my linen is coarse and sometimes superseded by flannel; +I wear a cast-off fur cap on my head and moccasins on my feet. I have +grown a beard and a fierce moustache. I have made no money and won no +friends except the simple settlers around me here. And I shall grow old +and grey in your service, my Muskoka. I shall be forty-one on my next +birthday. Then will come fifty-one, another ten years and sixty-one. +All to be lived here? Yes, I have sworn it. Not Arcady, not Utopia, +only Muskoka, but very dear to me. There is the forest primeval! I +know everything in it from the Indian pipe--clammy white thing, but how +pretty!--to that great birch there with the bark peeling off in pieces a +yard wide. There is the lovely Shadow river. Masses of cardinal flowers +grow there in the summer, and when I take my boat up its dark waters I +feel that no human being has felt its beauty so before. I think, for a +small river it is the loveliest in the world. And as to my larder now, +why I am going to make my Christmas dinner off a piece or pork and ask +for nothing better! I shall have a glorious appetite, which is the main +point. The bell again!" + +Yes, and the snow birds, too, flying round the porch of the little +church. It is a very small and plain edifice and not over warm, and +the officiating clergyman, who has just driven eighteen miles with +the prospect of eighteen back after service, hurries the proceedings +somewhat. There is a harmonium played by the tall man, and there is +a choir consisting of himself and a small boy. In place of the usual +Anglican hymns two carols are sung by the choir, which have the +quaintest effect in such a place, and which appear to interest and even +excite one of the congregation. This is a man of middle age, most richly +dressed with a certain foreign air about him and evidently in a very +delicate state of health. He is accompanied by a lady whose dress is +also a marvel of beauty and costliness though hardly of fitness. The +broad bands of gold which adorn her wrists and neck would alone procure +for her the entire attention of the congregation were she seated in +a more conspicuous place. As it is they are seated near the stove for +increased comfort. "Good King Wenceslas" sings the choir, the small boy +finding the long word very trying, and coming utterly to grief in the +last two verses, for his companion appears to have lost his place. +With the last verse of the carol comes the close of the service, the +straggling congregation disperse and the jolly clergyman drives off +again. Then an important thing happens, and happens very quietly. +So quietly that the richly dressed lady who is a bright, shallow and +unsentimental Californian does not mind it at all. "Humphrey!" says the +tall man, "Hugh!" says the other, and all is said. There is not much +sentiment in the meeting, how can there be? Their ways have gone too far +apart. The years--nearly twenty, since they parted in Los Angeles--have +brought gold and kith and kin to the one, with an enfeebled constitution +and an uncertain temper. To the other, they have brought the glory of +health for his manhood's crown, content and peace unutterable. To +learn to subdue the ground is to learn one great lesson. So the strange +meeting is soon over. The Christmas spell may not always last and the +brothers separate once more. + + * * * * * + + + + +FINIS. + + +The bright little lady who is taking her husband for a winter's Canadian +tour gets restive in this silent snowy world. But before they part a +letter is written to a white-haired old gentleman' in England, who has +only a month to wait. + +"Whether I see them again or not does not matter," says Sir Humphrey, +"but for the assurance that they have not harmed each other, I thank +Almighty God this night!" + + + + + +THE IDYL OF THE ISLAND. + + * * * * * + +Here lies mid-way between parallels 48 and 49 of latitude, and degrees +89 and 90 of longitude, in the northern hemisphere of the New +World, serenely anchored on an ever-rippling and excited surface, an +exquisitely lovely island. No tropical wonder of palm-treed stateliness, +or hot tangle of gaudy bird and glowing creeper, can compare with it; +no other northern isle, cool and green and refreshing to the eye +like itself, can surpass it. It is not a large island. It is about +half-a-mile long and quarter of a mile broad It is an irregular oval in +shape, and has two distinct and different sides. On the west side its +grey limestone rises to the height of twenty feet straight out of +the water. On the east side there occurs a gradual shelving of a +sumac-fringed shore, that mingles finally with the ever-rippling water. +For the waters in this northern country are never still. They are +perpetually bubbling up and boiling over; seething and fuming and +frothing and foaming and yet remaining so cool and clear that a quick +fancy would discover thousands of banished fountains under that agitated +and impatient surface. Both ends of the island are as much alike as its +sides are dissimilar. They taper off almost to a distinct bladepoint of +rock, in which a mere doll's flagstaff of a pine-tree grows; then +comes a small detached rock, with a small evergreen on it, then a still +smaller rock, with a tuft of grass, then a line of partially submerged +stones, and so out to the deep yet ever-bubbling water. This island +might seem, just the size for two, and there were two on it on a certain +July morning at five o'clock. One of these was a lady who lay at full +length and fast asleep upon a most unique couch. These northern islands +are in many places completely covered with a variety of yellowish-green +moss, varying from a couple of inches to a foot and a half in thickness; +and yielding to the pressure of the foot or the body as comfortably as a +feather bed, if not more so, being elastic in nature. A large square of +this had been cut up from some other part of the island and placed on +the already moss-grown and cushioned ground, serving as a mattress, +while two smaller pieces served as pillows. A sumac tree at the head +of the improvised couch gave the necessary shade to the face of the +sleeper, while a wild grapevine, after having run over and encircled +with its moist green every stone and stem on the island, fulfilled its +longing at length in a tumultuous possession of the sumac, making a +massive yet aerial patched green curtain or canopy to the fantastic bed, +and ending seemingly in two tiny transparent spirals curling up to the +sky. + +If there were a fault in the structure it was that it was too clever, +too well thought out, too rectangular, too much in fact like a bed. But +it told certainly of a skillful pair of hands and of a beautiful +mind and the union of art with nature perfectly suited the +charms--contradictory yet consistent--of the occupant. For being +anything but a beautiful woman she was still far from a plain one, which +though no original mode of putting it does convey the actual impression +she made upon a gentleman in a small boat who rowing past this island +at the hour of five o'clock in the morning was so much struck with this +curious sight, quite visible from the water below, that he was rude +enough to stand up that he might see better. The lady was dressed in +some dark blue stuff that evidently covered her all over and fitted +tightly where it could be seen. A small linen collar, worn all night and +therefore shorn of its usual freshness was round her neck, and she was +tucked up from the waist under a Scotch woollen rug. Her hair, of a +peculiar red-brown, was allowed to hang about her and was lovely; her +mouth sad; her nose, rather too prominent; her complexion natural +and healthy, but marred by freckles and moles, not many of either but +undeniably scattered over the countenance. All told but her eyes which, +if they proved to match with her hair, would atone for these other +shortcomings. The gentleman sat down again and reflected. + +"How still it is!" he said under his breath. "Absolutely not a thing +stirring. This is the time when the fish bite. I ought to be fishing I +suppose. Going to be warm by-and-bye." + +It was indeed almost absolutely silent. The sun climbed higher but the +lady slept on, and the gentleman gazed as if fascinated. The only sound +that broke the beautiful early morning silence was the occasional weird +laugh of the loon. It came twice and then a third time. The sleeper +stirred. + +"If that thing out there cries again she will wake," said the gentleman +to himself. "I must be off before that happens. But I _should_ like to +see her eyes. What a pretty picture it is!" Once more the loon gave its +maniacal laugh and the lady started, sat bolt upright and wide awake. +Her admirer had not time to retreat but he took his oars up and +confronted her manfully. It was an awkward moment. He apologized. The +lady listened very politely. Then she smiled. + +"Most of the islands in this lake are owned by private people," she +said, "who use them during the summer months for the purpose of camping +out upon them. I should advise you, if you row about much here, to +keep to the open water, unless you wish to be seriously handled by the +fathers and mothers of families." + +"Thank you very much," returned the gentleman, standing up in his boat, +"I assure you I intended no rudeness, but I have never seen so charming +a summer couch before, and I was really fascinated by the--ah,--the +picture you made. May I ask what you mean by 'camping out'? Is it always +done in this fashion?" + +The lady stared "Have _you_ never camped out?" + +"Never in my life," said the gentleman. "I am an Englishman, staying at +the hotel near the point for a day or two. I came out to see something +of the country." + +"Then you should at least have camped out for a week or so. That is +a genuine Canadian experience," said the lady with a frankness which +completely restored the equanimity of the Englishman. + +"But how do you live?" he went on in a puzzled manner that caused +the lady with the red-brown hair, still all hanging about her, much +amusement. + +"O, capitally! Upon fish and eggs, and gooseberry tarts, and home-made +bread and French coffee. Just what you would get in town, and much +better than you get at the hotel." + +"O, that would be easy!" the gentleman groaned. "I eat my meals in a +pitch-dark room, in deadly fear and horror of the regiments of flies +that swarm in and settle on everything the minute one raises the green +paper blinds." + +The lady nodded. "I know. We tried it for two or three seasons, but we +could not endure it; the whole thing, whitewash and all, is so trying, +isn't it? So we bought this lovely island and bring our tent here and +live _so_ comfortably." The gentleman did not reply at once. He was +thinking that it was his place to say "Good morning," and go, although +he would much have liked to remain a little longer. He hazarded the +remark: + +"Now, for instance, what are you going to breakfast on presently?" + +The lady laughed lightly and shook her red brown hair. + +"First of all I have to make a fire." + +"Oh!" + +"But that is not so very difficult" + +"How do you do it?" + +"Would you like to know?" + +"Very much indeed. I should like to see, if I may." + +The lady reflected a moment. "I suppose you may, but if you do, you +ought to help me, don't you think?" The gentleman much amused and +greatly interested. + +"Ah but you see, it is you I want to see make it. I am very useless you +know at that sort of thing, still, if you will allow me, I will try my +best. Am I to come ashore?" + +"Certainly, if you are to be of any use." + +The lady jumped lightly off the pretty couch of moss and wound her +plentiful hair round her head with one turn of her arm. Her dress was +creased but well-fitting, her figure not plump enough for beauty but +decidedly youthful. She watched her new friend moor his boat and ascend +with one or two strides of his long legs up the side of the cliff that +was not so steep. He took off his hat. + +"I am at your service," he said with a profound bow. The lady made him +another, during which all her long hair fell about her again, at which +they both laughed. + +"What do we do first?" said he. + +"O we find a lot of sticks and pieces of bark, mostly birch bark, and +anything else that will burn--you may have to fell a tree while you are +about it--and I'll show you how to place them properly between two walls +of stones, put a match to them and there is our fire. Will you come with +me?" + +He assented of course, and they were soon busy in the interior of +the little wood that grew up towards the centre of the island. I must +digress here to say that the gentleman's name was Amherst. He was known +to the world in latter life as Admiral Amherst, and he was a great +friend of mine. When he related this story to me, he was very particular +in describing the island as I have done--indeed he carried a little +chart about with him of it which he had made from memory, and he told +me besides that he never forgot the peculiar beauty of that same little +tract of wood. The early hour, the delicious morning air, the great +moss-grown and brown decaying tree trunks, the white, clammy, ghostly, +flower or fungus of the Indian Pipe at his feet, the masses of ferns, +the elastic ground he trod upon, and the singular circumstance that he +was alone in this exquisite spot with a woman he had never seen until +five minutes previously, all combined to make an ineffaceable impression +upon his mind. The lady showed herself proficient in the art of building +a fire and attended by Amherst soon had a fine flame rising up from +between the fortifications evidently piled by stronger hands than her +own. + +"What do we do now?" asked Amherst "I should suggest--a kettle." + +"Of course, that is the next step. If I give it to you, you might run +and fill it, eh?' + +"Delighted!" and away went Amherst. When he returned the lady was not to +be seen. The place was shorn of its beauty, but he waited discreetly and +patiently, putting the kettle on to boil in the meanwhile. + +"It's very singular," said he, "how I come to be here. I wonder who +are with her in her party; no one else appears to be up or about. That +striped red and white thing is the tent, I see, over there. Ah! That's +where she has gone, and now she beckons me! Oh! I'll go, but I don't +want to meet the rest of them!" + +But when he reached the tent, it was quite empty, save for rugs and +wraps, boxes, etc., and the lady was laughingly holding out a loaf of +bread in one hand and a paper package in the other. + +"You will stay and breakfast with me?" + +"What will you give me?" said Amherst, smiling. + +"I can only give you eggs, boiled in the kettle, coffee and bread and +butter. The fish haven't come in yet." + +"What can be nicer than eggs--especially when boiled in the kettle, that +is, if you make the coffee first." + +"Certainly I do." + +"And it is really French coffee?" + +"Really. Cafe des Gourmets, you know; we--I always use it--do not like +any other." + +Amherst was fast falling in love. He told me that at this point his +mind was quite made up that if it were possible he would remain in the +neighborhood a few days at least, in order to see more of this charming +girl. She seemed to him to be about twenty-six or seven, and so frank, +simple and graceful, one could not have resisted liking her. Her +hair and eyes were identical in colour and both were beautiful; her +expression was arch and some of her gestures almost childish, but a +certain dignity appeared at times and sat well upon her. Her hands were +destitute of any rings as Amherst soon discovered, and were fine and +small though brown. While she made the coffee, Amherst threw himself +down on the wonderful moss, the like of which he had never seen before +and looked out over the water. An unmistakeable constraint had taken the +place of the unaffected hilarity of the first ten minutes. A reaction +had set in. Amherst could of course only answer to me in telling this +for himself, but he divined at the time a change in his companion's +manner as well. + +"I hope you like your eggs," she said presently. + +"They are very nice, indeed, thank you," rejoined Amherst. + +"And I have made your coffee as you like it?" + +"Perfectly, thank you. But you--you are not eating anything! Why is +that?" + +As he asked the question he turned quickly around, in order to rise that +he might help her with the ponderous kettle that she was about lifting +off the camp-fire, when a long strand of her hair again escaping from +its coil blew directly across his face. Amherst uttered a radiant "Oh!", +and taking it to his lips forgot himself so far as to press kiss after +kiss upon it. The lady stood as if transfixed and did not move, even +when Amherst actually swept all her hair down over one arm and turning +her face to his, pressed one long long kiss on her forehead. + +The moment he had done this his senses returned and he stepped back +in indignation with himself. But his companion was still apparently +transfixed. Amherst looked at her in dismay. She did not seem to see him +and had grown very pale. He touched her gently on the arm but she did +not show that she felt the touch. He retreated a few paces and stood +by himself, overcome with shame and contrition. What had he done? How +should he ever atone for such an unwarrantable action? Had it been the +outcome of any ordinary flirtation, he would have felt no such scruples, +but the encounter, though short, had been one of singular idyllic charm +until he had by his own rash act spoilt it. A few minutes passed thus in +self contemplation appeared like an eternity. He must speak. + +"If you would allow me--" + +But the lady put out her left hand in deprecation as it were and he +got no further. The silence was unendurable. Amherst took a step or two +forward and perceived great tears rolling down her cheeks. + +"Oh!" he began desperately, "won't you allow me to say a word to tell +you how very, very sorry I am, how grieved I am and always shall be? +I never--I give you my word of honor--I never do those sort of things, +have never done such a thing before! But I can't tell what it was, the +place is so beautiful, and when all that lovely hair came sweeping past +my face, I could not help doing as I did, it was so electrical! Any man +would have done the same. I know that sounds like a miserable, cowardly +excuse, but it is true, perfectly true." The lady seemed to struggle to +appear calm and with a great effort she turned her face towards Amherst. + +"I know one man," she said, in a voice choked with sobs, "who would not +have done it?" + +Amherst started. "I am sorrier than ever, believe me. I might have known +you were engaged, or had a lover--one so Charming"-- + +"It is not that," said the lady. "I am married." She was still +struggling with her emotion. + +Amherst recoiled. He was torn with conflicting thoughts. What if he had +been seen giving that involuntary salute? He might have ruined her peace +for ever. Who would believe in the truth of any possible explanation? + +"I will leave you at once;" he said stiffly, "there is nothing more to +be said." + +"Oh! You will reproach me now!" said his companion, wiping her eyes as +the tears came afresh. + +"I will try not to;" said Amherst, "but you could so easily have told +me; I do not think it was--quite--fair." Yet he could not be altogether +angry with the partner of his thoughtlessness, nor could he be entirely +cold. Her beautiful eyes, her despairing attitude would haunt him he +knew for many a day. She had ceased weeping and stood quietly awaiting +his departure. Amherst felt all the force of a strong and novel passion +sweep along his frame as he looked at her. Was she happy, was she a +loved and loving wife? Somehow the conviction forced itself upon him +that she was not. Yet he could not ask her, it must remain her secret. + +Amherst looked at his watch. It aroused her. + +"What is the time?" she said lifting her head for the first time since +he had kissed her. + +"Ten minutes past six," Amherst replied. + +"You must go," she said, with an effort at self-control. "I shall have +much to do presently." + +He cast one look about and approached her. + +"Will you forgive me"--he began in a tone of repression, then with +another mighty and involuntary movement he caught her hands and pressed +them to his breast. "My God," he exclaimed, "how I should have loved +you!" + +A moment after he flung her hands away and strode down the cliff, +unfastened his boat and rowed away in the direction of the hotel as +fast as he could. Rounding a sharp rock that hid what lay beyond it, he +nearly succeeded in overturning another boat like his own, in which sat +a gentleman of middle age, stout and pleasant and mild of countenance. +The bottom of the boat was full of fish. Amherst made an incoherent +apology, to which the gentleman answered with a good-natured laugh, +insisting that the fault was his own. He would have liked to enter into +conversation with Amherst, but my friend was only anxious to escape from +the place altogether and forget his recent adventure in the hurry of +departure from the hotel. Three days after he embarked at Quebec for +England, and never revisited Canada. But he never married and never +forgot the woman whom he always asserted he might have truly and +passionately loved. He was about twenty-eight when that happened and +perfectly heart-whole. Why--I used to say to him, why did you not learn +her name and that of her husband? Perhaps she is a widow now, perhaps +you made as great an impression upon her mind and affections as she did +upon yours. + +But my friend Admiral Amherst, as the world knew him, was a strange, +irrational creature in many ways, and none of these ideas would he ever +entertain. That the comfortable gentleman in the boat was her husband he +never doubted; more it was impossible to divine. But the cool northern +isle, with its dark fringe of pines; its wonderful moss, its +fragrant and dewy ferns, its graceful sumacs, just putting on their +scarlet-lipped leaves, the morning stillness broken only by the +faint unearthly cry of the melancholy loon, the spar-dyked cliffs of +limestone, and the fantastic couch, with its too lovely occupant, never +faded from his memory and remained to the last as realities which indeed +they have become likewise to me, through the intensity with which they +were described to me. + + + + + +The Story of Delle Josephine Boulanger + + + + +CHAPTER I. + + +Delle Josephine Boulanger, Miss Josephine Baker, Miss Josephine Baker, +Delle Josephine Boulanger. What a difference it makes, the language! +What a transformation! I thought this to myself as I stood on the +opposite side of the street looking at the sign. To be sure, it, was +only printed in French and sad little letters they were that composed +the name, but my mind quickly translated them into the more prosaic +English as I stood and gazed. Delle Josephine was a milliner and I had +been recommended to try and get a little room "_sous les toits_" that +she sometimes had to let, during my stay in the dismal Canadian village +with the grand and inappropriate name of _Bonheur du Roi_. Bonneroi, or +Bonneroy, it was usually called. Such a dismal place it seemed to be; +one long street of whitewashed or dirty wooden houses, two raw red brick +"stores," and the inevitable Roman Catholic Church, Convent and offices, +still and orderly and gray, with the quiet priests walking about and +the occasional sound of the unmistakeable convent bell. I arrived on a +sleety winter's day early in December. Everything was gray, or colorless +or white; the people's faces were pinched and pale, the sky was a leaden +gray in hue, and I thought as I stood opposite to my future abode under +Delle Josephine's roof that the only bit of "local color" so far was to +be found in her window. I could distinctly see from where I stood the +most extraordinary _hat_ I had ever seen. I immediately crossed the road +to examine it. It was a triumph in lobster-color. In shape like a very +large Gainsborough, it was made of shirred scarlet satin with large bows +of satin ribbon of the same intense color and adorned with a bird of +paradise. I can see it now and can recall the images it suggested to my +mind at the time. These were of cardinals and kings, of sealing-wax and +wafers, of tropic noons and tangled marshes, of hell and judgment and +the conventional Zamiel. It looked fit to be worn by a Mrs. Zamiel, if +there be such a person. I looked so long and earnestly that I evidently +attracted the notice of the mistress of the shop, for I saw a hand push +back the faded red curtain that veiled the interior and a queer little +visage appeared regarding me with something I thought of distrust. Did +I look as if I might break the glass and run off with the hat? Perhaps I +did, so I entered the shop immediately and said in a reasoning tone, + +"I am looking for rooms in the village, Mademoiselle, and hear you have +one to let. Can I see it now, if not too much trouble?" + +"You come from Morreall?" + +This I learnt was meant for Montreal. + +"Yes," I returned. + +"You are by yourself, Monsieur, you are sure? No ladees, eh?" + +"O dear! No" said I laughing. "I am making some studies--sketches--in +this locality and am entirely alone. Do you find ladies a trouble?" + +"Oh, perhaps not always. But there was one Mees I had. I did not like +her, and so I said--we will have no more Mees, but again and always +Messieurs." She was frank enough but not unpleasant in her manner. A +little bit of a woman, thin and shrivelled, with one shoulder slightly +higher than the other, black beads for eyes, and the ugliest mouthful +of teeth that I had ever seen on any one. Had it not been that her +expression was honest and good natured and her manner bright and +intelligent, I should have recoiled before the yellow tusks of +eye-teeth, and the blackened stumps and shrunken gums revealed to me +every time she spoke. She wore a print dress made neatly enough which +was very clean, and a black crape ruff round her sallow neck. The shop +was small but clean and at the back I saw, a kind of little sitting +room. Into this I went while she ran up-stairs to prepare the room for +my inspection. The carpet was the usual horribly ingenious affair of red +squares inside green octagons, and green squares inside red octagons, +varied by lengthwise stripes of bright purple. The walls were plain +white, covered with many prints in vivid colors of the Crucifixion, the +Annunciation and the Holy Family; also three pictures of three wonderful +white kittens which adorn so many nurseries and kitchens. There were +no ornaments, but there was a large looking glass framed in walnut, and +over it a dismal wreath of roses and their leaves done in human +gray hair. The glass was opposite the door and I saw Delle Josephine +descending to meet me just as I was turning away from this suggestive +"in memoriam." A crooked little stairway brought me to a small landing, +and three more steps to my room. I may call it that, for I took it on +the spot It was large enough for my wants and seemed clean and when +the paper blinds, yellow, with a black landscape on them, were raised, +rather cheerful. We were opposite the chief "_epicerie_," the only +_"marchandise seches_" and a blacksmith, whose jolly red fire I could +sometimes catch a glimpse of. + +Now, this is a really a true story of French Canadian life, or rather +let me say, a true story of one of my own French Canadian experiences, +and so I must confess that once installed in my little room _chez_ Delle +Josephine Boulanger, nothing whatever of any interest took place until +I had been there quite a week. I lived most regularly and monotonously; +rising at eight I partook of coffee made by my landlady, accompanied by +tinned fruit for which I formed a great taste. Then I went out, getting +my mid-day meal where I could, eggs and bacon at a farmhouse, or tough +steak at the hotel, and sometimes not getting anything at all until I +returned ravenously hungry to my lodging. On these occasions the little +Frenchwoman showed herself equal to the extent of cooking a chicken or +liver and bacon very creditably and then I would write and read in my +own room till eleven. I must not forget to say that I never failed to +look at the wonderful scarlet hat in the window every time I went out +or came in. Purchasers for it would be rare I thought; I half formed the +idea of buying it myself when I went away as a "Souvenir." + +One day I came home very tired. After walking about, vainly waiting for +a terrific snowstorm to pass over that I might go on with my work--the +frozen fall of Montmorenci, framed in the dark pines and somber rocks +that made such a back ground for its glittering thread of ice, I gave +it up, chilled in every limb, and began to consider whether I was not +a fool for pains. Although I started quite early in the afternoon on +my homeward walk, the snow, piled in great masses everywhere along the +route, impeded my progress to such an extent that it was nearly seven +o'clock and pitch-dark when I got into the village. Bonneroy was very +quiet. Shutters were up to every shop, nobody was out except a dog or +two and the snow kept falling, falling, still in as persistent a fashion +as if it had not been doing the same thing for six hours already. I +found the shop shut up and the door locked. I looked everywhere for a +bell or knocker of some description. There was neither, so I began to +thump as hard as I could with my feet against the door. In a minute or +two I heard Delle Josephine coming. Perhaps I had alarmed the poor soul. +She did look troubled on opening the door and admitted me hurriedly, +even suspiciously, I thought. The door of the little sitting-room was +closed, so fancying that perhaps she had a visitor I refrained from much +talking and asking her to cook me some eggs presently and bring them up, +I went to my room. + +These cold days I had to keep a fire in the small open "Franklin" stove +going almost constantly. She had not forgotten to supply it with +coals during my absence, and lighting my two lamps I was soon fairly +comfortable. How it did snow! Lifting the blind I could actually look +down on an ever-increasing drift below my window and dimly wonder if +I should get out at all on the morrow. If not, I proposed to return to +Montreal at once. I should gain nothing by being confined in the house +at Bonneroy. Delle Josephine appeared with eggs and tea--green tea, alas +for that village shortcoming--there was no black tea to be found in it, +and I looked narrowly at her as she set it down, wondering if anything +was amiss with her. But she seemed all right again and I conjectured +that I had simply interrupted a _tete-a-tete_ with some visitor in the +sitting-room at the time of my return. When I had finished my tea I sat +back and watched my fire. Those little open "Franklin" stoves are almost +equal to a fireplace; they show a great deal of fire and you can +fancy your flame on an English hearth very easily--if you have any +imagination. As I sat there, it suddenly came home to me what a curious +life this was for me; living quite alone over a tiny village shop in _Le +Bos Canada_, with a queer little spinster like Delle Josephine. Snowed +up, with her too! To-morrow I would certainly have to go and shovel that +snow away from the front door and take down the shutters and discover +again to the world the contents of the one window, particularly that +frightful hat! I would--here I started it must be confessed almost out +of my seat, as turning my head suddenly I saw on a chair behind the door +the identical hat I was thinking about! I sat up and looked at it. It +must have been there all the time I was eating my tea. I still sat and +looked. I felt vaguely uncomfortable for a moment, then my common sense +asserted itself and told me that Delle Josephine must have been altering +it or something of that kind and had forgotten to take it away. I +wondered if she sat in my room when I was away. I had rather she did +not. Just as I was about to rise and look at it more closely, a tap came +at my door. I rose and admitted Delle Josephine. She took the tea-things +away in her usual placid manner, but came back the next moment as if +she had forgotten something, clearly the hat. With a slight deprecatory +laugh she removed it and went hurriedly down the stair. Whatever had she +been doing with it, I thought, and settled with a sigh of satisfaction +once more to my work, now that the nightmare in red, a kind of mute +scarlet "Raven," was gone from my room. How very quiet it was. Not a +single sleigh passed, no sounds came from the houses opposite or from +next door, the whole world seemed smothered in the soft thick pillows +of snow quietly gathering upon it. After a while, however, I could +distinctly hear the sound of voices downstairs. Delle Josephine had a +visitor, undoubtedly. Was it a man or a woman? Not a large company I +gathered; it seemed like one person besides herself. I opened my door, +it sounded so comfortably in my lonely bachelor ear to catch in that +strange little house anything so cheerful as the murmur of voices. My +curiosity once aroused, did not stop here. I went outside the door, not +exactly to listen, but as one does sometimes in a lazy yet inquisitive +mood, when anything is going on at all unusual. This was an unusual +occurrence. If Delle Josephine had visitors often, I was not aware of +it. Never before had I noticed the slightest sound proceed from her +sitting-room after dusk. So I waited a bit listening. Yes there was +talking going on, but in French. As I did not understand her _patois_ +very clearly, I thought there would be no harm in overhearing, and +further I thought I should like to have a peep at her and her companion. +I could see that the door was partly open. Taking off my slippers, I +ran softly down and found it wide enough open to admit of my seeing the +entire room and occupants in the looking-glass, that being opposite. +It was quite dark in the little hall and I should be unobserved. So I +crept--most rudely I am willing to say--into the furthest shadow of this +hall and looked straight before me. + +I saw none but Delle Josephine herself. But she was a sight for +the gods. Seated on a kind of ottoman, directly in front of the +looking-glass, she was holding an animated conversation with _herself_, +wearing a large white antimacassar--one of those crocheted things all in +wheels--pinned under her chin and falling away at the back like a cloak, +and upon her head--the wonderful scarlet hat! I was amazed, startled, +dismayed. To see that shrivelled little old woman so travestying her +hideous charms, smiling at and bowing to herself, her yellow skin +forming a frightful contrast to the intense red of her immense hat +and her bright black eyes, was a pitiful and unique spectacle. I had +intended but to take a peep at the supposed visitor and then go back to +my room, but the present sight was one which fascinated me to such an +extent that I could only look and wonder. She spoke softly to herself in +French, appearing to be carrying on a conversation with her image in the +glass. The feathers of the bird of paradise swept her shoulder--the one +that was higher than the other--and mingled with the wheels of the white +antimacassar. I looked as long as I dared and then, fearing from her +movements that the strange scene would soon be over I went softly up +again to my room. But I thought about it all evening, all night in fact. +The natural inquiry was--was the poor girl a maniac? Even if only a +harmless one, it would be well to know. As I sat down again by my fire +I considered the matter in every light. It was a queer prospect. Outside +the snow still fell. Inside, the fire languished and the time wore on +till at half-past ten I really was compelled to call on my landlady for +more coal. I could hear the muttered French still going on, but I did +not know where the coal was and could not fetch it myself. I must break +in upon her rhapsodizing. + +"Delle Boulanger!" I called from my open door. "Delle Boulanger!" + +The talking stopped. In a few moments Delle Josephine appeared, calm and +smiling, _minus_ the hat and the antimacassar. "Coming, _monsieur_" + +"I shall want some more coal," said I, "It is getting colder, I think, +every minute!" + +"_Mais oui, monsieur; il fait fret, il fait bien fret ce soir_, and +de snow--oh! It is _comme_--de old winter years ago, dat I remember, +_monsieur_, but not you. _Eh! bien_, the coal!" + +I discovered nothing morbid about her manner; she was amiable and +respectful as usual, if a little more garrulous. The French will talk at +all times about anything, but our conversation always came to a sudden +stop the moment one of us relapsed into the mother tongue. As long as +a sort of common maccaronic was kept to we managed to understand one +another. After I made up my fire I sat up till long past twelve. I heard +no more talking downstairs but I could fancy her still arrayed in those +festive yet ghastly things, seated opposite her own reflection, intent +as a mummy and not unlike one restored in modern costume. Pulling +the blind aside before going to bed, I could see with awe the arching +snowdrifts outside my window. If it went on snowing, I should not be +able to open it on the morrow. + + + + +CHAPTER II + + +My prediction was verified in the morning. The snow had ceased falling, +but lay piled up against the lower half of my window. On the level there +appeared to be about three feet, while the drifts showed from six to +twenty feet I had never seen anything like it, and was for sometime lost +in admiration. Across the road the children of the _epider_ and the good +man himself were already busy trying to shovel some of it away from the +door. It seemed at first sight a hopeless task and I, looking down at +Delle Josephine's door, wondered how on earth we were ever to get out of +it when not a particle of it was to be seen. Not all that day did I get +out of the house, and but for the absorbing interest I suddenly found +centred in Delle Josephine I would have chafed terribly at being so shut +up. Trains, were blockaded of course, it was the great fall of '81, and +interrupted travel for half of a week. All that day I waited so to speak +for the evening. Snow-boys there were many; customers none. The +little Frenchwoman brought me some dinner at one o'clock, pork, tinned +tomatoes, and a cup of coffee. About five o'clock I strolled down into +the shop, it was lighted very meagrely with three oil lamps. Delle +Josephine was seated on a high chair behind the one counter at work on +some ribbon--white ribbon. She was quilling it, and looked up with some +astonishment as I walked up to her. + +"Do you object to a visitor Miss Josephine?" said I with the most +amiable manner I could muster. Poor soul! I should have thought she +would have welcomed one. + +"_Mais non Monsieur_ but I speak so little English." + +"And I so little French. But we can manage to understand each other a +little, I think. What do you say to the weather? When shall I be able to +go out?" + +Delle Josephine laughed. She went on quilling the ribbon that looked so +white against her yellow hands. + +"O _Monsieur_ could go out dis day if he like, but de snow ver bad, very +thick." + +"Do you ever go out, Miss Josephine?" + +"_Non Monsieur_. I have not been out for what you call a valk--it will +be five years that I have not been." + +"But you go to church, I suppose?" + +"_Mais oui Monsieur_, but that is so near. And the good _Pere Le +Jeune_--he come to see me. He is all the frien Delle Josephine has, ah! +_oui Monsieur_." + +"Ah! Bonneroi isn't much of a place, is it? Have you ever been to Quebec +or Montreal?" + +"Ah! _Quebec--oui_, I live there once, many years ago. I was taken when +I was ver young by _Madame de la Corne de la Colombiere pour une bonne; +vous comprenez_?" + +"Oh! _bonne_, yes, we use that word too. It means a nursemaid, eh! Were +there children in the family?" + +Delle Josephine dropped her ribbon and threw up her hands. + +"_Mon Dieu! les enfants! Mais oui, Monsieur_, they were nine children! +There was _Maamselle Louise_ and _Maamselle Angelique_ with the tempaire +of the _diable_ himself _oui Monsieur_, and Francois and Rene and +_l'petite Catherine_, and the rest I forget _Monsieur_. And dey live in +a fine _chateau_, with horse and carridge and everything as it would be +if they were in their own France. _Monsieur_ has been in France?" + +Only in Paris, I told her; a spasmodic run across the Channel--Paris in +eight hours. Two days there then return-- + +"That does not give one much idea of France." + +"_Nou, non, Monsieur_. But there is no countree like France dey say dat +familee--and that is true, eh, _Monsieur_?" + +"I am afraid I cannot agree with you, Delle Josephine," said I. "To +me there is no country like England, but that may be because I am an +Englishman. Tell me how long did you live in Quebec with this family?" + +"I was there ten year _Monsieur_. Then one day, I had a great +accidence--oh! a ver sad ting, ver sad!" The Frenchwoman laid down +the ribbon and went on. "A ver sad ting happen to me and the _bebe +Catherine_. We were out _l'ptite_ and me, for a valk, and we come to a +part of the town ver slant, ver hilly. _L'ptite Catherine_ was in her +carridge and I let go, and she go all down, _Monsieur_, and I too +over the hill--the cleef, you call it--but the _bebe_ was killed and I +_Monsieur_, I was alive, but like this!" showing her shoulder. "And what +did they do?" + +"At the _chateau_? Ah, _figure-toi, monsieur_, the agony of dat _pauvre +dame_! I was sent away, she would not see me, and I left _Quebec_ at +once. I was no more _bonne_, monsieur; Delle Josephine was enough dat. +I could make de hats and de bonnets for de ladees, so I come away out +to Bonneroi, and I haf made de hats and de bonnets for the ladees of +Bonneroi for twenty year." + +"Is it possible?" I said, much touched by the little story. "And the +ladies of Bonneroi, are they hard to please?" + +Delle Josephine, who had spoken with the customary vim and gesture of +the French while--telling her tale, resumed her quilling and said, with +a shrug of one shoulder, + +"They do not know much, and dat is true." I laughed at the ironical +tone. + +"And you--you provide the _modes_?" + +"I haf been to Quebec" she said quietly. + +"Twenty years ago," I thought, but had too much respect for the queer +little soul to say it aloud. + +"I see amongst other things," I went on, "a most--remarkable--a very +pretty, I should say--hat in your window. The red one, you know, with +the bird of paradise." + +Delle Josephine looked up quickly. "Dat is not for sale, _monsieur_." + +"No? Why, I had some idea of perhaps purchasing it for a friend of mine. +Did you make that hat yourself?" + +She nodded with a sort of conscious pride. Yet it was not for sale! I +wondered why. The strange scene of the foregoing evening came into my +mind, and I began to understand this singular--case of monomania. It +must be that having lived so many years in almost solitary confinement, +one might say, her mind had slightly given away, and she found her +only excitement and relaxation in posing before the glass in that +extraordinary manner. I hardly knew whether it would be an act of +kindness to remove the hat; she talked quite rationally and cheerfully, +and remembering the innate vanity of the French as a nation, I +concluded to let the matter rest That night I heard no talking in the +sitting-room. I slept profoundly, and woke up later than usual We were +not dug out yet, though two snow-boys with their shovels were doing +their best to unearth us. I waited some time for Delle Josephine to +appear with the tray; but she too was late, evidently, for at ten +o'clock she had not come. I dressed and went down stairs. As I passed +the sitting-room I saw her tricked out as before in the hat and the +antimacassar seated on the ottoman in front of the looking-glass. +Heavens, she looked more frightful than ever! I made up my mind to speak +to her at, once, and see if I could not stop such hideous mummery. But +when I advanced I perceived that indeed I had come too late. The figure +on the ottoman was rigid in death. How it ever held itself up at all +I could never think, for I gave a loud cry, and rushing from the room +knocked against the open door and fell down senseless. + +Outside, I suppose, the snow-boys shovelled away as hard as ever. When I +came to myself I did not need to look around; I knew in a flash where +I was, and remembered what had happened. I ran to the shop door and +hammered with all my might. + +"Let me out!" I cried. "Open the door! open the door! for Heaven's +sake!" Then I ran upstairs, and did the same at my window. It seemed +years upon years of time till they were enabled to open the door and let +me out. I rushed out bareheaded, forgetful of the intense cold, thinking +first of all of the priest _Pere Le Jeune_, so strong is habit, so +potent are traditions. I knew where he lived, up the first turning in a +small red brick house next the church of St. Jean Baptiste. I told him +the facts of the case as well as I could and he came back at once with +me. There was nothing to be done. Visitation of God or whatever the +cause of death Delle Josephine Boulanger was dead. The priest lifted his +hands in horror when he saw the ghostly hat. I asked him what he knew +about her, but he seemed ignorant of everything concerning the poor +thing, except the _aves_ she repeated and the number of times she came +to confession. But when we came to look over her personal effects in the +drawers and boxes of the shop, there could be no doubt but that she had +been thoroughly though harmlessly insane. We found I should think about +one hundred and fifty boxes: from tiny little ones of pasteboard to +large square ones of deal, full of rows and rows of white quilled +ribbon, similar to the piece I had seen her working at on that last +night of her life on earth. Some of the ribbon was yellow with age, +others fresher looking, but in each box was a folded bit of paper with +these words written inside, + + _Pour l'ptite Catherine_. + +"What money there was, _Pere Le Jeune_ must have appropriated for I saw +nothing of any. After the dismal funeral, to which I went, I gathered my +effects together and went to the hotel. The first day I could proceed, I +returned to Montreal and have not visited Bonneroi since. The family +of _de la Corne de La Colombiere_ still reside somewhere near Quebec, I +believe. The _chateau_ is called by the charming name of Port Joli, and +perhaps some day I may feel called upon to tell them of the strange fate +which befell their poor Josephine. Whether the melancholy accident which +partly bereft her of her reason was the result of carelessness I cannot +say but I shall be able, I think, to prove to them that she never forgot +the circumstance, and was to the day of her death occupied in making +ready for the little coffin and shroud of her '_p'tite Catherine_.' My +sketch of the frost bound Montmorenci was never finished, and indeed +my winter sketching fell through altogether after that unhappy visit +to Bonneroy. I was for weeks haunted by that terrible sight, half +ludicrous, half awful, and I have, now that I am married, a strong +dislike to scarlet in the gowns or head-gear of my wife and daughter." + + + + + +The Story of Etienne Chezy D'Alencourt + + + + +CHAPTER I. + + +As my friends know, I was born an Englishman, spending the first +twenty-four years of my life in England. On my twenty-fifth birthday I +set foot on the shore of the great North American Continent, destined +for a time to be my home. Two days afterwards I entered the office set +apart for me in the handsome Government Buildings at Ottawa, and began +my duties. A transfer had recently been effected between the Home +and Canadian Civil Service, and I had been chosen to fill the vacant +colonial post. Having no ties or obligations of any kind I had nothing +to lose by the transaction except the pleasure and advantage of living +in England, which, however, had ceased for one or two reasons to be dear +to me. + +I did not, however, remain very long in the Service. I found it pleasant +work but monotonous, and receiving shortly after I went out a legacy +bequeathed by a widowed aunt I had almost forgotten, determined to leave +it and devote myself to study and travel. Like many Englishmen, I had +taken no trouble to ascertain the real points of interest about me. I +had been content with mastering and getting through my work, and with +mingling out of hours with the small but thoroughly charming set I had +found ready to welcome me on my arrival as the "new Englishman." On the +whole, I was popular, though one great flaw--_i.e._--lack of high birth +and desirable home connections, weighed to an alarming extent with the +dowagers of the Capital. + +I had, on leaving the Service, made up my mind to study the people of +the Dominion. The English Canadians were easily disposed of in this +way; most of them were Scotch, and the rest appeared to be Irish. I +then began on the Indian population. But this was not so easy. It seemed +impossible to find even a single Indian without going some distance. + +At last I unearthed one descendant of the Red man who kept a small +tavern in the lower part of the town; a dirty frame tenement almost +entirely hidden by an immense sign hanging outside, having the figure, +heroic size of an Iroquois in full evening dress, feathers, bare legs +and tomahawk. + +This place was known as "Tommy's." But Tommy himself was only half +an Indian, and swore such bad swears in excellent English, that I was +forced to leave after a minute's inspection. + +Then I began on the French-Canadians. There were plenty of them. In the +Buildings, on the streets, in the markets, in shops, they were all +over. Some of the most charming people I know were French-Canadians. +My landlady and her husband, quiet, sober devout people, were +French-Canadians. + +What I wanted to find, though, was a genuine unadulterated +French-Canadian of the class known as the _habitans_. I could recollect +many dark-eyed, fierce-mustached men whom I had seen since my residence +in Canada, and whom I conjectured must have been _habitans_. Up the +Gatineau and down the St. Lawrence, it would be easy to find whom I +wanted, but I preferred to wait on in town. I had many a disappointment. +One day it would be a cabman, another day a clerk. Though they all +_looked_ French, they invariably turned out to be English or Scotch. My +notions of hair and skin and eyes were being all turned upside down; +my favorite predispositions annulled, my convictions changed to +fallacies--in short I was thoroughly bewildered. I could not find my +_habitant_. At the same time, when I did find him, he would have to know +how to speak some English, for I could only speak very little French. +I read it well of course, wrote it quite easily, but on essaying +conversation was always seized with that instinctive horror of making a +fool of myself, which besets most Englishmen when they would attempt a +foreign language. Besides, the _patois_ these people spoke was vastly +different from ordinary French, as taught in schools and colleges, and +what it might be like I had not in those days the faintest idea, not +having read Rabelais. + +The worst _desillusionnement_ I suffered I will recount. One day I +noticed an elderly man clad in corduroy trousers, shabby brown velveteen +coat, conical straw hat and dirty blue shirt, lounging about a wharf I +sometimes frequented where, at one time, would lay from thirty to fifty +barges laden with lumber. Bargetown it might have been called; it was +a veritable floating colony of French and Swede, Irish and Scotch, +jabbering and smoking by day and lying quietly at night under the stars, +save for the occasional jig and scrape of the fiddle of some active +Milesian. Here, had I fully known it, was my chance for observation, +but I was ignorant at that time of the ways of these people and did not +venture among them. But the man in the velvet coat interested me. He +gesticulated the whole time most violently, waved his arms about and +made great use of his pipe, which he used to point with. I could not +hear what he was saying for his back was turned to me and the wind +carried all he said to the bargemen, as he wished it to do I suppose. + +How splendidly that coat becomes him, thought I. The descendant of some +fine old French settler, how superbly he carries himself! + +The conical becomes on him a cocked hat and in place of ragged fringe +and buttons hanging by a single string, I see the buckles and bows, the +sword and cane of a by-gone age! + +I made up my mind to address him, when to my disgust he got into one of +the barges, which moved off slowly, transporting him, as I supposed, to +his northern home. + +The next morning the bell of my front door attracted my attention by +ringing three or four times. Evidently my landlady was out. I sauntered +to the door and found my _habitant_ of the velveteen coat and duty blue +shirt! + +Gracious heaven! I was overcome! By what occult power had he been driven +here to deliver himself into my hands? Before I could speak, he said: + +"Av ye plaze, sorr, will yez be having any carrpets to bate? I'm taking +orders against the sphring claning, sorr." + +"Oh! are you?" said I. I began to feel very sorry for myself, very +sorry, indeed, at this supreme instant. "Do you live near here?" I +further inquired. + +"Shure and I do, sorr. Jist beyant yez. I pass yez every day in the +week. Me number's 415"--He was about handing me a greasy bit of paper, +when I slammed the door in his face and retired to my own room to +meditate on the strange accent and peculiar calling of this descendant +of the "fine old French settler." + +My next choice, however, proved a fortunate one. I got into a street-car +one evening late in the month of March. It was the winter street-car, a +great dark caravan, with a long narrow bench down either side and a mass +of hay all along the middle, with a melancholy lamp at the conductor's +end. Although fairly light outside, it was quite dark inside the +caravan, so the conductor set about lighting the lamp. This is the way +he did it. Opening the door he put his head in, looked all around, shut +the door and stopped his horses. Then he opened the door again and put +his head in again, keeping the door open this time that we might inhale +the fresh March night air. I say we, because when I grew accustomed to +the dark, I saw there was another occupant of the car, a man seated on +the opposite seat a little way down. The conductor felt under the seat +for something which I suppose was the can which, taken presently by him +to the corner grocery before which we had stopped, came back replenished +with coal oil. After he had filled the lamp, he lit in succession three +matches, persistently holding them up so that they all went out one +after the other. He felt in his pockets but he had no more. Then he +asked me. I had none. Then he asked the other man. The other man laughed +and replied in French. I did not understand what he said but saw him +supply the conductor with a couple of matches. When the lamp was finally +lighted I looked more closely at him. He was a working man from his +attire: colored shirt, coat of a curious bronze colour much affected by +the Canadian labourer, old fur cap with ears, and moccasins. At his feet +stood a small tin pail with a cover. His face was pale and singularly +well-cut. His hair was black and very smooth and shiny; a very slight +moustache gave character to an otherwise effeminate countenance and his +eyes were blue, very light blue indeed and mild in their expression. We +smiled involuntarily as the conductor departed. The man was the first to +speak: + +"De conductor not smoke, surely," he said, showing me his pipe in one +hand. "I always have the matches." + +"So do I, as a general thing,". I rejoined. "One never knows when a +match may be wanted in this country." I spoke rather surlily, for I +had been getting dreadfully chilled while the conductor was opening and +shutting the door. The man bent forward eagerly, though without a trace +of rudeness in his manner. + +"You do not live here, eh?" + +"Oh! yes, I do now, but I was thinking of England when I spoke." + +"That is far away from here, surely." + +"Ah! yes," I sighed. So did the man opposite me. We were silent then for +a few moments when he spoke again. + +"There is a countree I should like to see and dat is France. I hear, +sir, I hear my mother talk of dat countree, and I tink--I should like to +go there. But that is far away from here, too far away, sure." + +My heart leapt up. Here, if ever, must be the man I was in search of. + +"You are a French-Canadian, I suppose?" + +"Yes, Sir, I am dat." + +"And where do you live?" said I. + +"I work in de mill; de largess mill in the Chaudiere. You know dat great +water, the fall under the bridge, dat we call the Chaudiere." + +"I know it well," said I, "but I have never gone properly over any of +the mills. I should like to go some day very much. Should I see you +anywhere if I went down?" + +He stared, but gave me the name of his mill. It belonged to one of the +wealthiest lumber kings of the district. I resolved to go down the next +day. + +"What is your name," I asked. The man hesitated a minute before he +replied, + +"Netty." + +"Netty!" I repeated "What a curious name! You have another name, I +expect. That must only be a nickname." + +"_Mais oui Monsieur_. My name is much longaire than dat. My whole name +is Etienne Guy Chezy D'Alencourt, but no man call me dat, specially in +de mill. 'Netty'--dey all know 'Netty.'" + +It was a long name, truly, and a high-sounding one,--but I preferred +thinking of him by it than by the meaningless soubriquet of "Netty." At +the next corner he got out, touching his cap to me quite politely as he +passed. + +I was in high spirits that evening, for I believed I had found my +_habitant_. I went down to the Chaudiere the following day, and got +permission to go over Mr. ----'s mill I found it very interesting, but +my mind was not sufficiently centered on planks and logs and booms +to adequately appreciate them. I wanted "Netty." After I had made the +complete round of the mill I came upon him hard at work in his place +turning off planks in unfailing order as they whizzed along. The noise +was deafening, of bolts and bars, and saws and chains, with the roar of +the great cascade outside. He saw me and recognized me on my approach, +but he could not speak for some time. It was most monotonous work, +I thought. No conversation allowed, not even possible; the truly +demoniacal noise, yet just outside on the other side of a small window, +the open country, the mighty waters of the ever-boiling "Kettle," or +Chauldron, and the steep spray-washed cliff. Standing on my toes I +could, looking out of Netty's small window, discover all this. The +ice was still in the river, half the fall itself was frozen stiff, and +reared in gabled arches to the sky. I watched the two scenes alternately +until at 6 o'clock the wheels ran down, the belts slackened and the men +knocked off. + +Netty walked out with me at my request, and learning that he had to +return in an hour I proposed we should have a meal together somewhere +and a talk at the same time. He must have been greatly astonished at +a complete stranger in another walk of life fastening upon him in this +manner, but he gave no hint of either surprise or fear, and maintained +the same mild demeanour I had noticed in him the day before. + +It was darkening rapidly and I did not know where to go for a meal. +Netty told me he ought to go to St. Patrick St. I knew the locality and +did not think it necessary to go all that way, "unless anybody will be +waiting for you, expecting you." + +"Oh! not dat I live in a boarding house, my mother--she in the countree, +far from here." + +"Then, 'I said,' you can go where you like. Do you know any place near +here where we can get a cup of tea and some eggs? What will do for you, +I daresay, and I hardly want as much." + +But he knew of no reliable place and after walking about for a quarter +of an hour we finally went to the refreshment room at the station and +ordered beer and tea and sandwiches. + +"I daresay you wonder at my bringing you out here with me. You'd get a +better meal perhaps at your boarding-house. But do you know I've taken +a fancy to you and, I want to see a little more of you and learn how you +live, if you will kindly tell me. I am interested in your people, the +French-Canadians." + +This sounds very clumsily put and so it did then, but I was obliged to +explain my actions in some way and what is better than the truth? Lies, +I have no doubt to some people, but I was compelled to be truthful +to this man who carried a gentle and open countenance with him. No +gentleman could have answered me more politely than he did now. + +"Sir I am astonish--_oui un peu_, but if there is anyting I can tell +you, anyting I can show you I shall be ver glad. The mill--how do you +find dat, Sir? + +"I like to watch you work very much, but the noise"-- + +Netty laughed, showing his radiant white teeth. + +"_Mais oui_, de noise is bad, but one soon custom to dat. I am in +de mill for four year. I come from up in de north--from the Grand +Calumet--do you know there, Sir?" + +"That is an island is it not? Yes, I know where it is, near Allumette, +but I have never been so far up on the Ottawa. And the Gatineau, that is +a river, is it not? What pretty names these French ones are! Gatineau!" +I repeated thinking. "That comes, I fancy having heard somewhere, from +Demoiselle Marie Josephe Gatineau Duplessis, wife of one of the first +French settlers. By the way your name is a curious one. Say it again." + +Netty very gravely repeated, "Etienne Guy Chezy D'Alencourt." + +"Was your father a native Canadian?" + +"_Oui Monsieur_." + +"The name seems familiar to me," I remarked. "I daresay if you cared +to look the matter up, you might find that your great grandfather was +something or other under the Intendant Bigot or Vaudreuil, or earlier +still under Maisonneuve the gallant founder of Montreal. Ah! how +everybody seems to have forgotten those old days. Even in Canada, you +see, there is something to look back upon." + +My companion seemed rather puzzled as I talked in this strain. Very +probably it was over his head. I found he could neither read nor write, +had been reared in the pine-clad and icy fastnesses of Grand Calumet +Island all alone by his mother--an old dame now about seventy. He +himself was about thirty he judged, though he was far from sure. He was +a good Catholic in intention, though very ignorant of all ritual. From +his youth he had been employed on the rafts and lumber-slides of the +Ottawa river until his four years' session at the mill, where he had +picked up the English he knew. He had made no friends he told me. The +more I conversed with him the more I was impressed with his simple and +polite manners, his innate good breeding, and his faith and confidence +in the importance of daily toil and all honest labour. He smoked a +little, drank a little, but never lost his head became obtrusively +familiar, noisy or inquisitive. I felt ashamed to think how deliberately +I had sought him out, to pry into the secrets and facts of his daily +life, but solaced myself into the assurance that it could not at least +bode him harm and it might possibly do him some service. + +When we returned to the mill, I was astonished at the weirdness of the +scene. The entire premises were flooded with the electric light and the +men were working away, and the saws, belts and bars all in motion as if +it were the middle of the day. What a pandemonium of sound and colour +and motion it was! The strong resinous odor of the pine-wood mingled +with the fresh air blown in from the river, and I inhaled both eagerly. + +It was almost powerful enough to affect the head, and I fancied I caught +myself reeling a little as I walked out on to the bridge, swaying just +the least bit as the torrent of angry water swept under it I had said +"_Bonsoir_" to my friend the Frenchman and was free to go home. But I +lingered long on the heaving bridge, though it was cold and starless, +and I got quite wet with the dashed-up spray. + +Up the river gleamed the icy masses of the frozen fall, beyond that the +northern country of the northern waters stretched away up to the North +Pole with little, if any, human interruption. + +Down the river on the three superb cliffs, rising high out of the water, +sparkled the many lights in the Gothic windows of the buildings. On +either side were the illuminated mills with their rushing logs and +their myriad busy hands piling, smoothing and sawing the monsters of the +forest helpless under the fetters of leather and steel. + + + + +CHAPTER II. + + +For the events which followed, I hold myself alone and altogether +responsible. Nearly every evening I spent at the Chaudiere, either +watching my new friend at his work or lounging on the bridge, and always +finishing the day by walking home with him to his boarding house. Thus +I got to know him very well, and I soon discovered one thing that he +was far from strong. Even a life-long residence among the purifying and +strengthening airs of the keen fresh North had not protected him from +the insidious ravages of that dread complaint--consumption. I fancied +the hereditary taint must be on his father's side, for he always alluded +to his mother as being exceptionally healthy. On Sundays I accompanied +him to Church in the morning at the Basilica; in the afternoons we used +to walk all over the town in various directions. Of course, on all +these excursions, I did most of the talking. He was a good listener, and +readily improved in understanding and appreciation. Noticing that he +was particularly fond of any story connected with the life of the early +French in Canada, I read up all the works I could find on the subject, +going often to the Parliamentary Library for that purpose, and retailing +the more interesting and intelligible facts to him afterwards. Crusoe +did not watch over and educate Friday any more carefully than I my mild +and gentlemanly "Shantyman" in his blue shirt and canvas trowsers. + +I grew at last, after three months' intimacy with him, quite to love +him, and I am sure my affection was reciprocated for he ever welcomed +me with a strong, clinging pressure of my hand and a smile which was a +brighter one than that which his face had worn when I met him first. A +strange friendship, but one which I felt to be so absorbing that I could +not have endured other friends. April passed, and May, and with the hot +weather Etienne, whose health gave way all at once, would have to return +for a short visit to the old mother all by herself on the island of +Grand Calumet. + +I feared to let him go, he looked more delicate in my eyes every day, +but I knew it would be good for him in many ways. So a day came that saw +my friend D'Alencourt go back to his northern home. He would not ask me +to go and visit him, he had too much natural pride for that, but I made +up my mind to find him out, for all that. As may be supposed I was like +the traditional fish out of the traditional water for some time after +his departure. + +I read and amused myself in any way that offered, but cared not to +experiment on any more French-Canadians. + +In my reading I read for two, and made notes of anything I thought would +interest Etienne. One day I came across the same name as his own, borne +by a certain young soldier, a sprig of the French _noblesse_ who had +followed in the train of Bigot, the dissolute and rapacious Governor +of New France. I meditated long over this. The name was identical--Guy +Chezy D'Alencourt. In the case of my friend the mill-hand there was +simply the addition of Etienne, the first Christian name. Could he +possibly be the descendant of this daring and gallant officer, of whose +marriage and subsequent settling in Canada I could find no mention? +The thing seemed unlikely, yet perfectly possible. I had predicted it +myself. As if to fasten my thoughts even more securely on the absent +Etienne that very day arrived a letter from Grand Calumet. It was +addressed to me in a laboured but most distinct hand. I thought that +Etienne had commissioned the priest doubtless to write for him or some +other friend, but when I opened it I found to my great surprise that it +was from Etienne himself and in his own handwriting, the result he told +me of work at home in his Lower Town boarding-house. + +I dropped the letter. He had taught himself to, write! This was the +first fruit of my intimacy with him, and I hardly knew whether I was +pleased or not. But I clearly saw that this night-work added to the +arduous toil and late hours imposed upon him by his place in the mill +had probably been the cause of undermining his bodily strength. The +letter itself ran: + + "Dear Sir,--The frend of Etienne D'Alenconrt, he can write you--he + can send you a _lettre_ from the Grand Calumet, his island that + is green, Monsieur, and full of sweet berries. If you would come, + Mossier, you would find Etienne and his mother reddy to do all they + can. Still, Monsieur shall in this please alway himself, the friend + and benefactor of Etienne Chezy D'Alencourt." + + + GRAND CALUMET ISLAND. + + "It was at night, when Monsieur had gone home, that I learnt myself + to write and thank him for all teaching from the books beside." + + "E." + +Of course, I would accept the invitation. I decided to go in a week's +time and wrote to that effect. I wished to reprimand him for having +overtaxed his strength as I was sure he had done in sitting up teaching +himself how to write, but respect for the dear fellow's perseverance and +ability restrained me. + +Only when I got him again, I said to myself, I would stop that. I took +with me a gun, fishing rods and tackle, a mosquito net, plenty of cigars +and a hamper of tinned meats, tea, coffee and biscuits. + +My journey was nearly altogether by water and I enjoyed every inch of +the beautiful river. After I reached the landing stage, a place called +Lichfield, I had to wait an hour before proceeding in the direction +which I had found out it would be necessary to follow in order to find +Etienne and his mother. + +I shall never forget the delight of that one hour passed in rambling +through the lonely green wood that covered the island down to the shore. +The ferns were young and freshly unfurled, the moss was everywhere, +green and close and soft like velvet and star-clustering, gray and +yellow. The surviving flowers were the large white blossoms of the +woodland lily, and the incoming _Linnaea_ began to show the faint pink of +its twin bells, afterwards to be so sweet and fragrant. + +I thought of that passage in the letter which told of "the island that +was green and full of sweet berries." Not a bad description for a person +whom the world must perforce term an illiterate man. + +When my conveyance arrived, it proved to be a stage of antiquated type +and I suffered horribly during the journey of three hours. At the end +of that time, I was set down with my luggage at the gate of a small log +hut, with a little garden in front, bordered with beautiful pink and +green stones, the like of which I had never seen before. A snake fence +ran in front of this and on two sides, at the back was a thick wood. + +Etienne was ready for me at which I rejoiced, fearing to make myself +known to the dame his mother. + +Once more I felt that honest and affectionate hand grasp, once more I +met those clear and steady blue eyes, and I noted the flush of pride +which overspread his face when I told him that I had received his letter +and marvelled at it. + +"Mossieu know so much and Etienne so ver little." But when the flush had +died away, I was pained exceedingly to see the pallor of his cheeks and +the prominence of his high cheekbones. His walk was unsteady too, he +put his feet down, I noticed, as if they were light instead of solid +supports for his body, a sure sign of great physical weakness. My worst +fears were realized when I saw on the deal table in the front room, +furnished with home-made rugs drawn from woolen rags dyed all colors and +some plain deal furniture stained brown, a little pile of books. There +were two copy-books, two dictionaries, a small "Histoire de Canada" and +some illustrated magazines. I saw that he could read, too, pretty well, +for he presently drew my attention to a very old book indeed, that lay +on a shelf, a little Roman Catholic missal with tarnished gold clasps +and scarlet edges. + +"Dat was belong to my fader," he said, "for many a year; and it was from +his fader he get it." + +I looked at it eagerly all over. The fly-leaf bore no inscription, but +up in one corner, in faded red ink, was something that looked like a +monogram with a device underneath. I would have examined it at once but +that Etienne was anxious to read me a little of the Latin which he had +picked out with infinite patience, I should think. I promised to help +him a little occasionally, but told him that he was not looking well and +had better be content with ignorance in this lovely summer weather. + +"When the winter comes and you are back at the mill, you can study as +much as you like." + +The old dame was sallow and sunken from a life of incessant hard work. +The climate itself, so changeable as well as inclement in these northern +wilds, is enough to pinch the face and freeze the blood, although at the +time of my visit it was hot, intensely hot for so early in the +summer. Moreover, the old dame was not given to talking. So taciturn a +Frenchwoman I never met elsewhere. They are usually characterized by a +vivacious loquacity which is the seal of their nationality. But this one +was silent in the extreme and had, as her son told me, never once held +a conversation with him on any subject whatever. Of his father he knew +literally only this fact--that he had been a "shantyman" in his time +too, and was killed by a strained rope striking him across the middle. +Etienne did not remember him. The time sped on. They made me as +comfortable as they could in the front or "best" room, but, when I +thought it would not offend them, I slept outside--"_couchant a la belle +etoile_" as Rousseau has it--and beautiful nights those were I spent +in this manner. We had plenty of fruit--wild strawberries and +raspberries--pork and beans and potatoes forming the staple articles of +diet. There was no cow, no horse, no dog belonging to the house. Fish +we could get ourselves in plenty, and eggs made their appearance in +a farmer's wagon about twice a week. Etienne and I spent entire days +out-of-doors, shooting, fishing, walking, reading. I tried to take his +mind off his books, but it was of no use. He had got so attached to +his studies and new pursuits in life that one day he startled me by +asserting that he did not intend to go back to the mill in future. I +remonstrated gently with him, reminding him that as yet his education +was very incomplete, that few situations of the kind he probably aspired +to would be open to him for some time to come, and that in the meantime +he must suffer from want of money, and thus be the cause of seeing his +mother suffer as well. But he startled me further in reply by stating +that he knew himself to be slowly dying of consumption and that he +would shortly be of little use to anyone. His wish was to leave Canada +altogether and die in--France! France, the country of his dreams, the +goal of his dying ambition, the land of the golden _fleur de lis_, +of the chivalrous soldiers, the holy women and the pious fathers who +colonized the land of his birth! + +I remonstrated with him as I have said. I expostulated in every key; I +took his mother into my confidence as well as I could since she knew not +a word of English; I laughed at him, I wept over him, I endeavoured by +every argument in my power to make him change my mind, but-- + +I failed. Then when I understood how firmly his mind was set upon this +extraordinary idea, I made up my mind to accompany him, in fact, not to +leave him at all until he either grew wiser and stronger, or else died +the death he predicted for himself. I found that the old dame had quite +a store of money saved by her little by little every year from Etienne's +earnings, and from what she made by selling the rugs I mentioned. These +sold for a dollar and upwards according to the size. Putting some of my +own to this fund of hers, I calculated she had enough to go upon for at +least a year. Wants are few in that district. Then I turned my attention +to Etienne. He was growing worse; he would lie for hours reading or +attempting to read with great beads of perspiration mounting on his +brow. The heat was excessive and proved very bad for him. I judged he +would be better in town and after I had been on the island for about two +months, I begged him to return with me. I promised him that once there, +I would not leave him for a day, and would even consider the possibility +of taking him across the ocean. He still maintained his calm and perfect +manners and insisted upon paying his fare down the river which I let him +do, knowing that soon his stock of money would be exhausted and he would +then be at my mercy. No sign of cupidity was apparent in his demeanor, +yet I wondered how he ever thought to reach France unless I paid his +way. Like all consumptives, he had a trick of rallying now and then and +appearing better than he really was. This occurred on our arrival in +town. He took long walks with me again daily and seemed so much stronger +that I again dared to suggest the propriety of his returning to the +mill, but to no purpose. He drooped at the very thought, and I perceived +that his apparent recovery was but a delusion, I soon saw he was weaker +than ever. But whenever he was at all able, he persisted in reading what +he could understand and really his progress was a marvel to me. So it +came about that one evening, towards the close of September where we had +sometimes to light the lamp as early as half-past six, I returned to my +rooms about that hour of the day (we shared rooms together, so fond +had I grown of him, and I trust, he of me) to find him poring over the +little Catholic Missal. + +"In this light? This will never do. And you could not light the lamp +yourself, my poor Etienne!" + +When it was lighted, I saw indeed from his weak and excited appearance +that he was unable to do anything for himself. Lying on my sofa, he had +in one hand the scarlet-edged missal, and in the other the book I have +referred to, which contained a short sketch of Guy Chezy D'Alencourt the +handsome and reckless lieutenant of _La Nouvelle France_. + +He could hardly speak but through his gasping I could gather that he +wished me to examine the words in the corner of fly-leaf I had once +noticed before and believed to be a monogram. I quieted him a little, +then bringing the lamp-light to bear upon the faded ink, I was able +to decipher the device, which comprised a crown, three _fleurs-de-lis_ +under, and a lamb bearing a banner, with the letters I.H.S. upon it. + +"The arms of Rouen!" I exclaimed "and above them, some initials, yes, a +monogram!" + +My companion sat up in his excitement. + +"Ah! dat is what I cannot make quite out! Tree letter--_oui, vite, cher +mosdieu, vite_!" + +I had to look very closely indeed to decipher these, but with the aid of +a small lens I found them to be "G. C. D'A." + +There could be little doubt but that Etienne was the lineal descendant +of Guy Chezy D'Alencourt, native of Rouen, who came to Canada in the +same year as Bigot. I told him so and wondered what his thoughts could +be, for clasping my hands with as much force as he possessed--and that +is at times a wonderful force in the clasp of the dying--he said with a +great effort: + +"If dat is so, _mossieu_, if dat is so, I have _O le bon Dieu_--I +have--_mossieu_, I have--O if dat is true"-- + +He fell back and I caught no more. The excitement proved too much for my +poor friend. When I spoke to him, he was unconscious and he never fully +recovered his senses. Alas! he lay in a few weeks, beneath the sod of +Grand Calumet Island, and France is ignorant of the fact that a true +aristocrat and simple-hearted gentleman existed in the humble person +of my friend the _habitant_, Etienne Guy Chezy D'Alencourt, _alias_ +"Netty." + + + + + +Descendez a L'Ombre, ma Jolie Blonde. + + +The Honourable Bovyne Vaxine Vyrus refused to be vaccinated. Stoutly, +firmly and persistently refused to be vaccinated. Not even the +temptation of exposing to the admiring gaze of a medical man the superb +muscles and colossal proportions of an arm which had beaten Grace and +thrashed (literally) Villiers of the Guards, weighed with him. + +"It's deuced cool!" he said, to his cousin Clarges, of Clarges St. +Mayfair, a fair, slight fellow, with a tiny yellow moustache. "Haven't +I been six times to India, and twice to Africa; that filthy Algiers, you +remember, and Turkey, and New Orleans, and Lisbon, and Naples? and +now, when I was done only eight years ago at home, here I am to be done +again, where, I am sure, it all looks clean enough and healthy! It makes +me ill, and I _won't_ be done; laid up for a week and lose all the fun I +came for!" + +"Bovey, though you _are_ the strongest fellow in England, you're no less +a coward!" + +Young Clarges looked up as he spoke, seriously: "_I_ shall be done!" + +"You? Well, so I should expect from a baby like you, Arthur! You will +never grow up, never learn to think for yourself! Now let me alone on +the subject, and let us look up this country place we were told about!" +But Clarges was not easily silenced. + +"Think of Lady Violet, Bovey! If anything were to happen to you out +here, and the children, Bovey,--Rex and Florence, you know!" + +"Oh! cut it, now, Arthur; I tell you it's of no use!" + +Young Clarges looked out across the river, and bit the tiny yellow +moustache. "Then I won't be done, either!" said he to himself. "It's +borne in upon me that one of us has got to get this accursed thing, and +if I can prevent it, it shan't be Bovey!" What a strange scene it was +beneath, around, above and opposite them! Beneath flowed the river, +solid with sawdust, the yellow accumulation of which sent up a strong +resinous smell that almost made them giddy; to the left the tumultuous +foam of the Chaudiere cast a delicate veil of spray over the sharp +outlines of the bridge traced against a yellow sky; to the right, the +water stretched away in a dull gray expanse, bordered by grim pines and +flat sterile country. Around them the three mighty cliffs on which +the Capital is built, above them the cold gray of an autumnal sky, and +opposite them the long undulations of purplish brown hills that break +the monotony of the view, and beyond which stretch away to an untrodden +north the wastes and forests of an uncleared continent. + +"Are we looking due north, now, Arthur, do you know?" + +"I suppose so," returned Clarges. He was astride a cannon and still +biting the tiny moustache. "Yes, by the direction of the sunset we must +be, I suppose. I say, if we are, you know, I should like to be able to +tell between what two trees--it would have to be between two of those +trees there--we should have to walk to get to the North Pole." + +The Hon. Bovyne looked around suddenly and laughed. He was fishing +apparently in his pockets for a paper or something of the kind, as he +had a number of letters in his hand, looking them over. + +"What two trees? Where? Arthur, you _are_ a donkey. What are you talking +about?" + +"I say," returned Clarges, "that it is perfectly true that as we sit +here, facing due north, all we have to do is to walk straight over this +river--" + +"On the sawdust?" + +"Certainly, over those hills and between two of those trees in order +to get to the North Pole. Curious, isn't it? If you look awfully close, +real hard, you know, you can almost count their branches as they stand +up against the sky. Like little feathers--huff-f-f-f--one could almost +blow them away!" + +The Honorable Bovyne laughed again. Clarges was a mystery to him, as +to many others. Half-witted he sometimes called him, though on other +occasions he stood in awe of his bright, candid, fearless nature, and +his truthful and reckless tongue. + +"I say," went on Clarges excitedly, shading his eyes with his hand. +"There are two trees out there in a straight line from this very cannon +that--that I should know again, Bovey! Do look where I point now like a +good fellow. Don't you see there, following the chimney of that big red +place, factory or other, right in a line with that at the very top of +the hill at its highest point, two trees that stand a little apart from +the others and have such funny branches--Oh! you must be able to see +them by those queer branches! One crooks out on one side just as the +other does on the other tree. That isn't very lucid, but you see what I +mean can't you? They make a sort of--of--lyre shape." + +The Hon. Bovyne shaded his eyes with his hand and looked out over the +river and distant hills. "I see a line of trees, feathery trees, you +aptly call them my dear Arthur, but I can't make out your particular +two. How is it possible, at such a distance, to see anything like a +_lyre_ of all things? Come along, I've found the address I wanted. It +reads most peculiarly. It seems there are still a great number of French +people around here, in fact, all over this Province which they sometimes +call Lower Canada. Do you remember much of your French?" I spoke a lot +in Algiers of course but I fancy it isn't much like this jargon. Our +destination is or appears to be, _c/o Veuve Peter Ross, Les Chats_, +pronounced _Lachatte_, so Simpson told me. + +"Who told you about the place?" enquired young Clarges getting off the +cannon? "Simpson? What sort of a fellow is he?" + +"Who? Simpson?" said his cousin in turn. "Um--not bad. Been out here too +long, though. Awfully quiet, goes in for steady work and takes hardly +any exercise. I wonder why it is the fellows here don't walk more! New +country and all that; I should have thought they would all go in for +country walks and shooting and sports of all kinds. They don't, you +know, from some reason or other. It can't be the fault of the country." + +"You forget the roads, Bovey, and the fences, and the interminable +distances and the immense rivers, and the long winter. I say, it looks +like snow to-night, doesn't it?" + +"What do you know about snow!" rejoined the Hon. Bovyne. "Let us get +on, there's a good fellow--confound you! don't stare at those imaginary +trees any longer, but come along." + +Certainly young Clarges was possessed with the queerest fancy about +those trees. "I say, Bovey, they were funny, though, to strike me like +that, out of all the others! I am sure I should know them again. Perhaps +some day we'll take a fly and go out there--I wonder if there's an inn? +Does what's her name, your old Scotch lady, keep an inn, or is it a farm +we're going to?" + +"Scotch? Why do you say Scotch? She's French, I tell you. Simpson says +she can't speak a word of English." + +"But 'Peter Ross' is Scotch, isn't it? At least you can't make it +French, however you twist it." + +"I'm not anxious to twist it. Don't you see, Arthur, she is evidently +a Frenchwoman who married a man called Peter Ross; she is the _veuve_, +widow, you know! of the lamented Scotchman. Now do you understand? But +it _is_ peculiar." + +"Very," said Clarges. "When do we start?" + +"There's a train to-morrow morning at eight o'clock, but I thought we +had better hire a trap, and a man to bring the trap back, and put all +our things, tents and so on, into it, and go out comfortably so as to +see the country." + +"All right!" said Clarges. "By Jove, what a splendid night it's going +to be, stars out already, Bovey! Don't you hope it'll be like this +tomorrow? Shall we camp out the first night and think of--of--Lady +Violet by our camp fire, and Rex and Florence--how they'd like to see +us, wouldn't they? And they can't, you know, they're three thousand +miles away, trying to make out each other's faces in the November fog, +eh! Bovey? I say, what shall we get to eat out there, at Lachatte, you +know, the country always makes me desperately hungry." + +"Oh! we shall do well enough. Simpson says she is a capital old woman, +lives entirely alone; will cook for us, wait on us, make us pancakes, +I expect, and give us plenty of that stuff we had this morning at the +hotel." + +"Sweet stuff?" asked Clarges. "_I_ know. Syrup, maple syrup, that'll +do." + +Simpson, the authority, thrice quoted by the elder of the two +Englishmen, appeared at dinner with them that evening. He was a +hard-working, stodgy son of person who had come out to the Canadian +Civil Service fifteen years, ago, lived much by himself until he took a +wife out of a Canadian village, a phlegmatic, stolid, unimaginative +sort of a girl, who was nevertheless a good wife and an excellent +housekeeper. Simpson sniffed at the dinner. It wasn't as good as his +own. He felt ill at ease in the presence of the two men, whose airy +talk and loud laughter struck him with a keen sense of its novelty. They +joked about everything. Clarges particularly was in high feather. The +wine, which came partly from the hotel and partly from the Hon. Bovyne's +hamper, flowed often and freely, and Simpson, who was a very moderate +fellow, wondered at the quantity his friends seemed to be able to +imbibe. "Without showing any traces of it, either," he said to himself. +"All this vivacity is natural; I remember the type; in fact, I was +something like it myself ten or twelve years ago." + +After dinner, Clarges rushed up stairs and down again with a small +silk plush packet of photographs tied with ribbons. The men were in the +smoking room. + +"I say, I want Simpson to see Lady Violet, Bovey." + +"All right, and the children too? You sentimental ass, Arthur!" Clarges +laughed. It was a funny laugh, a kind of inane ripple that nevertheless +tickled everybody who heard it. "But it's too smoky here. Come up stairs +to the drawing room. There's a jolly big drawing room with a piano, and +we can say what we want to, everyone stares here so!" + +"I should think they would," said Simpson quietly. "Why do you get +yourself up like that, simply because you're in Canada? A knitted +waistcoat, three sizes too large for you--" + +"That's to admit of heavy underclothing," said Clarges, not in the least +perturbed. "Knickerbockers," continued Simpson, "that are certainly one +size too small; a cap that looks like a hangman's, and a coat that must +have come off Praed St." + +The Hon. Bovyne laughed long and loud. "Oh, Arthur, Arthur!" he said. +But young Clarges did not mind in the least. Indeed, had he but known +it, and be it remembered to his merit that he did not know it, he made +a fair and manly picture as he stood under the light of the chandelier. +His slim, well-knit figure was more prepossessing than the herculean +proportions of his cousin, "the strongest man in England;" his crisp +fair hair brushed boyishly up on one side and his well-trimmed moustache +of silky yellow, his keen gray eyes and delicate features, all went far +in point of attractiveness, especially when added to these mere physical +details, rang the infectious laugh, clear, hearty and youthful, and +spoke the natural, honest, unrestrained tongue. + +In the drawing room Clarges established himself on a sofa between the +other two. "Now, Simpson," he said, "you must excuse me calling you +Simpson so freely, by the way, but you know, Bovey always calls you +Simpson--you don't mind, do you? You bang away at my clothing all you +like, and in return I'll call you Simpson. Now I'm going to show +you Lady Violet. You know who she is, she is Bovey's wife, _and_ the +loveliest woman in England. Loveliest woman in England, look at that!" +Clarges held up very carefully, out at arm's length, a very fine +photograph of an undeniably beautiful woman. "Bovey's wife." he +ejaculated again. "You never saw her, so you don't know what beauty +is, do you? But here's the next best thing, her photograph, and such a +photograph! Now, you be good, as we say to the children, and I'll show +you that again after all the others." Next he showed him in a sort of +ecstasy, Bovey's children. + +"Rex and Florence," he said, in an awe-struck tone. Bovey laughed, so +did Simpson. So would anybody have done. + +"What are you laughing at," said young Clarges, solemnly. "Oh, at me! +that's all right, everybody laughs at me. I knew it couldn't be the +children. Now here's another lovely girl," and then there was another +and still another, and then a group in hunting attire just after +the breakfast; then pretty interiors with dainty rooms and women +and children and dogs, a capital likeness of Fred Burnaby, Vyrus' +fellow-officer, autographs of Gordon and Wolseley, a garden party at +Clarges Mount, a water-party at Richmond, photograph's and sketches +taken in Algiers, Cairo, Damascus, Bombay and Edinburgh. Simpson sat +through all this slightly bored and confused. What had he to do with +this kind of life? Once he had had some gleams of it, it is true, +but that was years ago, before his modest little establishment was in +existence, presided over by the plain, but virtuous Matilda of his later +days. + +"Well, now," said he, preparing to take his leave, "is there anything +further you want to know about your plans, for I suppose I shall +scarcely see you again before you leave if you get off tomorrow morning +as you intend. One thing--of course you've been vaccinated?" + +The Hon. Bovyne muttered, "bah!" Clarges began putting the photographs +away, all but Lady Violet. + +"Then you haven't been done, eh?" said Simpson, interrogatively. "I +would if I were you. You can't tell where you're going or whom you'll +meet. Why, you can 'do' yourself if you object to a medical man fussing +around." + +"Can you?" said Clarges. + +"I don't object," said Bovey, loftily; "but I must say I think it is +making a ridiculous and most unnecessary fuss about the matter. Why, +there are half a dozen diseases as virulent as the small-pox stalking +about in every large town, and we don't take those! Why should we take +the small-pox when we don't take the cholera, or the--the--" + +"Yes," observed Simpson, in his quiet manner, "I thought you would stick +for want of details. The fact is, that you can inoculate for small-pox, +and you can't as yet, for cholera or leprosy, and so wise people accept +the fact, the revelation if you will, and get vaccinated. However, as +far as your immediate surroundings go, you're safe enough. Old Mrs. Ross +will do all she can for you, and it isn't far, only twenty two miles +from town after all. You'll be walking in in a day or two for another +tent or a barrel of whiskey. Nothing like whiskey, Canadian whiskey, out +in camp on cold nights." Simpson got up. + +"I wonder," said he, suddenly, "how you escaped being done on the train. +You came up from Quebec _via_ St. Martin's Junction, didn't you?" + +"Oh! your importunate Inspector did make an effort on my behalf, but I +was firm. Nearly had a lodging in the Police Station though, but I told +him who we were and swore to having marks the size of flat-irons on both +arms, so he let me go." + +"And you," said Simpson, turning to Clarges. "Me! oh! I shall be done. +I say, couldn't I walk out with you now and see a doctor about it? I +believe I will, Bovey, if you can spare me. For look you, Simpson, I am +the plaything of his leisure hours, a kind of Yorick, you know, and he +might be dull." + +The Hon. Bovyne looked grave for a second, "I believe I _should_ be dull +without you, dear boy, though you are a crank. Let me see, how old are +you, Arthur?" + +"Twenty-two," answered Clarges. "Good heaven!" exclaimed the Hon. +Bovine, "and I am getting perilously near to forty. We'll change the +subject. I'm very sleepy. Don't expect to find me up when you come +in, Arthur; to-morrow night, remember, we may be sleeping on the cold +ground, I shall get all the rest I can to-night." Clarges and the other +man took their leave. + +"Once more, Bovey," said the former, "won't you be done? Simpson, make +him! See here, look once more at Lady Violet, speak with _her_ lips, +look with _her_ eyes--the loveliest woman in England!" + +"Go and get 'done,' as you call it, for heaven's sake, and let me +alone!" was all he got in reply. + +But Clarges did not get done. He had an idea and this was his idea: To +walk to some doctor recommended by Simpson and procure an instrument +suitable for the purpose, and the necessary material, and to vaccinate +his cousin himself. The first part was easy enough. Simpson vaguely +wondering at his light-hearted talk, left him at a doctor's surgery +door, and Clarges, who could always get what he wanted from anybody in +any part of the world, soon persuaded the doctor to give him a "point" +and all necessary instructions. + +"A small lancet is really a better thing," said that gentleman, "but you +will manage all right, I daresay. We must really take every precaution +we can. Good evening." + +All this was easy; now arose the difficulty, how best to tackle Bovey. + +"He's such a giant of a fellow," thought Clarges. "But if he is only +asleep as he hinted he would be, there'll not be much difficulty. +What will he do when he finds it out in the morning, supposing I am +successful in operating upon him to-night? What a suggestive word! I am +quite the surgeon. But I'll do it--Arthur Clarges, see that you _do_ do +it, by all you hold dear and sacred in old England!" + +On his return, however, to the hotel, he found that his cousin was +clearly wide-awake again. + +"Hang it all!" he said to himself, "why isn't he asleep?" But the Hon. +Bovyne was not in the least sleepy. He rallied Arthur on his poor +arm but fortunately did not ask to look at it. He ordered up a sherry +cobbler apiece and brought out some of his rarest weeds. "I say, what do +you think of Simpson, Bovey?" said Clarges, suddenly. + +"Think? why, that there's nothing in him to think about." + +"Did you know he was married?" + +"No; is he?" Bovey was always laconic. + +"Yes, and he has four children. Just think, four! Two boys and two +girls." + +"How interesting!" The two men smoked silently for a few minutes, then +Clarges said, "It must be a beautiful thing to be married, you know." + +"Well, I _ought_ to know," returned his cousin. + +Clarges put his cigar down and went on. "To have somebody that belongs +to you, and to know that you belong to somebody; that's marriage, and I +think it must be very beautiful. Of course, you belong to other people +too, just the same, and they belong to you, but not so much, not in the +same way. You don't go to church all in a tremble with your father and +your mother, or your sister or your brother. You don't wear a ring--a +beautiful, great broad band of gold, you know, always shining there +on your finger--or you don't put one on for anybody else save just the +person that belongs to you in that way, in the way of marriage, you +know. And to be able to think wherever you are, 'Well, there is that +person, anyway, thinking of me, waiting for me; the whole world doesn't +matter if that person is really there, anywhere, thinking of me, waiting +for me.' Now, you know, _I'll_ never feel that, never, in this world. +What good is there in me? I may be Arthur Clarges, of Clarges, of +course, but without money, that means nothing. I say, Bovey, it's rather +ghastly, but it's perfectly true. I haven't a single soul in the world +but you and Lady Violet to think of me at all, or for me to think of." + +"I don't suppose you have," said the Hon. Bovyne, thoughtfully. "You are +a lone beggar, Arthur, but a cheery one nevertheless." + +"So you see," Clarges went on, "If in accompanying you around the world +in search of new pleasures and exciting experiences, anything happens to +me, you know, Arthur Clarges, of Clarges, nobody need mind. There isn't +anybody to mind." + +"All this because Simpson has got four children! Well, I hope you'll +get married yet, Arthur, you queer fish, and have six, two more than +Simpson. I know what you are driving at, however. You think me a selfish +brute. You can't understand how I can leave Lady Vi., and the two kids, +and go off annually on tours of exploration and so forth. I tell you, +I am the better for it, and she is the better for it, and nobody is any +the worst for it, unless it be yourself. Men who have knocked about as +I have done, will continue to knock about as long as they live. In the +army, out of the army, all the same. Lady Vi. understands me, and I her, +and you forget, Arthur, that you are very--young." + +"Then may I never get any older," said Charles, almost rudely. + +Not long afterwards his cousin, slightly heavy with wine, went to bed. +Clarges, abnormally wakeful, tried to read _Bell's Life_ which lay +before him and waited until Bovey was fast asleep. They occupied the +same room, a large double-bedded one, which opened into a bathroom and +parlour _en suite_. When he was perfectly certain that his cousin was +sound asleep, so sound that "a good yelp from the county pack, and a +stirring chorus of 'John Peel' by forty in pink could not wake him," +thought Clarges, the latter undertook his delicate task and accomplished +it. He did it quickly and skilfully with a tiny lancet he found in his +cousin's well-appointed travelling bag. Bovey never stirred. Clarges +next undertook to "do" himself. Then a strange thing happened. He +had gone to the glass and bared his left arm when a sudden faintness +overcame him. He tried to shake it off and sat down. Presently it left +him and he felt quite as usual. Then he made a second attempt. The same +thing occurred again. This time it was worse, and sight and strength +failing, he sank on his own bed, fainting. By a tremendous effort he +prevented entire unconsciousness from taking place and lay there half +dressed and tremulous. + +"Well, I _am a fool_! I can't help it. I can't try any more to-night, +for I am as weak and sleepy--if I can get up and undress it's as much +as I am capable of. But Bovey's all right. There's Lady Violet"--turning +his eyes to the photograph he had stuck in the looking glass +frame--"she'd thank me if she knew." Sweet Lady Vi--so good to all +around her--so good to me--dear Lady Vi, the loveliest woman in England! + +When Clarges awoke he was chilled and dazed, couldn't remember where +he was and what he had done. When he did recollect, he rose quietly, +extinguished the gas and made the room as dark as possible, in hopes +that Bovey might outsleep himself in the morning. Then he went to bed +properly, putting as a final precaution, his watch an hour in advance. +It thus happened that by Clarges' watch it was a quarter past ten when +he awoke. He rose first and bullied his cousin to that extent that the +latter tumbled out of bed and flung on his clothes without indulging in +his usual bath. At eleven the trap was due and Bovey was all on fire, +bundled his things around recklessly and swore a little at Clarges for +keeping him up the night before. Clarges was nervous, but up to the +present time was master of the situation. At breakfast, Bovey discovered +the mistake, but attributed it to Clarges' carelessness in such matters +aggravated by a probable bad arm. + +"Why I took your watch for an authority instead of my own, I don't +know," said he. "But last night I thought you were the clearer of the +two, in fact, I don't recollect winding mine at all, and it seems now +that _you_ were the delinquent." + +"Yes, I must have been," said Clarges, self-reproachfully. + +At eleven the trap came, and by noon they were half-way to their +destination. The road winding higher and higher as it followed the +magnificent curves of the Gatineau was very beautiful, and revealed at +each turn a superb panorama of water, and wood and sky. For a long time +the Buildings were visible, towering over trees and valleys. Once the +sun came out and lit up the cold, gray scene. + +"Pull up, Johnny," said the Hon. Bovyne, "I want to see this. Why, its +immense, this is! Arthur, how's your arm?" + +But Clarges was evidently struck with something. "I say, over there, +is where we were yesterday, Bovey, I can imagine I see the very spot, +cannon and all." + +"Just as then you imagined you saw a couple of trees here, eh? Now go +along, Johnny, and sit down, Arthur. It doesn't agree with you to be +vaccinated. I'm afraid you're too imaginative already my boy. By the +way, how _is_ your arm?" + +"Its a novel situation," thought Clarges. "_He's_ the one, not me. Its +_his_ arm, not mine. But my turn will come to-night; pretty soon he'll +find it out for himself." + +Arrived at the house of _Veuve_ Peter Ross, they found it clean and +inviting; warmed by a wood stove and carpeted with home-made rugs. The +old woman took a great interest in their arrival and belongings and +jabbered away incessantly, in French. Did they but request her to +"cherchez un autre blankette!" or fry an additional egg, up went her +hands, her eyes and her shoulders, and such a tirade of excited French +was visited upon them that they soon forebore asking her for anything +but went about helping themselves. At first they thought she was +angry when these outbreaks took place, but Bovey, who could partially +understand her, gathered that she was far from offended, but given over +to the national habit of delivering eloquent and theatrical monologues +on the slightest provocation. She had no lodgers at the present moment; +a Frenchman had left the day before, and the prospect was in every way +favorable, to the comfort of the two friends. + +When the dusk fell, Bovey made a camp-fire. + +"It's what we came for," he said, "and we can't begin too early or have +enough of it, and I feel chilly, queer, quite unlike myself to-night. +It's a depressing country just about here." + +"It is," said Clarges, anxious to keep his friend a little longer in the +dark. "We'll be all right when it's really night, you know, and the fire +blazes up. What a jolly tent and what glorious blankets? We ought to +go to bed early, for it was awfully late the last night There! now its +getting better. Hoop-la! more sticks Bovey! Throw them on, make it blaze +up. Here we are in the primeval forest at last, Bovey, pines and moss, +and shadows and sounds--What's that now? Is that on the river?" + +For suddenly they heard the most wonderful strain coming from that +direction. The river was about three or four hundred yards away across +the road, in front of them, and upon a raft slowly passing by were a +couple of _habitans_ singing. What strain was this, so weird, so solemn, +so earnest, yet so pathetic, so sweet, so melodious! + + + "Descendez a l'ombre + Ma jolie blonde." + + +Those were the words they caught, no more, but the tune eluded them. + +"It's the queerest tune I ever heard!" ejaculated Clarges. He had a +smattering of music, and not a bad ear. + +"Can't get it for the life of me. It's like--I tell you what it's +like Bovey, its got the same--you know--the same intervals--that's the +word--that the priests chant in! And then, just when you're thinking it +has, off it goes into something like opera bouffe or those French rounds +our nurse used to sing. But isn't it pretty? I say--where's Lady Violet +now, Bovey, eh? Don't you wish she could see us, see you there, quite +the pioneer, looking like Queen Elizabeth's giant porter in this queer +light? and how she would catch up that tune and bring it out on the +piano, and make ever so much more of it with her clever fingers, first +like a battle-cry, men marching and marching you know, and then put in a +wonderful chord that would make us all creep and sigh as she would glide +into the loveliest nocturne, you know--I say, what a nocturne we're +having, eh! Do you think it's any livelier now?" + +"My boy," said the Hon. Bovyne, solemnly, "You are right, it is a +nocturne and a wonderful one. I'm not given to expressing myself +poetically as you know, so I shall content myself with saying that +its immense, and now will you pass the whiskey? I certainly feel shaky +to-night, but I shall sleep out here all the same. What are you going to +do?" + +"I prefer to try the house, I think," answered Clarges, and so he did. +When he was going to bed, heartily grateful that his cousin was as yet +ignorant of his interference, he looked long and earnestly from his one +window in the roof at the scene outside before he attempted again the +process of self-vaccination. He could see the mighty flames of Bovey's +camp-fire, a first-class fire, well planned and well plied. He could see +the pale outline of the tent and the dark figure of his cousin wrapped +in rugs and blankets by the side of the fire. He could see the tall +pines and the little firs, the glistening line of river and the circles +of gleaming white stones that marked the garden beds in front. The +first snow of the year was just beginning to fall in tiny flakelets that +melted as soon as they touched the ground. + +"When they're all covered with snow, it must be pretty," thought +Clarges. "Like all the Christmas trees in the world put together! The +winter is beginning, the long cold, constant Canadian winter we have +heard so much about. Good-bye, dear Lady Violet, good-bye, dear old +England!" Clarges sat on the side of the bed with his arm ready. But +the faintness came again, this time with a sickening thrill of frightful +pain and apprehension, and he rolled over in a deathly swoon with his +own words ringing in his ears. + +When the morning broke, it broke in bright sunshine and with an inch or +so of snow on the ground. The Hon. Bovyne, though feeling unaccountably +ill and irritable, was delighted. + +"Still I fear we are too late in the season for much camping," he said, +"I must see Arthur about it." + +He waited till ten, eleven, half-past eleven. No Arthur, not even the +old woman about. He wondered very much. He approached the house, +and finding nobody coming at his knock, opened the door and went in. +Something wrong. He knew that at once. The air was stifling, horrible, +with an unknown quantity in it, it seemed to him. He threw open +the front room door. _Veuve_ Peter Ross was in her bed, ill, and of +small-pox. He could tell her that, for certain. He rushed up-stairs and +found Clarges on his bed, raving, delirious. + +What was it he heard? + +"Bovey's all right! Bovey's all right?" This was all, repeated over and +over. + +The Hon. Bovyne was neither a fool nor a coward. He tore off his coat +and looked at his arm, then he dragged his cousin out of the room, down +the stairs and out of the fatal house. Propping him up against a sturdy +pine and covering him with all available warm clothing, he sped like +wind to the nearest house. But neither the swift, keen self-reproaches +of Bovey, nor the skill of the best physician to be found in the town, +nor the pure, fresh pine-scented air, nor the yearning perchance of +a dead yet present mother could prevail. The young life went out in +delirium and in agony, but "thank God," thought Bovey, "in complete +unconsciousness." + +When he set about removing his tent and other camping apparatus some +time later, he was suddenly struck with the appearance of the tree +against which poor Clarges had been propped. He looked again and +again. "I must be dreaming," said the Hon. Bovyne. "That tree--oh! +its impossible--nevertheless, that tree has its counterpart in the one +opposite it, and both have extraordinary branches! They bend upward, +making a kind of--of--what was it Arthur saw in those imaginary trees of +his only--_yesterday_--my God--it is true--a kind of lyre shape! There +it is, and the more I look at it the clearer it grows, and to think he +has _died_ there--!! And beneath there he is buried, and the raftsmen +will pass within a few hundred yards of him where he lies, and will sing +the same strain that so fascinated him, but he will not hear it, and +learn it and bring it back for Lady Violet, the loveliest woman in +England! For he has gone down into the eternal shadow that no man ever +penetrates." + + + + + +The Prisoner Dubois. + + +Miss Cecilia Maxwell was the only child of Sir Robert Maxwell, K. C. +M. G., member of the Cabinet, chief orator of the Liberal party, and +understudy for the part of Premier, who, although a Scotchman by birth, +was a typical Canadian--free, unaffected, honest and sincere. His bushy +iron-gray hair, his keen gray eyes, his healthy florid color, and the +well-trimmed black moustache, which gave his face an unusually youthful +appearance for a man of his age, went with a fine stalwart physique and +a general bodily conformation apparently in keeping with the ideas of +early rising, cold ablutions and breakfasts of oatmeal porridge that the +ingenuous mind is apt to associate with Scotch descent and bringing-up. +His daughter was a very beautiful girl. Born in the shadow of the pines, +she had been educated successively in Edinburgh, Brussels and Munich, +had been presented at Court, been through two London seasons, spent half +of one winter in South America, another in Bermuda, had been ogled by +lords, worshipped by artists, and loved by everybody. + +Once more in Canada, she took her place in the limited yet exacting +political circles of the Capital, of Toronto, and of distant Winnipeg. +Life was full of duties, and she shirked none, though on days when they +were put away earlier than usual she would fall to musing of the country +place down the river she had not seen for years, with the beautiful +woods, and the simple, contented French, and the evenings on the water. + +"That great, lonely river," she thought on one occasion, looking idly +out of her window. "What other river in the world is like it?--and the +tiny French villages with the red roofs and doors, and the sparkling +spires and the queer people. Delle Lisbeth, and _veuve_ Macleod, and +Pierre--poor Pierre. I have never forgotten Pierre, with his solemn eyes +and beautiful brown hair. And how he knew the flowers in the wood, and +what were those songs he used to sing?" And Cecilia sang a couple of +verses of: + + "Un Canadian errant, + Banni de ses foyers." + +When Sir Robert entered later he found her listless and preoccupied. +"You mustn't look like that to-night," he said. "Don't forget that this +is your first important dinner-party: three French members and their +wives, and La Colombiere, the new Minister of Finance, to whom you must +be as charming as possible. This North-West business is quickening as +fast as it can. The Metis are really up, there's no doubt about it." + +"In rebellion?" asked Cecilia breathlessly. There was an added interest +in life directly to the imaginative girl. + +"Ay," said her father, "there's a rascal at the bottom of it we've been +after for a long time; but now, run away and look bright at dinner, like +a good girl." + +The small clique of Frenchmen and their wives could not but have been +charmed with their reception that evening. The dinner was good, and not +too heavy nor long, the wines excellent (for Sir Robert did not as yet +favor the "Scott" Act), and the suavity of his manner combined with the +appearance and grace of his daughter, in a delicate dress of primrose +and brown, with amber in her beautiful golden plaits and round her +whitest neck, left nothing to be desired. And yet on that very first +night in her capacity as hostess, Cecilia found she had to learn to play +a part, the part of woman, which all women who have just left off being +girls find so hard to play at first. For naturally the report of the +Metis revolt had spread. Sir Robert did a brave thing. He referred to it +directly they were seated, and then everybody felt at ease. Now it could +be talked about if anybody chose--and Cecilia did so choose. + +"Who is this young Frenchman," she asked of La Colombiere, "that is +identified with this new rising? I have been away, and am ignorant of it +all." + +"His name is Dubois--Pierre Dubois," returned La Colombiere with +a gleaming smile. "He calls himself the representative of the +French-Canadian party. Bah! such men!" But Cecilia's heart had given a +mighty leap and then stopped, she almost thought, for ever. + +"Pierre--Pierre Dubois?" she reiterated in her surprise. Her fan of +yellow feathers dropped from her lap, and her face showed extraordinary +interest for a moment. + +"You know him M'lle.?" said La Colombiere, returning her the fan. For +an instant she was the centre of attention. Then with a flutter of +the yellow feathers that subjugated the four impressionable Frenchmen +completely, she resumed her usual manner. + +"I know the name, certainly. There was somebody of that name living at +Port Joli where we go in the Summer you know." + +"Oh!" said Laflamme carelessly, a little man with a bald head and a +diplomatist's white moustache, "Dubois is not a new offender. He has +been recognized as an agitator for three or four years. He has the +eyes of the ox and the wavy hair of the sculptor. He is to be +admired--_vraiment_--and has the gift of speech." + +When the dinner was over Cecilia played for them in the drawing-room. +Somehow or other, she wandered into the tender yet buoyant melody of the +_chanson_ she had hummed earlier in the day. + + "Un Canadien errant, + Banni de ses foyers." + +"Hum-hum," trolled little Laflamme. "So you know our songs? _Ca va +bien_!" + +"That was taught me" said Cecilia, "once down the river at Port Joli." +But she did not say who had taught her. Later on when the guests were +gone and Sir Robert was preparing to go back to the office, his daughter +said very quietly. + +"Papa do you remember that young man at Port Joli who was staying with +the cure for his health, the one who was so kind and showed me so +many things, the woods, you know and the water, and who talked so +beautifully?" + +"I remember the one you mean, I think, but not his name. Why, dear +child?" + +"His name was Dubois," returned Cecilia. "Pierre Dubois!" + +"Dubois? Are you sure? That is very singular" said her father. "And he +talked beautifully you say? It must be _this_ one." + +"That is what I think" said Cecilia, seeing her father to the door. + +Then ensued a period of hard work for Cecilia. She read the papers +assiduously, going up every day to the Parliamentary reading-rooms for +that purpose that she might lose no aspect of the affair. She followed +every detail of the rebellion, even possessing herself of many of her +father's papers bearing on the matter. Those details are well known; how +the whisper ran through our peaceful land, breathing of war and battle +and blood-shed; how our gallant men marched to the front in as superb a +faith and as perfect a manhood as ever troops have shown in this country +or the Old; how some fell by the way, and how others were reserved to be +clasped again to the bosoms of wife and mother and how some met with +the finest fate of all, or at least the most fitting fate for a true +soldier--death on the battle-field. For a month the country was in +a delirium. Then joy-bells rang, and bonfires blazed, and hands were +struck in other hands for very delight that the cause of all the +mischief, the rebel chief, the traitor Dubois was taken. Cecilia alone +sat in her room in horror. + +"What will they do with the prisoner Dubois?" she said with a vehemence +that dismayed Sir Robert. + +"The prisoner Dubois? Why, they will hang him of course. He has caused +too much blood to be shed not to have to give some of his own." Cecilia +writhed as if in extreme pain. Her beauty, her grace, her youth all +seemed to leave her in a moment, and she stood faded and old before her +father. + +"Oh, they will not do that! Imprison him or send him away--anything, +anything save that! See, they do not know him--poor Pierre, so kind, so +good--they do not know him as I knew him. Father, he could not hurt a +thing--he would step aside from the smallest living thing in the path +when we walked together that summer, and he helped everybody that wanted +help, there was nothing he could not do. And he loves his country--at +least he did so then. There is that song, _'O mon cher Canada_,' he used +to sing, and he told me of the future of his country, and how he had +prayed to be allowed to aid it and push it forward. And he does not hate +the English, only how can he help loving the French more when he is one +of them, and has good French blood in his veins--better than many of the +so-called English! And he was born to be a leader and to bring men away +from their home into battle and make war for them, and where in that +does he differ from other heroes we are taught to love and admire? If +you had ever heard him talk, and had seen the people all gathered round +him when he spoke of all these things--as for his church and the Virgin, +and the priests, it would be well if you and all of us thought as much +about our religion, and loved and revered it as he did his!" + +Cecilia broke down into incoherent sobs. Sir Robert sat aghast at this +startling confession. No need to tell him that it was prompted by love. + +"But what if he be insane, my dear?" he asked very quietly. + +"Then it is still bad--it is worse," said Cecilia. "Will hanging an +insane man bring back the others that are slain? Will it make foul fair +and clean still cleaner? Will it bring peace and friendliness, and right +feeling, or will it bring a fiercer fire and a sharper sword than our +country has yet seen--a hand-to-hand fight between rival races, a civil +war based on national distinction!" + +"What would you do?" said her father, walking up and down the room. +"What can I or anybody do? It is common law and common justice; if he be +found guilty he must swing for it. Personal intercession--" + +"Might save him!" said the girl. + +"Must not be thought of!" said her father. + +"You mean, _you_ may not think of it. But others may--_I_ may. I am a +woman, free and untrammelled by either party or personal considerations +of any kind. Father, let _me_ try!" + +"Cecilia, it is madness to take such a thing upon yourself. How is it +possible? What are your plans?" + +"I do not know. I have not thought. All is in a haze through which I see +that vision of the hangman and the rope Father, let me try!" + +Sir Robert thought for a moment, then he said: "Very well, my dear, you +shall try, on one condition; that first of all you have an interview +with Dubois himself. In fact, for your purpose it is absolutely +necessary that you should see him, in order to identify him with the +other Dubois you used to know. After that interview, if you still +persist in your course, I promise--rash as it certainly seems--to help +you. Now hold yourself in readiness to start for the North-West at a +moment's notice. I have private information that tells me Dubois will be +hung and any intervention on your part or that of anybody else must be +set on foot immediately, do you see?" + +A few days afterwards Cecilia, unveiled, and dressed in an +irreproachable walking costume of gray, was taken to the gloomy prison +outside the little northern town of ----, where the prisoner Dubois was +confined. There was a bit of tricolor in her hat and her cheeks were +very pale--As the beautiful daughter of Sir Robert Maxwell her way was +sufficiently paved with politeness as she presented her private order +to see the prisoner. Her heart was beating tumultuously and the +blood surged round her temples. The turnkey showed her into a small +whitewashed room, opposite the cell in which Dubois spent his time and +informed her that in compliance with strict orders he would have to be +present during the interview, to which Cecilia bent her head in assent; +she could not have spoken just then. "It is a strange thing that I am +doing," she thought, "but I shall see Pierre--poor Pierre." Approaching +footsteps were soon heard and the prisoner Dubois entered, escorted by +two warders. He started when he saw his visitor, and--stared. + +"Mademoiselle,--" he said, evidently trying to recall her name and +failing. + +"Cecile," she said, eagerly, "Ma'amselle Cecile you always called +me, and I liked it so much better than Cecilia. I think I like it +still--Pierre--I--." + +The prisoner Dubois frowned. + +"If Mdme. Dubois had ears through these walls, you had not called me +'Pierre.' But--" laying his hand on his heart and bowing low, "Pierre +himself is flattered--_oui, mademoiselle_--by your attention--_oui, +vraiment_--and he is rejoiced to know that his image is still cherished +in that heart so fair, so _Anglaise_, so pure, so good. _Belle-enfant, +Je n'ai pas oublie nos amours_!" + +The three men in the room suppressed a smile. Dubois stood with his head +thrown back, his arms folded and his soft dark eyes fixed on Cecilia. +She was still standing, indeed there was no chair in the room, and her +eyes were fixed on him as his upon herself. It was Pierre, and yet not +her Pierre. Rather an exaggerated growth--of the man she had once known. +The same soft brown hair, only thicker and rougher, one drooping wave +looking tangled and unkempt--the dreamy eyes with the latent sneer +in them dreamier than ever and yet the sneer more visible, the +thin sensitive nose thinner, the satisfied mouth more satisfied and +conscious, the weak chin fatally weaker. And he was married, too! Mdme. +Dubois--that must be his wife! How strange it was! Cecilia's brain was +in a frightful state of doubt and fever and hesitation. It was necessary +for her to explain her presence there, however, for she could not but +resent the opening speech of the prisoner Dubois. She was growing very +tired of standing, moreover, but she would have died rather than have +demanded a chair. At length the turnkey observed her fatigue and sent +one of the warders for a chair. + +"Fetch two," interposed Dubois, with a flourish of his hand. "I myself +shall sit down." When the man returned, bringing only one chair on the +plea that he could not find another, Cecilia, whose nerve was returning, +offered it to Dubois. He accepted it calmly and sat down upon it, +waiting to hear what she had to say. At this signal instance of arch +selfishness Cecilia felt her heart tighten and her temples grow cold as +if fillets of fire had been exchanged for ribbons of snow. + +"Sir," she began, "I am sorry to find you here." Dubois smiled the smile +of a great man who listens with condescension to what an inferior has +to say. "I am glad you have not forgotten me, because all the time I +was away, and it has been a long time, I never--it is quite true--forgot +you--I mean (for Dubois smiled again) I never forgot that summer you +spent near us at Port Joli, and the things you talked about, about your +future. When I came home I found you had gone so much further than I +know you ever intended to, and have been the cause of so much trouble, +and the death of brave men, and I was very sorry." Cecilia leant on the +bare table before her, and felt that every moment as it passed brought +with it a cooling of the once passionate feeling she had entertained for +the Dubois of her childhood. But if the lover were gone, there remained +the man, husband and father, maybe the leader, the orator, the martyr, +the dear human being. + +"So I thought that if it were possible at all, some step should be +taken to--to prevent the law from taking its course--its final course +perhaps." Cecilia felt her throat tighten as she spoke. "You have plenty +of friends--you must have--all the French will help and many, many +English, for it is no cause to die for, it is no cause at all! There +should never have been bloodshed on either side!" + +Dubois uncrossed his long legs at last and said in his loftiest tone: + +"_Chere enfant_, the French will not let me die. I--I myself--Pierre +Dubois--allowed to hang by the neck until I am dead! That will never +happen. _Voyez-vous donc cherie_, I am their King, their prophet, their +anointed, their fat priests acknowledge me, their women adore me!" + +Cecilia shrunk together as she listened. She had sought and she had not +found, she had expected and it had been denied her. At this moment, the +turnkey signified that time was up. She felt her heart burning in an +agony of undefined grief and disappointment in which was also mingled +the relief of resignation. The prisoner Dubois bowed low with his hand +on his heart and then pressing her own hand lingeringly, gave her a +tenderly insinuating glance. As she turned away she heard him exchange +a laugh and a jest with one of the wardens, and her cheeks flamed with +indignant anger. "Were he a good or suffering man as I dreamed he was, I +would have bent low and kissed his hand; as it was, I am sorry I let him +take mine." + +She was calm when she reached her carriage in which sat her father +waiting. He divined at once that his plan had been successful. "You look +tired, my dear," was all he said. + +"Yes, I have been standing for some time," Cecilia returned in a +peculiar voice. + +"Could they not find you a chair in the establishment?" + +"They found one," she said grimly, "and that was appropriated by the +prisoner Dubois." + +"The prisoner Dubois!" thought Sir Robert. "It is well. We shall hear no +more of Pierre." + +Two days before Christmas the prisoner Dubois underwent the extreme +penalty of the law. Cecilia sat in her room all that day. She never +quite made up her mind as to whether Pierre had been a lunatic or +a fanatic, a martyr or a fiend, an inspired criminal or a perverted +enthusiast. Perhaps he was a mixture of all. + + + + + +How the Mr. Foxleys Came, Stayed and Never Went Away. + + + + +CHAPTER I. + + +There flows in Western Canada, by which I mean a region east of the +Saskatchewan and west of the Thousand Islands, a singular and beautiful +stream. It is beautiful because it is narrow, undulating and shallow, +because it has graceful curves and rounded bends, because its banks are +willow-clad and its bed boulder-strewn, because it flows along between +happy farms and neat white villages, because at one spot, it boasts +a picturesque and ruined mill and a moss-covered bridge and +because--chiefly because--it is above all things--placid. The mind +familiar with our Canadian streams will easily understand then, that +if these be its attributes of beauty, they also attest to its claim +of singularity. For the Canadian river is seldom placid, but oftener +seething and steaming and foaming; or else deep and dark and dangerous +with many a mighty gorge and tumbling cascade, wide and lonely and +monotonous for the most part; pine hung down to the very edge, black +and lowering, or displaying waving wisps of dry gray foliage that only +resembles human hair. What a contrast, then, does this cherished river +I speak of, afford! No local Laureate has as yet written it up, though +picnic parties used to gather themselves together on its banks and in +its well-wooded shades, defiling everything they touched from bark to +beach, leaving bits of bread here, dead pie there, buttering the leaves, +peppering the grass, salting the stones, and scattering greasy crumpled +paper--PAPER--PAPER--everywhere. That is what picnic parties do all over +the world, and with such gusto all of them, even the Sunday-schools, +Dorcases, W. C. T. U's. and all the rest of them, that I really think it +must be intended as a serious part of the Picnicker's Ritual and forms +very likely a peace-offering or sacrifice of propitiation towards some +unknown God. I don't think the Druids left paper about underneath their +oaks. But presumably they left worse. Well, if as yet, this river I love +so well has not been immortalized in fiction, travels or verse, it has +however attracted the attention of several gifted members of the Royal +Academy--Royal Canadian of course, who have from time to time +invaded its peaceful shores and stuffing themselves into adjacent +if inconvenient farmhouses, sketched it in water and oil, in the +common-place pencil, and the more ambitious charcoal. The results are +charming and you may see them any day in the studios of our foremost +artists or in the picture dealers' windows or haply on the terra-cotta +tinted walls of our esteemed collectors, the retired grocers of +Montreal, or the aesthetic lawyers of a more western and more ambitious +city. Still though the sketches are charming both in conception and +execution, I, were I a Canadian artist, eager to secure Canadian +subjects for my pencil, would hardly choose this particular river as one +likely to give the most correct idea of Canadian scenery. No, I would +chose the St. Maurice or the Richelieu, the Lievre or the Saguenay, the +Ottawa or portions of the St. Lawrence, with the grim Azoic rocks, the +turbulent rapids and the somber pines. What a superb river system it is! +Tell them off on your fingers and you'll have to go on borrowing from +them afterwards and then all over again. Think of all those rivers that +cluster in the French Canada and feed the mighty Gulf of St. Lawrence. +There are the Ottawa, the Gatineau, the Rideau, the Richelieu, the +Lievre, the Matanne, the Metapedia, the Metis, the Saguenay. Those are +the ones we know. Then look at the Peribonka, the Maniconagan, all the +Ste. Anne's, all the Rouge or Red rivers, the Du Moine, the Coalonge, +the Vermilion, the St. Francis. Then, look at that cluster of great +Saxon named streams, the Churchill, the Nelson, the Severn, the English, +the Albany! Lastly, glance at the magnificent Saskatchewan with the +historic streams of Battle and Qu'Appelle Rivers! And now I have omitted +the Athabasca, the Peace, the Moose and the Assiniboine! There is no end +to them; they defy enumeration while they invite it. + +Now, most of these Canadian rivers are Azoic in character; hence their +grim and formidable beauty. But my river has nothing the least Azoic +about it. It belongs to a more recent, a more comfortable, more placid, +more satisfying a formation. It is as idyllic a stream as any English +one that Tennyson noted in a contemplative ramble to work up later into +the "Brook." + +Crossing the moss-grown bridge I have alluded to, a gradual ascent +presents itself on the opposite side, of firm white road well +macadamized and leading through small neat low houses, each with a +little garden in front, to a church with a needle-like spire on the +top of the hill, and the parson's house adjoining. On a June day, +for example, it made a pleasant picture. Pastoral and prosperous the +landscape, contented the people on foot, in the fields, at the windows, +and most delightful of all--a certain Old World haze hanging over it. + +This is what struck the Mr. Foxleys, driving out slowly from the town +one Saturday afternoon. George, the elder, pale with dark hair, lay back +in the phaeton with folded arms. Joseph, the younger, fair-haired +and freckled, sat up, driving. They had hardly exchanged a word since +entering the phaeton. For eight miles they had proceeded in almost +perfect silence. This did not mean that they were out of sorts, or not +on pleasant terms with one another. On the contrary, it proved that they +were the very best of friends, and never bored each other. I may as well +say at once that they were Englishmen, which was easy to gather from +their picturesque and unusual attire of neat gray small-clothes meeting +gray stockings at the knee, low white shoes, a striped blue and white +flannel shirt and canoe-shaped hats of gray, each bearing a snow-white +"puggree" with blue and gold fringed ends. Such was the outward adorning +of the Mr. Foxleys. Behind the phaeton ran a pretty brown retriever +answering to the name of "Bess," and laid across the floor of the little +carriage were a couple of walking canes, a couple of fishing rods and +a gun case strapped together, while under the seat was a medium-sized +portmanteau, and a peculiar long box with a leather handle. The eight +miles having been traversed by them in silence, George, the elder, broke +it by remarking, as they slackened their pace, before advancing over the +bridge, "This is better." + +"Very much so. Rather. I should think so," answered Joseph, the younger, +who had a slightly more lively manner than his brother, and very +laughing eyes. "It looks a little more like the--the Old Country." + +The elder brother made no reply. A kind of weary smile flitted across +his face instead. + +"It's a little bit after--Devonshire, don't you think?" went on Joseph, +surveying the green meadows, the neat painted fences, the sleeping cows, +the rising uplands in the distance leaning lovingly next the sky, +the bridge, the distant church, and the placid narrow river with the +overhanging willows and the stony amber floor. + +"A long way after," said George, without unfolding his arms or looking +around him at all. He was gazing straight before him. + +"But you don't half see the beauty of it," said the younger brother, +stopping the horse and standing up in the phaeton, "especially after +that horrid eight miles of half-cleared ugly-stumpy stubble! This is +really beautiful, such soft lines you know and little corners--oh! +quite English!" Some of his enthusiasm reached the quieter brother, who +apparently roused himself and looked around as directed. A faint pink +came into his pale cheeks, a new gleam into the weary eyes, "Well, it is +_better_, as I said before--you'll remember, I noticed it first--but not +English." + +"Well, not English altogether of course, I know," said Joseph gathering +up his reins, "but its a jolly spot enough whatever it is, and--I say, +look at that now, that oak, on the other side of the road, in front of +that little cottage, we'll be up with it now in a minute." + +"By Jove, what a splendid tree!" Now I do not in the least wonder at the +Mr. Foxleys stopping opposite this mighty oak to admire it, because I +myself am quite familiar with it and have seen it scores of times, and +must agree with them in pronouncing it one of the finest trees I have +ever seen anywhere. Of course it has no story attached to it that the +world knows, at least it never talked that I am aware of, never hid or +screened anybody of importance--or anything of that sort--so naturally +it has little or no interest about it. And yet, for that very reason, +it is so much easier to think of it as a tree, to consider it and admire +it, and learn to love and understand it just as a tree. So the Mr. +Foxleys thought, as they gazed at its monstrous trunk, its glorious +branches of deep, dark glossy green with here and there an upstart arm +of glowing bronze or a smaller shoot of younger yellow. + +"It might have grown in the _Manor Park_!" said the younger brother +airily with a keen sense of pleasure in the suggestion. + +"It might have grown in the _Manor Park_, as you say", rejoined the +elder brother gravely. + +Then they went on again, slowly up the hill, that they might the better +examine the church, the parsonage and the road beyond. What they wanted +now was an Inn. Presently they espied one, just on the other side of a +tiny bridge spanning a tinier brook. It was no upstart brick building of +flaring red with blind white windows and a door flush with the street, +a dirty stable at one side and a ragged kitchen garden at the other. But +low and white and irregular with a verandah running along in front, it +had red curtains that would draw over the lower halves of the windows +and hints of chintz at the upper portions; the door was open and +revealed a tall clock in the hall, a stand of flowers, and a cat asleep +in a large round chair; at one side a flight of steps led down to the +kitchen door at which a buxom maid in bare arms stood in a pink gown and +a pinker face, and at the other side was the boarded square that held +the pump--the village pump--around which were gathered five or six +bare-footed children, the hostler of the Inn, the village butcher, +tailor, and cobbler. A sign swung out from the verandah. + +"The Ipswich Inn, by M. Cox," said the younger Mr. Foxley. Then he +looked at his brother. His brother looked at him. They understood one +another at once, and Joseph pulled up in good style at the door. The +hostler, dressed in old corduroy and with a fiddle under his arm, sprang +forward to assist them. He dropped his H's. "Delightful," cried Mr. +Joseph. So did the landlady, a cheery person of about fifty in a silk +apron. The brothers were so content that they remained all night, "to +look at the place." + +Next morning, endless surprises awaited and greeted them. They found +that the large room in front was a kind of drawing-room, in which +rose-leaves, china-bowls, old engravings, a shining mahogany book-case, +and a yellow-keyed piano atoned for the shortcomings of funeral +horsehair and home-made carpets. They thought it on the whole a charming +room, only to be eclipsed by the kitchen. For the kitchen, which was +underneath the ground floor and nearly the entire size of the house, was +therefore very spacious and comfortable, possessing three large +pantries and an out-house or summer kitchen; besides, moreover, it was +dark-raftered, ham-hung, with willow-pattern slates in a neat dresser, +and peacock feathers over the high mantel; with, in one corner--the +darkest--a covered well, into which I used to see myself the beautiful +golden pats of butter lowered twice a week in summer time. One window, +a small one, curtained with chintz and muslin drawn on a string, looked +out on a small terraced garden at the back leading to an orchard; the +other window, large and long, with twelve small panes and no curtains at +all, adjoined the door opening on the court or yard at the side of the +house. This yard was paved irregularly with grey stone slabs, between +which the grass had wedged itself, with an occasional root of the +persistent and omnipresent dandelion; it contained a cistern, a table +with flower-pots, a parrot in one cage, a monkey in another, garden +implements, rods, buckets, tins and tubs! A pleasant untidiness +prevailed in the midst of irreproachably clean and correct surroundings, +and the Mr. Foxleys having finished their breakfast up-stairs in the +public dining-room--a bare, almost ugly apartment, devoid of anything +in furniture or appointments to make it homelike, except a box of +mignonette set in the side-window, looked longingly out at the little +paved court-yard beneath. They had had the most delicious rasher of +ham, eggs _sans peur et sans reproche_, some new and mysterious kind of +breakfast cake, split and buttered while hot, and light and white inside +as it was golden and glazed outside, and three glasses of fresh milk +each! They had been waited on by the buxom girl in a blue gown this +time, against which her arms looked pinker than ever, and during the +meal the landlady of the inn had looked in, with her hands too floury +and her mind too full of coming loaves to do more than inquire generally +as to their comfort. Looking over the mignonette, Mr. Joseph Foxley +espied her presently talking to the parrot and tending the monkey. This +was more than the frivolous Mr. Joseph could stand. He took his brother +and made a tour of the house accordingly, discovering in turn as I +have said the drawing-room, the kitchen, the court-yard, the garden and +orchard and lastly the bar! _That_ proved the most comfortable, most +enticing room of all. More red curtains, at the windows and over one +door, an old-fashioned hearth paved with red brick and bearing even +in June a couple of enormous logs against the possible cold of a +rainy evening, two cases of stuffed birds, a buffalo's head over the +fireplace, colored prints of Love Lies Bleeding, Stocks and Bachelor's +Buttons, and over all, that odour of hot lemons and water, with +something spirituous beyond, that completely won the refractory heart +of the elder Mr. Foxley and caused him to drop down in a chair by the +hearth with an incoherent expression of wonder and relief that did not +escape his brother. + +"How long shall we say, George," he asked. "She will want to know, +because there are other men who come out here from town occasionally it +seems, and of course it's only fair to let her know about the room. + +"What shall I say?" Mr. George Foxley crossed his long legs in evident +comfort and took in the entire room in a smiling gaze before he +answered. Outside it was beautifully quiet, in front of the house. From +the back there came the faintest sounds of crow and cackle and farm-yard +stir just audible, from the kitchen rose cheerful laughter, and merry +voices, the smell of baking, and a fainter odor of herbs. Milly, the +girl, in the blue gown, passed with a milk pail in either hand. She +looked in shyly. Mr. Joseph waved his hand gallantly then laughed. Then +Mr. George said, very slowly. + +"Say? Oh, say that we will take the room--the one we have now, you +know--for the rest of the Summer." + +"That is, you will take it, and remain here, while I knock about in town +and come out on Saturdays or whenever I can," said Joseph. + +"Exactly," said his brother. + +That afternoon Mr. Joseph returned to town in the neat hired phaeton +leaving his brother in full possession of the charming and comfortable +Inn. In a couple of days he came back, this time in the stage that +passed through Ipswich three times a week, and bringing with him a +couple of English trunks and a stout portmanteau. Thus the Mr. Foxleys +entered upon life in earnest in this dear placid little village, not far +from the river described in the beginning of my story. + + + + +CHAPTER II. + + +The Mr. Foxleys, after a week's sojourn or so at the Ipswich Inn, made a +mutual discovery. This was, that not only were the landlady of the Inn, +her son and the ostler all of English origin and descent, but that the +entire village appeared to be populated by people of English extraction. +The butcher was a Englishman, the blacksmith was a Cockney answering to +the name of 'Enry Ide, the cobbler was from South Devon somewhere, +and the parson was an undergraduate of Oxford. The farmers were mostly +Scotch, and the village store-keeper was David Macpherson. The driver +of the stage was an Irishman, and the sexton of the pretty church on +the hill was an odd product of that odd corner of the world known as +the Isle of Man. Certainly the two brothers found and made themselves at +home. Milly perhaps was the only native Canadian that came in their way. +It was a thoroughly British settlement, and it is a noteworthy fact +that the only well-to-do man in the place was an American. It was he +who lived in the square, red brick house with white blinds always pulled +down, even in soft welcome spring days, and with plaster casts of lions +and deer couchant on futile little wooden pedestals in the garden. It +was he who owned the new and prosperous mill which had superseded the +worn-out one lower down the stream, the old mill that the artists loved, +and that reminded the Mr. Foxley's of home. It was he who owned the only +family carriage in the neighborhood, other people had "buggies." It was +his daughter who had been sent to New York for her education--who now +appeared in church on Sundays, in muslin costumes garnished with a +greater number of yards of ribbons in myriads of bows and ends than the +village store had ever possessed at one time in its life. It was he who +once or twice a year walked as far as the Inn and sitting down stiffly +in the stiff dining room would hold a short conversation with the +landlady on village matters and subjects in general. On these occasions +the good woman was secretly amused and not a little bored. She knew +gentlemen when she saw them and he was not one--that is, he was not one +according to her knowledge of types. The aristocracy of money was as +yet a phase unknown to her simple English mind accustomed to move in +traditional and accepted groves. So not much interchange of civilities +took place between the mill and the Inn. Not for Mr. Simon P. Rattray +did the oleanders blossom in the big green tubs and the wall-flowers and +mignonette in the windows. Not for him did the Jessamine climb and the +one hawthorn tree at the back gate leading to the orchard yield its +sweet white May, not for him did the tall clock strike and the parrot +talk. Talk!! Why, the only time the creature was ever known to be quiet +was when Mr. Simon P. Rattray made his portentous visits twice or three +times a year. And as for the hidden sweetness of the drawing-room or +the comforts of the kitchen or the fascinations of the bar, Mr. Simon P. +Rattray knew nothing whatever about them. He was a total abstainer you +see, and the blue ribbon appeared in his buttonhole on certain important +ceremonial days and even on Sundays, and he was known to be interested +in the fortunes of a cold, dismal little place built of plaster and +presided over by a male Methodist just outside the village limits, known +as a "Temperance Hotel." It will be easily gathered that the advent +of the Mr. Foxleys did not affect the fortunes of such a person as +Mr. Simon P. Rattray, nor was their subsequent career as residents +in Ipswich affected in any way by his existence, prejudices or +peculiarities. But to the remaining portions of the village, their +arrival proved full of interest The landlady took them to her heart at +once. They were _gentlemen_, she said, and that was enough for her. Her +son, a heavy lout, unlike his mother, accepted them as he did everything +and everybody by remaining outwardly profoundly unconscious of their +existence; the hostler adored them, especially Mr. Joseph; when the +latter was there, which he was every Saturday till Monday, he would +stroll over the stable with Squires--that was the hostler's name--joking +incessantly, and treating the latter to an occasional cigar. Urbane +Mr. Joseph would joke with anybody, Mr. George was more severe and had +according to the landlady, the most perfect and distinguished manners. + +"What they call _hawtoor_ in the Family Herald," she told Milly, "only +I never see it gone too far with." Milly of course was in love with them +both. + +In time, the entire village succumbed to the charms of the Mr. Foxleys. +The parson called, accompanied by his eldest daughter who was the +organist of the choir and chief promoter of the Sunday-school. They +found the objects of their social consideration seated outside the +kitchen in the little paved yard that had rapidly grown dear. When the +brothers appeared upstairs in the drawing-room into which rose-scented +and chintz-hung apartment the reverend Mr. and Miss had been shown in +appreciation of their station, Mr. Joseph had tuned his laughing eye to +a decorum as new as it was unnatural. It was a hot day in August and Mr. +George was so excessively languid and long and speechless that but for +his brother conversation would have been an impossibility. But he and +the parson soon discovered mutual friends at home, a cousin in the +Engineers, and a friendly coach at the University. + +"Charles James Foxley? Oh! I knew him well, very well" said the Rev. Mr. +Higgs, referring to the latter. "It is a somewhat--ah--unusual name. +The only other time I remember meeting with the name was once--let me +see--it was a meet, I think, at Foxley Manor, in Derbyshire it was, and +a very beautiful place." + +"In Nottinghamshire," said Mr. Joseph smiling. "Yes, that is--or +was--our home. My father still resides there." + +"Indeed?" said Mr. ----. "Is it possible! And you have come out here? +Really, it is most interesting, most fortunate that you should +have chosen our little village, should have pitched your tent so to +speak--ah! quite so." + +"My brother likes the country," said Mr. Joseph. + +"Ah! yes, quite so. And there is much to see in this new country, in +Canada, much to see. You will remain some time?" + +"We will remain as long as it suits my brother," said Mr. Joseph. "At +present, we can hardly tell." + +"Quite so, quite so. I hope--I am sure my daughter concurs in the hope, +that we shall see you in church as often as you can come and also--ah! +at the Rectory. Such society as we can give you here you may be assured +we will endeavor to give with all our--ah! heart to the best of our +ability." + +"Thanks very much" returned Mr. Joseph. "I am sure my brother and I will +be exceedingly glad to go and see you at the Rectory. About church I +will say that we never go very regularly anywhere, but when it isn't too +hot, too hot, you know, or too cold, or anything of that sort, I am sure +we'll try to turn up there as well." + +The rector, smiled indulgently. No call to be hard on the Mr. Foxleys, +of Foxley Manor. Miss Maria left the Inn smitten for the fiftieth time. + +"I knew I should marry an Englishman," she exclaimed ecstatically up the +road with her father. + +"The dark one, oh! the dark one!" + +"They are somewhat peculiar young men I fancy, Maria. Of course Mrs. +Cox is a very careful and a very good woman and--ah! her place is a very +respectable and comfortable one, and the order of travellers one meets, +that is, one would meet if one went there, is quite proper indeed, +but still, I thought, mind I do not say anything, I do not express any +opinion Maria, I simply say, I _thought_, that they would have smoked +for instance in the dinning-room or the bar, or on the verandah +instead of in that very conspicuous manner just outside the kitchen +door." But this was the first and last stricture that the rector made +as to the conduct of the Mr. Foxleys, for by appearing in church two +Sundays after his call and spending an evening on the vine-covered +verandah of the pretty Rectory, they were speedily entered in the very +best books kept by that worthy if slightly common-place gentleman and +his gushing daughter. + +The next persons of distinction in the village were the Miss Dexters, +who lived with their father, at one time a prominent medical man, in +the little cottage graced by the presence of the mighty oak which had so +charmed the strangers when they first beheld it. Their father was +old, very old indeed, and slightly shaken in his mind. He was also an +Englishman and the daughters, not daring to enter upon life in town +with their small income and a helpless old man on their hands into the +bargain had retired to the country some ten years before the advent +of the Mr. Foxleys. Charlotte the elder was now forty and Ellen over +thirty-five. Neither of them had ever been beautiful and now they +were, more or less pinched and worn in their aspect, but they were +gentlewomen, neat and sweet spoken, and capable of offering small +evening entertainments of cribbage and hot weak tea with bread and +butter with a gracious and well bred air that marked them off as people +who had seen "better times." God help such all over the world and thank +Him too for the colonies, where such people can retreat without being +said to hide, and live down their misfortunes or their follies or their +weaknesses, and be of some use to others after a while! It would be hard +to say why the Mr. Foxleys went as often as they did, especially Mr. +Joseph--to the Miss Dexters for tea. Perhaps the oak had much to do with +it. + +It had something I am sure, for indeed, it was the most beautiful tree +for miles around and it was worth a good deal to sit under its cool +shade in the Summer afternoons or to look up into its dark vault in the +slowly dusking twilights. I can't defend Mr. Joseph further than this. +For between cribbage and choir practice, Sunday rambles in the woods and +rows on the river, the lending of books and the singing of songs, the +handing of bread and butter and the drinking of tea, Mr. Joseph had +caused both the Miss Dexters to fall hopelessly and indeed fatally in +love with him. When the Xmas holidays came, Joseph, who had a clerkship +in town, spent his vacation naturally at the Inn with his brother, and +then ensued a period of very mixed delight for the Miss Dexters. + +For the callous Joseph made as violent love to the unresisting Miss +Higgs over the Xmas tree and carols as she herself would have chosen to +make to Mr. George had she been given the chance. + +As for Mr. George, he was just as languid and silent as ever. He hardly +ever went into the town at all, but preferred to remain on quietly at +the inn, fishing, shooting and taking long walks in the summer days when +it was fine, and when it rained, lounging in Mrs. Cox's kitchen. Here he +always had his meals, for the kind friend he had found in his landlady +gratified every whim, and any fancy he chose to profess, and cooked +for him, washed for him and waited on him with unceasing and in fact +ever-increasing devotion. Mr. Foxley's shirts and Mr. Foxley's socks, +Mr. Foxley's white coats and Mr. Foxley's jane boots, his dog, his gun, +and his effects generally were all sacred, all in irreproachable order, +all objects of the greatest value and interest to Mrs. Cox and her +niece. You see there were no children in this comfortable _menage_ +and really, when the baking and the washing and the preserving and +the churning were all done with early in the day or in the week there +remained a good deal of time on Mrs. Cox's hands, which in her earnest +womanly heart she felt she must fill up in some way. So it came that +all this time and energy and devotion were after a while centred on Mr. +George Foxley, late of Foxley Manor, Notts. As for Mr. Joseph, the good +woman oftener told him to "go along!" than anything else, for though +she liked him, his love of mischief and several practical jokes he had +played her which she termed "his ways," had rendered her cautious and a +little distrustful of him. Such an existence proved very charming to +all parties concerned, excepting perhaps the Miss Dexters, and their +companion in misery, at the rectory. For the worst of it was, Xmas +passed and Easter came, and another spring dawned for the pretty little +village of Ipswich and found the Mr. Foxleys still there. They never +spoke of going away and nobody hinted it to them. The impression, +natural in the extreme, that they were a couple of wealthy young +Englishmen going about for pleasure, who just happening to come to +Ipswich and being taken with it had stayed a little longer than they +intended, was fast giving way to another. For it was a well-known fact +that the Mr. Foxleys did not spend too much money either on themselves +or on other people. They paid their way and that was all one could say +about them. Squires was not included in this arrangement, however, but +was forced to remain content with cigars, cast-off studs and a present +at Christmas-time of a collie pup. I grieve to think of those poor Miss +Dexters--foolish souls--going without butter on their bread and sugar +in their tea that they might have both to offer Mr. Joseph when he might +come in airily for a cup, and making their already too thin gowns last +another winter, that they might spend a little money on a smoking cap +for the same gentleman and a pair of knitted wristlets for his brother. +All these tokens of friendship and attachment the brothers accepted +in the most charming and unconcerned way and never troubled themselves +about returning the compliment as we say. It was quite true that they +had not much money, but a little management of what they did possess +would have left a small sum over each year, which might have been +expended on say a pair of fur-lined gloves for Charlotte or a canary +for Ellen, who was fond of pets and used to keep Bess with her for days, +feeding the unconscious animal for its master's sake better than she +was fed herself. And all this time Mr. Joseph never proposed and never +hinted at his prospects or affairs in any way whatever! + +The second summer of his stay saw old Mr. Dexter die. After his death +Ellen drooped visibly. General disgust at life, insufficient food and +sleep, and a hopeless passion for Mr. Joseph sapped a naturally weak +constitution, and her sister soon realized another bitter shock when she +helped Ellen to her bed one sultry September night from which she never +rose again. The windows of the little cottage were open, and the unhappy +girl could see the giant oak outside their door. How often she had sat +there with her cruel friend, her hand on his shoulder, and her eyes +fixed on his sharp, clear-cut features and laughing eyes! He had seemed +so gentle, so earnest, so winning--had talked so cleverly, so hopefully, +so gleefully. He had been the sunshine of her life, and alas!--of +Charlotte's too! Each knew the other's secret, but by intuitive sympathy +they had never alluded to it. They referred to him only as "Mr. Joseph," +and on her death-bed Ellen sent her "kindest wishes to Mr. Joseph." She +lingered till near the Christmas season, and then one day a small packet +per English mail arrived. They occasionally heard from friends in +the Old Country, and this special parcel contained a couple of silk +handkerchiefs and a sprig of holly. Charlotte took them up to her in the +evening, spreading them out on the bed. Ellen sat up, eagerly pressing +the holly to her lips. Alas! what were the recollections it brought that +the poor, weak frame and the poor, tired spirit could not brook them? +Perhaps--not perhaps--O most certainly, most truly of home and of +England; of the mother so long vanished, dimly remembered, almost +forgotten; of winding green lanes and of ivied walls, of little solemn +churchyards--in none of which she would never lie; of peeps of blue sea +from the middle of a wood; of a primrose at the foot of a tree; of the +crowded coach and the sounding horn; and lastly of the recreant one whom +she could not even call her lover, but who had made her love him so that +her very life was eaten away by sickness of fear, of apprehension, of +despair! + +With the holly pressed to her lips, Ellen Dexter passed out of this +world into another. + +Did Mr. Joseph Foxley care? Who knows? I should know if anybody ever +did, but I do not hold Mr. Joseph so very much to blame after all. For +a man is often innocent of love-making at the very moment a woman is +fancying herself violently in love with him, and fancying, moreover, +that he is in love with her. Can anything be more fatal, more +pernicious, more terrible? And yet I believe there is nothing more +common. There are some men who press more tenderly than the requirements +of ordinary social intercourse call for or allow, the hand of every +woman they meet They are not necessarily flirts. Perhaps they never go +farther than that clinging hand-pressure. It is a relic of the customs +of the days of chivalry--a little more and this man will kiss the +hand. Let the lady be beautiful, gracious, the hour dusk, or close on +midnight, the room a pretty one, and the environment pleasing, he will +bend over the hand, and if he does not kiss it he will retain it just +long enough to make her wish he had kissed it. If she is a woman of the +world she will laugh as she returns the pressure, making it purposely as +thrilling as she can--then she will forget it completely the next moment +as she dispenses five o'clock tea or late coffee and cake to her husband +or brother. But if she be not a woman of the world, then God help her +on her tear-wet pillow, or before her slowly-dying fire as she thinks +of that hand-pressure. It is enough to last her all her life, she +thinks--and yet, should it not come again? But--_should_ it come again! +And the pillow is wet with fresh tears, or the brow is prematurely +wrinkled watching the decaying embers, while the man--let us do him +justice--is as blindly unconscious--unconscious! Why, at that very +moment he is making love--what _he_ calls making love--to the woman of +his choice, his wife, his mistress, or his _fiancee_! These are the +men who do the most mischief in the world. Your brute, your beast, your +groveller in ditches, is not nearly so dangerous. Women recoil from him. +They understand him. But the man who presses their hand awakes them, +rouses their susceptibility, causes the tender trouble to steal over +them that so often ends in grief, or despair, or death! And this is +because neither sex is as yet properly trained in the vital duty of +responsibility, by which I mean that faculty of self-repression which +will cause a woman to try and understand what a man means when he +presses her hand, and cause the man to try and understand what a woman +feels when he does so. As for poor Ellen Dexter, it is dear that she was +not a woman of the world; but her sister Charlotte and Miss Maria at +the Rectory, if not precisely women of the world, were yet made of +much sterner stuff than she had been, and consequently, after much +reflection, decided that they were not going to be made fools of, in +village parlance. Miss Maria had, of course, long ago given up Mr. +George Foxley altogether. + +"He is not human," she said to her father, "and I don't believe he _is_ +one of the Foxleys of Foxley Manor at all." + +"There can be no doubt about that, my dear," answered the actor. +"Difficulties I should say--ah--difficulties have brought these young +men out here, but we must do our duty by them, we must do our duty. +Their father is a fine old gentleman, and well off, and a stanch Tory, +my dear. Patience, my dear Maria. The photographs are quite correct and +the seals bear quite the proper crest--ah--quite so." + +So Miss Maria transferred her affections to Mr. Joseph. The second +Christmas passed away, and a third spring dawned for Ipswich. The Inn +was just as comfortable as ever and so were apparently the two Mr. +Foxleys but for one fact and that was, Mr. George's health was not as +good as it had been. Always delicate, he had gradually failed, growing +more and more languid, more and more whimsical in spite of his +comfortable abode and the diligent care of his landlady. Poor Milly! How +she worked for him too, between hours, after hours, before hours! When +the attacks of pleurisy, painful in the extreme, from which he suffered, +came on either in the night or during the day, Milly was always near +with her strong young arms, not quite so pink as they used to be, and +her quick young eyes, a shade more subtle than they used to be, ready to +apprehend and quiet the pain before it came. How Miss Maria at the +Rectory and Charlotte Dexter in her lonely cottage would have envied her +had they known, but though there were gossips in plenty in the village, +nothing that occurred in the rose-scented drawing-room ever went out +into that tattling little Ipswichian world. + +"Are your young gentlemen with you yet, Mrs. Cox? And one of 'em not +over strong? Deary me! that makes it hard for you and the young gal But +you be standing it remarkable well. And gentlemen born you say! They +do say that the other one wi' the specked skin be making fools of Miss +Maria up at the Rectory and old Miss Dexter at the cottage. Well! well! +Poor Miss Ellen was gone afore we knew it like, poor soul, that was so +kind!" + +Much of this cunning volubility sprung upon Mrs. Cox in pumping fashion +failed to extort from her anything but good-humoured smiles and laughs. +If I have not taken the trouble to describe this beloved Mrs. Cox to you +before this, it is because I fear you will say the picture is Unreal, no +such landlady, no such woman could exist out of England But why not? My +story, remember, deals with people and things as they were twenty years +ago. Twenty years ago there were such Inns, though few at number, to be +found in Western Canada--ay--and as English as any that a certain Mrs. +Lupin presided over in fascinating fiction, and much more English than +many Inns of the present day in England. Twenty years ago there was +such a landlady, rosy and plump and cheerful, wearing a flowered gown, +a black silk apron and a cap with a purple pansy in it and broad and +comfortable lappets, who, when her work was done, would sit in her +small private room opposite the bar also hung with red curtains, +making patchwork quilts or playing a demure rubber with the Scotch +store-keeper, or Irish stage driver, or an occasional gentleman from +town. Such was Mrs. Cox, widow of Captain Cox, able seaman, but bad lot, +who died when they had been five years in Canada, leaving her with her +one child. The public business had attracted her after her loss and she +accordingly went into it on the advice of her numerous friends. People +who despise her calling need not listen to me if I allude to--for I have +not time to recount--all her kindness, her cheerfulness, her powers of +dispensing comfort, and warmth, and happiness, and promoting the direct +and indirect welfare of everyone who came in her path. By what strange +coincidence the brothers Foxley had been led to her glowing fireside +and her motherly arms brimming over with zeal and kindness for the whole +human race, does not matter. It is sufficient that they found her +and found with her a sense of comparative peace and security which +compensated for the one big slice of trouble Fortune had treated them to +before their departure from England. For them did the wall flowers bloom +and the mignonette at the window, for them did the oleander blossom +and the old clock strike, for them did the jessamine climb and the one +hawthorn tree yield its annual soft white drift of snow, and yet who +shall say that they were altogether unworthy, even, if with that picture +of poor Ellen Dexter in my mind, I have to say that they did not deserve +it? + + + + +CHAPTER III. + + +If Mr. Joseph Foxley had but known the sentiments animating the couple +of maiden breasts that awaited his Saturday visits in Ipswich, he would +have been genuinely surprised. The truth is Mr. Joseph was rather +what is termed a general lover. He liked the sex in its entirety. +Collectively he loved all women and belonged to that hand-pressing +section of humanity which I have alluded to as mischievous. Were there +not at least five young ladies in town, at whose houses he visited, and +who were more or less interested in the young Englishman as he in them? +Did Miss Charlotte dream of them or Miss Maria at the rectory? If so, +they never dared to ask Mr. Joseph to give any account of his doings +in town, although they managed to glean what he did with himself in the +village. He respected Charlotte Dexter enough to intend at some future +day to tell her a little more about himself and his brother than he had +yet done; as for Miss Maria, she only bored him and fed his contempt. + +"When a rather elderly old girl giggles after everything she says, +conversation is difficult and sympathy out of the question," he had said +to his brother! When Mr. Joseph had known these young ladies for four +years, Miss Maria took her revenge in _her_ way, that was by marrying +the younger brother of Mr. Simon P. Rattray, partner in the mill and the +red brick house by the river. The vision of becoming the cherished wife +of an English aristocrat and going home to reside in a manor house built +in the sixteenth century, with occasional visits to London and glimpses +of the Royal Family had gradually faded, and she accepted the less +rose-coloured lot that Mr. Lyman B. Rattray offered her, sitting in her +father's study, with his hair very much brushed up on one side and very +much flattened down on the other, a white tie and light-yellow duster +adorning his spare person. + +Such was the American of those days--twenty years ago--there are none +such now I allow. + +Miss Maria, who was considered "very English," shuddered as she regarded +him. It so fell out that it being Saturday, Mr. Joseph was just then +passing--"kind of happening along" Mr. Rattray would have said--_en +route_ to the Inn and his brother, on foot in spite of the dusty road +and the hot August sun, clad in trim tight knickerbockers and carrying +an immense bunch of red field lilies, a gun, and a leather satchel over +his shoulder. Slight and straight and cool, he looked the picture of a +contented cheerful energetic young English man. Along the road he came +whistling an old country tune. Miss Maria who had sighted him afar off, +begged her visitor's pardon and went to the window to arrange the blind. +How her heart warmed to that cruel Mr. Joseph, how she loved him +then just for that last moment! Her heart--that foolish old maid's +heart--beat quickly, beat thickly, she remembered to have read something +somewhere about people who could will other people to look at them, to +speak to them, to even think of them, to move across a room at their +pleasure. If she could but do that! She did try, with her fingers +clenched on the blind, and her eyes fixed on Mr. Joseph, she did wish +with all her might that he would turn his head and see her at the +window and wave his hand gallantly as he had done on one or two previous +occasions. Then she would beckon and he would run across and entering +the room disconcert this odious Mr. Lyman B. Rattray and put an end to +his stony wooing. But alas! for Miss Maria and her mesmeric powers! The +harder she tried, the less she succeeded. On came Mr. Joseph, supremely +unconscious of the injured heart beating behind the windowpane. At one +moment it seemed as if he were about to turn and look in her direction. +A very brilliant wild yellow canary crossed over his head and lit on a +small shrub just inside the garden paling. Had it remained there, would +Miss Maria have ever become the wife of Mr. Lyman B. Rattray? No one +knows, for the canary flew away again to the other side of the road and +Mr. Joseph's eyes followed it In a moment he was past, and the chance +was gone for ever. Miss Maria left her window and sat down opposite her +visitor. There was nothing to keep her now, nothing to give her courage +and hope for the future, new fire for her faded eyes, new strength for +her jaded limbs. Yet she was only thirty-four. How strange it is that +some unmarried women are old at that age, even while living in luxury +and surrounded by every care and all affection, while many a married +woman, though beset with trials and weaknesses and perhaps a brood of +restless little ones to pull her gown and get in the way of her busy +feet, retains her figure and her step, her smile and her complexion, her +temper and her nerves! + +It but remained for Charlotte Dexter to take her revenge in her way. +Going very seldom out of her house, and never visiting at the Inn she +was really very ignorant of the doings of either Mr. George or Mr. +Joseph Foxley. Towards the one she had never been greatly drawn, for the +other she felt all the passion that only a supremely lonely woman can +feel in middle age for a man younger than herself who charms her as +a child, while he captivates her as a lover. Of Mrs. Cox and Milly +moreover, she hardly ever thought, and in fact had not seen the latter +for a long time. If she had it is not likely she would even have +recognized in the tall pale shapely young woman with braids of dark hair +and white linen cuffs fastened--must I tell it? with a pair of antique +monogram studs, the plump little handmaiden of four years back. As it +was, she only waited on day after day, to hear Mr. Joseph speak. Instead +of Mr. Joseph however appeared another and less welcome confidante. This +was the most malignant gossip in the village, Mrs. Woods, the wife of +the butcher, a tall red faced woman with high cheek-bones on which the +color seemed to have been badly smirched, watery eyes and a couple of +protruding yellow teeth. She looked more like a butcher than the butcher +himself who was a mild little man with soft silky fair hair and small +nervous fluttering hands. Yet he managed to summon sufficient character +to go on a tremendous burst--I know of no other word, every third or +fourth month and disappear for a week When these periodical eclipses +took place, his wife would come flying into the Inn with her bonnet +hanging round her neck and a large green and red plaid shawl streaming +out behind her. + +"Where's Woods?" She would say. "Where's Woods? Give me Woods! Give 'im +up, I tell you; give 'im up now!" + +But Woods was never found inside Mrs. Cox's neat dwelling, nor indeed +anywhere, although it had been whispered on, one occasion that he had +been seen in the back room of the little "Temperance Hotel" with the +male Methodist in attendance. This, of course, was clearly impossible. + +It was this Mrs. Woods then that stopped at Dexter's Oak one Friday +morning with her donkey-cart and a small piece of the neck of mutton +in it. She was not an entirely bad woman, though a downright cunning +virago, and perhaps some inkling of the nature of the blow that was +about to fall on Miss Dexter's head caused her to come prepared by an +acceptable present to somewhat mitigate its appalling approach. + +"I be at the Inn bright and early this morning Miss," she began, "and +brought 'em their bit of fresh meat. And I'm bringin' you a bit as was +over, and it is'nt a bad piece for a stew, if you like a stew, Miss, +with an onion or two." + +"Thank you very much, Mrs. Woods," said Charlotte, who had come out to +the front door and now stood on the lower step, looking over the cart. +"I'm afraid I can't settle with you just at present," she said further, +with some effort, "you can call some other time when you are passing. +Will that do? and is it weighed?" + +"It is, miss, and I'll not say a word about the payin'! Six pound and a +'alf, and Woods gone agen--I weighed it myself." + +"Oh! I am sorry to hear that," said Charlotte. "Your husband gives you a +great deal of trouble. I am very sorry, and he is not at the inn?" + +If Charlotte was guilty at that moment of purposely leading the +conversation up to this always for her most enthralling, most engrossing +subject, she soon enough received her punishment. On she went to her own +destruction. + +"At the inn!" repeated the butcher's wife, with ineffable scorn on her +cruel mouth. She wiped her watery eyes and settled the refractory bonnet +before going on. + +"No miss, he's not at the inn, and if he was sober, he wouldn't be at +the inn, and you'll never see him, nor me, nor 'Ide yonder, nor anyone +on us at all no more at the inn. For the inn's changed 'ands, miss. +There's an end of Mrs. Cox, who was a mother to many, if not to Woods. +There's an end to good old times and dancin' and singin', and honest +Robert, though he was a cross 'un--there's an end to it all now, miss, +for the inn's changed 'ands, and I'm the first in the village as knows +it." + +"Good gracious. Is it possible?" said Charlotte, genuinely surprised. +"Who can have succeeded Mrs. Cox and why? I thought she was so popular +and making so much money, and what--what will become of the Mr. +Foxleys?" + +Mrs. Woods gave a triumphant grin. "It's them, theirselves, miss; it's +them that 'as it now. And the younger one will be marrying Milly in a +little while and settling down comfortable in the inn. It's gentlefolks +and aristocrats we'll have now at the inn, miss, and 'ard workin' people +like me and Woods may trudge all day and freeze all night, and never a +pot of beer or a warm at the kitchen fire and meat paid regular for year +in, year out!" + +Charlotte stood aghast. The woman's injured volubility rushed past her +as a scene outside a railway car rushes past us, leaving only one idea, +one word caught at, as from the window through which we apprehend the +landscape, one scene or portion of a scene enchains the eye and lingers +in the mind though other scenes fly past in varied succession. + +"Marry?" she repeated. "Marry! Milly, did you say? That is the girl, +isn't it, Mrs. Cox's niece? Which--" + +"Ay," said the woman, "that's Milly, the 'ired girl; she's no I more +than that, if she be her aunt's niece. And 'ard work for one's niece. +Me and Woods, if we'd 'ad one, would have done better for her nor that, +makin' her work like a slave or a dummy. Cows, and pigs, and poultry, +and dish-washing, and scrubbing, and lamps, and starched fronts, and +fine gentlemen--but she's well paid, she's well paid. She's to marry one +of the fine gentlemen, Mr. Joseph it is, and they're to live on at the +Inn with Milly as mistress, and her fine husband behind the bar, very +like. Well, good-mornin', Miss Dexter; I wish you joy of the mutton. Me +and Woods often says--we'll take this or that little Dexter's Oak, but +it's most times forgot, for Woods is 'alf crazed, Miss Dexter, and I've +got to do the whole. Good-mornin'." + +Having adjusted her bonnet and the donkey-cart to her satisfaction, Mrs. +Woods drove off rather disappointed on the whole at Miss Dexter's calm +demeanour. Astonishment, perplexity, doubt, contempt and disgust she had +undoubtedly shown, but not a single sigh of weakness. Charlotte Dexter +was not the woman to swoon or lament or even turn pale as her sister +Ellen would have done. But when she came into her house and sat down in +her lonely parlour, she enacted a scene which would have petrified with +astonishment any inhabitant of the prosy little village in which she had +dwelt so long and indeed many other people as well, for when you and I, +dear reader, go to see one of these emotional plays in which the +French actress writhes on the sofa; grovels on the floor, rolls up her +handkerchief into a ball or tears it into strips, prays, weeps, curses, +censures, implores, looks at herself in the glass until she is on the +point of going mad, and strides about the stage as no woman in real +life has ever been seen to stride, ending by throwing herself across an +arm-chair as rigid as marble thereby assuring the audience that she +is in a "dead faint"--I say, that when we see all this performed by a +travelling "star," and her truly eclectic Company, comprising a Diva, a +Duenna, a Diner-out and a Devil, we are apt to look around at the placid +Canadian or the matter-of-fact American audience and wonder if they +understand the drift of the thing at all, the situations, the allusions, +even in the slightest degree, forgetting that perhaps the most placid, +most commonplace person in the theatre has gone through some crisis, +some tragedy as thrilling, as subtle and as terrible as the scene +we have just witnessed. "Not out of Paris," we say, "can such things +happen?" Do we know what we are saying? Is it only in Paris that hearts +are won and tossed aside this night--as in the play? Is it only in Paris +that honor is forgotten and promises are broken this night--as in the +play? Is it only in Paris that money allures and rank dazzles, and a +dark eye or a light step entrances, this night--as in the play? Is it +only in Paris that nature is human and that humanity is vile, or weak, +or pure, or firm, as this night in the play? Oh! in that obscure little +Canadian village, a lonely old maid locked her door that morning and +pulled down her blind that the daylight might not come in and see +her misery, might not mock even more malignantly than the ignorant, +impertinent and hard-hearted woman who had dealt her this blow. Like +most women in such a crisis, she lost the habit of thought. Reason +entirely deserted her, and she never dreamed but that it was true. For +when a women has to own to herself that she holds no dominion over a +man, that it is only too perfectly clear that the impulse of loving is +all on her side and that she has neither anything to expect nor anything +to fear from him, since indifference is the keynote of his attitude +to her, she will all the more readily believe that he loves elsewhere, +worthily or unworthily the same to her. A woman is not a noble object in +such a situation. All trusting feminine instincts, all sweet emotions of +hope, all sentiment, all passion even, retreat and fall away from her, +leaving either a cold, bitter, heartless petrifaction, in a woman's +clinging robe, or the Fury that is the twin sister of every little +red-lipped, clear-eyed girl born into the world. She never dreamed +but that this story was true. In fact so entirely had her woman's wit +deserted her, she said to herself of _course_ it was true. Her brain +could work sufficiently to conjure up hints, phrases, words, looks, +events, accidents that all bore testimony to the truth of the +extraordinary tale. For it was extraordinary. Miss Dexter herself was +the great grand-daughter of an Admiral, and the grand-daughter of a +judge, and as such, respected all these accidents of birth which we +are supposed to ignore or at least not expected to recognize in a new +country. That such men as the Mr. Foxleys could make themselves as +completely at home in the Inn as rumor had frequently asserted, and with +truth, seemed at all times monstrous to her. She had lived so long out +of England, over thirty years now, that she had forgotten the sweet +relations that prevailed there between the aristocracy or landed gentry +and their inferiors. The Mr. Foxleys were simply doing in Canada what +they would have done had they been still in England, only they were +assisted in so doing by the unusually English surroundings in which they +found themselves. Miss Dexter looked around her in the yellow inclosed +light. There was a sampler in a frame, worked by herself when a little +child, another exactly similar, worked by Ellen, a couple of fine old +family portraits in heavy gilt frames, half a dozen ivory miniatures +scattered about on the walls, some good carvings in ivory, a rare old +Indian shawl festooned over the wooden mantle-board, a couple of skins +on the floor, a corner piece of furniture known as a "whatnot" crowded +with bits of egg-shell china, birds' eggs and nests, a few good +specimens of spar and coral and a profusion of plants everywhere. It was +all neat, respectable, even dignified, superior. There was no such other +room in the village. In the village? There were not many at that time +even in the town. Sooner than part with the eggshell china or the Indian +shawl the Miss Dexters had suffered the pains of poverty and hunger; +these cherished reminders of an absent father and an artistic youth +could never be lost or borne away by the hands of a stranger. And how +glad those foolish Miss Dexters had been to possess such beautiful and +interesting objects when it pleased Mr. George Foxley to drink tea out +of the cups on summer afternoons on the verandah of the little cottage +looking up into the splendid vault of the mighty oak, or when Mr. Joseph +would wind the Indian shawl round his silly head in the winter evenings +when the draughts of cold air would rush in through the thin walls. +These and other memories crowded into Charlotte Dexter's brain as +she looked around her room, crowded thick and fast, crowded fast and +furious, surged, broke, leaving an empty moment of perfect blankness, +then crowded again thicker, faster, surged and seethed and then broke +again, leaving in the void of perfect blankness this time a fixed idea, +a resolve, a determination, seen in the dark like a luminous point of +phosphorus. + +That afternoon as Farmer Wise was driving slowly along the road, the +main road leading through Ipswich to the town, he was accosted by Miss +Dexter from her verandah. She had her jacket on and held her bonnet in +her hand. + +"Can you give me a seat as far as the Albion?" said she. "I would have +sent a message to you yesterday if I had known I was going. But if it +will not trouble you--" + +"Oh! no trouble no trouble at all, Miss Dexter," replied Farmer Wise. +"I'm sorry I've only the waggon to offer ye. But I'm takin' in apples as +you see, nine barrel of 'em, and only a waggon will do for them." + +"Certainly, certainly," said Miss Dexter, hurriedly trying on her +bonnet. "Can you wait a moment? I won't be longer, Mr. Wise, it is just +to lock the back door." + +The farmer nodded and drew up under the shade of Dexter's oak. It was +a beautiful afternoon late in November, characterized by the clear +cold air, the blue and gold of the sky, and the russet coloring of the +foliage that mark the close of the Autumnal season. He looked in at +Miss Dexter's little garden, admirably neat and well-trimmed; dahlias, +hollyhocks, sweet William and asters, though done with blossoms, still +bore their green leaves unsmitten by the frost. The windows appeared +full of flowers too, but the blinds were skimp and faded and drawn down +behind them. He started when he noticed this, for he knew the outer +aspect of the house well, and had never seen such a thing before, except +in case of sickness or death. The honest farmer thought and thought +until Miss Dexter reappeared and assisted by him, got up in her place +beside him. Even after that he went on thinking, and I must here tell +you that it was not the first time Farmer Wise's thoughts had dwelt so +persistently upon his companion and her house and personal history. +For twelve years he had nursed a kind of mild distant passion for Miss +Dexter at the Oak, unguessed at by her and his family, and only half +understood by himself. He could not have said he was in love with her. +He had been in love once when he married his first wife, who bore him +a triad of splendid sons, one "keeping store" in the Western States and +the other two at home on the farm, all three great giants of fellows, +handsome in the fields or at barn-doors or in market-waggons, but plain +on Sundays in black coats or at evening dances in the big ball-room +at the Inn, when they would shuffle noisily through cotillons or labor +clumsily through a Highland Schottische. + +For himself, Farmer Wise was an honest, sincere, good-hearted man, a +maker of money and a spender thereof--witness the fine red ploughs, +the painted barns, the handsome team, Kentucky bred, and the inner +decorations of his house, situated about five miles out of Ipswich, on +the main-road. After Mr. Simon P. Rattray, he was the representative man +of the district, although he did not come so closely into contact with +the villagers. This _penchant_ for the elder Miss Dexter had been a +gradual, a slow but very sure and steady thing. Her father's death had +increased it, so had that of Ellen her sister, and the farmer lived too +far away to know as much as other people knew about the advent of the +Mr. Foxleys. Had there been a sister or a daughter, or a wife or a +mother, or an aunt or a cousin about the farm, he would have known very +quickly. As it was, the girl who did the housework on the farm was as +ignorant of gossip, its existence and the laws which govern its nature, +as any male farm hand could be. When Farmer Wise put up his horses +at the Inn three or four times a year, and sat down in the cheerful +bar-room to drink a glass of whisky with his feet to the fire if it were +winter, or a taller glass of Belfast ginger ale if it were summer, did +he never notice Mrs. Cox? Mrs. Cox, well-to-do and popular herself, +fresh, blooming and hearty, a young woman yet, and just the woman one +would say, for him, and above all, the woman who thought most of him +and ran to change her cap--the black one with the knot of rusty widow's +crape--for the smart new one that held the velvet pansy when she saw the +team coming. There's where he should have chosen the second time, there +was the woman he should have noticed instead of poor, proud, foolish +Charlotte Dexter, whom he half feared as a "lady born," and who held +in her heart, had he only knew it, the image of Mr. Joseph Foxley. The +farmer got on with the English gentlemen at the Inn whenever he saw them +"first-rate," and it was of them he began most unsuspiciously to talk +when he and Miss Dexter had crossed the bridge, ascended the hill on +the other side of the river, and the team were settling to their work +as they entered upon the dreary eight miles called the Plains which lay +between them and the city. The farmer was consciously happy as he moved +his ponderous body slightly nearer to his companion and tucked her in +with his great hands, a single touch of one of them hurting her thin +frame as if they were made of iron or stiff rope. He thought he was +gentle too--poor man--but long years of manual labor had changed the +natural soft flesh to the consistency of leather, in which immense +muscles and joints seemingly of marble had been imbedded. + +Besides, there was the delicate touch of another hand, as fine, as soft +as a woman's and yet almost as strong as the farmer's, in her mind, +a hand whiter than her own, though somewhat freckled, a hand that had +taper fingers and well-kept nails, a hand that bore an antique seal ring +and a fine pearl, a hand alas that had often retained her own in its +warm clinging pressure, and once--only once, and that was three years +ago--clasped her unresisting waist for a moment in the dark under the +Oak while her sister fumbled at the gate. And just as she cherished +these memories of Mr. Joseph, so did the widowed farmer retain the few +occasions in his mind on which he had met Miss Dexter, spoken with her, +given her a "lift" into town or up the road to the village store, for +this was not the first use she had made of his gallant good nature and +the Kentucky team. + +He looked down at her now as they drove along in silence and noticed her +thin black gown, her short jacket, her bit of black veil drawn over her +bonnet, and her dingy travelling-bag with its tarnished clasp, and he +heaved a sigh. + +Charlotte was a "sizeable woman" thought Farmer Wise "and wants a good +live garment sometimes, to bring her figure out and make more of it and +do justice to it. A shawl now! How much would a good shawl be? I miss +a woman round the place; I wouldn't know what to ask for. I might ha' +stopped nigh the Inn and asked Mrs. Cox." Ay, you might Farmer Wise, and +have done another mischievous thing, upsetting Mrs. Cox for a week as +she waited for a parcel from town and breaking her heart altogether as +day after day followed and no parcel arrived. + +"I ha' never seen the ekil of those Mr. Foxleys yonder," began the +honest farmer as something to start a conversation with. "I ha' never +seen their ekil." + +"Oh!" said Miss Dexter. "Yes? In what way?" + +"So gentle and so funny as they be. Gentlemen both of them with delicate +hands and fine clothes--" + +"Yes, yes," murmured Miss Dexter under her breath, clutching at her bag +and closing her eyes. + +"And not above anybody or anything going. I see the pale one this day, +and pale he is and weak they say, enough to be walked about on the +girl's shoulder--I see him to-day as I passed the Inn, he was on a long +chair out in the bit of paved yard, you know Miss Dexter, and when he +saw me he raises his head and says 'Farmer Wise, is that you?'" May be +you don't remember just how he speaks. He speaks better now nor when he +came, and his brother too. At first It was all in a jumble like one word +run into the other and hard to understand at least for us country folks. +But now 'tis a bit clearer, more as you speak, begging your pardon, +Miss Dexter, for noticing that or anything else that concerns you, Miss +Dexter. And I says, stopping these fellows a bit. "Yes it's me. I'm on +my way to town with nine barrels of apples." + +"How many?" he calls out again. + +"Nine," I replies. + +"Let's taste one," he says. + +"A barrel?" I says, and Milly, the girl, she come oat by the door, with +another quilt to put over him, laughing, and showing her teeth, rare +ones too, they be and says she. "Throw us down one, Farmer Wise," and I +did, for I had a couple in my pocket, and here's the tother, "now Miss +Dexter, if you see your way to eatin' it now in the waggon alongside of +me, or will you wait till we get to the Albion?" Charlotte Dexter put +her hand out mechanically and took the apple, a large red one, from +the farmer who again managed to hurt her as his great wrist touched her +fingers for an instant. He blushed perceptibly and moved a little nearer +still. And how unconscious Charlotte Dexter was of his mere presence, +let alone tender thoughts, except when he hurt her! + +"I have heard this morning, that is I believe everyone has known for +some time, though it is only spoken about generally today, for the +first time, that Mrs. Cox is giving up the Inn. Her niece, the girl +you mention, is going to be married--indeed, it is one of those +gentlemen--the Mr. Foxleys--whom she is to marry, and they will take the +Inn out of Mrs. Cox's hands." + +The farmer was as surprised as she had been. + +"Well," he ejaculated "didn't I say I'd never seen their ekil? Milly's +going to marry one of the Mr. Foxleys? Which--" + +"It is Mr. Joseph," returned Miss Dexter, staring down at the apple in +her lap. "The youngest one, you know. He is a very merry young gentleman +and always has something to say. I daresay it will be a very comfortable +arrangement." + +"But it's a great thing for Milly," said her companion, "it'll be a +great thing for her. She'll live in the tone, no doubt and may be cross +the ocean to see his home and his parents--it'll be a great thing for +Milly. A gentleman born! Ay, ay; ay, ay!" + +"No, no," said Miss Dexter, irritably. "Don't I tell you, Farmer Wise, +that they will live on at the Inn? These young gentlemen like comfort, +like being waited upon. They do this in order to insure--in order +to--oh! it is difficult to explain my meaning, but you must see, Farmer +Wise, that it is not a proper marriage at all, it is a very sad thing +for the girl, I should consider, and some one--some friend should tell +her so. She can never be a lady, and what kind of life will it be for +him, a gentleman born, as you say, when he could have chosen too, +where he liked. My great grandfather, Mr. Wise, was an Admiral, and +my grandfather was a Judge. My father was a member of a respected +profession, although not brought up to it in early life, and _none_ +of my relations, or ancestors _ever_ married out of their own proper +circle, except my poor father. He made a most perverse and foolish +marriage, Farmer Wise, which though only lasting a few years, brought +sorrow and trouble and poverty and oppression to his family." + +"Ay, ay," said the farmer, softly. He was thinking still about those +down-drawn blinds. + +"Ay, ay. You're right in the main, Miss Dexter--yes, you're right in the +main. Now, I thought I'd ask ye--I said to myself this morning, when I +see Miss Dexter the next time, her as is a lady, and no mistake, I'll +ask her--what would you say, or what your sister have said if someone +here right in this village, that is, there in Ipswich, I mean of course, +someone who wanted to just be kind and lend an 'elpin 'and, had asked +ye--or her--say her--had asked her anytime to marry him, startin' +fair, startin' fair, with a year to think on it. And a comfortable 'ome +awaitin' 'er with two 'ired girls to do the work and plenty of hands +on the farm and the best of cheese and butter and the Harmonium in the +parlor and drives to and fro' the Church and behind it all a--solid +man--a solid man--what do ye think she'd 'uv said?" + +Was ever man more in earnest, now that it had suddenly broken from him +after all these years, than honest Farmer Wise? The team jogged on, but +the reins were lying loosely in their owner's hands. + +"I thought I'd ask ye," he repeated looking away from his companion. "I +thought I'd ask ye." + +Miss Dexter had hardly gathered the import of his speech. She looked up +startled. + +"My sister?" she said with increased irritability. "Ask my sister? +What do you mean? I never knew that anybody here, in the village, had +proposed to her, or dared--dared to think of her at all as a possible +mate--wife, whatever it is you mean. Surely you don't mean yourself, +Farmer Wise! It would never enter your head, I am sure, to propose to my +sister!" + +"No it never did," said the farmer quietly. + +"Then it is someone else? Really, you must tell me, if you know anything +about it, Farmer Wise. But I think you are making some mistake, it is +quite impossible that anyone in the village--any native of the village, +or indeed any native of this country should so far forget himself as to +propose to my sister." + +"Of course," said the farmer as quietly, "it is quite impossible. No one +'ud 'av done it. No one did do it, that I know on. But I thought I'd ask +ye. And about yourself, too? There'd be no gettin' ye to forget all--all +that has been and to take up with things as they be, to be makin' a new +start, startin' fair, as I said, startin' fair, both parties agreed to +think a year on it, and one party to save up and buy nothin' till the +year 'd be out and then the other party to give the word for both to +take 'ands and make the start together! For what's past is past, and +what's done is done, and ye can't make this out the old country any more +nor ye can bring back those that are gone, which they wouldn't be, I +'low to say, if they'd stayed behind in it. This" said the farmer, in +a louder firmer voice, indicating with his whip the dreary pine forests +that bordered the road on either side, "isn't the old country. I come +from it myself, and I know it taint. Them rustlin' leaves ain't the old +country, heaps of brown and yella up to your knees after a while, nor +yet this road, nor that sky, nor this waggon, nor them apples, nor them +horses. Nor me myself. I'm no longer old country. I'm fond of it--sho! +I'm fonder of it now than I was forty years ago, when I come away from +it, I'm fonder of it every year that goes by. But it's the New Country +that's made me, that's give me all I have and more than all I want, and +accordin' I'm grateful to it, and wouldn't turn my back on it. No Miss +Dexter I wouldn't, and so I says, to all as come out to it, it's better +to try and forget the past, or at least as much of it as 'll bear +forgetting in order to let you live, and to take up with things as they +be, and not lookin' always to things as they were, and to make the +best of what the New World has to offer to ye And I don't think that in +England--God bless her--to-day, you 'll find a finer team, nor redder +apples, nor an easier going waggon, nor even a prettier sky, than that +there yella light breakin' all over the landscup like!" + +There was perfect silence after that. It had suddenly dawned upon +Charlotte Dexter with accession of disgust and embittered hostility that +the farmer's words related to himself. What new and hateful complication +was this to be reminded by such an ill-timed declaration of the ironical +in her life which had always been near enough to her apprehensions! +Anything and everything but what she wanted, she could have. It had +always been so. A dark frown gathered on her forehead, she clutched her +bag and drew herself away from the side of the honest farmer. + +"I do not know what you are talking about," she cried. "Such words can +have nothing to do with me. I could not disgrace myself and my father's +family by allying myself with anybody out here, least of all, one of the +working classes, or a farmer. You are very inconsiderate, Farmer Wise, +and I must ask you to distinctly understand that even conversation on +such a subject is quite out of the question. I cannot even discuss +it with you or with anyone in your position. I have told you what my +connections are; what my family is, you have now, I hope, some correct +idea, and you will see how utterly impossible it is that I should, even +to better my circumstances which I admit are somewhat precarious, make +such a _mesalliance_--such a mistake, I mean, as you refer to. + +"Well," said the farmer very quietly this time. "You're right in the +main, Miss Dexter, you're right in the main. But I thought I'd ask ye, I +thought I'd ask ye. Far from harm bein' done, there's only good, there's +only good, for now you understand me and I understand _you_ and thank ye +for your confidences and there's an end on it." + +So begun, so ended the honest man's wooing. Did he suffer disappointment +as Miss Dexter's contemptuous eye and her irritated tone showed him--ah! +how plainly--she was forever out of his reach? Was an idol broken, a +dream dissolved, a blossom nipped, or hope murdered, just as much, in +the case of this comfortable placid unimaginative elderly farmer as in +the case of younger, warmer, more impetuous, more idealistic men? If +so, Farmer Wise was as self-contained as the best actor among them and +handed Miss Dexter out at the Albion with as gallant, though cautious +politeness and sat as far away from her at the hotel tea table and met +her in the hall afterwards with as severe an air, as if the situation +were perfectly pleasant and completely ordinary. He asked her when she +would be going back, and learnt that she would pass the night at the +Albion, returning to the village by the Saturday's stage. + +"Then shall I take a seat for ye?" asked the willing farmer. + +"No" said Miss Dexter, who appeared to be in a great hurry, "I can +arrange in the morning, thank you." + +"In any case, ye're sure ye won't want a 'lift' again, Miss Dexter," +said the farmer respectfully, though there might have been the least +tinge of irony in the tone. "I'm not goin' back myself till to morrow." + +"No, thank you," returned Miss Dexter for the last time. + +The Albion was a small hotel or tavern situated just on the outskirts of +the town, which did a flourishing business with the country people. Two +roads, the Ipswich and the Richmond, formed a sort of junction before +its door, one leading into the fine agricultural district or valley +of Richmond, Guernsey and Trenton, and the other following, the dreary +Plains through Ipswich to Orangetown, a thriving little community of +mills and saws and booms and planks picturesquely situated on the Upper +Orange River. + +There was always a knot of farmers round the Albion, all of them English +or Scotch or native Canadians born of British parents. A French-Canadian +would have been hoisted on a table and examined minutely all over, hair, +eye, skin and costume, had one been present. But though the men were +respectable and decent and hard-working and most of them earned a good +income and few of them drank or gambled it away, they were noisy, smoky, +staring fellows for companions and Miss Dexter, having walked some +distance to a shop, made a purchase, and returned to the parlor of the +hotel while it was yet light, uncertain what to do with herself or +where to go to escape the bustle and clatter of tongues. Farmer Wise +was smoking in the bar, she had seen him as she passed in, and the mere +sight of him, with his head up against the counter, and his legs out +on a chair made her shudder. She sat in the parlor listening to the +intolerable noise, heavy delf and cutlery being momentarily banged down +on tables and chairs, an occasional broken plate and whirling pewter mug +or kitchen spoon reaching her ear with more than usual reverberation. +Then would come a volley of laughter, oaths, and bets on next week's +races from the bar, then more breaking of china from the scullery, the +stamping of horses in the stable, then the bar door would be closed and +comparative silence ensue. In one of these intervals, the girl who had +waited at the tea-table appeared in the parlor and inquired of Miss +Dexter if she would like a fire put in the wood stove that stood on a +square of zinc in the middle of the room. It came as a relief from +the nervous broodings that were settling down on her mind occupied in +introspection neither healthy nor cheerful, and she eagerly assented. + +When the fire burned up, she opened the door that she might see the +blaze and spread out her thin hands to it and put her cold feet to its +warmth. Then for the first time she unclasped her bag and taking out her +purchase, looked at it. The shop she had gone into was a druggist's, and +her purchase had been a small bottle of a bluish fluid that she now held +up to the light and looked at long and steadily but with no change in +her countenance. The bar-door opened with a creak and closed with a +bang. She started and replaced the bottle in the bag and put the bag +over her arm as before. For a long time she sat before the fire warming +first one foot, then the other and never looking away from the blaze. +When half-past ten came, so did the girl with a lamp and two damp towels +for Miss Dexter who took them without opening her mouth much to the +astonishment of the girl, who though taciturn herself was well used to +speech and "language" from all she came in contact with, and who was +also struck with the fact that the strange lady had never removed her +bonnet or jacket "since she come in the house." + +She would have had additional ground for surprise had she known that the +strange lady did not remove them even upon reaching her own room, but +lowering the lamp, lay down fully dressed upon the bed still clasping +her small travelling bag in her hands, and slept until seven o'clock +in the morning. She then rose and hastily straightening her attire, +descended to the dining-room, partook of ham and eggs. Upon the close +of this meal, she went up again to the parlor and sat slightly back from +the window that overlooked the main road until twelve o'clock, when she +partook of the dinner served to the travellers at the Albion, including +Farmer Wise who had sold his apples and soon after dinner hitched up +ready to go homewards. After dinner she went up as before to the parlor +and sat there again. Two o'clock came, half past two, three o'clock, and +Miss Dexter began to look along the road in the direction of the town. +Half-past three found her, still looking along the road. Four o'clock +came, half-past four, then five. She grew visibly uneasy, walked to and +fro in the little parlor, sat down again. Half-past five, the clatter +in the kitchen which had been silent for a little while renewed itself. +Six!! The men stumped into their tea, and the girl ascending asked Miss +Dexter if she was coming down to hers. + +"No," said Miss Dexter, "I expect to have a late tea at home, thank you. +And I am just going in a moment or two." + +Ten minutes past six. The late November afternoon had almost entirely +faded, it would soon be dark. A quarter past six and Miss Dexter, +looking continuously out of her window perceived the figure she had +waited for so long at length approaching. Gay, Mr. Joseph, you +have thrown off the fetters of town and work and dull care and +responsibility, and here you are free and untrammelled as the air, +good humored, cheerful, humming your Old Country tunes as usual, brisk, +_debonnair_, untouched by thought of present trouble or evil, unthinking +and unsuspecting! Gay Mr. Joseph, urbane Mr. Joseph, what have you got +in your hand this time? Last time it was a bunch of the red field lily. +Now it is, or it looks like--yes, it is--a genuine florist's bouquet. +Something to open the eyes of the Ipswich villagers. A gorgeous wired +platoon of roses, and smilax tuberose and mignonette--Mr. Joseph, Mr. +Joseph, what does this mean, who is this for? On he came, brisker, more +_debonnair_, more smiling than Miss Dexter had ever seen him in her +life. Her breath came fast as he neared the window. Exchanging a word +with the hostler and a couple of laboring men who stood almost in the +centre of the road Mr. Joseph passed on, looking down with a smile at +the bouquet in his hand. Miss Dexter then arose and quietly settling her +bonnet at a glass walked out of the hotel having paid her small bill at +dinner-time. + +She walked steadily on in the direction of Ipswich in the wake of Mr. +Joseph who did not appear to be walking as fast as usual himself. So by +straining every nerve as we say--in reality, walking as she had never +attempted to and dreamt of walking in her life--she slowly but surely +gained upon the unconscious Mr. Joseph. They were about in the middle of +the plains, that dreary bit of road bordered by pine forests on either +side when Miss Dexter found she could distinguish the _clink, clink_ or +jingle of his watch-chain, a thing of steel links which she knew well by +sight as well as by sound as it struck against the buttons of his coat. +Slowly Miss Dexter gained on him, until it was necessary either to +accost him or pass him. Which did she mean to do? Dark as it was rapidly +growing, Mr. Joseph, in half turning his head to observe something in +the trees or sky, became conscious of a figure close behind him. The +path was narrow, for he had left the middle of the road since passing +the Albion, and he stepped aside with his usual ready politeness to +allow the lady room to go on before him. But in a moment he recognized +Miss Dexter. She waited for him to speak. + +"I--really, why--is it possible it is you, my dear Miss Dexter? I never +knew you took such lonely walks so far from home. You don't mean to say +you've walked out from town?" + +For an answer, Miss Dexter, who had previously unclasped her bag and +taken out the bottle, lifted her right hand and threw the contents over +Mr. Joseph. + +"In the name of God!" shrieked the unfortunate man, warding off as he +imagined a second attack. But Miss Dexter had done her work and stood +rigid, unmovable, stony as marble, the bag fallen at her feet, her hands +fallen straight down at her sides. Mr. Joseph had sunk upon the ground +moaning and writhing, but through all the torture of the terrible pain +he was suffering, he thought of nothing but the inconceivable brutality +of the act itself. Why had she done it? + +"I suppose it is vitriol," he gasped. "Was it an accident--or--did +you--mean--to--do it? How have--I--injured--you? Oh--say--say--" + +He could get no further for a few moments in the appalling consciousness +of that living fire which had burnt into his poor eyes and played round +his poor temples. Otherwise he was not injured, for Miss Dexter's aim +had been a faulty one and nearly all the contents of the bottle had in +reality descended on the ground. + +"Say--say" he went on. "Which it is? My--dear--Miss Dexter--I +am--sorrier for you--than--for--myself, and cannot imagine--oh! Good +God, I shall be blind, blind--ah!!--" + +Charlotte Dexter still stood in the rapidly darkening air, a stem, +rigid, immovable figure. It was too soon for remorse. That would come in +good time. But a certain pity stole over her as she gazed at the huddled +mass on the ground before her, which a short time ago, had been the gay, +laughing, upright Mr. Joseph. + +"Are you suffering very much?" She said at length in her ordinary voice. + +"Good God! How--how--can you ask? Again--tell me--was it--an accident?" + +"No," she replied still in her most ordinary voice. "No. It was no +accident. It _is_ vitriol, and I _did_ mean to throw it." + +"It is horrible," groaned Mr. Joseph, still in agony on the ground where +he had sunk at first. "And you will not--fiend that you appear now +to be--though Heaven knows--I thought you sweet and womanly enough +once--you will not--tell me why! It is infamous!" + +"Yes, it _is_ infamous," returned Charlotte Dexter. "It _is_ horrible, +and I am a fiend. I am not a woman any longer. I once was, as you say, +sweet and womanly enough for--for what? Joseph Foxley. For you to come +to any house and my sister's house, and blast _her_ life and strike +_her_ down as you thought you would strike me, for this and that and for +much more, but not enough for truth and honesty and an offer of marriage +in fair form, not enough for common respect and decent friendship." + +"My dear lady," said Mr. Joseph with great difficulty, "there was no one +I--" + +"And all that time, when I thought you at least free, at least your own +master, at least unbiased and unbound, for unlike a gentleman you never +hinted to me of these--other ties--you were engaged to this miserable +girl, this common drudge, the scullery-maid of a country inn. You, you, +you!" + +"My dear lady," said Mr. Joseph again with greater difficulty than +before, "I--upon my word--I have--I--" + +Charlotte Dexter, suddenly regaining the use of her limbs, bent down +quickly and peered into the poor sightless face. Mr. Joseph had fainted. +She owned no fear yet however, though it was now quite dark, and five +miles lay between them and her own door. Pity was just giving away to +remorse. What if she had killed him? She bent down again but found +that there was no fear of that and even consciousness appeared to be +returning. At this moment the sound of wheels struck her ear. Nearer +and nearer it came and she soon descried a waggon coming along the road +sharply in which sat one man. The rest of the waggon was empty and as it +was proceeding in the direction of the village, into that, she made up +her mind, should Mr. Joseph be put. As it drew near, she stepped out of +the dark shade of the pines and bade the man stop. + +"Whose there!" said he, "What's here? What's the matter? Why, if it +ain't Miss Dexter!" + +"Yes," said she, stooping to assist her unfortunate companion. "How do +you do, Farmer Wise! I--do you know Mr. Foxley--Mr. Joseph Foxley--is +here--can you just see him--if you have a lantern, or, will you help me +to get him into the waggon?" + +Farmer Wise forgot Miss Dexter and her family pride in an instant, +though at first sight the feeling of injury had somewhat revived, and +he made haste to come to her relief. He found Mr. Joseph just coming to +himself. + +"Why, why, what's the matter?" said the Farmer. "It minds me of old +times, this, when highway-men and tramps were a-infestin' the road and +a-lyin' in wait for honest travellers--in the Old Country of course, +Miss Dexter, not here, not here. Yet somethin's been at work here, eh! +Mr. Joseph, or else I'm much mistaken. Here, lend an 'and, Miss Dexter; +now, sir, can you see me?" + +"Not very well," gasped poor Mr. Joseph. "It's dark, I know," said the +farmer, "and I hadn't begun carrying my lantern yet. Never mind Here, +now, place your foot there--are ye hurt anywhere that I may touch +ye--tell me where I hurt ye, if I do--now then, the other foot-- + +"There, now it's done! Miss Dexter, ma'am there's an old blanket at the +back there, lie him on that. Put his head down and let him look straight +up at them stars and he'll soon get himself, I warrant. If I knew where +ye were hurt, perhaps I could bind ye up. There's no wound," anxiously. + +"No," said Mr. Joseph. "Thank you, Farmer Wise. I am--much--better--really. +I was unconscious!" + +"Ay," said the farmer, "A little, and can you stand the joltin' now, are +ye sure? For if ye are, we'll drive on." + +"Stay a moment," said Mr. Joseph. "I had some flowers--a bouquet--in my +hands when I--fell. I can't see--very well--in this light--look for me, +will you!" + +"I do spy somethin' white on yonder ground where you was when I came up. +Maybe it's a pocket-handkerchief, may be it's the flowers you dropped." + +The former sprang down and returned with two articles one of which--the +bouquet he gave to Mr. Joseph, the other, a small bottle--he put in his +own pocket The bouquet was as fresh and untumbled as when it emerged +from the careful florist who had prepared it. Not a single drop of the +fiery liquid had fallen upon it nor scorched its fragrant beauty and it +presently lay upon the face of the suffering man, healing with its cool +moist sweet leaves and petals his poor scarred skin. + +"I won't ask him," thought the farmer, "I won't ask him. But what are +they doin' here together? Well, I won't ask that neither. And why did +not she came out by the stage as she said? I won't ask that neither. +There's three things I needn't go for to enquire into. But a little +general conversation in a nice kind of way, neither spyin' nor lyin' may +do him good and not be altogether despised by the--the other party." He +looked back and could dimly see Mr. Joseph sitting up on the blanket. He +had removed his hat, and his hands were pressed to his head. Charlotte +Dexter was in the furthest corner of the waggon, a dark, stern, ominous +figure. + +"Strange that you and me _are_ goin' home together, Miss Dexter, after +all," said the farmer. + +"Miss Dexter drove in to the Albion alongside of me yesterday, sir, +and I ask her if so be she need a second lift back to-day, and she said +'no.'" + +"Ah!" said Mr. Joseph. "Yesterday, did you say? I was--to have--come +out--yesterday--in answer to my brother's note--but I could not +manage--it. I wish," with a grim attempt at the old humor--"I had, 'pon +my soul I do." + +"Your brother is well, I hope, sir?" said the farmer. "Don't talk too +much, I beg of ye, Mr. Joseph. To see ye with yer hands like that!" + +"It is--better--easier--that way," returned Mr. Joseph. "My brother +is well for him, thank you. You know, he is--not strong +he--is--never--perfectly well." + +"D--" said the farmer to himself. "Of course, of course, I know. I see +him yesterday morning, pale like and weak, but smiling and lookin' happy +enough too, I tell ye." + +"Ah, yes" said Mr. Joseph, again lying down and pressing the flowers to +his hot lips. "I--these flowers--are for him and--her." + +"Her!" said the farmer. + +"Milly, you know. Ah--perhaps you haven't heard. My brother is going +to--marry Milly, Mrs. Cox's niece, you know." + +An absolutely death-like stillness prevailed in the waggon. The Kentucky +team jogged on. The stars shone down on poor Mr. Joseph turning up his +sightless orbs to their beauty and majesty, and on the passion of grief +and remorse that now surged in Miss Dexter's suffering breast. + +"It may be vanity," thought Farmer Wise as the bridge and the river +and Dexter's Oak came in sight one after the other, "it may be vanity, +though I'm too old a man to be much given to that, but I can't help +thinkin' I'm a wiser man than I was yesterday by a good lot. I don't +half know what's happened, but somethin's goin' on, whether it's +understandable or not to me and the likes of me, I don't know as yet, +and I don't think I'll try to find out. If ifs bad it'll come out fast +enough, and if it's good, leavin' it alone maybe will make it a little +better. But here we are," he continued aloud, "at Dexter's Oak. What's +to be done, Miss Dexter, now, and with you, Mr. Joseph? Of course, I'll +take you straight to the Inn--as for Miss Dexter--" + +"I will get out at once," said the unhappy woman. "You are sure you can +take him to the Inn all right and--and--lift--that is--without--" + +"Oh, I guess so," said the farmer, grimly relapsing into an Americanism +that was just beginning to leaven the whole country. "I guess I'll +take care on him, and as for gettin' him out at the Inn, there's plenty +there. Good-night Miss Dexter, take care there!--now you're all right" + +Charlotte Dexter, with a long look at the prostrate form of Mr. Joseph, +leapt from the waggon and sped through the gate up to her desolate +dwelling. + +"Ah!" sighed the farmer to himself, one great long sigh that stirred his +hardy frame to its centre. He never sighed like that again either for +Charlotte Dexter or any other woman. + +The next mile they traversed in silence broken only by occasional moans +from Mr. Joseph which moved the old farmer to wonder and dismay that +almost unnerved him. + +Presently Mr. Joseph murmured some word the farmer did not catch all at +once. + +"Is he out of his mind on top of it all!" he said to himself, and +listened. + +"Farmer Wise," said the same low voice, "are we near the Inn?" + +"Just there, Mr. Joseph." + +"On the little bridge yet?" + +"Just come on it, Mr. Joseph." + +"Ah! Can you--stop your horses?" + +"Certainly. There! Now what is it?" Mr. Joseph sat up. + +"I am in your waggon--the market waggon, Farmer Wise, I think?" + +"Yes, Mr. Joseph. You can't tell where we are, I see, being so much +shook." + +"No. That's not it," said Mr. Joseph. "I--are you on the seat--the front +seat, Farmer Wise?" + +"Yes, Mr. Joseph. You can't make me out by this queer light, and I don't +wonder. The stars is beautiful, but they don't make up for havin' no +moon." + +"No. That's not it either, Farmer Wise. Did you say the stars were +shining? Orion, I suppose, and the Bull and the rest of them! Can't +you--try--like a dear old fellow--can't you--tell what's the matter with +me? You say you are sitting on the front seat, and I--have no doubt but +that you are, but your voice sounds so much further away--so very much +further away than that--and when one--can't--see you, Farmer Wise,--" + +A frightful pause. + +"Can't see me, can't see me! Mr. Joseph, Mr. Joseph! Not blind--God +forgive me for sayin' the word out to ye like that! But I thought it, I +thought it, and so, out it come! But it is'nt that! Ye'll forgive me for +sayin' the word out to ye like that! It isn't that!" + +"I'm afraid it is, Farmer Wise. It can be--nothing--else.' + +"If, as you say, the stars are shining and to be sure they generally are +about--this time--of night, and if, as you say, you are sitting directly +opposite me on the front seat of your waggon, and I have no reason +to doubt it, if this is so, and I--can see neither--these stars +shining--nor you--yourself--dear old fellow--on the seat before me--it +can be, I fear--nothing else." + +"And how--" + +"Ah! I can't--quite remember. Some time, perhaps, I'll tell you +how--shall I go to my brother or--how can I?" + +"Mr. Joseph," entreated the farmer, seizing one of those delicate hands +and patting it as if it had been his own. "Will you come with me? I'll +make you comfortable, and have ye seen to and we'll find out about it +and what can be done, and that'll save your brother, look, and he not +strong! Come, Mr. Joseph! Lie down there as you was, just as ye was--God +forgive me for tellin' you to look up at them stars--and I'll speak a +word for you at the Inn, as we're passing. Won't that do, nor be better +than goin' in like that? Not knowin' either just what is the matter. +Come, Mr. Joseph! I'll drive straight home after that and make ye +comfortable for the night, and there'll be no--womankind, or, or anyone +to disturb ye, just me and the two boys--come, Mr. Joseph!" + +"I am willing enough to go, old fellow," answered Mr. Joseph with a +groan. "Willing enough to go anywhere, but where my brother--my poor +brother--is. Yes, it will be best. Drive on." + +The warm cheery Inn soon appeared in view. The firelight from the +bar and the lamp-light from the other rooms beamed out from the +red-curtained windows. The scrape of a fiddle came from the kitchen. +"Squires," murmured Mr. Joseph, feebly. "He's always at it." The farmer +pulled up the team at the pump corner one instant and looking around +descried not a soul in view. He got down and went to the side door +leading to the bar and opening it put his head in. Mrs. Cox herself was +dispensing early gin and water to three or four indolent but talkative +gentlemen before the fire. But she was not so busy as not to perceive +the farmer. Had she already had that cap on in which bloomed the violet +velvet pansy, Mr. Joseph's whereabouts might have been discovered, for +invariably on those occasions she accompanied the farmer not only to the +door but even to the very feet of the horses as he straightened up one +thing or loosened another and would often joke about the empty waggon or +the purchases made in the town which might happen to fill it. + +But Farmer Wise left her no time even to adjust her head-dress, far from +changing it. + +"Good evening, ma'am," said he, with his head in the door. "No. Don't +trouble about Squires. He's hard at work, I can hear, and besides, I +don't want him. I'm late, and the boys will wait for their supper. I +just have to tell ye that I see Mr. Foxley in town, Mr. Joseph Foxley, +and he says how he can't come out till--say--Monday. He was stuck full +of work--he was indeed--and said positive--he couldn't come. But he +give me this for his brother and for--her," producing the bouquet, which +caused a thrill of amazement and awe to pervade the loungers in the bar. +"For his brother and for--her," said the farmer, taking a long stride +across the little room and giving it to Mrs. Cox. "I congratulate you, +ma'am, I do indeed." + +Before she could well answer, he had shut the door and mounting the +waggon drove away as quickly as he could. He was too full of thoughts +and plans concerning Mr. Joseph to notice that quick as he was, Mrs. +Cox, not waiting this time to change her cap, had come out to the door +and with her hand shading her eyes, was looking wistfully after the +departing team. + + + + +CHAPTER IV. + + +It was as Mr. Joseph had said. His brother, George Albert Dacre Foxley, +of Foxley Manor, Notts, was indeed contemplating marriage with Milly, +niece of Mrs. Cox, landlady of the Ipswich Inn. If it seem strange, +remember that he had passed the meridian of his years, health was gone, +life rapidly passing away and it was impossible now for him to make any +new departure in his life or habits. He had become firmly attached +to Mrs. Cox's comfortable _menage_ and wanted nothing more. Never in +England, even while in the enjoyment of fairly good health and luxurious +surroundings had he ever felt so completely at rest, satisfied with +himself and his small immediate world, every want cared for, every wish +guessed at, and the best of company to his idea--company that called +for nothing but pure naturalness. He could smoke for hours in Mrs. Cox's +kitchen, or in her neat yard or even in the chintz-hung drawing-room +and no one would interrupt him with dissertations on politics, art or +literature. Like all Englishmen of the quiet country-loving stamp, he +cared little about politics except when some general crisis assented +itself, and knew less about art or literature. He thought Wilkie and +Landseer about the summit of the one and Byron the chief modern pillar +of the other. Twenty years ago, Tennyson had not made a very deep +impression on a mind of his calibre. Yet this handsome, quiet, delicate +gentleman when he did choose to talk had such an audience as is not +given to many men, for Mrs. Cox would leave her work (if she dared) and +Milly would listen with her young eyes fastened in a kind of ecstasy +on the dark ones turned to hers, and Squires would come along with his +hands in his trousers pockets and his fiddle under his arm, and Bess +would put her paws upon her master's knees and devour him with her own +dark eyes--a quintette of friends unsurpassed in the world for loyal +attachment and generous devotion. What if what he had to tell was but +some simple story of hunting England, or some bald description of London +life seen under the surveillance of a tutor fifteen or twenty years +previous to the time of narration--he was their oracle, prophet, God, +what you will, and they were his dearest, yes, his very dearest friends. +When Mr. Joseph appeared as one of this happy circle, it became more +boisterous of course though not necessarily any happier, for it +was already as happy as it could be. But the news from town and the +occasional English mail, flowers and a cheap new novel--these were some +of the simple delights that Mr. Joseph used to bring with him. During +the first couple of years, both the brothers would saunter out to the +Miss Dexters' or to the Rectory, Mr. Joseph in particular, never failing +to appear on Saturday nights at choir-practice and Sunday evening +service--but Mr. George gradually discontinued his visits as I have +hinted and towards the fourth year of his stay hardly ever went beyond +the Inn. For at the back the small terraced garden met the orchard, and +the orchard sloping down met a small pebbly brook, and the brook flowing +along in sweet rippling fashion met the most charming of wheat covered +golden meadows in which it was pleasant and good to stroll and which +moreover all belonged to that matchless paragon among landladies, Mrs. +Cox. In those days people grew their own kitchen stuff, and their own +fruit and their own grain, fed their own live stock, made their own +butter and cheese, cured their own hams, laid their own eggs, even +brewed their own beer. Now, everything is different, and let no +confiding Englishman, allured by my tempting picture come out to Canada +today in search of such a Utopia for he will not find it. Moreover all +this pleasant prospect of wood and stream and meadow and orchard lay +well _behind_ the Inn, let it be understood, and it was perfectly +possible for Mr. George Foxley to have all the air, walking and +exploration he desired and even a little shooting and fishing if he +wanted them without, as I have said, going beyond it. When he grew +really weak, he was obliged to give up both the latter occupations of +course, but he still walked or strolled a great deal, generally with +Milly by his side. She would leave anything she was at when he called +her and opening the little gate by the one hawthorn tree leading into +the orchard, see him safe down the slope to the side of the little brook +where she would give him her arm, and thus their walk would commence in +earnest. Four years had brought a great change in Milly. New ideas, new +habits, association with such thorough and high-bred gentleman and +the natural desire to improve and grow worthy of such dearly esteemed +company, had altered her completely. Where before she had been pink, +now she was pale; thin, where she had been plump; her features actually +aquiline from the girlish snub of the rounded contour four years back, +her hair, three shades darker, her dress, almost that of a lady. The +most perfect sympathy appeared to exist, and really did, between these +two strangely met natures. + +One day, they had sat down at the side of the brook as a couple of +children would have done to cast in sticks and leaves and watch them +float by. Sometimes these would get caught in the numberless little +eddies that such a stream possesses and be whirled round and round until +it was necessary to dislodge them and send them on their way after the +others. One fine yellow leaf on this November day attracted Mr. Foxley's +attention particularly, for it was obstinate in returning again and +again to a cosy little bay formed by a couple of large stones. Often +as he poked it out, back it came into the bay and anchored itself +contentedly on the calm water. + +Milly laughed. + +"He has found a haven," said Mr. George. "Yes, without doubt he has +found his haven. What do you think, Milly?" + +"I think so, sir." + +"Don't call me sir, child. What makes you do so?" + +"There is nothing else I can call you, is there,--sir." + +"Ah!" said Mr. Foxley. He lay back at full length on the grass and put +his hands over his eyes. The river rippled on and Milly watched him +anxiously. "Is the leaf there still, Milly?" + +"Yes, sir." + +"Now!" said Mr. Foxley in a warning tone. "I tell you I won't have it." + +"No, sir--I beg your pardon, Mr. George." + +"Nor that either," said Mr. Foxley, slowly rising into a sitting posture +again. He had another poke at the yellow leaf. "Call me Dacre, my child, +will you?" Milly no longer watched him with those loving, anxious, eyes. +She was trembling from head to foot and had she spoken, she must have +wept. Mr. Foxley's voice was of itself enough to make any woman weep, it +was so soft, so tender, so subdued and indrawn. Once more he said, "Call +me Dacre, my child!" That pleading voice, so low, so musical, and that +it should plead to her? They were so close together that he could +feel her tremble. Weak as he was, he was the stronger of the two for +a moment, and turning slightly towards her met her rapturous eyes, and +heard her call him the name he wanted to hear. The same instant they +kissed, a long thrilling dark-enfolding kiss that was the first Milly +had ever known from a man and might have been, for its purity and +restraint, the first also that he had ever given to a woman. + +"Have I found my haven too, like the wise leaf of autumn? Have I! Tell +me, my child, my darling!" + +"O sir, dearest sir--I mean, dear Dacre, it is I who have found mine. If +indeed you care for me, sir!" + +Mr. Foxley laid his head just on her shoulder, then let it slide into +her lap, taking her trembling hands and putting them over his eyes. + +"I do more than care for you, my child. I love you. Stoop and kiss me. +There. Don't take your head away again like that. Leave it. Your face +against mine. Your lips on mine. Is it a haven, child? Truly, yes or +no?" + +"Dear Dacre!" + +"Well!" + +"You know it is. And I have always wanted so much to--to--care for you, +but I did not dare." + +"Dare! There is no dare about it my child. If you will give me your +young life--how old are you now, love?" + +"Nineteen," whispered Milly into his ear. + +"Only nineteen, and such a tall girl, with such long hair--if you will +give it to me and be happy in giving it, child, that must be thought of, +there is no one else--" + +"You know there is not, sir." + +"Then I will do all I can to deserve it. And nobody must call you Milly +any more. You are Mildred now. Miss Mildred if you like and soon, very +soon, to bear another name, mine. It is a good one, child." + +"I am sure of it, dear Dacre, and too good--far too good--for me." + +"Do you know how old I am, my child?" + +"I heard your brother say." + +"And did he dare? What did he say it was, my age?" + +"He said--you were forty-one." + +"Then he was out. It is more than that I am exactly forty-three; I say +exactly, for, Milly, this is my birthday, and--I cannot hope--neither of +as must dare to hope, child--that I shall see many more. You will marry +me whenever I say, my love?" + +The girl bent over him in a passion of weeping. + +"There is nothing I would not do for you, dear sir--" + +"Except call me by my dearly-beloved third name!" + +It began to turn cold as they sat by the stream and Milly or Mildred as +she is henceforth to be called, drying her eyes, fell into a fever over +her lover and besought him to return to the house. + +Standing face to face, he put her arms around his neck. + +"Before we go, dear child, you are sure you love me?" + +"O do not ask me again, dear Dacre!" + +"That is right. And you know how old I am?" + +Another assent. + +"And that you are to marry me whenever I say?" + +"If I can." + +"Of course you can. And that you are to give me all the love you +possibly have to give and more and more. I shall be exacting!" + +"Dear Dacre!" + +"Very well. Remember all those clauses, and now take me back to the +house. And some day, my child, I will tell you all my life and what it +was--or rather who it was--that sent me out of England, dear England--" + +"Ah! you love it still," murmured Mildred, looking at the ground. + +"I shall always love it _now_, since I have found my happiness in +Canada, but once I hated it, Milly, yes, I hated it!" + +So was accomplished the wooing of Mr. George Foxley. He was earnestly +and sincerely in love. The girl had grown up under his eye as it +were and was in fact almost a part of himself already. Marriage would +complete the refining and gilding process. The tones of her voice, +her accent, her pronunciation, her habits of sitting, of standing, of +walking were all more or less unconsciously imitated from him, she had +modelled herself upon him, she was indeed his "child" as he loved to +call her. For a month these two people enjoyed as pure and perfect and +isolated an happiness as can be experienced on earth. Then it became +necessary to inform Mr. Joseph and worthy Mrs. Cox. As if Mr. Joseph and +Mrs. Cox didn't know! There are two things that nothing can hide in +this life. One is, the light in the eyes of a girl who has found herself +loved by the man she adores, and the other is, the unutterable content +in the mien of that man himself. And there is no phase of passion +sweeter, nor purer, nor warmer, nor more satisfying, than that which is +the result of a young girl's affection for a man many years older than +herself. + +As for the telling, Mr. George, though he could talk fast enough and +fluently enough to Mildred, hated much talk or fuss about anything and +so made everything the easier by informing his brother, Mr. Joseph, by +note. A few lines sufficed as preparation for the news and he ended +by requesting him to purchase some small and inexpensive gift as from +himself in appreciation of the occasion. Mr. Joseph with characteristic +good taste and delicate feeling, concluded that flowers, though +perishable, were the most appropriate purchase he could light upon, and +consequently walked out from town a certain Saturday afternoon late in +November with a monster affair in smilax and roses in his hand. When +it was placed, though not by himself, in Mildred's hands she felt a +disappointment she could not altogether conceal. + +"Never mind," said Mr. George at full length on a sofa with Milly beside +him on a chair. He did indeed prove a most exacting lover. For a long +time her share of daily work in the Inn and out of it, had been growing +less and less, until now she hardly did anything at all besides wait on +her master, lover and friend, prepare what he eat, read to him, and +sit by him for hours, never leaving him in the evenings till long after +twelve and then it was understood that in case of night attacks of the +dreadful pleurisy and asthma combined that were slowing killing him, she +would always be at hand to come at the sound of his bell--or indeed his +voice, for Milly, sleeping in the room opposite his own, always left +both doors open and would lie fully dressed on her bed night after +night, listening in the dark, with wide open eyes and strained ears, for +the slightest cough or sigh that came from that worshipped one across +the narrow hall. + +"Never mind," said he on that Saturday night "My brother _is_ busy just +now. Don't you remember, he found it difficult to come out last week. +It's an awful grind for Joseph, poor Joseph! But he enjoys life, I +think; at the present moment I expect he is flirting audaciously in town +with some charming girl. Or some fearfully plain one. You never know who +next, with my brother. He'll turn up on Monday." + +And Mr. Joseph did turn up on Monday. Farmer Wise had fetched some +doctor from Orangetown on Sunday, who after examining his injury, +pronounced it incurable. Mr. Joseph was as stoical as Englishmen are +generally expected to be and saw that it was absolutely imperative to +tell his brother. + +"I brought it on myself" he said to the farmer, "At least I try to +believe I did. By Jove! to think--to think of some men! Well, I _must_ +tell my brother." + +When he did tell him late on Monday night, having been driven over by +Farmer Wise himself, with his poor eyes bandaged and the sturdy farmer's +hand to guide him into the little back parlor where Mr. George and +Mildred sat alone, for Mrs. Cox had been ordered out by that exacting +gentleman as early as eight o'clock. Nothing but the presence of Mildred +herself and the love divine and human that filled Mr. George's breast to +overflowing could have saved him from succumbing to the painful shock. + +"Well, I should think you are cured now, my poor Joseph!" said his +brother presently. + +"Of what, in heaven's name?" said poor Mr. Joseph. "By Jove to think--to +think of some men, George! What had I done, what had I done?" + +"I do think of them," said Mr. Foxley gravely. "I do think of them. +And but for my happiness here," touching Mildred's dress reverently, +"I could wish--" wistfully, "That we had never come here--'twas I who +brought you my poor Joseph, 'twas I, 'twas I." + +"Oh! that's rubbish!" pronounced Mr. Joseph energetically. "The main +point is now, how am I to get my living. God! I am perfectly useless! +They won't take me back in town there." + +"Dear Mr. Joseph," said Mildred, with her eyes shining on the brother of +her lover. "You will live with us of course, with--Dacre, Dacre and me, +and my aunt. We all love you--see," and Milly rose, first pressing Mr. +George's fingers as they touched her dress in passing and giving him a +look which was meant to keep him in order for a few moments, "no one can +nurse you as well as I can--ask Dacre--let me take off that bandage and +put it on again more comfortably for you! Will you, dear Mr. Joseph?" +Mr. Joseph groaned and hid his face against Milly's heaving breast. + +"She is to be your angel as well as mine, perhaps," murmured his +brother. + +"I have always been so active," groaned poor Mr. Joseph, "What is to +become of me? To live here with you would have been beautiful, but +now--the simple thought of existence at all anywhere is unbearable! And +the money--good God, George, how can I Help giving way!" + +Some few other such scenes had naturally to be gone through before any +course could be suggested to Mr. Joseph. Mrs. Cox had been taken into +confidence, and Farmer Wise made to understand that nothing must be said +about the unhappy affair. Mr. Joseph wrote into town explaining in some +way his resignation of the rather important clerkship he had but just +begun to fill creditably, and sending for all his belongings took to +Mrs. Cox's remaining little room under the roof in the character of an +invalid. The secret was admirably kept, even by the doctor who had been +written to and who had seen a similar case some years ago. + +"A jealous devil, I suppose," said he, when he read Mr. George Foxley's +note. + +"Well, he might have come off worse. But I should like to know who the +country lass was that he'd been sparkin', and who revenged herself like +that." + +A few weeks afterwards Mildred was married to George Albert Dacre +Foxley, of Foxley Manor, Notts, by the Rev. Mr. Higgs in the village +church. Her lover looked wonderfully well and strong on the occasion +and was so happy that he was actually mischievously inclined during the +ceremony, nearly causing his bride to laugh out audibly. Handsome and +distinguished and aristocratic a gentleman as he looked, Mildred was not +unworthy of him, as a straighter, firmer, more composed and more smiling +a bride never entered a church. The girl was too happy to know what +nervousness meant nor self-consciousness. She sat with her lover after +he was dressed and had lain down a few moments to rest, until it +was time to start in the carriage which Mr. Rattray had in the most +unexpected manner offered them and which Mr. George accepted with the +easy languid grace that characterized his acceptance of most things in +this world excepting Milly. He had plenty of force and passion and to +spare concerning _that_ gift. Stipulating that "Squires" must sit on +the box seat, he and Milly and Mrs. Cox, an ideal little wedding party, +drove off in actually high glee, laughing and chatting and joking +immoderately to the amazement of the villagers, prominent among whom +were Mrs. Woods and "Woods" himself, rescued in a dazed condition from +the back premises of the "Temperance Hotel" according to popular local +tradition, and Mrs. Lyman, B. Rattray, _nee_ Maria Higgs. Mr. Joseph +alas! could not be present. + +In the year that followed this remarkable marriage, the relative +positions of the Mr. Foxleys underwent a great change. So much love and +so much care lightened the elder brother's existence so materially, +that his health actually improved, and by the end of the sixth month +of marriage he was able to shoot and fish once more, and walk with his +adoring wife without the help of her strong arm and shoulder. Indeed it +was she who about this time began to need his assistance during those +long strolls by the side of the brook or through the tall grain +grown meadows--a matter which astonished them both to the extent of +stupefaction. Mr. George took his trouble to Mrs. Cox. + +"I don't know what you expected, Mr. George, I don't indeed," said she, +secretly amused at his simplicity. "You went and got married, as was +only natural, and now you are frightened at the results, as is only +natural." + +"But, my dear lady," expostulated the perplexed gentleman, "it involves +so many things, all manner of complications. For instance, money. I +shall have--I really believe, my dear good Mrs. Cox--I shall have to +make some money." + +"You!" ejaculated Mrs. Cox. + +"I know. It appears hopeless. I never turned a penny, honest or +otherwise in my life. Joseph you see--ah! poor Joseph!" + +Poor Joseph indeed, darkness for light, solitude for society, enforced +idleness for long-continued habits of activity, who could enjoy life +under these circumstances--and careful of him as Mildred was, and +sympathetic as his brother was, these two were too intensely absorbed +in each other to give him all the amusement and attention he craved. +He grew thin and weak and slightly perverse and seemed to care more for +Mrs. Cox's company than for his brother's. And yet there was nothing +wrong with him except his terrible affliction. Mrs. Cox was sure he +had something on his mind, and one day she ventured to tell him so. He +flushed all over his pale freckled skin, and feeling for her motherly +hands took them in his own. + +"There is," he said. "I wonder no one has ever guessed it. Miss Dexter, +where is she? Does anyone ever see her?" + +"My poor boy, my dear Mr. Joseph," cried Mrs. Cox. "You did not really +care for her, did you? Surely! You did not care for her!" + +"No," said he decidedly. "No, I did not care for her--I didn't, never +could have cared for her as George cares for Mildred, say--but she was +a lady and kind to me, and I liked to go there, and the fact is--I miss +her--and I am so sorry for her! and yet, you know, I am half frightened +of her too and afraid to go out, thinking she may meet me and I wouldn't +see her coming, you know! Yet she wouldn't do it again, I think!" + +"Heaven save us, no, Mr. Joseph! And you so forgiving! Mercy me, and +people say men make all the trouble!" + +"It's half-and-half, Mrs. Cox, dear old soul," muttered Mr. Joseph, +leaning back on his cushions. "I suppose we were both to blame. I can't, +for the life of me, fall to talking of it as a judgment, for before +heaven, I had done nothing. Yet I forgot how lonely she was and how +proud, and I forgot too, that Ellen--that Ellen--" + +"Ay, Mr. Joseph. It was Ellen too. Poor Ellen, that passed away out of +it all!" + +"And she--Miss Dexter--is still here, still living by herself in the +cottage by the oak! I remember so well, Mrs. Cox, the first time my +brother and I ever saw that oak!" + +"I daresay, Mr. Joseph, I daresay. Yes, she is still there, living in +her cottage unloved and unheeded, Mr. Joseph. And may she ever continue +so!" + +"Oh! don't say that, dear old soul! Don't say that! Do you know, I +should like to see her--I mean--meet her once again!" + +Mrs. Cox was certain he was not in "his right head" as she said to +herself. + +"See her again! Meet her, talk to her! The woman who served ye like +this! what can you be thinking of? Let me call your brother. There he is +coming along the road, brown and bonny, with his wife on his arm, bless +them both?" + +"Did you say he was brown, Mrs. Cox? My brother brown! What a change! He +looks so well then, dear old soul!" + +"If you could but see him, Mr. Joseph, you would see how well." + +"Well and brown! And Mildred, she is pale, I suppose, and with her +eyes turned up to his and her lips brushing his shoulder every now and +then--O I can see them--I suppose they go on a worse than ever." + +"Indeed and they do, Mr. Joseph. After, breakfast this morning I sent +them up into the drawing-room to be out of the way of the drover's +meeting to be held in the bar, and when I went up to ask them about the +lunch they would take with them on the river this afternoon I heard no +sound like and just whispered at the door a bit if I might come in. When +I went in, there was your brother standing behind her in a chair, with +all her hair down, and a brush in his hand and his wife fast asleep! +He looked frightened for a minute when he saw me and I besought him to +bring her to, thinking he'd mesmerized her. He'd been brushing it and +playing with it and the morning over warm--she had fallen asleep. And +I left them, Mr. Joseph, I left them, for they love each other so. And +when I think of the honor he has done my girl, and how particular he is +that she shall be called Mrs. Foxley--it--" + +"Well, well, Mrs. Cox, ours is a good name, and I do not think my +brother would have ever allowed any but a good girl to bear it. And if +a girl is lovely and gentle and pure-minded, and innocent, and neat, and +clean, and refined as your niece was, it matters not about her birth. +Birth! O my dear old soul, I am sick of the word! Miss Dexter now, is a +lady, you know." + +"Ay." + +"And I must see her again," enforced Mr. Joseph, brought back to his one +idea. "I must see her again." + +Mrs. Cox communicated this intelligence to her niece, Mrs. Foxley. + +"I think I can understand why," said she, lying back in her husband's +arms one hot summer night under the trees at the back of the blouse. "It +seems a hard wish to understand and a harder one to comply with, but it +may have to be done. Dacre--" + +"What my darling!" + +"When are you going to tell me about your life in England +and--and--about the woman who sent you out of it?" + +"The woman! I never told you about a woman, child!" + +"No. But I guessed. It is sure to have been a woman, Dacre." + +"Well, I don't mind when I tell you. Nothing of all that time is +anything to me now. Shall I tell you now?" + +"If you please, dearest Dacre. For I must be close to you when I listen +to that, and must not have you see me, for I know I shall cry." + +"Dearest child! Well then, it shall be now, for you could scarcely be +closer to me than you are now? And if you cry, as you must try not to +do, you shall be allowed to cry here upon my breast and I will not look. +I can hardly see you as it is, it is so dark. Let me think, how I shall +begin. You know Joseph--our poor Joseph--is my only brother and I never +had any sisters. My father--you know this too--is an English country +gentleman living in one of the most beautiful seats in England. If I +were to describe the old place to you, you would want to go, and I +could not spare you, so I will only say--well, you have seen those +photographs?" + +"Yes, dearest Dacre." + +"They only give you a faint idea of what it is. It is Tudor you know--do +you know what Tudor is, Mrs. Foxley--and all red brick, weathered all +colors, and terraced, with lots of little windows and some big ones with +stained glass in them, and urns on the terrace, and a rookery, and an +old avenue of poplars, haunted too, and so on, and so on--there's no end +to it, Mildred! Yes, it's a fine old place, without doubt Well, that +is where I was born. I don't remember my mother. I wish I did. She died +when Joseph was born, he is just four years younger than I am. Our youth +was passed there--at the Manor, of course, and we had the usual small +college education not extending to a university career that gentleman's +sons have in England, you know. I didn't make many friends at school, +and where we lived, there was no one to visit, and we had very few +relations. It is quite unusual I believe for two boys to grow up as we +did, in comparative isolation. My father was a kind of Dombey--you know +Dombey, Mildred--wrapped up in his old place and the associations of +his youth and in his family pride. The Foxleys are better born I believe +than half of the aristocracy; we go back to the Conquest on my father's +side--a thing which he never permits himself to forget for an instant. +Well, Milly, it was a dull life for two lively, affectionate lads like +Joseph and me, wasn't it, and had it not been for all this, child, +nature, you know, and the trees and the streams and the out-door sports +I love so well, I could never have got on at all. Then when I was +nineteen--just your age, love--came a change. I, being the elder and +heir to the estate was sent off to town--I mean, London, my dear--and +the Continent, with a tutor. Joseph--well, I believe I have never fully +understood what became of Joseph during the four years I was away, but +I suppose he amused himself. He has a knack of doing that I never had, +except when I am in the country. Well, this tutor wasn't a bad sort of +a fellow and at first we got on splendidly, living in town in chambers, +going to the plays and the opera, and dining all over, just wherever +I liked or he knew, and excursions oat of London, you know--oh! jolly +enough for a little while! Then we went across to Paris--" + +"Yes, dearest Dacre?" + +Mr. Foxley stopped a moment to lift his wife's face closer to his own. +He kissed it--a long long kiss that entranced them both to the degree of +forgetting the story. + +"If you would rather not go on--" said Mildred. + +"Oh! I must now. Well, we did Paris, and then the other capitals and +Nice--Nice was just then coming into vogue, and ran down into Italy--I +remember I liked Genoa so much--and then we came back to Paris, for +Harfleur--that was the tutor's name, and it doesn't sound like a real +one, does it--preferred Paris to any other European town and of course +so did I. About this time, his true character began to show itself. He +went out frequently without me, smoked quite freely, would order in +wine and get me to drink with him, and was very much given to calling +me fresh, green, and all that you know. I began to think he was right. I +was past twenty-one, and I had never even had a glimpse into the +inside of life. Women, now and all that kind of thing--I was positively +ignorant of--but to be sure, one quickly learns in Paris." + +For one night, Harfleur asked me in his usual sneering tone how I was +going to spend my evening. + +"I am going out to a charming _soiree_ at the house of Madame de +L'Estarre, the most charming woman in Paris," said he. + +"'Then I shall accompany you,' I said, fired by his insulting tone. And +I went, Mildred. I suppose I was good-looking, eh, my child--and had +sufficient air of distinction about me to impress Madame de L'Estarre, +for she left the crowd of waxed and perfumed Frenchmen and devoted +herself entirely to me. Although she was--beautiful--she was not tall, +and I, standing at her side all that evening, never took my eyes off her +dazzling face and her white uncovered bosom. In a week, my child, I had +learnt to know and love every feature in that dazzling face and began +to dream of the day when I should be allowed to kiss that bosom. Yes, I +certainly loved her." + +"I am sure you loved her, Dacre my darling. And how could she help +loving you, dear, in return?" + +"Oh that is another thing entirely, quite another thing. After that +night, Harfleur showed me more respect than he had done for some time +previously and we began to hit it off again better. I went to her +_hotel_--her house you know, every day. At first she would always +receive me alone, sending anybody away who happened to be there and +refusing to admit anybody who came while we were together.--It is +difficult, even to my wife, to explain what kind of a woman she was. All +that first time, when we would be alone, she would--make love, I suppose +it must be called--with her eyes and her hands, and her very skirts +and her fan, and the cushion, and the footstool. The room was always +beautiful and always dim, and she would greet me with outstretched hands +and a shy smile, making room for me beside her on the sofa--she always +sat on a sofa. We would talk of nothing at all perhaps but look into +each other's eyes, until the force of her look would draw me close, +close to her till we were almost in one another's arms, and I could feel +her breath coming faster every moment when just as I imagined she would +sink upon my shoulder--she would draw herself up with a laugh and push +me away, declaring somebody was coming. Then, if nobody came, she would +go through the same farce again. This would happen perhaps two or three +times a day. In the evening, I was again at her side, night after night +regarding her with a devotion that amazed even my friend Harfleur. + +"She treats you like a dog. It will kill you yet, George. Come away." +But of course I would not go. I accompanied her to the theatre, to the +Bois, to the shops, to church--yes, even to church, Mildred, think of +that--and she was very careful and circumspect and all that. I even +believe as far as direct actions go, she may have been a virtuous woman, +for she certainly, had no other lover when I knew her. She was a widow, +enormously rich and nothing to do. Therefore, I suppose she went in for +the torturing business as a profession. Her Frenchmen did not mind; that +was the secret of her charm with them--so clever, they called her, but +it nearly killed me, her cleverness. I grew pale and worn--sleep--I +never slept. All my life I had lived without natural affection, and +now I was pouring forth upon this woman the love I might have rendered +friends, sister, brother, mother, as well as the passion of a young man. +I say to you now, Mildred, my wife, that the woman who tramples on the +passion of a young man is as bad as the man who slays the innocence of a +young girl. And that's what she did. Finally, when this had lasted for a +year and a half, and Harfleur had gone back to England, one day, when I +was perfectly desperate and could have killed her, Milly, as she lay at +full length on her damned sofa--pardon, my dear, no, don't kiss my hand, +child, don't--dressed in some rose-colored stuff all trailing about +her and her hands clasped under her head, I fell by her on my knees and +besought her to tell me what she meant and if she ever could care for +me. I give you my word, my dear, and with my hand over your innocent +heart, you know I dare not lie--in all that year and a half I had not +even touched her lips. You cannot, happily imagine the torture of such a +position. + +Well, that day, she bent over to me on her side and said "What do you +want, is it to kiss me? Chut! wait for that till we are married." + +"Do you mean to marry me?" I gasped out. "She said 'yes,' Mildred, and +brushed my cheek with her lips. What do you think I did then, Mildred?" + +"How can I tell, dearest Dacre!" + +"I fainted, dearest. Think of it. But I believed her, you see, and the +revulsion was too great. In a moment or two I came to myself with +the sounds of laughter in my ears. I was on her sofa--that damned +sofa--pardon again, my dear--and she was standing with three of her +cursed Frenchmen around her all laughing fit to kill themselves. I +saw through it all in a moment. They had been on the other side of the +curtains. I went straight up to her and said 'Did you say that you were +ready to become my wife?' She only laughed and the men too with her. +Then I struck her--on her white breast, Milly--and struck the three +Frenchmen on the face one after the other. They were so astonished that +not one of them moved, and I parted the curtains, and left the house." + +"Did you never see her again?" + +"Never. I left Paris considerably wiser than I had entered it and +avoided society generally. I had one year's life in London, and was +considered no end of a catch by the mammas, I believe, but you can +imagine I did not easily fall a victim. No. That is all my story, my +dear, all at least that has been unguessed at by you. My health was very +bad at home and beyond my love of sport I cared for nothing. I grew to +hate my life in England, even England, though she had done me no harm. +Finally, I quarrelled with my father who married again, a woman we both +disliked, Joseph and I, and so we turned our backs on the Old World and +came out to Canada and to--you." + +Mildred still lay, crying softly, in her husband's arms. "I had +sometimes dreamt," continued Mr. Foxley, "of meeting some young girl who +could love me and on whose innocence and sweetness I could rest and whom +besides I should really love. It did not dawn upon me when I first saw +you, that _you_ were the one I wanted, for we must confess, dear, that +you were very plump and rather pink and spoke--" + +"Why, Dacre, how can you? I was only fifteen! Cruel!" + +"Yes, I know. And how you changed! Now, you are so different that it is +not the same Mildred at all. Such is the power of a true love, my child, +and we must always be happy,--ours is one of those marriages." + +Theirs was indeed one of those marriages. Mr. Foxley took to farming and +enriched his purse as well as his health. Mr. Joseph had an interview +with Miss Dexter the nature of which I am not going to reveal, but which +resulted in a placid intimacy between the two to the surprise of all +save Milly who always said that "she thought she knew why." Miss Dexter +frequently accompanied blind Mr. Joseph on his lonely walks or would +sit with him when the others were out, as none but he cared to meet her. +Towards his death which occurred in about four years time, she was with +him constantly, and died herself in a fortnight after, having left in +her will, all her maiden belongings to her "good friend, Farmer +Wise." The farmer was not much moved when informed of this fact, so +incomprehensible to the rest of the village. He had always kept the +little bottle with its cruel label, and had always feared and avoided +poor, proud, foolish, wicked Charlotte Dexter since that Saturday night. + +As for Mr. George and his wife, I see a vision of a successful and happy +husband and father in the prime of early old age (which means, that at +fifty-three one is not old with a young wife and three sweet children) +and of Mildred, who is always a little pale, has her eyes constantly +turned up to her husband's with her lips brushing her shoulder every now +and then. + +Still? + +Ay, still and forever. And so ends my sketch of how the Mr. Foxleys +came, stayed and never went away. + + + + + +The Gilded Hammock. + + +Who does not know the beautiful Miss De Grammont? Isabel De Grammont, +who lives by herself and is sole mistress of the brown-stone mansion in +Fifth Avenue, the old family estate on the Hudson, the villa at Cannes, +the first floor of a magnificently decayed palace at Naples, who has +been everywhere, seen everything and--cared for nobody? + +She reclines now in her latest craze--a hammock made of pure gold wire, +fine and strong and dazzling as the late October sun shines upon it +stretched from corner to corner of her regally-furnished drawing-room. +Two gilded tripods securely fastened to the floor hold the ends of the +hammock in which she lies. The rage for yellow holds her as it holds +everyone who loves beauty and light and sunshine. Cushions of yellow +damask support her head, and a yellow tiger-skin is under her feet. +The windows are entirely hidden with thick amber draperies, and her own +attire is a clinging gown of some soft silk of a deep creamy tint that +as she sways to and fro in the hammock is slightly lifted, displaying +a petticoat of darker tint, and Russian slippers of bronzed kid. Amber, +large clear and priceless, gleams in its soft waxy glow in her hair, on +her neck, round her waist, where it clasps a belt of thick gold cloth +and makes a chain for a fan of yellow feathers. + +Because you see, although it is autumn, it is very warm all through Miss +De Grammont's mansion, as she insists on fires, huge bonfires, you may +call them, of wood and peat in every room and on every hearth. Out of +the fires grew the desire for the hammock. + +"Why," says Miss De Grammont, with a faint yawn, "why must I only lie in +a hammock in the Summer, and then, where nobody can see me? I will have +a hammock made for the winter, to lie in and watch my fires by." + +And so she did, for money is law and beauty creates duty, and one day, +when the fashionable stream, the professional cliques and the artistic +hangers-on called upon her "from three to six," they were confronted +by the vision of an exquisitely beautiful woman dressed in faint yellow +with great bunches of primroses in brass bowls from Morocco on a table +by her side, who received them in a "gilded hammock," with her feet on +a tiger-skin, and her chestnut hair catching a brighter tinge from the +flames of her roaring fire, and the sunlight as it came in through the +amber medium of the silken-draped windows. + +The tea was Russian, like the slippers, and the butler who presented +it was a mysterious foreigner who spoke five languages. The guests all +wondered, as people always did, at De Grammont. Nobody knew quite what +she had done with herself since she had been left an orphan at the age +of nineteen. She suddenly shot up into a woman, beautiful, with that +patrician and clear-cut loveliness with yet a touch of the _bohemienne_ +about it which only _les belles Americaines_ know. Then she took unto +herself a maid, two dogs, and three Saratoga trunks and went over to +Europe wandering about everywhere. At Cannes, she met and subjugated +the heir to the crown; of this friendship the tiger-skin remained as a +_souvenir_. The heir to the crown was not generous. Next came various +members of embassies, all proud, all poor, and all frantically in love. +She laid all manner of traps for her lovers and discovered in nearly +every case that these men were after her money. A certain Russian Grand +Duke, from whom had come some superb amber ornaments--he being a man of +more wealth than the others--never forgave her the insult she offered +him. He sent her these ornaments from the same shop in Paris that +he ordered--at the same time--a diamond star for a well-known ballet +dancer, and the two purchases were charged to his account. Through some +stupidity, the star came to her. She ordered her horses and drove the +same day to the jewelers, who was most humble and anxious to retrieve +his error. He showed her the amber. She examined it carefully. "It is +genuine, and very fine," she said gravely. "I have lived in Russia and I +know. I am very fond of amber. I will buy this myself from you, and you +may inform His Highness of the fact." + +The delighted shop-keeper did not ask her very much more than its +genuine value and next day all Paris knew of the transaction and flocked +to the Opera to see her in the ornaments which had cost the Russian +Duke his friendship for the bearer. But though eccentric, impulsive and +domineering, no whisper had ever attached itself to her name. On her +return to her native New York, was she not welcomed, feted, honored, +besieged with invitations everywhere? People felt she was different from +the girl who went away. _She_ had been undecided, emotional, a trifle +vain, self-conscious, guilty of moods--no small offence in society; this +glorious creature was a queen, a goddess, always calm, always serene, +always a trifle bored, always superbly the same. Her house she +re-furnished altogether. The three Saratoga trunks were now represented +by nine or ten English ones, dress baskets, large packing cases, and one +mysterious long box which when opened contained several panels of old +Florentine carved wood-work which interested all New York immensely. +Pictures and tapestries, armor and screens, and a gate of mediaeval +wrought iron were all among her art treasures. The foreign butler was +her _charge d'affaires_, and managed everything most wisely and +even economically. He engaged a few servants in New York, her maid, +housekeeper and the two housemaids she had brought out with her. Her +house was the perfect abode of the most faultless aestheticism. It was +perfection in every detail and in the _ensemble_ which greeted the eye, +the ear, every sense, and all mental endowments, from the vestibule in +marble and rugs to the inner boudoir and sanctum of the mistress of the +house, hung with pale rose and straw-color in mingled folds of stamped +Indian silks, priceless in color and quality. Two Persian cats adorned +the lounge and one of her great dogs--a superb mastiff--occupied the rug +before the door night and day, almost without rest. + +Such were the general surroundings of Isabel de Grammont. Art and +letters, music and general culture were inseparable from the daily life +of such a woman as well as immediate beautiful presences, so that into +this faultless house came everything new that the world offered in +books, magazines, songs and new editions. Thanks to European travel, +there was no language she could not read, no modern work she had not +studied. Also came to her receptions the literary lions of New York. +Aspiring journalists, retiring editors, playrights and composers, a +few actors and crowds of would-be poets flocked to the exquisite +drawing-rooms hung with yellow, wherein the owner of so much +magnificence lounged in her golden hammock. Sonnets were written of +her descriptive of orioles flying in the golden west, and newspaper +paragraphs indited weekly in her praise referred to her as the +"Semiramus of a new and adoring society world." Baskets of flowers, tubs +of flowers, barrels of flowers were sent weekly to her address, and +she was solicited--on charitable, fashionable, religious, communistic, +orthodox and socialistic grounds as lady patroness of this or member of +that and subscriber to the other. In short, she was a success, and as +nothing succeeds like success, we may take it that as the months rolled +on, and the great house still maintained its superb hospitality and Miss +De Grammont still appeared in her sumptuous carriage either smothered +in furs or laces according to the seasons, she still maintained in +like manner her position in society and her right to the homage and +admiration of all classes. + +But this was not the case. Even a worm will turn and public opinion is +very often a little vernacular, let us say. And it happened, that public +opinion in the case of Miss De Grammont, began to turn, to raise itself +up in fact and look a little about it and beyond it as we have all seen +worms do--both in cheeses and out of them--when the fact that she lay +most of the time in a gilded hammock swung in front of her drawing-room +fire was announced from the pulpits of society journals. It may have +been that her friends were devoid of imagination, that they were cold, +prudish, satirical, unpoetical, unaesthetic, anything we like to call +them, that will explain their action in the matter, for they clearly, +one and all, disliked the notion of the hammock. One spoke of it +disparagingly to another, who took it up and abused it to a third, +who described it to a friend who "wrote for the papers." This gifted +gentleman who lodged with a lady of the same temper and edited a fashion +journal, concocted with her help a description of the thing which soon +found its way into his paper and was then copied into hers. The public +grew uneasy. It would swallow any story it was told about the Heir +Apparent, for instance and a Russian Grand Duke--is it not the sublime +prerogative of American women to dally with such small game as those +gentlemen--but it kicked against the probability of such an actual fact +as the hammock already described which seemed too ridiculous a whim +to possess any real existence. However, the tongues of the fashionable +callers, the professional cliques and the artistic hangers-on coincided +in the affair to that extent that soon the existence of the gilded +hammock was established and from that time Miss De Grammonts' popularity +was on the wane. Dowagers looked askance and matrons posed in a +patronizing manner, the flippant correspondents of society journals and +the compilers of sonnets in which that very hammock had been eulogized +and metaphored to distraction now waited upon her, if at all in an +entirely different manner. Strange how all classes began to recall the +many peculiar or unaccountable things she had done, the extraordinary +costumes she had worn, the fact that she lived alone, and the other fact +that she made so few friends. From aspersions cast on her house, her +equipage, her dresses, there came to be made strictures on her private +character, her love affairs, her friends and career in Europe, her +_menage_ at present in New York and the members thereof. Finally public +opinion finding that all this made very little impression outwardly, +upon the regal disdain of Miss De Grammont in her carriage or in her +Opera-stall, however she might writhe and chafe when safely ensconced +within that rose and straw-colored boudoir, made up its mind that the +secret of the whole three volume novel, the key to the entire mystery +lay with the--butler. + +That black-moustached functionary, they whispered, had his mistress in +his power. He had been a courier, and she had fallen in love with him +abroad. Or he had been a well-known conjurer and coerced her through +means little less than infernal to run away with him. He was a +mesmerist, so they said, and could send her into trances at will. Then +he had been the famous Man Milliner of Vienna, whose disappearance one +fine day with the entire trousseau of an Austrian Grand Duchess had been +a nine days' wonder. These dresses she wore, strange mixtures never seen +on earth before of violet and blue, pink and pea-green, rose and lemon, +were the identical ones prepared for the Grand Duchess. Finally, he was +an Italian Prince rescued from a novel of "Ouida's," whom she had found +living in exile, having to suffer punishment for some fiendish crime +perpetrated in the days of his youth. + +When the stories had reached this point, Miss De Grammont, to whom they +were conveyed through papers, notes from "confidential friends," her +maid and others, wrote a letter one day directed to the: + + REV. LUKE FIELDING, + Pastor, Congregational Church, + Phippsville, Vermont. + +A week or ten days after, Miss De Grammont, seated--not, in the gilded +hammock though it still swung gracefully before the glowing fire--but in +the cushions which graced her window looking on the front of the house, +saw a gentleman arrive in a cab. She rose hastily and opened the door +of the room herself for her visitor. This was the Rev. Luke Fielding, +a gentleman of the severest Puritanical cut and a true New Englander +to boot. With his hat in his hand he advanced with an expression on his +face of the deepest amazement and dismay which increased momentarily as +he saw not only the gorgeous coloring and appointments of the room +but the fair figure of its occupant. To be sure, she had with infinite +difficulty selected the plainest dress she could find in her wardrobe to +receive him in, a gown of dark green velvet made very simply, and high +to the throat. But alas! there was no disguising the priceless lace at +her wrists, or the gems that glittered on her firm white hands. + +"My dear cousin!" said the lady, giving him both her hands. + +"My dear cousin Isabel," returned the minister, laying his hat down on +a plush-covered chair on which it looked curiously out of place, and +taking her hands in his. + +"My dear cousin Isabel, after so many years!" + +"It is only eight years, cousin," returned the lady. + +"True," replied the minister gravely. "Yet to one like myself that seems +a long time. You sent for me, cousin." His gaze wandered round the room +and then fastened once more upon Miss De Grammont. + +"Yes," she said faintly. "I could not tell you all in my letter. I +wanted--I want still--somebody's help." + +"And it is very natural you should apply for mine, cousin, I will do +anything I can. I have"--the minister grew sensibly more severe, more +grave--"I have this day, on the train, seen a paper--a new kind of paper +to me, I confess,--a _Society Journal_ it calls itself, in which a name +is mentioned. Is your--trouble--connected with that?" + +Miss De Grammont blushed deeply. "Yes. That is my name. I would not have +troubled you--but I must ask your advice, for you are the only one of +the family, of my mother's family--" Her voice broke. + +"Yes, cousin, you are right." + +The minister rose and stood up before her, a stern though not +unsympathetic figure in his stiff black coat and iron gray hair. "I know +what you are going to ask me to do. You will ask me to see these people, +these editors, reviewers, whatever they are, to talk to them, to impress +upon them what you are and who you are, and who your mother was, and +what is the end of the base man who imagines lies and the end of all the +workers of iniquity. You will ask me to tell them that it is all false, +all abominable intrigue and treachery and I shall demand in your name +and in my own as your only near relative and a minister of the Gospel, +an apology. It is but jealousy, cousin. Forgive me, but you are too +beautiful and too young to live alone in such a house, in such a manner. +You must marry. Or else you must give up such a life. It maketh enemies +within your gates and behold! there shall be no man to say a good thing +of thee!" + +The minister had lifted up his voice as if he had been in the pulpit and +for one instant laid his hand on his cousin's hair. Then he went back to +his seat. + +Miss De Grammont was profoundly moved. Great tears coursed down her +cheeks and until they had stopped she could not trust herself to speak. + +"The paper!" she said dismally. "You have seen a paper, you say, +with--my--my name in it! There is nothing new in that. I have been in +the papers for months past. I am never out of them. And this one says--" + +The minister drew it out of his pocket. + +"That with you, in this house lives, in the character of a butler, +an exiled Italian Prince who committed grave personal and political +offences many years ago and was sent to prison. That you are married to +him. My dear cousin, it is monstrous!" + +Miss De Grammont took out her handkerchief already wet through with her +tears and pressed it to her eyes. + +"It is not monstrous," she said, "but it is most extraordinary. He _is_ +an Italian Prince, and I _am_ married to him." + +To use a hackneyed phrase, the room swam around Mr. Fielding for an +instant When he recovered he could only sit and gaze at the beautiful +woman before him. The details of village life, in Vermont had not +educated him up to exigencies of this sort. A fearful chasm seemed to +have opened under his feet, and he began to comprehend dimly that there +were other lives than his own and that of his estimable but commonplace +wife being daily lived out in this world. + +"Yes," said Miss De Grammont, a little more bravely now that the worst +shock was over. "That is quite true. And the extraordinary part of it is +that they can only have guessed at it; evolved it, as it were from the +depths of their inner consciousness, they can't possible have discovered +it. It isn't known anywhere, save perhaps to one or two in Italy." + +"In Italy," murmured the Rev. Mr. Fielding. "You met him in Italy? And +why keep it secret? My dear cousin, you have made a great mistake. And +all this sad and singular story is true?" + +"Very nearly true. All but the offences. They never happened." + +"Your husband is not a political character then?" + +"Oh! not in the least. He knows nothing of politics. My Jose! he +couldn't hurt anything, moreover!" + +"Jose is a Spanish name, surely," said Mr. Fielding. + +"His mother was a Castilian, fair and proud as only a Castilian can +be. She named him Jose--But he has other names, three, all +Italian--Antonio--" + +"I see," said the minister dryly. "I am sorry that I cannot give you all +the sympathy in this matter that you may desire, but you have entered on +a course of action which is perplexing at least, to say no more. I feel, +my dear cousin, that as a--married woman--your confidences are--ill +placed and I must ask you to withdraw them. You must settle this matter +with your--ahem--husband." Mr. Fielding took up his hat and in another +moment would have been gone forever, but that turning at the door he saw +such intense supplication in his cousin's eyes that his orthodox heart +melted. + +"Forgive me cousin," he said coming back. "There may be still a way +out of it. Will you tell me all?" Miss De Grammont then related her +different heart episodes abroad, entanglements, half-engagements, +desperate flirtations and all the rest of it to this sober, black-coated +gentleman. Such a revelation poured forth in truly feminine style +nearly drove him away the second time, but true to his word, he remained +nevertheless, sitting bolt upright in a padded chair only meant for +lounging. Finally, she told him of her snares to catch lovers and how +one day she was caught herself by the dark-browed, eloquent Prince +Corunna. + +She fell in love herself for the first time in her life, and he with +her, so he declared. But he was miserably poor and with the pride of a +Castilian would not woo her because of her money. She hated it, yet she +could not live without it. + +The minister smiled pityingly. + +However she made him marry her, and then proposed as a test, in which +he joyfully acquiesced, that he should make himself of use to her, be +in fact, her major-domo, steward, butler, amanuensis, anything and +everything. + +"It is most unprecedented," sighed the minister. "That a man with +Castilian blood in his veins--" + +Miss De Grammont interrupted him. "He was happier so, dear cousin. But +I--I grew most unhappy. And since I have been here, I have been very +unhappy still. We are both in a false position and now--thanks to that +unlucky hammock--our secret has become common property." + +"The hammock!" said Mr. Fielding. "What has that got to do with it? It +is a pretty idea." + +"So I think," said Miss De Grammont, delighted beyond measure. Then +she told him about the paragraphs, large and small, the confidential +friends, the small beginnings that had lead insensibly up to the +culminating point--that of scandal. + +"I am being dropped gradually," she said. + +"Of course you are," said the minister. "Of course you are. Soon you +will be--forgive me--a dead letter. There is only one thing to be done +and that I can do at once. A letter must be written to this paper, +stating calmly in as few words as possible that this paragraph is true, +that you _are_ married to Prince--ah--Corunna, that he _is_ a political +offender and for that reason the marriage _was_ kept secret, but that +now of course as informers must already have given the secret away, you +are obliged to endorse it yourself." + +"But Jose is not a political offender! Never did anything wrong in his +life!" + +"Of course not," said the minister. "Some of us others, even clergymen, +are not so fortunate. Now that must be included, else there is no good +reason for having kept your marriage secret. Other explanations will not +be taken. Besides this will entitle you to sympathy at once. Will you +write the letter and I can leave it at the office for you? There is time +for me to do that before my train starts." + +Miss De Grammont wrote her letter as dictated by her cousin. He put it +in his pocket and rose to go. + +"Will you not stay and see my husband?" she said timidly. + +"Thank you, no." returned Mr. Fielding. "I haven't met many foreigners. +I don't think, perhaps, we should get on. Down in Phippsville--well, my +circle is so different from yours, Isabel. It is the fashion I hear to +live abroad now, and desert America--at least to depreciate it, and +not to care about its opinion--but that hasn't spread yet to our little +village. It seems as if it might have been better for instance, had you +stayed in Europe. You see, having married an Italian, all this trouble +would have been avoided--I mean--it could have gone on over there--but +now--well, riches are a snare, my dear cousin, as you have by this time +found. Good-bye, dear cousin, and God be with you." + +When a letter addressed to the editor of the Society Journal appeared +the next day signed Isabel Corunna (nee De Grammont) with its paralysing +statement in a few concise words, New York was startled to its +foundation. Public opinion which for a week had been at the culminating +point of distrust, malevolence and resentment, turned the corner in a +moment and for the moment believed implicitly in the faith of the lady +it had abandoned. The greatest sympathy was shown Madame La Princesse +Corunna, or Princess Corunna, or Miss De Grammont that was, or whatever +her friends chose to call her. The butler disappeared for ever and the +Prince came in. It was a transformation scene equal to Beauty and the +Beast. Dark-browed and eloquent as ever, the Prince was a social success +whenever he chose to be, but as time went on, he and his wife became +more and more absorbed in each other and the world saw little of either +of them. For a time he posed as a political offender which gave his wife +no end of amusement. They were so far reinstated into public favor that +the hammock--source of mingled joy and woe--was again considered as +a thing of beauty and a thing to be imitated. There are a dozen such +hammocks now in New York City. + +But there are still a few ill-natured people, dowagers, matrons, an old +love or two, and a handful of shrivelled spinsters who declare that the +Prince is no Prince at all, but a Pastrycook. + + + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Crowded Out! and Other Sketches, by +Susie F. Harrison + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CROWDED OUT! 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Harrison + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Crowded Out! and Other Sketches + +Author: Susie F. Harrison + + +Release Date: August, 2005 [EBook #8652] +This file was first posted on July 29, 2003 +Last Updated: March 15, 2018 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CROWDED OUT! AND OTHER SKETCHES *** + + + + +Text file produced by Juliet Sutherland, Robert Prince and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team + +HTML file produced by David Widger + + + + +</pre> + + <div style="height: 8em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h1> + CROWDED OUT! + </h1> + <h2> + And Other Sketches, + </h2> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <h2> + By Seranus + </h2> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <div class="middle"> + <p> + The Story of Monsieur, Madame, and the Pea-Green Parrot. The Bishop of + Saskabasquia. “As it was in the Beginning.” A Christmas Sketch. The Idyl + of the Island. The Story of Delle Josephine Boulanger. The Story of + Etienne Chezy d'Alencourt. “Descendez a l'ombre, ma jolie blonde.” The + Prisoner Dubois. How the Mr. Foxleys Came, Stayed, and Never Went Away. + The Gilded Hammock. + </p> + </div> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + <b>CONTENTS</b> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_PREF"> PREFACE. </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0002"> <b>CROWDED OUT.</b> </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0003"> <b>Monsieur, Madame and the Pea-Green Parrot</b> + </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0001"> CHAPTER I. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0002"> CHAPTER II. </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0006"> <b>The Bishop of Saskabasquia.</b> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0003"> CHAPTER I. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0004"> CHAPTER II. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0010"> FINIS. </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0011"> <b>The Idyl Of The Island</b>. </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0012"> <b>The Story of Delle Josephine Boulanger</b> + </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0005"> CHAPTER I. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0006"> CHAPTER II </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0015"> <b>The Story of Etienne Chezy D'Alencourt</b> + </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0007"> CHAPTER I. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0008"> CHAPTER II. </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0018"> <b>Descendez a L'Ombre, ma Jolie Blonde.</b> + </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0019"> <b>The Prisoner Dubois.</b> </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0020"> <b>How the Mr. Foxleys Came, Stayed and Never + Went Away.</b> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0009"> CHAPTER I. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0010"> CHAPTER II. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0011"> CHAPTER III. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0012"> CHAPTER IV. </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0025"> <b>The Gilded Hammock.</b> </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_PREF" id="link2H_PREF"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + PREFACE. + </h2> + <p> + I present these “Sketches” in all proper fear and humility, to my Canadian + public, hoping that the phases of colonial life they endeavor to portray + will be recognized as not altogether unfamiliar. Some of them are true, + others have been written through the medium of Fancy, which can find and + inhabit as large a field in Canada as elsewhere; for, to my mind, there is + no country, no town, no village, as there is no nation, no class of + society, nor individual existence, that has not its own deep and peculiar + significance, its own unique and personal characteristics that distinguish + it from the rest of the world. + </p> + <h3> + SERANUS. + </h3> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0002" id="link2H_4_0002"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Crowded Out. + </h2> + <p> + I am nobody. I am living in a London lodging-house. My room is up three + pair of stairs. I have come to London to sell or to part with in some + manner an opera, a comedy, a volume of verse, songs, sketches, stories. I + compose as well as write. I am ambitious. For the sake of another, one + other, I am ambitious. For myself it does not matter. If nobody will + discover me I must discover myself. I must demand recognition, I must + wrest attention, they are my due. I look from my window over the smoky + roofs of London. What will it do for me, this great cold city? It shall + hear me, it shall pause for a moment, for a day, for a year. I will make + it to listen to me, to look at me. I have left a continent behind, I have + crossed a great water; I have incurred dangers, trials of all kinds; I + have grown pale and thin with labor and the midnight oil; I have starved, + and watched the dawn break starving; I have prayed on my stubborn knees + for death and I have prayed on my stubborn knees for life—all that I + might reach London, London that has killed so many of my brothers, London + the cold, London the blind, London the cruel! I am here at last. I am here + to be tested, to be proved, to be worn proudly, as a favorite and costly + jewel is worn, or to be flung aside scornfully or dropped stealthily to—the + devil! And I love it so this great London! I am ready to swear no one ever + loved it so before! The smokier it is, the dirtier, the dingier, the + better. The oftener it rains the better. The more whimsical it is, the + more fickle, the more credulous, the more self-sufficient, the more + self-existent, the better. Nothing that it can do, nothing that it can be, + can change my love for it, great cruel London! + </p> + <p> + But to be cruel to <i>me</i>, to be fickle to <i>me</i>, to be deaf to <i>me</i>, + to be blind to <i>me</i>! Would I change then? I might. As yet it does not + know me. I pass through its streets, touching here a bit of old black + wall, picking there an ivy leaf, and it knows me not. It is holy ground to + me. It is the mistress whose hand alone I as yet dare to kiss. Some day I + shall possess the whole, and I shall walk with the firm and buoyant tread + of the accepted, delighted lover. Only to-day I am nobody. I am crowded + out. Yet there are moments when the mere joy of being in England, of being + in London, satisfies me. I have seen the sunbeam strike the glory along + the green. I know it is an English sky above me, all change, all + mutability. No steady cloudless sphere of blue but ever-varying glories of + white piled cloud against the gray. Listen to this. I saw a primrose—the + first I had ever seen—in the hedge. They said “Pick it.” But I did + not. I, who had written there years ago,— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + I never pulled a primrose, I, + But could I know that there may lie + E'en now some small or hidden seed, + Within, below, an English mead, + Waiting for sun and rain to make + A flower of it for my poor sake, + I then could wait till winds should tell, + For me there swayed or swung a bell, + Or reared a banner, peered a star, + Or curved a cup in woods afar. +</pre> + <p> + I who had written that, I had found my first primrose and I could not + pluck it. I found it fair be sure. I find all England fair. The shimmering + mist and the tender rain, the red wallflower and the ivy green, the + singing birds and the shallow streams—all the country; the blackened + churches, the grass-grown churchyards, the hum of streets the crowded + omnibus, the gorgeous shops,—all the town. God! do I not love it, my + England? Yet not my England yet. Till she proclaim it herself, I am not + hers. I will make her mine. I will write as no man has ever written about + her, for very love of her. I look out to-night from my narrow window and + think how the moonlight falls on Tintern, on Glastonbury, on Furness. How + it falls on the primrose I would not pluck. How it would like to fall on + the tall blue-bells in the wood. I see the lights of Oxford St. The + omnibuses rattle by, the people are going to see Irving, Wilson Barrett, + Ellen Terry. What line, of mine, what bar, what thought or phrase will + turn the silence into song, the copper into gold?—I come back from + the window and sit at the square centre table. It is rickety and + uncomfortable, useless to write on. I kick it. I would kick anything that + came in my way to-night. I am savage. Outside, a French piano is playing + that infernal waltz. A fair subject for kicking if you will. But, though I + would I cannot. What a room! The fire-place is filled with orange peel and + brown paper, cigar stumps and matches. One blind I pulled down this + morning, the other is crooked. The lamp glass is cracked, my work too. I + dare not look at the wall paper nor the pictures. The carpet I have kicked + into holes. I can see it though I can't feel it, it is so thin. My clothes + are lying all about. The soot of London begrimes every object in the room. + I would buy a pot of musk or a silken scarf if I dared, but how can I? + </p> + <p> + I must get my bread first and live for beauty after. Everything is refused + though, everything sent back or else dropped as it were into some + bottomless pit or gulf. + </p> + <p> + Here is my opera. This is my <i>magnum opus</i>, very dear, very clear, + very well preserved. For it is three years old. I scored it nearly + altogether, by <i>her</i> side, Hortense, my dear love, my northern bird! + You could flush under my gaze, you could kindle at my touch, but you were + not for me, you were not for me!—My head droops down, I could go to + sleep. But I must not waste the time in sleep. I will write another story. + No; I had four returned to-day. Ah! Cruel London! To love you so, only + that I may be spurned and thrust aside, ignored, forgotten. But to-morrow + I will try again. I will take the opera to the theatres, I will see the + managers, I will even tell them about myself and about Hortense—but + it will be hard. They do not know me, they do not know Hortense. They will + laugh, they will say “You fool.” And I shall be helpless, I shall let them + say it. They will never listen to me, though I play my most beautiful + phrase, for I am nobody. And Hortense, the child with the royal air, + Hortense, with her imperial brow and her hair rolled over its cushion, + Hortense, the <i>Châtelaine</i> of <i>Beau Séjour</i>, the delicate, + haughty, pale and impassioned daughter of a noble house, that Hortense, my + Hortense, is nobody! + </p> + <p> + Who in this great London will believe in me, who will care to know about + Hortense or about <i>Beau Séjour</i>? If they ask me, I shall say—oh! + proudly—not in Normandy nor in Alsace, but far away across a great + water dwells such a maiden in such a <i>château</i>. There by the side of + a northern river, ever rippling, ever sparkling in Summer, hard, hard + frozen in winter, stretches a vast estate. I remember its impenetrable + pinewood, its deep ravine; I see the <i>château</i>, long and white and + straggling, with the red tiled towers and the tall French windows; I see + the terrace where the hound must still sleep; I see the square side tower + with the black iron shutters; I see the very window where Hortense has set + her light; I see the floating cribs on the river, I hear the boatmen + singing— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Descendez â l'ombre, + Ma Jolie blonde. +</pre> + <p> + And now I am dreaming surely! This is London, not <i>Beau Séjour</i>, and + Hortense is far away, and it is that cursed fellow in the street I hear! + The morrow comes on quickly. If I were to draw up that crooked blind now I + should see the first streaks of daylight. Who pinned those other curtains + together? That was well done, for I don't want to see the daylight; and it + comes in, you know, Hortense, when you think it is shut out. Somebody + calls it <i>fingers</i>, and that is just what it is, long fingers of + dawn, always pale, always gray and white, stealing in and around my pillow + for me. Never pink, never rosy, mind that; always faint and shadowy and + gray. + </p> + <p> + It was all caste. Caste in London, caste in <i>Le Bos Canada</i>, all the + same. Because she was a <i>St. Hilaire</i>. Her full name—<i>Hortense + Angelique De Repentigny de St. Hilaire</i>—how it grates on me + afresh with its aristocratic plentitude. She is well-born, certainly; + better born than most of these girls I have seen here in London, driving, + walking, riding in the Parks. They wear their hair over cushions too. + Freckled skins, high cheek-bones, square foreheads, spreading eyebrows—they + shouldn't wear it so. It suits Hortense—with her pale patrician + outline and her dark pencilled eyebrows, and her little black ribbon and + amulet around her neck. <i>O, Marie, priey pour nous qui avous recours a + vous</i>! Once I walked out to <i>Beau Séjour</i>. She did not expect me + and I crept through the leafy ravine to the pinewood, then on to the + steps, and so up to the terrace. Through the French window I could see her + seated at the long table opposite Father Couture. She lives alone with the + good Père. She is the last one of the noble line, and he guards her well + and guards her money too. + </p> + <p> + “I do remember that it vill be all for ze Church,” she has said to me. And + the priest has taught her all she knows, how to sew and embroider, and + cook and read, though he never lets her read anything but works on + religion. Religion, always religion! He has brought her up like a nun, + crushed the life out of her. Until I found her out, found my jewel out. It + is Tennyson who says that. But his “Maud” was freer to woo than Hortense, + freer to love and kiss and hold—my God! that night while I watched + them studying and bending over those cursed works on the Martyrs and the + Saints and the Mission houses—I saw him—him—that old + priest—take her in his arms and caress her, drink her breath, feast + on her eyes, her hair, her delicate skin, and I burst in like a young + madman and told Father Conture what I thought. Oh! I was mad! I should + have won her first. I should have worked quietly, cautiously, waiting, + waiting, biding my time. But I could never bide my time. And now she hates + me, Hortense hates me, though she so nearly learned to love me. There + where we used to listen to the magical river songs, we nearly loved, did + we not Hortense? But she was a <i>St. Hilaire</i>, and I—I was + nobody, and I had insulted <i>le bon Pere</i>. Yet if I can go back to her + rich, prosperous, independent—What if that happen? But I begin to + fancy it will never happen. My resolutions, where are they, what comes of + them? Nothing. I have tried everything except the opera. Everything else + has been rejected. For a week I have not gone to bed at all. I wait and + see those ghastly gray fingers smoothing my pillow. I am not wanted. I am + crowded out. My hands tremble and I cannot write. My eyes fail and I + cannot see. To the window! + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + The lights of Oxford St. once more; the glare and the rattle without, the + fever and the ruin, the nerves and the heart within. Poor nerves, poor + heart; it is food you want and wine and rest, and I cannot give them to + you. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + Sing, Hortense, will you? Sit by my side, by our dear river St. Maurice, + the clear, the sparkling. See how the floating cribs sail by, each with + its gleaming lights! It is like Venice I suppose. Shall we see Venice + ever, Hortense, you and I? Sing now for me, + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Descendez à l'ombre, + Ma Jolie blonde. +</pre> + <p> + Only you are <i>petite brune</i>, there is nothing <i>blonde</i> about + you, <i>mignonne</i>, my dear mademoiselle, I should say if I were with + you of course as I used to do. But surely I <i>am</i> with you and those + lights are the floating cribs I see, and your voice it is that sings, and + presently the boatmen hear and they turn and move their hands and join in—Now + all together, + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Descendez à l'ombre, +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + It was like you, Hortense, to come all this way. How did you manage it, + manage to cross that great water all alone? My poor girl did you grow + tired of <i>Le bon Père</i> at last and of the Martyrs and the Saints and + the Jesuit Fathers? But you have got your amulet on still I hope. That is + right, for there is a chance—there is a chance of these things + proving blessings after all to good girls, and you were a good girl + Hortense. You will not mind my calling you Hortense, will you? When we are + in <i>Le Bas Canada</i> again, in your own seignieury, it will be + “Madamoiselle,” I promise you. You say it is a strange pillow, Hortense? + Books, my girl, and manuscripts; hard but not so hard as London stones and + London hearts. Do you know I think I am dying, or else going mad? And no + one will listen even if I cry out. There is too much to listen to already + in England. Think of all the growing green, Hortense, if you can, where + you are, so far away from it all. Where you are it is cold and the snow is + still on the ground and only the little bloodroot is up in the woods. Here + where I am Hortense, where I am going to die, it is warm and green full of + color—oh! Such color! Before I came here, to London you know London + that is going to do so much for me, for us both, I had one day—one + day in the country. There I saw—No! They will not let me tell you, I + knew they would try to prevent me, those long gray fingers stealing in, + stealing in! But I <i>will</i> tell you. Listen, Hortense, please. I saw + the hawthorne, pink and white, the laburnum—yellow—not + fire-color, I shall correct the Laureate there, Hortense, when I am + better, when I—publish!—It is dreadful to be alone in London. + Don't come, Hortense. Stay where you are, even if it is cold and gray and + there is no color. Keep your amulet round your neck, dear!—I count + my pulse beats. It is a bad thing to do. It is broad daylight now and the + fingers have gone. I can write again perhaps.—The pen—The + paper—The ink—God. Hortense! There is no ink left! And my + heart—My heart—Hortense!!! + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Descendez à l'ombre, + Ma Jolie blonde. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0003" id="link2H_4_0003"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Monsieur, Madame and the Pea-Green Parrot + </h2> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0001" id="link2HCH0001"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER I. + </h2> + <p> + I am an Englishman by birth. Having however lived for fourteen years out + in America or rather in Canada, I am only half an Englishman. All the love + for the dear old land which I am now revisiting is still there, deep in my + heart, but from so long a residence in another country certain differences + arise of character, habit and thought, not to be easily shaken off. I was + in the Civil Service in Canada and did very well until I meddled with + literature. Discovering that I had a faculty for verse and story-telling, + I was ambitious and at the same time foolish enough to work so hard at my + new pursuit that I was compelled to “cut” the service, in other words to + resign. Some other Englishman got my post and I found myself, rather + unexpectedly, it is true, free to write to my heart's content. + </p> + <p> + I got off a number of things, poems, sketches, etc., but my great work + turned out to be a comedy. I slaved at this all day and amused myself by + rehearsing it in my lodgings all night. I incurred the odium of the + landlady by coaxing the maid of all work to learn a part and act it with + me. Finally I resolved to take a great step. I would go down to New York + and get my comedy produced. That was exactly five years ago and though the + comedy was <i>not</i> produced, I am still sanguine that it yet may be, + and perhaps not in New York after all, but in a much more important + creative centre. + </p> + <p> + I was at the time of my visit to New York perfectly unacquainted with the + ways of a metropolis, and it was fortunate for me that I possessed one + friend there who if not exactly a friend <i>at court</i> as we say, was in + truth a much more useful person to me, as, having once been young and + inexperienced himself, he knew the ropes well and handled them thoroughly + to his own satisfaction and with an eye to my comfort and safety. + </p> + <p> + In the matter of cheap dives, for instance, he was invaluable. Left to + myself I either drifted to the most expensive place, for a meal short + perhaps of Delmonicos, or else to a shabby and altogether-to-be-repudiated + den, where the meat would be rags as well as the pudding. But under his + guidance we invariably turned up in some clean, bright, cheap and + wholesome “oysterbar” or coffee room round the corner or up a lane, and + were as happy as kings over our <i>lager beer</i>. + </p> + <p> + One day De Kock came to me (he is a grand-nephew or something, I believe, + of the great Frenchman) and said, with his knowing air, + </p> + <p> + “You will please put on your best coat, your tall hat and a pair of + gloves, for we are going to <i>dine</i> to-night.” + </p> + <p> + “Have we not dined once to-day!” + </p> + <p> + “Pish! Pshaw! You have had a soup, a mutton-chop, a triangle of pie, a + lager beer, but you have not dined. You are not starving, and yet you + have, from my present point of view, eaten nothing the whole of this day. + <i>Mon cher</i>, it is necessary that you should dine for once in your + life. <i>Allons</i>! We go to Giuseppe, Giuseppe Martinetti with the pale + wife and the pea-green parrot—<i>allons, allons</i>!” To + Martinetti's accordingly we went. I don't know what the dinner cost. It + was dearer, certainly, than it would have been in London, but it was quite + as good. We sat at a table formed for holding four at an open window, + which, filled with exotics, overlooked Union Square, lighted by hundreds + of incandescent lamps. The room contained about twenty of these small + tables, and was, I suppose, very much like other rooms of its kind to <i>habitués</i> + of such places, but it was all new to me, and I stared and wondered + accordingly. The waiters seemed to be all foreigners, De Kock addressing + them in a mythical but magical language of his own. The tables were all + full, and the people at them were mostly foreigners as well. + </p> + <p> + “The Leicester Square of New York,” remarked De Kock, as he helped me to + the delicious Chiante wine out of a basket-covered bottle into a dainty + glass. The soup was excellent, I remember. So was the macaroni, served in + the best Italian method. I wondered to see De Kock manipulate it in + finished style, winding yards of it around his fork, and swallowing it + duly without any apparent effort. I cut mine at that time, although I have + learned better now. I recollect the asparagus, too: served by itself on a + great flat dish, and shining pale and green through the clear golden sauce + that was poured over it. I was just finishing my first luscious, liquid + stalk, and indulging in anticipations of my second, when the highest, the + shrillest, the most piercing, and most unearthly voice I ever heard, + shouted out— + </p> + <p> + “<i>And for goodness sake don't say I told you</i>!” + </p> + <p> + It was electrifying, at least to me. I dropped my half eaten asparagus + stalk and fork at the same time, and looked up to see my companion quietly + going on as before. One or two others had stopped eating too, but the + majority appeared quite unruffled. I concluded that it was the parrot to + which my friend had referred. + </p> + <p> + “The last comic song,” said the imperturbable De Kock. + </p> + <p> + “But where is the beast!” I inquired. “It seemed to be over my head.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! Not so near as that. But take my advice and don't call it a beast, + although it is a nuisance undoubtedly. Besides, its master is not very far + away from your elbow.” + </p> + <p> + “What of that?” said I, still injured, though in a lower tone. + </p> + <p> + “What of that? Ah! You shall see. Look now! This short, stout person with + the diamond pin and the expansive shirt front is Giuseppe. Ah, he sees me! + Good evening, Giuseppe!” + </p> + <p> + “Good evening, Monsieur, good evening, good evening! De friend not like de + <i>parrot</i>, eh?” + </p> + <p> + The man was smiling at me with his hands crossed behind him. An Italian + Jew I dubbed him immediately. + </p> + <p> + “On the contrary, he admires it very much,” said De Kock. + </p> + <p> + Following their eyes presently I saw the cage hanging from the centre of + the room, and in it a parrot as nearly pea-green in hue as it is possible + for a parrot to be. + </p> + <p> + “Tell my friend her name, Giuseppe,” said De Kock, beginning on some more + asparagus. + </p> + <p> + Giuseppe stood in his patronizing way—quite the <i>grand seigneur</i>—with + the light falling on his solitaire, making it so brilliant that it + fascinated and at the same time fatigued my eyes. + </p> + <p> + “The name of my parrot? Monsieur De Kock, he know that well. It is + Félicité—you catch—Fé-li-ci-té. It was the name of my wife.” + </p> + <p> + Then his wife was dead. De Kock must have made a mistake. + </p> + <p> + “It is an unusual name for a bird, is not it?” said I. + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur is right. Not often—not often—you meet with a bird + that name. My first wife—my <i>first</i> wife, gentlemen, she was + English. <i>You</i> are English—ah. Yes. So was she. The English are + like this.” Giuseppe took a bottle out of the cruet-stand and set it on + the table in front of him. He went on, “When an Englishman an Englishwoman + argue, they say”—here he took the bottle up very slowly and gingerly + and altered his voice to a mincing and conventional tone—“Is it oil + or is it vinegare? Did you not say that it was vinegare? I thought that it + was oil Oh! Now I see that it is vinegare.” + </p> + <p> + “Bravo!” exclaimed De Kock. “And so you did not get on with the + Englishwoman then I suppose, Giuseppe, and took Madame the next time?” We + were both laughing heartily at the man's mimicry when once again the + parrot shrieked. “But for goodness sake don't say I told you!” Giuseppe + walked off to speak to it and my friend and I were left alone. + </p> + <p> + “Was Félcité the name of his first or second wife!” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “Of his second, of course. Didn't you hear him say the first was an + Englishwoman? The second is a tall, rather good-looking pale Frenchwoman. + You may see her to-night, and on the other hand you may not, she doesn't + often appear in here. I wish she did, I am rather fond of her myself, + which is more than her husband is. It's pretty well known that Mr. and + Mrs. Joseph do <i>not</i> get on comfortably. In fact, he hates her, or + rather ignores her, while she doats upon him and is tremendously jealous + of the parrot.” + </p> + <p> + “What, that green thing?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, its a lovely parrot, you must know, and the moment it came into his + possession—he has had it about three years—he seemed to + transfer whatever affection he had for his wife to that creature, with a + great deal beside. Why, he hugs it, and kisses it, and mows over it—look + at him now!” + </p> + <p> + Sure, enough, there was Martinetti with the bird on his finger, kissing + it, and otherwise making a fool of himself. He finished by actually + putting it away inside his coat in a kind of breast pocket, I should + imagine. + </p> + <p> + “All this is good for business, perhaps,” I said. + </p> + <p> + “What, the parrot and so on? Oh, yes I daresay, that has something to do + with it. Still they are a queer couple. I come here mostly on account of + this Chiante wine; you can't get it so good in many places in New York, + and besides I confess Monsieur and his wife interest me somewhat. And the + people one see here are immensely funny. That is your English expression, + isn't it? There are three actresses over there at that table with <i>amis + intimes</i>; they are 'restin' now, and can cut about and dine out as much + as they please. There is a French dressmaker who lives on the floor above + and is to be found here every day. She is superbly built and is hopelessly + ugly, isn't she? There is young Lord Gurgoyle, an Englishman like + yourself, you see—what the devil is he staring at like that?” + </p> + <p> + From behind a <i>portière</i> which fell across the end of the room came a + woman, tall, pale, and with a peculiar air of distinction about her. + Perhaps it was her very unusual pallor which so distinguished her for + there was nothing absolutely fine or handsome about the countenance. It + was a weak face I thought, with an ugly red mark over the upper lip, and + had she not been so very pale and so exceptionally well-dressed I should + not have looked at her twice. She wore a gown of black silk, dead-black, + lustrous, and fitting her slender figure to perfection. It was cut square + and low in the front and fell away in long folds upon the floor at the + back. What an apparition she made in the midst of this noisy crowd, + smoking, chatting, swearing, laughing! Especially so when I noticed that + as she walked very slowly down between the tables, her lips were moving + nervously and her hands clutching at her beautiful dress. As for her eyes, + they were everywhere in an instant. + </p> + <p> + “'Tis Félicité. You are fortunate,” murmured De Kock. “And she is a little + worse than usual.” + </p> + <p> + “What is it?” I demanded. “Drink?” “Hush-sh-sh! <i>Mon cher</i>, you are + stupid. It is jealousy, jealousy, my friend, with perhaps an occasional + over-dose of chloral. Chloral is the favorite prescription now-a-days, you + must remember that. But jealousy will do, jealousy will do. It will + accomplish a great deal, will jealousy; will destroy more, mark that! I + hope she will be quiet to-night for your sake.” + </p> + <p> + “Is she violent?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “Poor thing, yes. When she finds him now with that creature inside his + coat; she will wring her hands and denounce him and threaten to kill it—I + wonder she doesn't—then her husband will march her off behind the + curtain and he will make love to the parrot again.” Precisely what + happened. The lady soon found her husband, raised her hands tragically and + broke out into excited French that was liberally sprinkled with oaths both + English and French. The mania was asserting itself, the propensity + overcoming her. It was a sad and at the same time an amusing scene, for + one could not help smiling at Giuseppe's fat unconcern as he kept his wife + off at arms' length, while all the time the parrot inside his coat was + shrieking in muffled tones “And for goodness sake don't say I told you!” + </p> + <p> + Finally Madame succumbed and was taken behind the curtain in a dishevelled + and hysterical condition which increased De Kock's pity for her. We paid + the waiter—or rather De Kock did—and left, not seeing Giuseppe + again to speak to, though he came in and removed the parrot, cage and all. + </p> + <p> + It was a lovely night outside, and I suggested sitting for a time in Union + Square. Finding an unoccupied bench, we each made ourselves happy with a + good cigar and watched the exquisite shadows of the trees above as thrown + by the electric light on the pavement. + </p> + <p> + “Wonderful effect!” remarked my friends. “How did you enjoy your dinner? + That was a dinner, eh, and no mistake; rather have had it without the + 'episode'? Oh! I don't know; you literary fellows must come in for that + sort of thing as well as the rest of the world; I should think it would + just suit you. Put them—the three of them—Monsieur, Madame and + the Pea-Green Parrot—into a book, or better still, on the stage. + There's your title ready for you too.” + </p> + <p> + I was just thinking of the same thing. + </p> + <p> + “They are undoubtedly originals, both of them—all three,” said I, + “but as far as I have seen them, there is hardly enough to go upon.” + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean by 'enough'?” + </p> + <p> + “I mean, for one thing, we do not understand the woman's mental and moral + condition sufficiently to make a study of her. You say it is jealousy, and + at the same time the use of chloral. That would have to be understood more + clearly. Then, one would like something to—” + </p> + <p> + “Go on,” said my friend. “To—” + </p> + <p> + “Happen,” said I, lighting a second cigar. + </p> + <p> + Just then a couple of boys ran across the square. One of them stumbled + over my feet, picked himself up quickly and ran on again. Two or three + people now came, all running. De Kock jumped up. + </p> + <p> + “Something is happening,” he said, “and with a vengeance too I fancy. + Hark!” + </p> + <p> + The people now came fast and furious through the square, increasing in + numbers every moment, but through the bustle and hurry and clatter of + tongues, we could hear a woman's voice screaming in evident distress. + Mingled with it was another sound which may have mystified the general + crowd, but which De Kock and I could easily place. + </p> + <p> + “It is the parrot!” I exclaimed, as we started to run. + </p> + <p> + “You have your wish, <i>mon cher</i>, is it not so? But take it not so + fast; we will be there in time. <i>Ciel</i>! What a row!” + </p> + <p> + The steps leading up to the restaurant were thronged with people, + including two or three policemen. The dining-room was ablaze with light, + and still full of visitors, most of whom, however, were moving about in a + state of agitation. The upper windows were also lighted and wide open. The + screaming suddenly ceased, but not the parrot. + </p> + <p> + “For goodness sake don't say I told you!” It went on, louder than ever, + over and over again. + </p> + <p> + “Damn the bird!” exclaimed De Kock. “Policeman excuse me, but I am rather + at home here. Let me go up, will you?” + </p> + <p> + “It looks bad, sir. I'd better keep behind.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh. It isn't murder or anything of that sort. I know them, pretty couple, + they are!” + </p> + <p> + The next moment we were in a kind of sitting room over the restaurant + proper. Madame Martinetti lay as if exhausted on a sofa while the highly + excited parrot sang and screamed and tore at its cage as if for life. + Giuseppe was nowhere visible. “Now then where's the other?” demanded the + policeman who had just entered behind us, “There's always two at this + business. Show him up, now.” But Madame at first would deign no + explanation. Presently on the entry of policeman No. 2 she admitted there + had been a quarrel. Yes, she had quarrelled with her dear Giuseppe, (the + officers grinned) and had driven him away. Yes, he had gone—gone + forever, he had said so, never to come back, never, never! + </p> + <p> + “And leave this fine business to you, eh? No fear of that. I guess Mr. + Martinetti'll turn up all right in the morning, however, let us make a + search, Joe.” But Giuseppe was not found; there were no traces of a + struggle, and the policemen having done all they could retired. My friend + and I, by what right I know not were the last to leave the room. De Kock + stood for some moments looking out of the window. I approached the parrot + who was still screaming. + </p> + <p> + “If throwing a cloth over your head would stop you, I'd do it, my dear,” + said I. To my surprise, it ceased its noise directly, and became perfectly + quiet. Madame Martinetti looked around with a contemptuous smile. + </p> + <p> + “You have the secret as well,” said she. The bird turned to her and then + returned to me. I became quite interested in it. “Pretty Poll, pretty + bird; would you like a cracker?” + </p> + <p> + De Kock laughed softly at the window. “A cracker to such a bird as that! + Ask it another.” I actually, though with a timid air, opened the door of + the cage and invited Polly to perch on my finger. She came, looking at me + intensely all the while. I petted her little, which she took resignedly + and with a faint show of wonder, then in answer to De Kock's summons put + her back in the cage. + </p> + <p> + “I have the honour to wish madame a <i>bonsoir</i>,” said he, but the lady + was still sulky and vouchsafed no answer. + </p> + <p> + We were soon out in the street. + </p> + <p> + “Do you know,” said De Kock slowly, lighting a cigar and looking up at the + house, “Do you know, I thought something had happened.” + </p> + <p> + “And don't you now.” + </p> + <p> + “I am not sure,” answered my friend. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0002" id="link2HCH0002"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER II. + </h2> + <p> + We were pardonably curious to see the papers next morning. The affair was + dismissed in three lines, and although as De Kock swore, the case was one + for Gaboriau, it certainly was not our business to look into it and in + fact in a week's time I was back in Canada, and he up to his eyes in + commercial pursuits. The main point remained clear, however, that + Martinetti did <i>not</i> come back, nor was he found, or traced or ever + heard of again. Somebody took the business out of hand, as they say, and + De Kock would occasionally write a P. S. to his letters like this—“Dined + at poor Martinetti's, Chiante as usual. Ever yours.” Or it would be—“Drank + to the production of your last new comedy at Martinetti's.” Once he stated + that shortly after that memorable night Madame disappeared also, taking + the parrot along. “I begin to think they are a pair of deep ones and up to + some big game” he wrote. For myself, I never entirely forgot the + circumstance, although it was but once vividly recalled to my mind and + that was in a theatre in Montreal. An American company from one of the New + York theatres was performing some farcical comedy or other in which + occurred the comic song, admirably sung and acted by Miss Kate Castleton, + “For goodness sake don't say I told you!” The reminiscences forced upon me + quite spoiled my enjoyment; I could see that pale, nervous woman, hear her + screams, and hear too the fearful voice of the poor parrot. Where is it + now, thought I? That same winter I was much occupied in making studies of + the different classes of people among the French-Canadians. The latter + turn up everywhere in Montreal, and have a distinct “local color” about + them which I was curious to get and hope to preserve for use some future + day. I went everywhere and talked to everybody who might be of use to me; + cabmen, porters, fruit dealers and tobacconists. I found much to interest + me in the various Catholic institutions, and I was above all very fond of + visiting the large, ugly gray building with the air of a penitentiary + about it called the Grey Nunnery. Going through its corridors one day I + took a wrong turning and found I was among some at least quasi-private + rooms. The doors being open I saw that there were flowers, books, a warm + rug on the floor of one and a mirror on the wall of another. The third I + ventured to step inside of, for a really beautiful Madonna and child + confronted me at the door. The next moment I saw what I had not expected + to see—a parrot in a cage suspended from the window! I made quite + sure that it was not <i>the</i> parrot before I went up to it. It was + asleep and appeared to be all over of a dull grey color, to match the + Nuns, one might have said. I stood for quite a little while regarding it. + Suddenly it stirred, shook itself, awoke and seeing me, immediately broke + out into frantic shrieks to the old refrain “And for goodness sake don't + say I told you.” + </p> + <p> + So it was the parrot after all! Of that I felt sure, despite the changed + color, not only because of the same words being repeated—two birds + might easily learn the same song, but because of the bird's manner. For I + felt certain that the thing knew me, recognized me, as we say of human + beings or of dogs and horses. I felt an extraordinary sensation coming + over me and sat down for a moment. I seemed literally to be in the + presence of something incomprehensible as I watched the poor excited bird + beating about and singing in that way. The words of the song became + painfully and awfully significant—“for goodness sake don't say I + told you!” They were an appeal to my pity, to my sense of honor, to my + power of secrecy, for I felt convinced that the bird had seen something—in + fact that, to use De Kock's convenient if ambiguous phrase, <i>something + had happened</i>! Then to think of its recognizing me too, after so long + an interval! What an extraordinary thing to do! But I remembered, and hope + I shall never forget, how exceeding small do the mills of the gods grind + for poor humanity. I would have examined the creature at once more closely + had not two of the nuns appeared with pious hands lifted in horror at the + noise. They knew me slightly but affected displeasure at the present + moment. + </p> + <p> + “Who owns this bird?” said I. It was still screaming. + </p> + <p> + “The good Sister Félicité. It is her room.” + </p> + <p> + “Can I see her?” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! <i>non</i>. She is ill, so very ill. She will not live long, <i>cette + pauvre soeur</i>!” + </p> + <p> + I reflected. “Will you give her this paper without fail when I have + written upon it what I wish?” + </p> + <p> + “<i>Mais oui, Monsieur</i>!” + </p> + <p> + In the presence of the two holy women standing with their hands devoutly + crossed, and of the parrot whom I silenced as well as I could, and in + truth I appeared to have some influence over the creature, I wrote the + following upon a leaf torn out of my scratch-book: “To the Soeur Félicité. + A gentleman who, if he has not made a great mistake, saw you once when you + were Mdme. Martinetti, asks you now if in what may be your last moments, + you have anything to tell, anything to declare, or anybody to pardon. He + would also ask—what <i>was done to the parrot</i>? He, with his + friend M. De Kock, were at your house in New York the night your husband + disappeared.” + </p> + <p> + “Give her that,” said I to the waiting sister, “and I will come to see how + she is to-morrow.” + </p> + <p> + That night, however, she died, and when I reached the nunnery next day it + was only to be told that she had read my note and with infinite difficulty + written an answer to it. + </p> + <p> + “I am sorry I should have perhaps hastened her end,” said I. “Before you + give it to me, will you permit me to see her?” + </p> + <p> + “<i>Mais oui, Monsieur</i>, if monsieur will come this way.” + </p> + <p> + Until I gazed upon the dead I did not feel quite sure of the identity of + this pious Sister of Charity. But I only needed to look once upon the + ghastly pallor, the ugly lip mark and the long slender figure on the bed + before me to recognize her who had once been Mdme. Martinetti. + </p> + <p> + “And now for the paper,” I said. + </p> + <p> + “It will be in the room that was hers, if monsieur will accompany.” We + walked along several corridors till we reached the room in which hung the + parrot, I quite expected it to fly at me again and try to get rid of its + miserable secret But no! It sat on its stick, perfectly quiet and + rational. + </p> + <p> + “I cannot find dat paper, it is very strange!” muttered the good sister, + turning everything over and over. A light wind playing about the room had + perhaps blown it into some corner. I assisted her in the search. + </p> + <p> + “It surely was in an envelope?” I said to the innocent woman. + </p> + <p> + “Yes monsieur, yes, and with a seal, for I got the <i>cire</i>—you + call it <i>wax</i>—myself and held it for her, <i>la bonne soeur</i>.” + </p> + <p> + “It is not always wise to leave such letters about,” I put in as meekly as + I could “Where was it you saw it last?” + </p> + <p> + “On dees little table, monsieur.” + </p> + <p> + Now, “dees little table” was between the two windows, and not far, + consequently from the parrot's cage. My eye travelled from the table to + the cage as a matter of necessity, and I saw that the bottom of it was + strewn with something white—like very, very tiny scraps of paper. “I + think you need not look any further,” said I. “Polly, you either are very + clever, or else you are a lunatic and a fool. Which is it?” + </p> + <p> + But I never found out The parrot had got the letter by some means or other + and so effectually torn, bitten and made away with it that nothing + remained of it for identification except the wax, which it did not touch + and left absolutely whole. The secret which had been the parrot's all + along belonged to the parrot still, and after having devoured it in that + fashion it became satisfied, and never—at least, as far as I am + aware—reverted morbidly to the comic refrain which has but one + significance for me. + </p> + <p> + I took the bird and kept it. I have it now with me. It has been examined + hundreds of times; for a long time I was anxious to know the secret of its + changed color, but I have never deciphered it. It is healthy, in good + condition, sweet-tempered and very fond of me. It does not talk much, but + its talk is innocent and rational. No morbid symptoms have ever appeared + in it since I took it from the nunnery in Montreal. Its plumage is soft + and thick, and perfectly, entirely gray. My own impression is that it was + naturally a gray parrot and had at that time of my sojourn in New York, + either been dyed or painted that peculiar pea-green which so distinguished + it then. I wrote to De Kock before leaving for England and told him + something of the story. I have seen the last of Madame; in all probability + I shall see the last of the Pea-Green Parrot, and I cannot help wondering + when I enter a café or ride on an omnibus whether I shall ever run across + Giuseppe Martinetti in the flesh, or whether the last of him was seen in + truth, five years ago. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0006" id="link2H_4_0006"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + The Bishop of Saskabasquia. + </h2> + <p> + I have not a story, properly speaking, to tell about him. He, my Bishop, + is quite unconscious that I am writing about him, and would, I daresay, be + quite astonished if he knew that I could find anything that relates to him + to write about. But I will tell you just how I came to do so. I went to + see the “Private Secretary” some months ago. I had never been a great + admirer of clergymen as a sex (vide Frenchman's classification), and I + thoroughly enjoyed the capital performance of so clever a play. Here, + thought I, is a genuine and perfectly fair, though doubtless exaggerated, + portrait of the young and helpless curate. I quite lived on that play. I + used to go about, like many another delighted playgoer, I expect, quoting + the better bits in it, and they are many, and often laughing to himself at + its admirable caricature. However, to go on with what I am going to tell + you, about two months after I had seen the “Private Secretary,” I had + occasion to undertake a sea voyage. I had to go out on business to Canada, + and embarked one fine Thursday at Liverpool. One of the first things you + do on board an ocean steamer is to find your allotted place at table, and + the names, etc, of your companions. I soon found mine, and discovered with + a pang that I was six seats from the Captain at the side, between a lady + and her daughter I had already met at the North-Western Hotel and did not + like, and opposite to the Bishop of Saskabasquia, his wife and sister and + three children. There was no help for it, I must endure the placid small + talk, the clerical platitudes, the intolerable intolerance born of a + deathless bigotry that would emanate from my <i>vis-a-vis</i>. What a fuss + they made over him, too! Only a Colonial Bishop after all, but when we + were all at the wharf, ready to get into the tender, we were kept waiting—we + the more insignificant portion of the passengers, mercantile and so on—till + “my lord” and his family, nine in number, were safely handed up, with boys + and bundles and baggage of every description. + </p> + <p> + The Bishop himself was a tall thin man, rather priestly in aspect and + careworn. Mrs. Saskabasquia as I called her all through the voyage and the + seven children—seven little Saskabasquians—and Miss + Saskabasquia, the aunt, were all merry enough it seemed though dressed in + the most unearthly costumes I had ever seen. Where they had been procured + I could not imagine, but they appeared to be made of different kinds of + canvas, flannel shirting, corduroy, knitted wool and blankets. Of course + we all mustered at the lunch table that first day, people always do, and + affect great brightness and hysterical intellectuality and large + appetites. I took my seat with a resigned air. There was not a single + pretty girl on board. There were plenty of children, but I did not care + much for the society of children. The lady and her daughter between whom I + sat, presumably to hand them the dishes, did not like me any better than I + liked them. They were Canadians, that was easy to discover by their + peculiarly flat pronunciation, a detestable accent I hold, the American is + preferable. They were connected with the Civil Service in some way through + “papa” who figured much in their conversation and I fancy the mother + rather disliked the idea of such close contact with a member of the + commercial world. So much for colonial snobbery. The lunch was good + however, excellent, and we did justice to it. The Bishop did not appear + nor any of his family until we had almost finished. Then he entered with + his wife and the two eldest boys. The only vacant seats were those + opposite me which they took. I wondered they had not placed him next the + Capt., but divined that the handsome brunette and the horsey broker, Wyatt + and his wife of Montreal, fabulously rich and popular, had arranged some + time before to sit next the Capt. My Bishop was perhaps annoyed. But if + so, he did not show it. He and his wife ate abundantly, it was good to see + them. I involuntarily smiled once when the Bishop sent his plate back the + second time for soup, and he caught me. To my surprise, he laughed very + heartily and said to me: + </p> + <p> + “I hope you do not think I am forgetting all the other good things to + come! I assure you we are very hungry, are we not, Mary?” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Saskabasquia laughed in her turn, and I began to perceive what a very + pretty girl she must have been once, and her accent was the purest, most + beautiful English. We seemed to warm up generally around the table as we + watched the Bishop eat. The boys behaved beautifully and enjoyed their + meal as well. Presently we heard a baby crying. It was evidently the + youngest of the seven young Saskabasquians. The Bishop stopped directly. + </p> + <p> + “Go on, go on with your dinner, my dear; I'll see to him, its only James. + Dropped his rattle and put his finger in his eye, I expect.” + </p> + <p> + He jumped up and went, I suppose, to the stateroom. Mrs. Saskabasquia + laughed softly, and when she spoke she rather addressed herself to me. + </p> + <p> + “My husband is very good, you know. And James is such a little monkey, and + so much better with him than with anyone else, so I just let him go, but + it does certainly look very selfish, doesn't it?” + </p> + <p> + “Not at all,” I responded gallantly. “I am sure you need the rest quite as + much as he does, particularly if the ba—if the little boy is very + young and you—that is—” I was not very clear as to what I was + going to say, but she took it up for me. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, James is the baby. He is just six months' old, you know.” + </p> + <p> + “That is very young to travel,” said I. I began to enjoy the charming + confidences of Mrs. Saskabasquia, in spite of myself. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, he was only <i>three</i> months old when we left for England, quite a + young traveller as you say. But he is very good, and I have so many to + help me.” + </p> + <p> + Here the Bishop returned and sat down once more to his lunch. We had some + further conversation, in which I learned that he and his wife had gone out + to the North-West just twelve years ago for the first time. All their + children had been born there, and they were returning to work again after + a brief summer holiday in England. They told me all this with the most + delightful frankness, and I began to be grateful for my place at table, as + without free and congenial society at meal-time, life on board an ocean + steamer narrows down to something vastly uncomfortable. It was a bright + and beautiful afternoon on deck, and I soon found myself walking + energetically up and down with the Bishop. I commenced by asking him some + questions as to his work, place of residence and so on, and once started + he talked for a long time about his northern home in the wilds of Canada. + </p> + <p> + “My wife and I had been only married two months when we went out,” said + he, with a smile at the remembrance. “We did not know what we were going + to.” + </p> + <p> + “Would you have gone had you known?” I enquired as we paused in our walk + to take in a view of the Mersey we were leaving behind. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I think so. Yes, I am quite sure we would. I was an Oxford man, + country-bred; my father is still alive, and has a small living in Essex. I + was imbued with the idea of doing something in the colonies long after I + was comfortably settled in an English living myself, but I had always + fancied it would be Africa. However, just at the time of our marriage I + was offered this bishopric in Canada, and my wife was so anxious to go + that I easily fell in with the plan.” + </p> + <p> + “Anxious to go out there?” I said in much surprise. + </p> + <p> + “Ah! You don't know what a missionary in herself my wife is! Then, of + course, young people never think of the coming events—children and + all that you know. We found ourselves one morning at three o'clock, having + gone as far as there was any train to take us, waiting in a barn that + served as a station for the buckboard to take us on further to our + destination. Have you been in Canada yourself? No? Then you have not seen + a buckboard. It consists of two planks laid side by side, lengthwise, over + four antiquated wheels—usually the remains of a once useful wagon. + Upon this you sit as well as you can, and get driven and jolted and bumped + about to the appointed goal. I remember that morning so well,” continued + the Bishop. “It was very cold, being late in November, and at that hour + one feels it so much more—3 a.m., you know. There was one man in + charge of the barn; we called him the station-master, though the title sat + awkwardly enough upon him. He was a surly fellow. I never met such + another. Usually the people out there are agreeable, if slow and stupid.” + </p> + <p> + “Slow, are they?” said I in surprise. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, frightfully slow. A Canadian laborer is the slowest person in + existence, I really believe. However, this man would not give us any + information, except to barely tell us that this buckboard was coming for + us shortly. It was pitch dark of course and the barn was lighted by one + oil lamp and warmed by a coal stove. The lamp would not burn well, so my + wife unstrapped her travelling bag and with a pair of tiny curved nail + scissors did her best, with the wick, the man remaining perfectly + unmoveable and taciturn all the while. At four o'clock our conveyance + arrived, and would you believe it—both the driver and the station + master allowed me to lift my own luggage into it as well as I could? What + it would not take I told the man in charge I would send for as soon as + possible. There was no sleighing yet, and that drive was the most + excruciating thing I ever endured over corduroy roads through wild and + dark forests, along interminable country roads of yellow clay mixed with + mud till finally we reached the house of the chief member of society in my + district where we were to stay until our own house was ready.” + </p> + <p> + “How long did that take you?” I was quite interested. This was unlike the + other clergymen's conversation I remembered. + </p> + <p> + “O, a matter of eight hours or so. We had the eggs and bacon—the <i>piece + de resistance</i> in every Canadian farmhouse—at about half-past 12, + for which we were thankful and—hungry. But now you must excuse me + for here come two of the boys. Now, then, Alick, where's your mother? + Isn't she coming on deck with James? Run and fetch her and you, George, + get one of the chairs ready for her. And get the rugs at the same time + Alick, do you hear?” + </p> + <p> + I excused myself in turn and watched the family preparations with much + amusement. Mrs. Saskabasquia came up from her state room with a baby in + her arms, and a big fellow he was, followed by the other six and their + aunt. The Bishop placed chairs for the two ladies and walked up and down + the deck I should think the entire afternoon, first with two children and + then with two more and finally with the baby in his arms. This was a funny + sight but still not one to be ridiculed, far from it. Well, every day + showed my new friend in an improved light. Who was it took all the + children, not only his own but actually the entire troop on board up to + the bow and down to the stern in a laughing crowd to see this or that or + the other? Now a shoal of porpoises, now a distant sail or an iceberg, now + the beautiful phosphorescence or the red light of a passing ship—the + Bishop. Who divined the innate cliquism of life on board ship and + cunningly got together in intercourse the very people who wanted to know + each other, and even brought into good temper those unfortunate souls who + thought only of their own dignity and station in life? The Bishop. Who + organized the Grand Concert and Readings in the saloon, writing the + programmes himself, pinning them on the doors, discovering the clever and + encouraging the timid and reading from the “Cricket on the Hearth,” and + the “Wreck of the Grosvenor,” as I had never imagined a divine could read? + The Bishop again. Who might be seen in the mid-day hours when the cabin + passengers were asleep, quietly and without ostentation reading or talking + to the steerage, ay, and Mrs. Saskabosquia too with her baby on her arm, + going about amongst those poor tired folk, many of them with their own + babies, not too well fed and not too well washed nor clothed? Still the + Bishop, always the Bishop. They appeared as if they could not rest without + helping on somebody or something, and yet there was in Mrs. Saskabasquia + at least, a delightful sense of calm which affected all who came near her. + I used often to sit down by her, she with the inevitable baby on her lap + and two or three of the others at her feet on rugs, and she would talk + most frankly and unaffectedly of their strange life in Canada. I learnt + that she was the daughter of a clergyman in Essex, and had, of course, + been brought up in a refined and charming country home like an English + gentlewoman. What she had had to do in the new world seemed like a dream. + </p> + <p> + “What servants do I keep?” she said one day in answer to a question of + mine “Why, sometimes I am without any. Then Kathleen and I do the best we + can and the children they do the same and my husband takes what we give + him! Indeed, my house is a sort of dispensary you know. The most + extraordinary people come to me for the most extraordinary things. Now for + a bottle of medicine, now for some cast off clothing, now for writing + paper and old newspapers or a few tacks. So we have many wants to relieve + besides our own and really, that is good for us you know. One Xmas dinner + was an amusing one. Roast beef was out of the question, we couldn't get + any, and the old woman who usually brought us a turkey came eight miles in + the snow to bitterly lament the failure of her turkey crop. The one she + had intended for me had been killed and trussed and then the rats which + abound out there, got at it in the night and left not a bone of it! So I + got the poor old thing a warm cup of tea and gave her some thick socks and + sent her away relieved, resolved to spread myself on the pudding. Do you + remember Kathleen!” + </p> + <p> + And Miss Saskabasquia did and smiled at the remembrance. + </p> + <p> + “What was it like?” + </p> + <p> + “The pudding? Oh! It was the funniest pudding! George—no—Ethel, + was the baby then and very troublesome. Yes, you were my dear and cutting + teeth. I was far from strong and in the act of stirring the pudding was + taken quite ill and had to give it up. Kathleen was naturally forced to + attend to me and the three children, and only for Henry, we should have + had no Xmas dinner at all! He went to work with a will, stirred it well, + put it into the cloth and was just I believe dropping it into the water + when the string broke and the poor pudding tumbled into the water! Of + course it was useless, and my husband scarcely knew what to do with + himself. Fancy what he did do, though! He went to work and made another + out of what he could find without telling us. He'll tell you about it if + you ask him, how puzzled he was at first. There was some suet over, only + not minced, you know. So he took that just as it was in a lump and buried + it in bread-crumbs, luckily we had plenty of bread. Then he broke in the + eggs, but when he came to look for the fruit, that was all in the pot of + hot water, not a raisin left. He just ladled them out and put them in the + second time. I think that was delicious of him don't you? But he forgot + the flour and there was so little sugar seemingly in the bag (he didn't + know where my Xmas stores were kept) that he took fright and wouldn't use + it but broke up some maple sugar instead, then tied it up and got it + safely launched the second time. And it was not at all bad, though <i>very</i> + shapeless and unlike a trim plum pudding, with the holly at the top.” + </p> + <p> + And many another tale did she tell me of “Henry's” ceaseless activity, and + courage and patience. He had learnt three Indian dialects, the <i>patois</i> + of the <i>habitant</i>, and the Gaelic of two Scotch settlements, in order + to converse freely with his people and understand their wants properly. He + could doctor the body as well as the soul, set a fractured limb, bind a + wound, apply ice for sunstroke and snow for chilblains. He could harness a + horse and milk a cow; paddle a canoe and shoot and fish like an Indian, + cook and garden and hew and build—indeed there seemed nothing he + could not do and had not done, and all this along with the care of his + office, as much a missionary one as any could be. Peril of shipwreck and + peril of fire, peril of frost and peril of heat, peril of sickness, pain + and death, peril of men, ignorant and wicked, of wild beasts and wilder + storms—all these he had braved with his wife and little ones for the + sake of his convictions added to a genuine love of his fellow-man. I began + to consider, and rightly I think, the unknown, obscure Bishop of + Saskabasquia one of the most interesting men of the day. + </p> + <p> + Our journey, however, could not always last. Our pleasant chats, our + lively table-talk, Mrs. Saskabasquia's pretty womanly confidences and her + husband's deep-voiced readings from Dickens which he told me were of the + utmost moral value to his people, all came to an end. We all felt sorry to + part, yet greatly relieved at seeing the mighty cliff of Quebec draw + nearer and nearer with each succeeding hour. I had been quite ill for the + last two days like nearly all the other passengers. Coming up the Gulf of + St. Lawrence that is sometimes the case, and we were a miserable party + that Friday, hardly anyone on deck except the irrepressible Bishop and his + family and myself. I was wretched, sick and cold and trembling in every + limb, undoubted <i>mal de mer</i> had fastened upon me. We were standing + close by the railing of the promenade deck when a something swept by on + the water. “Child overboard!” I sang out as loudly as I could. Instantly + the steerage was in a state of commotion—the child was missed. There + didn't appear to be a sailor on the spot. The Bishop looked at me, and I + looked at the Bishop. Like lightning he tore off his coat. I put my hand + on his arm. + </p> + <p> + “Dear sir, you will not do such a thing!” + </p> + <p> + “What is it, Henry?” cried his wife. “Somebody must.” + </p> + <p> + “I wish to God I could, sir!” In another moment he was over. + </p> + <p> + How he ever recovered from that awful plunge I don't know, but a boat was + immediately lowered for him and the child—he had it safe, + miraculously enough. How I cursed my weakness which prevented my going in + his place. But when I saw the two lives saved I was glad I had not gone, + for in my weak state I could not even have saved the child. + </p> + <p> + I am invited to a Christmas dinner, <i>whenever I like</i>, with the + Bishop of Saskabasquia, whom I count as perhaps the finest specimen of + healthy Christian manhood I have ever met, and although I can still laugh + at the fun of “The Private Secretary” I can say that even among her clergy + England can boast of heroes in these latter days as noble and + disinterested as in years gone by. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “As it was in the Beginning.” + </pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0007" id="link2H_4_0007"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h3> + A CHRISTMAS SKETCH. + </h3> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0003" id="link2HCH0003"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER I. + </h2> + <p> + It is Christmas day in the morning. There is no doubt about it. The shine + of the sun, the frost on the trees, the voice of the birds, and the + unusual crow, and cackle and clatter and confusion outside the house can + leave no doubts upon the subject, to say nothing of the inside of the + house. Here it is Christmas day and no mistake. On what other day is the + larder so full?—Full is not expressive enough; crammed, rammed, + jammed full is more like the actual condition of things, so tightly wedged + are pheasants and partridges, grouse and quail, great roasts of beef and + haunches of venison, pork and pasty, mutton and fowl. On what other day is + the still-room so alluring, where cordials are at their liveliest of brown + and amber, and the white fingers of the lady of the house gleam in and out + of the piling of herbs and the stirring of compounds—both innocent + and inebriating? On what other day is the kitchen so important? Why, the + cook is actually thinner than she was the yesterday! Christmas day in the + morning is taking it out of her. “No men cooks about me”, growls Sir + Humphrey Desart, “we'll keep Sarah.” So Sarah is kept, and though she be + fat, aye, and getting on to three score, yet her strength faileth not, as + you may observe. Somewhat of a martinet, yet kindly withal and leading the + hubbub in the kitchen with all the gusto of twenty years ago. My lady will + descend presently to see if all goes on properly, and Sarah must lose no + time. Heavens, how many eggs is she going to break? What are they all for? + Will not the resources of the farmyard fail her? This, then, explains all + the crow and cackle outside. Now what is she at? Lemons this time, and + anon giving a fine stimulus with her master-hand to the lumpy yellow + contents of a smooth yellow bowl. Ah! No lumps now; one turn and all + resolved into a perfect cadence. Anyone is an artist and a great one who + can so resolve a discordant measure. And now she is busy with the brandy! + Ah! Sarah, will no temptation accrue from the pouring of the warming + draught? “Out upon thee!” says Sarah. “Am I not already as warm over my + work as I want to be, and shall I not have my good glass of beer at my + dinner? Leave the quality upstairs their brandy,” says Sarah, “and let me + get to my work.” + </p> + <p> + Well, and the upshot of all this is, that, despite all one may affirm to + the contrary, the one grand essential, the peculiar and individualizing + attribute of Christmas is—the dinner. The parson may think of his + preaching (and if he ever does so, surely most of all on this day) and the + virtuous may think of the poor; the old may remember the young, and the + young be pardoned for only remembering each other, but the chief thought, + the most blissful remembrance is still—The Dinner. + </p> + <p> + If the parson preach a little better sermon than usual, it is because his + nine children have not been forgotten by Lady Bountiful, and are actually + going to have—A Dinner. + </p> + <p> + My Lady Bountiful in her turn may go to church, and appear devoutly + removed from the <i>mundus edibilis</i>, yet if you could look into her + reflections, you would perceive that she has but one thought—The + Dinner. Do you suppose, much as the youths from Oxford and their friend + the captain, from London, are devoted to mamma and her daughters, they are + not at the same time being eaten up, as it were, devoured, by the intense + wish for the hour to come when they may partake of—That Dinner! + </p> + <p> + Sir Humphrey has asked a particularly large party down this Christmas, and + seems to have forgotten nobody he ever knew. Not a poor relation but has + been remembered, and things are on a grander scale than usual. The candles + build famously, set in the chimney candelabra; the logs are all of the + biggest, and as for the Yule himself, he is a veritable Brobdignag; the + staircases drop flowers, and holly and mistletoe hang all about. + Everything shines, and gleams, and glows. There is to be a boar's head, + with, no lack of mustard and minstrelsy, and nothing eatable or drinkable + that pertains to Christmas will be wanting. Carols, and waits, and + contended tenants; merry chimes and clinking glasses; twanging fiddles and + the rush down the middle—nothing is spared and nobody is forgotten. + So the hour draws on, the guests pull through the dreary day (for as I + have said before, everything on Christmas day gives place to the dinner), + and at last the dinner becomes an absolute fact, something to be + apprehended, sat down to, and finally eaten. It <i>is</i> eaten, and + everyone has come into the long hall, at one end of which the Yule burns. + There is merry talk, and it is easier now for the captain to devote + himself to the girls, having left the dinner behind; there is talk, too, + of a little wonder at the gorgeousness of the dinner, for Sir Humphrey has + not been so gay for years, yes, just twenty years, when it is evident that + Sir Humphrey is going to make a speech. He stands alone in front of the + fire, and this is what he says. If you want to know what he looks like, + you may think of an old man who is a gentleman, white-haired, noble and + resolute, but with a sense of broken fortunes and deferred hopes upon him. + </p> + <p> + “I have been young and now am old,” says Sir Humphrey, “and I have never + yet seen the house, known the family, or penetrated the life where there + did not exist some trouble or some secret. Therefore, if I refer to-night + to the skeleton in my own house,” he continues, with a slight shudder, “I + only do what perhaps each individual before me might also do were there + the like necessity. The necessity of such reference, in my own case, does + not make it less hard for me.” Here, Sir Humphrey pauses. When he speaks + again he is something straighter and firmer than before. “But as at this + season the Church and our good friend the parson would teach us all to + remember each other and to help those we can help, I am about to speak. + You have heard, all of you, how twenty years ago I sent my two eldest sons + out of the house. You have heard, all of you, that they were foolish, and + that I was hard, something about a girl and cut off with a shilling, I + suppose. Well, to-night you shall hear the true story. I do not think even + Lady Desart knows it. She was not their mother, but, as you know, my + adored and adoring second wife. I do not know if many of you remember my + boys. I can see Humphrey now—a man does not easily forget his + first-born, and Hugh was no less dear. My dear friends, if I drove the + lads from my house twenty years ago to-night, I did it in obedience to the + rules of my own conscience and with regard to the laws of nature, which I + should have put before my conscience, as I have far greater respect for + them. I did it, as we so often futilely say, for the best. But how often, + oh, my dear friends, how often since I have thought that I may have made a + terrible mistake.” + </p> + <p> + “They were, Hugh and Humphrey, both madly in love with the same girl. She + was no pauper, as you may have been led to believe, but the Lady Barbara + Hastings. Her name is familiar to you. She was beautiful and talented, + never married, and you may remember that about a month ago she died at the + house of friends in London. I knew her, fortunately or unfortunately, + however, moving in society as the adopted daughter of a refined + gentlewoman, to be the child of a lunatic mother and a father who drank + his life away in a Continental retreat. Knowing this I would not for a + moment consent even to the thought of either of my sons marrying her, + although I knew her to be all that was gracious in womankind. I could not + tell them the reason: the secret was hers, poor girl, and I did not betray + it. I said 'No,' and each knew what that meant. So we separated, but the + worst of it was, my friends, that each lad thought I had refused my + consent to save the other the pain of seeing his brother happy; so that + greater than their anger with me was their jealousy of one another. With + murder in their hearts they fled to America, I believe, pursuing in + self-torture that phantom of revenge which we have all seen sometime or + another, and whose hot breath we must have felt.” + </p> + <p> + Sir Humphrey pauses oftener now. + </p> + <p> + “I tell you all this because I want you to see how possible it may be for + a man to think he is doing the very best, the only right thing, and then + for perhaps an infinitely worse one to crop up. I read not long ago in a + wild Western paper a story of two Englishmen who fought a lonely duel on + some slope of those great mountains out there, and I think I have not + slept since I read it. To have exiled my boys only that they might kill + one another in foreign lands and sleep so far away from our English + ground!” + </p> + <p> + Sir Humphrey's voice is failing now and his eyes grow moist A man, you + see, does not easily forget his first-born. + </p> + <p> + “I tell you all this,” he continues, “that it may help you to be kind and + to think twice. I only thought once, and perhaps the worst may have come + of it. Then I tell it to you, too, because I am an old man now, and my + voice is not as strong as it was, and I can't get out to church as + regularly as I used to do, and I want you all to help me to remember these + absent ones and with them any of your own. There is virtue in the holding + up of many hands and the lifting up of many hearts. Whether I see them + again or not, that does not matter; but for the assurance that they have + not harmed each other, let us pray Almighty God this night.” + </p> + <p> + Ah! Sir Humphrey, there are those who would give their life for yours, but + they cannot bring you that assurance to-night. Can you wait? + </p> + <p> + “I can wait,” says Sir Humphrey. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0004" id="link2HCH0004"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER II. + </h2> + <p> + It is Christmas day in the morning. At least, so Almanack says, and + Almanack ought to know, though he is given in those days to such ornate + and emblazoned titivation of himself outwardly, putting himself in the + hands of fair Mistress Kate Greenaway at the head of a mischievous throng, + that he causes one to seriously consider whether his old head be turned or + no. A scholar and statistician buried in heaps of flowers, with a rope of + daisies round his neck, and a belt of primroses round his waist; a + sunflower in his buttonhole, and a singing bird upon his shoulder; and, + worst of all, the picture of a pink-frocked, pink-faced girl next his + heart—can he be relied upon? But he persists in his claim to be + listened to, and we must take his word for it that this is Christmas day + in the morning, although it just looks like any other day. On any other + day the sun is just as bright, and the air just as keen. On other days the + snow is just as white, just as deep—two feet where the constant + tramping has levelled its crystalline beauty, ten, twelve, fifteen there + where a great soft cloud of drift reaches halfway up the side of a small + wooden house. On other days there is just as much blue in the sky, in the + smoke, in the shadows of the pines, and the shadows of the icicles. On + other days the house looks just as neat, just as silent, just as poor. The + clearing is small, the house is small, a small terrier suns himself on a + pile of wood, and the only large object apparently in existence is the + tall, broad-shouldered, well-proportioned man who presently emerges from + the wooden house. His ear has just caught the sound of a bell. It is not a + bad bell for Muskoka, and it has a most curious effect on this white, cold + silent world of snow and blue shadows. The owner of the house, who is also + the builder of it, stands a few moments listening. There is only the + twitter of the snowbirds to listen to, then the bell; more snowbirds, and + then the bell again. + </p> + <p> + “It has quite a churchy sound,” he remarks; “I never noticed how churchy + before, but it reminds me of some other bell. Ten years I have read for + them here, and I never noticed it before.” More twitter from the snowbirds + and the bell again. Time for church, although the functions of the + lay-reader will be this day laid aside, giving place to the more exacting + ones of the <i>rector chori</i>. This being Christmas day in the morning, + it devolves upon one clergyman to preach in four different places, if not + literally at once, at least on the same day. + </p> + <p> + “It isn't possible,” thinks the tall man swinging along at a tremendous + pace, “that this bell—there it is again, confound it; yet no, not + confound it—can resemble that other bell I used to know. No, quite + impossible. Is it likely that anything here,” and the thinker spreads both + long arms out to take in the entire landscape, “can resemble or remotely + suggest the Old Country, or, as people call it, home? Home? Why this is + home. That four-roomed and convenient, if not commodious, mansion I have + just quitted is my home. Talking of commodiousness, it's quite large + enough, too. I have no wife, no children, no partner, not even a sleeping + one, no one ever comes to see me. So I do not need a drawing-room, a + nursery, a guest chamber, or a smoking-room. I have no books, therefore I + need no library; I indulge in no chemical pursuits, therefore I need no + laboratory; my music-room is the forest in summer and the chimney in + winter, while my studio, according to the latest aesthetic fad—I + think that is the word—opens off the music-room. + </p> + <p> + “Now, if you take away art, science, literature, and society from the + daily life of a man, what do you leave? Simply the three radical + necessities of sleeping, eating, working. My work I do mostly in the open + air, so that, practically, I need but two rooms, one to cook in and the + other to sleep in. I have always felt convinced that to be happy I only + require two rooms, except on extra cold nights, when I find that one + suffices. That is when Tim and I lie near the kitchen fire to keep warm. + Home! Why of course it is home. Didn't I build the house myself? What + association is dearer than that? To come into a pile of half-ruined + towers, all gables and gargoyles, built somewhere about the fourteenth + century, and added to by every fool who liked, without the slightest + pretence to knowledge of architecture and civilization may be very + gratifying, but, strange as it may seem, I prefer the work of my own + hands. I am quite a Canadian, of course, though I once was an Englishman. + I array myself in strange raiment, thick and woollen, of many colours; my + linen is coarse and sometimes superseded by flannel; I wear a cast-off fur + cap on my head and moccasins on my feet. I have grown a beard and a fierce + moustache. I have made no money and won no friends except the simple + settlers around me here. And I shall grow old and grey in your service, my + Muskoka. I shall be forty-one on my next birthday. Then will come + fifty-one, another ten years and sixty-one. All to be lived here? Yes, I + have sworn it. Not Arcady, not Utopia, only Muskoka, but very dear to me. + There is the forest primeval! I know everything in it from the Indian pipe—clammy + white thing, but how pretty!—to that great birch there with the bark + peeling off in pieces a yard wide. There is the lovely Shadow river. + Masses of cardinal flowers grow there in the summer, and when I take my + boat up its dark waters I feel that no human being has felt its beauty so + before. I think, for a small river it is the loveliest in the world. And + as to my larder now, why I am going to make my Christmas dinner off a + piece or pork and ask for nothing better! I shall have a glorious + appetite, which is the main point. The bell again!” + </p> + <p> + Yes, and the snow birds, too, flying round the porch of the little church. + It is a very small and plain edifice and not over warm, and the + officiating clergyman, who has just driven eighteen miles with the + prospect of eighteen back after service, hurries the proceedings somewhat. + There is a harmonium played by the tall man, and there is a choir + consisting of himself and a small boy. In place of the usual Anglican + hymns two carols are sung by the choir, which have the quaintest effect in + such a place, and which appear to interest and even excite one of the + congregation. This is a man of middle age, most richly dressed with a + certain foreign air about him and evidently in a very delicate state of + health. He is accompanied by a lady whose dress is also a marvel of beauty + and costliness though hardly of fitness. The broad bands of gold which + adorn her wrists and neck would alone procure for her the entire attention + of the congregation were she seated in a more conspicuous place. As it is + they are seated near the stove for increased comfort. “Good King + Wenceslas” sings the choir, the small boy finding the long word very + trying, and coming utterly to grief in the last two verses, for his + companion appears to have lost his place. With the last verse of the carol + comes the close of the service, the straggling congregation disperse and + the jolly clergyman drives off again. Then an important thing happens, and + happens very quietly. So quietly that the richly dressed lady who is a + bright, shallow and unsentimental Californian does not mind it at all. + “Humphrey!” says the tall man, “Hugh!” says the other, and all is said. + There is not much sentiment in the meeting, how can there be? Their ways + have gone too far apart. The years—nearly twenty, since they parted + in Los Angeles—have brought gold and kith and kin to the one, with + an enfeebled constitution and an uncertain temper. To the other, they have + brought the glory of health for his manhood's crown, content and peace + unutterable. To learn to subdue the ground is to learn one great lesson. + So the strange meeting is soon over. The Christmas spell may not always + last and the brothers separate once more. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0010" id="link2H_4_0010"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + FINIS. + </h2> + <p> + The bright little lady who is taking her husband for a winter's Canadian + tour gets restive in this silent snowy world. But before they part a + letter is written to a white-haired old gentleman' in England, who has + only a month to wait. + </p> + <p> + “Whether I see them again or not does not matter,” says Sir Humphrey, “but + for the assurance that they have not harmed each other, I thank Almighty + God this night!” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0011" id="link2H_4_0011"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE IDYL OF THE ISLAND. + </h2> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + Here lies mid-way between parallels 48 and 49 of latitude, and degrees 89 + and 90 of longitude, in the northern hemisphere of the New World, serenely + anchored on an ever-rippling and excited surface, an exquisitely lovely + island. No tropical wonder of palm-treed stateliness, or hot tangle of + gaudy bird and glowing creeper, can compare with it; no other northern + isle, cool and green and refreshing to the eye like itself, can surpass + it. It is not a large island. It is about half-a-mile long and quarter of + a mile broad It is an irregular oval in shape, and has two distinct and + different sides. On the west side its grey limestone rises to the height + of twenty feet straight out of the water. On the east side there occurs a + gradual shelving of a sumac-fringed shore, that mingles finally with the + ever-rippling water. For the waters in this northern country are never + still. They are perpetually bubbling up and boiling over; seething and + fuming and frothing and foaming and yet remaining so cool and clear that a + quick fancy would discover thousands of banished fountains under that + agitated and impatient surface. Both ends of the island are as much alike + as its sides are dissimilar. They taper off almost to a distinct + bladepoint of rock, in which a mere doll's flagstaff of a pine-tree grows; + then comes a small detached rock, with a small evergreen on it, then a + still smaller rock, with a tuft of grass, then a line of partially + submerged stones, and so out to the deep yet ever-bubbling water. This + island might seem, just the size for two, and there were two on it on a + certain July morning at five o'clock. One of these was a lady who lay at + full length and fast asleep upon a most unique couch. These northern + islands are in many places completely covered with a variety of + yellowish-green moss, varying from a couple of inches to a foot and a half + in thickness; and yielding to the pressure of the foot or the body as + comfortably as a feather bed, if not more so, being elastic in nature. A + large square of this had been cut up from some other part of the island + and placed on the already moss-grown and cushioned ground, serving as a + mattress, while two smaller pieces served as pillows. A sumac tree at the + head of the improvised couch gave the necessary shade to the face of the + sleeper, while a wild grapevine, after having run over and encircled with + its moist green every stone and stem on the island, fulfilled its longing + at length in a tumultuous possession of the sumac, making a massive yet + aerial patched green curtain or canopy to the fantastic bed, and ending + seemingly in two tiny transparent spirals curling up to the sky. + </p> + <p> + If there were a fault in the structure it was that it was too clever, too + well thought out, too rectangular, too much in fact like a bed. But it + told certainly of a skillful pair of hands and of a beautiful mind and the + union of art with nature perfectly suited the charms—contradictory + yet consistent—of the occupant. For being anything but a beautiful + woman she was still far from a plain one, which though no original mode of + putting it does convey the actual impression she made upon a gentleman in + a small boat who rowing past this island at the hour of five o'clock in + the morning was so much struck with this curious sight, quite visible from + the water below, that he was rude enough to stand up that he might see + better. The lady was dressed in some dark blue stuff that evidently + covered her all over and fitted tightly where it could be seen. A small + linen collar, worn all night and therefore shorn of its usual freshness + was round her neck, and she was tucked up from the waist under a Scotch + woollen rug. Her hair, of a peculiar red-brown, was allowed to hang about + her and was lovely; her mouth sad; her nose, rather too prominent; her + complexion natural and healthy, but marred by freckles and moles, not many + of either but undeniably scattered over the countenance. All told but her + eyes which, if they proved to match with her hair, would atone for these + other shortcomings. The gentleman sat down again and reflected. + </p> + <p> + “How still it is!” he said under his breath. “Absolutely not a thing + stirring. This is the time when the fish bite. I ought to be fishing I + suppose. Going to be warm by-and-bye.” + </p> + <p> + It was indeed almost absolutely silent. The sun climbed higher but the + lady slept on, and the gentleman gazed as if fascinated. The only sound + that broke the beautiful early morning silence was the occasional weird + laugh of the loon. It came twice and then a third time. The sleeper + stirred. + </p> + <p> + “If that thing out there cries again she will wake,” said the gentleman to + himself. “I must be off before that happens. But I <i>should</i> like to + see her eyes. What a pretty picture it is!” Once more the loon gave its + maniacal laugh and the lady started, sat bolt upright and wide awake. Her + admirer had not time to retreat but he took his oars up and confronted her + manfully. It was an awkward moment. He apologized. The lady listened very + politely. Then she smiled. + </p> + <p> + “Most of the islands in this lake are owned by private people,” she said, + “who use them during the summer months for the purpose of camping out upon + them. I should advise you, if you row about much here, to keep to the open + water, unless you wish to be seriously handled by the fathers and mothers + of families.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you very much,” returned the gentleman, standing up in his boat, “I + assure you I intended no rudeness, but I have never seen so charming a + summer couch before, and I was really fascinated by the—ah,—the + picture you made. May I ask what you mean by 'camping out'? Is it always + done in this fashion?” + </p> + <p> + The lady stared “Have <i>you</i> never camped out?” + </p> + <p> + “Never in my life,” said the gentleman. “I am an Englishman, staying at + the hotel near the point for a day or two. I came out to see something of + the country.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you should at least have camped out for a week or so. That is a + genuine Canadian experience,” said the lady with a frankness which + completely restored the equanimity of the Englishman. + </p> + <p> + “But how do you live?” he went on in a puzzled manner that caused the lady + with the red-brown hair, still all hanging about her, much amusement. + </p> + <p> + “O, capitally! Upon fish and eggs, and gooseberry tarts, and home-made + bread and French coffee. Just what you would get in town, and much better + than you get at the hotel.” + </p> + <p> + “O, that would be easy!” the gentleman groaned. “I eat my meals in a + pitch-dark room, in deadly fear and horror of the regiments of flies that + swarm in and settle on everything the minute one raises the green paper + blinds.” + </p> + <p> + The lady nodded. “I know. We tried it for two or three seasons, but we + could not endure it; the whole thing, whitewash and all, is so trying, + isn't it? So we bought this lovely island and bring our tent here and live + <i>so</i> comfortably.” The gentleman did not reply at once. He was + thinking that it was his place to say “Good morning,” and go, although he + would much have liked to remain a little longer. He hazarded the remark: + </p> + <p> + “Now, for instance, what are you going to breakfast on presently?” + </p> + <p> + The lady laughed lightly and shook her red brown hair. + </p> + <p> + “First of all I have to make a fire.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” + </p> + <p> + “But that is not so very difficult” + </p> + <p> + “How do you do it?” + </p> + <p> + “Would you like to know?” + </p> + <p> + “Very much indeed. I should like to see, if I may.” + </p> + <p> + The lady reflected a moment. “I suppose you may, but if you do, you ought + to help me, don't you think?” The gentleman much amused and greatly + interested. + </p> + <p> + “Ah but you see, it is you I want to see make it. I am very useless you + know at that sort of thing, still, if you will allow me, I will try my + best. Am I to come ashore?” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly, if you are to be of any use.” + </p> + <p> + The lady jumped lightly off the pretty couch of moss and wound her + plentiful hair round her head with one turn of her arm. Her dress was + creased but well-fitting, her figure not plump enough for beauty but + decidedly youthful. She watched her new friend moor his boat and ascend + with one or two strides of his long legs up the side of the cliff that was + not so steep. He took off his hat. + </p> + <p> + “I am at your service,” he said with a profound bow. The lady made him + another, during which all her long hair fell about her again, at which + they both laughed. + </p> + <p> + “What do we do first?” said he. + </p> + <p> + “O we find a lot of sticks and pieces of bark, mostly birch bark, and + anything else that will burn—you may have to fell a tree while you + are about it—and I'll show you how to place them properly between + two walls of stones, put a match to them and there is our fire. Will you + come with me?” + </p> + <p> + He assented of course, and they were soon busy in the interior of the + little wood that grew up towards the centre of the island. I must digress + here to say that the gentleman's name was Amherst. He was known to the + world in latter life as Admiral Amherst, and he was a great friend of + mine. When he related this story to me, he was very particular in + describing the island as I have done—indeed he carried a little + chart about with him of it which he had made from memory, and he told me + besides that he never forgot the peculiar beauty of that same little tract + of wood. The early hour, the delicious morning air, the great moss-grown + and brown decaying tree trunks, the white, clammy, ghostly, flower or + fungus of the Indian Pipe at his feet, the masses of ferns, the elastic + ground he trod upon, and the singular circumstance that he was alone in + this exquisite spot with a woman he had never seen until five minutes + previously, all combined to make an ineffaceable impression upon his mind. + The lady showed herself proficient in the art of building a fire and + attended by Amherst soon had a fine flame rising up from between the + fortifications evidently piled by stronger hands than her own. + </p> + <p> + “What do we do now?” asked Amherst “I should suggest—a kettle.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course, that is the next step. If I give it to you, you might run and + fill it, eh?' + </p> + <p> + “Delighted!” and away went Amherst. When he returned the lady was not to + be seen. The place was shorn of its beauty, but he waited discreetly and + patiently, putting the kettle on to boil in the meanwhile. + </p> + <p> + “It's very singular,” said he, “how I come to be here. I wonder who are + with her in her party; no one else appears to be up or about. That striped + red and white thing is the tent, I see, over there. Ah! That's where she + has gone, and now she beckons me! Oh! I'll go, but I don't want to meet + the rest of them!” + </p> + <p> + But when he reached the tent, it was quite empty, save for rugs and wraps, + boxes, etc., and the lady was laughingly holding out a loaf of bread in + one hand and a paper package in the other. + </p> + <p> + “You will stay and breakfast with me?” + </p> + <p> + “What will you give me?” said Amherst, smiling. + </p> + <p> + “I can only give you eggs, boiled in the kettle, coffee and bread and + butter. The fish haven't come in yet.” + </p> + <p> + “What can be nicer than eggs—especially when boiled in the kettle, + that is, if you make the coffee first.” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly I do.” + </p> + <p> + “And it is really French coffee?” + </p> + <p> + “Really. Café des Gourmets, you know; we—I always use it—do + not like any other.” + </p> + <p> + Amherst was fast falling in love. He told me that at this point his mind + was quite made up that if it were possible he would remain in the + neighborhood a few days at least, in order to see more of this charming + girl. She seemed to him to be about twenty-six or seven, and so frank, + simple and graceful, one could not have resisted liking her. Her hair and + eyes were identical in colour and both were beautiful; her expression was + arch and some of her gestures almost childish, but a certain dignity + appeared at times and sat well upon her. Her hands were destitute of any + rings as Amherst soon discovered, and were fine and small though brown. + While she made the coffee, Amherst threw himself down on the wonderful + moss, the like of which he had never seen before and looked out over the + water. An unmistakeable constraint had taken the place of the unaffected + hilarity of the first ten minutes. A reaction had set in. Amherst could of + course only answer to me in telling this for himself, but he divined at + the time a change in his companion's manner as well. + </p> + <p> + “I hope you like your eggs,” she said presently. + </p> + <p> + “They are very nice, indeed, thank you,” rejoined Amherst. + </p> + <p> + “And I have made your coffee as you like it?” + </p> + <p> + “Perfectly, thank you. But you—you are not eating anything! Why is + that?” + </p> + <p> + As he asked the question he turned quickly around, in order to rise that + he might help her with the ponderous kettle that she was about lifting off + the camp-fire, when a long strand of her hair again escaping from its coil + blew directly across his face. Amherst uttered a radiant “Oh!”, and taking + it to his lips forgot himself so far as to press kiss after kiss upon it. + The lady stood as if transfixed and did not move, even when Amherst + actually swept all her hair down over one arm and turning her face to his, + pressed one long long kiss on her forehead. + </p> + <p> + The moment he had done this his senses returned and he stepped back in + indignation with himself. But his companion was still apparently + transfixed. Amherst looked at her in dismay. She did not seem to see him + and had grown very pale. He touched her gently on the arm but she did not + show that she felt the touch. He retreated a few paces and stood by + himself, overcome with shame and contrition. What had he done? How should + he ever atone for such an unwarrantable action? Had it been the outcome of + any ordinary flirtation, he would have felt no such scruples, but the + encounter, though short, had been one of singular idyllic charm until he + had by his own rash act spoilt it. A few minutes passed thus in self + contemplation appeared like an eternity. He must speak. + </p> + <p> + “If you would allow me—” + </p> + <p> + But the lady put out her left hand in deprecation as it were and he got no + further. The silence was unendurable. Amherst took a step or two forward + and perceived great tears rolling down her cheeks. + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” he began desperately, “won't you allow me to say a word to tell you + how very, very sorry I am, how grieved I am and always shall be? I never—I + give you my word of honor—I never do those sort of things, have + never done such a thing before! But I can't tell what it was, the place is + so beautiful, and when all that lovely hair came sweeping past my face, I + could not help doing as I did, it was so electrical! Any man would have + done the same. I know that sounds like a miserable, cowardly excuse, but + it is true, perfectly true.” The lady seemed to struggle to appear calm + and with a great effort she turned her face towards Amherst. + </p> + <p> + “I know one man,” she said, in a voice choked with sobs, “who would not + have done it?” + </p> + <p> + Amherst started. “I am sorrier than ever, believe me. I might have known + you were engaged, or had a lover—one so Charming”— + </p> + <p> + “It is not that,” said the lady. “I am married.” She was still struggling + with her emotion. + </p> + <p> + Amherst recoiled. He was torn with conflicting thoughts. What if he had + been seen giving that involuntary salute? He might have ruined her peace + for ever. Who would believe in the truth of any possible explanation? + </p> + <p> + “I will leave you at once;” he said stiffly, “there is nothing more to be + said.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! You will reproach me now!” said his companion, wiping her eyes as the + tears came afresh. + </p> + <p> + “I will try not to;” said Amherst, “but you could so easily have told me; + I do not think it was—quite—fair.” Yet he could not be + altogether angry with the partner of his thoughtlessness, nor could he be + entirely cold. Her beautiful eyes, her despairing attitude would haunt him + he knew for many a day. She had ceased weeping and stood quietly awaiting + his departure. Amherst felt all the force of a strong and novel passion + sweep along his frame as he looked at her. Was she happy, was she a loved + and loving wife? Somehow the conviction forced itself upon him that she + was not. Yet he could not ask her, it must remain her secret. + </p> + <p> + Amherst looked at his watch. It aroused her. + </p> + <p> + “What is the time?” she said lifting her head for the first time since he + had kissed her. + </p> + <p> + “Ten minutes past six,” Amherst replied. + </p> + <p> + “You must go,” she said, with an effort at self-control. “I shall have + much to do presently.” + </p> + <p> + He cast one look about and approached her. + </p> + <p> + “Will you forgive me”—he began in a tone of repression, then with + another mighty and involuntary movement he caught her hands and pressed + them to his breast. “My God,” he exclaimed, “how I should have loved you!” + </p> + <p> + A moment after he flung her hands away and strode down the cliff, + unfastened his boat and rowed away in the direction of the hotel as fast + as he could. Rounding a sharp rock that hid what lay beyond it, he nearly + succeeded in overturning another boat like his own, in which sat a + gentleman of middle age, stout and pleasant and mild of countenance. The + bottom of the boat was full of fish. Amherst made an incoherent apology, + to which the gentleman answered with a good-natured laugh, insisting that + the fault was his own. He would have liked to enter into conversation with + Amherst, but my friend was only anxious to escape from the place + altogether and forget his recent adventure in the hurry of departure from + the hotel. Three days after he embarked at Quebec for England, and never + revisited Canada. But he never married and never forgot the woman whom he + always asserted he might have truly and passionately loved. He was about + twenty-eight when that happened and perfectly heart-whole. Why—I + used to say to him, why did you not learn her name and that of her + husband? Perhaps she is a widow now, perhaps you made as great an + impression upon her mind and affections as she did upon yours. + </p> + <p> + But my friend Admiral Amherst, as the world knew him, was a strange, + irrational creature in many ways, and none of these ideas would he ever + entertain. That the comfortable gentleman in the boat was her husband he + never doubted; more it was impossible to divine. But the cool northern + isle, with its dark fringe of pines; its wonderful moss, its fragrant and + dewy ferns, its graceful sumacs, just putting on their scarlet-lipped + leaves, the morning stillness broken only by the faint unearthly cry of + the melancholy loon, the spar-dyked cliffs of limestone, and the fantastic + couch, with its too lovely occupant, never faded from his memory and + remained to the last as realities which indeed they have become likewise + to me, through the intensity with which they were described to me. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0012" id="link2H_4_0012"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + The Story of Delle Josephine Boulanger + </h2> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0005" id="link2HCH0005"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER I. + </h2> + <p> + Delle Josephine Boulanger, Miss Josephine Baker, Miss Josephine Baker, + Delle Josephine Boulanger. What a difference it makes, the language! What + a transformation! I thought this to myself as I stood on the opposite side + of the street looking at the sign. To be sure, it, was only printed in + French and sad little letters they were that composed the name, but my + mind quickly translated them into the more prosaic English as I stood and + gazed. Delle Josephine was a milliner and I had been recommended to try + and get a little room “<i>sous les toits</i>” that she sometimes had to + let, during my stay in the dismal Canadian village with the grand and + inappropriate name of <i>Bonheur du Roi</i>. Bonneroi, or Bonneroy, it was + usually called. Such a dismal place it seemed to be; one long street of + whitewashed or dirty wooden houses, two raw red brick “stores,” and the + inevitable Roman Catholic Church, Convent and offices, still and orderly + and gray, with the quiet priests walking about and the occasional sound of + the unmistakeable convent bell. I arrived on a sleety winter's day early + in December. Everything was gray, or colorless or white; the people's + faces were pinched and pale, the sky was a leaden gray in hue, and I + thought as I stood opposite to my future abode under Delle Josephine's + roof that the only bit of “local color” so far was to be found in her + window. I could distinctly see from where I stood the most extraordinary + <i>hat</i> I had ever seen. I immediately crossed the road to examine it. + It was a triumph in lobster-color. In shape like a very large + Gainsborough, it was made of shirred scarlet satin with large bows of + satin ribbon of the same intense color and adorned with a bird of + paradise. I can see it now and can recall the images it suggested to my + mind at the time. These were of cardinals and kings, of sealing-wax and + wafers, of tropic noons and tangled marshes, of hell and judgment and the + conventional Zamiel. It looked fit to be worn by a Mrs. Zamiel, if there + be such a person. I looked so long and earnestly that I evidently + attracted the notice of the mistress of the shop, for I saw a hand push + back the faded red curtain that veiled the interior and a queer little + visage appeared regarding me with something I thought of distrust. Did I + look as if I might break the glass and run off with the hat? Perhaps I + did, so I entered the shop immediately and said in a reasoning tone, + </p> + <p> + “I am looking for rooms in the village, Mademoiselle, and hear you have + one to let. Can I see it now, if not too much trouble?” + </p> + <p> + “You come from Morréall?” + </p> + <p> + This I learnt was meant for Montreal. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” I returned. + </p> + <p> + “You are by yourself, Monsieur, you are sure? No ladees, eh?” + </p> + <p> + “O dear! No” said I laughing. “I am making some studies—sketches—in + this locality and am entirely alone. Do you find ladies a trouble?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, perhaps not always. But there was one Mees I had. I did not like her, + and so I said—we will have no more Mees, but again and always + Messieurs.” She was frank enough but not unpleasant in her manner. A + little bit of a woman, thin and shrivelled, with one shoulder slightly + higher than the other, black beads for eyes, and the ugliest mouthful of + teeth that I had ever seen on any one. Had it not been that her expression + was honest and good natured and her manner bright and intelligent, I + should have recoiled before the yellow tusks of eye-teeth, and the + blackened stumps and shrunken gums revealed to me every time she spoke. + She wore a print dress made neatly enough which was very clean, and a + black crape ruff round her sallow neck. The shop was small but clean and + at the back I saw, a kind of little sitting room. Into this I went while + she ran up-stairs to prepare the room for my inspection. The carpet was + the usual horribly ingenious affair of red squares inside green octagons, + and green squares inside red octagons, varied by lengthwise stripes of + bright purple. The walls were plain white, covered with many prints in + vivid colors of the Crucifixion, the Annunciation and the Holy Family; + also three pictures of three wonderful white kittens which adorn so many + nurseries and kitchens. There were no ornaments, but there was a large + looking glass framed in walnut, and over it a dismal wreath of roses and + their leaves done in human gray hair. The glass was opposite the door and + I saw Delle Josephine descending to meet me just as I was turning away + from this suggestive “in memoriam.” A crooked little stairway brought me + to a small landing, and three more steps to my room. I may call it that, + for I took it on the spot It was large enough for my wants and seemed + clean and when the paper blinds, yellow, with a black landscape on them, + were raised, rather cheerful. We were opposite the chief “<i>epicerie</i>,” + the only <i>“marchandise sèches</i>” and a blacksmith, whose jolly red + fire I could sometimes catch a glimpse of. + </p> + <p> + Now, this is a really a true story of French Canadian life, or rather let + me say, a true story of one of my own French Canadian experiences, and so + I must confess that once installed in my little room <i>chez</i> Delle + Josephine Boulanger, nothing whatever of any interest took place until I + had been there quite a week. I lived most regularly and monotonously; + rising at eight I partook of coffee made by my landlady, accompanied by + tinned fruit for which I formed a great taste. Then I went out, getting my + mid-day meal where I could, eggs and bacon at a farmhouse, or tough steak + at the hotel, and sometimes not getting anything at all until I returned + ravenously hungry to my lodging. On these occasions the little Frenchwoman + showed herself equal to the extent of cooking a chicken or liver and bacon + very creditably and then I would write and read in my own room till + eleven. I must not forget to say that I never failed to look at the + wonderful scarlet hat in the window every time I went out or came in. + Purchasers for it would be rare I thought; I half formed the idea of + buying it myself when I went away as a “Souvenir.” + </p> + <p> + One day I came home very tired. After walking about, vainly waiting for a + terrific snowstorm to pass over that I might go on with my work—the + frozen fall of Montmorenci, framed in the dark pines and somber rocks that + made such a back ground for its glittering thread of ice, I gave it up, + chilled in every limb, and began to consider whether I was not a fool for + pains. Although I started quite early in the afternoon on my homeward + walk, the snow, piled in great masses everywhere along the route, impeded + my progress to such an extent that it was nearly seven o'clock and + pitch-dark when I got into the village. Bonneroy was very quiet. Shutters + were up to every shop, nobody was out except a dog or two and the snow + kept falling, falling, still in as persistent a fashion as if it had not + been doing the same thing for six hours already. I found the shop shut up + and the door locked. I looked everywhere for a bell or knocker of some + description. There was neither, so I began to thump as hard as I could + with my feet against the door. In a minute or two I heard Delle Josephine + coming. Perhaps I had alarmed the poor soul. She did look troubled on + opening the door and admitted me hurriedly, even suspiciously, I thought. + The door of the little sitting-room was closed, so fancying that perhaps + she had a visitor I refrained from much talking and asking her to cook me + some eggs presently and bring them up, I went to my room. + </p> + <p> + These cold days I had to keep a fire in the small open “Franklin” stove + going almost constantly. She had not forgotten to supply it with coals + during my absence, and lighting my two lamps I was soon fairly + comfortable. How it did snow! Lifting the blind I could actually look down + on an ever-increasing drift below my window and dimly wonder if I should + get out at all on the morrow. If not, I proposed to return to Montreal at + once. I should gain nothing by being confined in the house at Bonneroy. + Delle Josephine appeared with eggs and tea—green tea, alas for that + village shortcoming—there was no black tea to be found in it, and I + looked narrowly at her as she set it down, wondering if anything was amiss + with her. But she seemed all right again and I conjectured that I had + simply interrupted a <i>tête-a-tête</i> with some visitor in the + sitting-room at the time of my return. When I had finished my tea I sat + back and watched my fire. Those little open “Franklin” stoves are almost + equal to a fireplace; they show a great deal of fire and you can fancy + your flame on an English hearth very easily—if you have any + imagination. As I sat there, it suddenly came home to me what a curious + life this was for me; living quite alone over a tiny village shop in <i>Le + Bos Canada</i>, with a queer little spinster like Delle Josephine. Snowed + up, with her too! To-morrow I would certainly have to go and shovel that + snow away from the front door and take down the shutters and discover + again to the world the contents of the one window, particularly that + frightful hat! I would—here I started it must be confessed almost + out of my seat, as turning my head suddenly I saw on a chair behind the + door the identical hat I was thinking about! I sat up and looked at it. It + must have been there all the time I was eating my tea. I still sat and + looked. I felt vaguely uncomfortable for a moment, then my common sense + asserted itself and told me that Delle Josephine must have been altering + it or something of that kind and had forgotten to take it away. I wondered + if she sat in my room when I was away. I had rather she did not. Just as I + was about to rise and look at it more closely, a tap came at my door. I + rose and admitted Delle Josephine. She took the tea-things away in her + usual placid manner, but came back the next moment as if she had forgotten + something, clearly the hat. With a slight deprecatory laugh she removed it + and went hurriedly down the stair. Whatever had she been doing with it, I + thought, and settled with a sigh of satisfaction once more to my work, now + that the nightmare in red, a kind of mute scarlet “Raven,” was gone from + my room. How very quiet it was. Not a single sleigh passed, no sounds came + from the houses opposite or from next door, the whole world seemed + smothered in the soft thick pillows of snow quietly gathering upon it. + After a while, however, I could distinctly hear the sound of voices + downstairs. Delle Josephine had a visitor, undoubtedly. Was it a man or a + woman? Not a large company I gathered; it seemed like one person besides + herself. I opened my door, it sounded so comfortably in my lonely bachelor + ear to catch in that strange little house anything so cheerful as the + murmur of voices. My curiosity once aroused, did not stop here. I went + outside the door, not exactly to listen, but as one does sometimes in a + lazy yet inquisitive mood, when anything is going on at all unusual. This + was an unusual occurrence. If Delle Josephine had visitors often, I was + not aware of it. Never before had I noticed the slightest sound proceed + from her sitting-room after dusk. So I waited a bit listening. Yes there + was talking going on, but in French. As I did not understand her <i>patois</i> + very clearly, I thought there would be no harm in overhearing, and further + I thought I should like to have a peep at her and her companion. I could + see that the door was partly open. Taking off my slippers, I ran softly + down and found it wide enough open to admit of my seeing the entire room + and occupants in the looking-glass, that being opposite. It was quite dark + in the little hall and I should be unobserved. So I crept—most + rudely I am willing to say—into the furthest shadow of this hall and + looked straight before me. + </p> + <p> + I saw none but Delle Josephine herself. But she was a sight for the gods. + Seated on a kind of ottoman, directly in front of the looking-glass, she + was holding an animated conversation with <i>herself</i>, wearing a large + white antimacassar—one of those crocheted things all in wheels—pinned + under her chin and falling away at the back like a cloak, and upon her + head—the wonderful scarlet hat! I was amazed, startled, dismayed. To + see that shrivelled little old woman so travestying her hideous charms, + smiling at and bowing to herself, her yellow skin forming a frightful + contrast to the intense red of her immense hat and her bright black eyes, + was a pitiful and unique spectacle. I had intended but to take a peep at + the supposed visitor and then go back to my room, but the present sight + was one which fascinated me to such an extent that I could only look and + wonder. She spoke softly to herself in French, appearing to be carrying on + a conversation with her image in the glass. The feathers of the bird of + paradise swept her shoulder—the one that was higher than the other—and + mingled with the wheels of the white antimacassar. I looked as long as I + dared and then, fearing from her movements that the strange scene would + soon be over I went softly up again to my room. But I thought about it all + evening, all night in fact. The natural inquiry was—was the poor + girl a maniac? Even if only a harmless one, it would be well to know. As I + sat down again by my fire I considered the matter in every light. It was a + queer prospect. Outside the snow still fell. Inside, the fire languished + and the time wore on till at half-past ten I really was compelled to call + on my landlady for more coal. I could hear the muttered French still going + on, but I did not know where the coal was and could not fetch it myself. I + must break in upon her rhapsodizing. + </p> + <p> + “Delle Boulanger!” I called from my open door. “Delle Boulanger!” + </p> + <p> + The talking stopped. In a few moments Delle Josephine appeared, calm and + smiling, <i>minus</i> the hat and the antimacassar. “Coming, <i>monsieur</i>” + </p> + <p> + “I shall want some more coal,” said I, “It is getting colder, I think, + every minute!” + </p> + <p> + “<i>Mais oui, monsieur; il fait fret, il fait bien fret ce soir</i>, and + de snow—oh! It is <i>comme</i>—de old winter years ago, dat I + remember, <i>monsieur</i>, but not you. <i>Eh! bien</i>, the coal!” + </p> + <p> + I discovered nothing morbid about her manner; she was amiable and + respectful as usual, if a little more garrulous. The French will talk at + all times about anything, but our conversation always came to a sudden + stop the moment one of us relapsed into the mother tongue. As long as a + sort of common maccaronic was kept to we managed to understand one + another. After I made up my fire I sat up till long past twelve. I heard + no more talking downstairs but I could fancy her still arrayed in those + festive yet ghastly things, seated opposite her own reflection, intent as + a mummy and not unlike one restored in modern costume. Pulling the blind + aside before going to bed, I could see with awe the arching snowdrifts + outside my window. If it went on snowing, I should not be able to open it + on the morrow. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0006" id="link2HCH0006"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER II + </h2> + <p> + My prediction was verified in the morning. The snow had ceased falling, + but lay piled up against the lower half of my window. On the level there + appeared to be about three feet, while the drifts showed from six to + twenty feet I had never seen anything like it, and was for sometime lost + in admiration. Across the road the children of the <i>epider</i> and the + good man himself were already busy trying to shovel some of it away from + the door. It seemed at first sight a hopeless task and I, looking down at + Delle Josephine's door, wondered how on earth we were ever to get out of + it when not a particle of it was to be seen. Not all that day did I get + out of the house, and but for the absorbing interest I suddenly found + centred in Delle Josephine I would have chafed terribly at being so shut + up. Trains, were blockaded of course, it was the great fall of '81, and + interrupted travel for half of a week. All that day I waited so to speak + for the evening. Snow-boys there were many; customers none. The little + Frenchwoman brought me some dinner at one o'clock, pork, tinned tomatoes, + and a cup of coffee. About five o'clock I strolled down into the shop, it + was lighted very meagrely with three oil lamps. Delle Josephine was seated + on a high chair behind the one counter at work on some ribbon—white + ribbon. She was quilling it, and looked up with some astonishment as I + walked up to her. + </p> + <p> + “Do you object to a visitor Miss Josephine?” said I with the most amiable + manner I could muster. Poor soul! I should have thought she would have + welcomed one. + </p> + <p> + “<i>Mais non Monsieur</i> but I speak so little English.” + </p> + <p> + “And I so little French. But we can manage to understand each other a + little, I think. What do you say to the weather? When shall I be able to + go out?” + </p> + <p> + Delle Josephine laughed. She went on quilling the ribbon that looked so + white against her yellow hands. + </p> + <p> + “O <i>Monsieur</i> could go out dis day if he like, but de snow ver bad, + very thick.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you ever go out, Miss Josephine?” + </p> + <p> + “<i>Non Monsieur</i>. I have not been out for what you call a valk—it + will be five years that I have not been.” + </p> + <p> + “But you go to church, I suppose?” + </p> + <p> + “<i>Mais oui Monsieur</i>, but that is so near. And the good <i>Père Le + Jeune</i>—he come to see me. He is all the frien Delle Josephine + has, ah! <i>oui Monsieur</i>.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! Bonneroi isn't much of a place, is it? Have you ever been to Quebec + or Montreal?” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! <i>Quebec—oui</i>, I live there once, many years ago. I was + taken when I was ver young by <i>Madame de la Corne de la Colombière pour + une bonne; vous comprenez</i>?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! <i>bonne</i>, yes, we use that word too. It means a nursemaid, eh! + Were there children in the family?” + </p> + <p> + Delle Josephine dropped her ribbon and threw up her hands. + </p> + <p> + “<i>Mon Dieu! les enfants! Mais oui, Monsieur</i>, they were nine + children! There was <i>Maamselle Louise</i> and <i>Maamselle Angelique</i> + with the tempaire of the <i>diable</i> himself <i>oui Monsieur</i>, and + François and Réné and <i>l'petite Catherine</i>, and the rest I forget <i>Monsieur</i>. + And dey live in a fine <i>château</i>, with horse and carridge and + everything as it would be if they were in their own France. <i>Monsieur</i> + has been in France?” + </p> + <p> + Only in Paris, I told her; a spasmodic run across the Channel—Paris + in eight hours. Two days there then return— + </p> + <p> + “That does not give one much idea of France.” + </p> + <p> + “<i>Nou, non, Monsieur</i>. But there is no countree like France dey say + dat familee—and that is true, eh, <i>Monsieur</i>?” + </p> + <p> + “I am afraid I cannot agree with you, Delle Josephine,” said I. “To me + there is no country like England, but that may be because I am an + Englishman. Tell me how long did you live in Quebec with this family?” + </p> + <p> + “I was there ten year <i>Monsieur</i>. Then one day, I had a great + accidence—oh! a ver sad ting, ver sad!” The Frenchwoman laid down + the ribbon and went on. “A ver sad ting happen to me and the <i>bébé + Catherine</i>. We were out <i>l'ptite</i> and me, for a valk, and we come + to a part of the town ver slant, ver hilly. <i>L'ptite Catherine</i> was + in her carridge and I let go, and she go all down, <i>Monsieur</i>, and I + too over the hill—the cleef, you call it—but the <i>bébé</i> + was killed and I <i>Monsieur</i>, I was alive, but like this!” showing her + shoulder. “And what did they do?” + </p> + <p> + “At the <i>château</i>? Ah, <i>figure-toi, monsieur</i>, the agony of dat + <i>pauvre dame</i>! I was sent away, she would not see me, and I left <i>Quêbec</i> + at once. I was no more <i>bonne</i>, monsieur; Delle Josephine was enough + dat. I could make de hats and de bonnets for de ladees, so I come away out + to Bonneroi, and I haf made de hats and de bonnets for the ladees of + Bonneroi for twenty year.” + </p> + <p> + “Is it possible?” I said, much touched by the little story. “And the + ladies of Bonneroi, are they hard to please?” + </p> + <p> + Delle Josephine, who had spoken with the customary vim and gesture of the + French while—telling her tale, resumed her quilling and said, with a + shrug of one shoulder, + </p> + <p> + “They do not know much, and dat is true.” I laughed at the ironical tone. + </p> + <p> + “And you—you provide the <i>modes</i>?” + </p> + <p> + “I haf been to Quêbec” she said quietly. + </p> + <p> + “Twenty years ago,” I thought, but had too much respect for the queer + little soul to say it aloud. + </p> + <p> + “I see amongst other things,” I went on, “a most—remarkable—a + very pretty, I should say—hat in your window. The red one, you know, + with the bird of paradise.” + </p> + <p> + Delle Josephine looked up quickly. “Dat is not for sale, <i>monsieur</i>.” + </p> + <p> + “No? Why, I had some idea of perhaps purchasing it for a friend of mine. + Did you make that hat yourself?” + </p> + <p> + She nodded with a sort of conscious pride. Yet it was not for sale! I + wondered why. The strange scene of the foregoing evening came into my + mind, and I began to understand this singular—case of monomania. It + must be that having lived so many years in almost solitary confinement, + one might say, her mind had slightly given away, and she found her only + excitement and relaxation in posing before the glass in that extraordinary + manner. I hardly knew whether it would be an act of kindness to remove the + hat; she talked quite rationally and cheerfully, and remembering the + innate vanity of the French as a nation, I concluded to let the matter + rest That night I heard no talking in the sitting-room. I slept + profoundly, and woke up later than usual We were not dug out yet, though + two snow-boys with their shovels were doing their best to unearth us. I + waited some time for Delle Josephine to appear with the tray; but she too + was late, evidently, for at ten o'clock she had not come. I dressed and + went down stairs. As I passed the sitting-room I saw her tricked out as + before in the hat and the antimacassar seated on the ottoman in front of + the looking-glass. Heavens, she looked more frightful than ever! I made up + my mind to speak to her at, once, and see if I could not stop such hideous + mummery. But when I advanced I perceived that indeed I had come too late. + The figure on the ottoman was rigid in death. How it ever held itself up + at all I could never think, for I gave a loud cry, and rushing from the + room knocked against the open door and fell down senseless. + </p> + <p> + Outside, I suppose, the snow-boys shovelled away as hard as ever. When I + came to myself I did not need to look around; I knew in a flash where I + was, and remembered what had happened. I ran to the shop door and hammered + with all my might. + </p> + <p> + “Let me out!” I cried. “Open the door! open the door! for Heaven's sake!” + Then I ran upstairs, and did the same at my window. It seemed years upon + years of time till they were enabled to open the door and let me out. I + rushed out bareheaded, forgetful of the intense cold, thinking first of + all of the priest <i>Père Le Jeune</i>, so strong is habit, so potent are + traditions. I knew where he lived, up the first turning in a small red + brick house next the church of St. Jean Baptiste. I told him the facts of + the case as well as I could and he came back at once with me. There was + nothing to be done. Visitation of God or whatever the cause of death Delle + Josephine Boulanger was dead. The priest lifted his hands in horror when + he saw the ghostly hat. I asked him what he knew about her, but he seemed + ignorant of everything concerning the poor thing, except the <i>aves</i> + she repeated and the number of times she came to confession. But when we + came to look over her personal effects in the drawers and boxes of the + shop, there could be no doubt but that she had been thoroughly though + harmlessly insane. We found I should think about one hundred and fifty + boxes: from tiny little ones of pasteboard to large square ones of deal, + full of rows and rows of white quilled ribbon, similar to the piece I had + seen her working at on that last night of her life on earth. Some of the + ribbon was yellow with age, others fresher looking, but in each box was a + folded bit of paper with these words written inside, + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + <i>Pour l'ptite Catherine</i>. +</pre> + <p> + “What money there was, <i>Père Le Jeune</i> must have appropriated for I + saw nothing of any. After the dismal funeral, to which I went, I gathered + my effects together and went to the hotel. The first day I could proceed, + I returned to Montreal and have not visited Bonneroi since. The family of + <i>de la Corne de La Colombière</i> still reside somewhere near Quebec, I + believe. The <i>château</i> is called by the charming name of Port Joli, + and perhaps some day I may feel called upon to tell them of the strange + fate which befell their poor Josephine. Whether the melancholy accident + which partly bereft her of her reason was the result of carelessness I + cannot say but I shall be able, I think, to prove to them that she never + forgot the circumstance, and was to the day of her death occupied in + making ready for the little coffin and shroud of her '<i>p'tite Catherine</i>.' + My sketch of the frost bound Montmorenci was never finished, and indeed my + winter sketching fell through altogether after that unhappy visit to + Bonneroy. I was for weeks haunted by that terrible sight, half ludicrous, + half awful, and I have, now that I am married, a strong dislike to scarlet + in the gowns or head-gear of my wife and daughter.” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0015" id="link2H_4_0015"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + The Story of Etienne Chezy D'Alencourt + </h2> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0007" id="link2HCH0007"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER I. + </h2> + <p> + As my friends know, I was born an Englishman, spending the first + twenty-four years of my life in England. On my twenty-fifth birthday I set + foot on the shore of the great North American Continent, destined for a + time to be my home. Two days afterwards I entered the office set apart for + me in the handsome Government Buildings at Ottawa, and began my duties. A + transfer had recently been effected between the Home and Canadian Civil + Service, and I had been chosen to fill the vacant colonial post. Having no + ties or obligations of any kind I had nothing to lose by the transaction + except the pleasure and advantage of living in England, which, however, + had ceased for one or two reasons to be dear to me. + </p> + <p> + I did not, however, remain very long in the Service. I found it pleasant + work but monotonous, and receiving shortly after I went out a legacy + bequeathed by a widowed aunt I had almost forgotten, determined to leave + it and devote myself to study and travel. Like many Englishmen, I had + taken no trouble to ascertain the real points of interest about me. I had + been content with mastering and getting through my work, and with mingling + out of hours with the small but thoroughly charming set I had found ready + to welcome me on my arrival as the “new Englishman.” On the whole, I was + popular, though one great flaw—<i>i.e.</i>—lack of high birth + and desirable home connections, weighed to an alarming extent with the + dowagers of the Capital. + </p> + <p> + I had, on leaving the Service, made up my mind to study the people of the + Dominion. The English Canadians were easily disposed of in this way; most + of them were Scotch, and the rest appeared to be Irish. I then began on + the Indian population. But this was not so easy. It seemed impossible to + find even a single Indian without going some distance. + </p> + <p> + At last I unearthed one descendant of the Red man who kept a small tavern + in the lower part of the town; a dirty frame tenement almost entirely + hidden by an immense sign hanging outside, having the figure, heroic size + of an Iroquois in full evening dress, feathers, bare legs and tomahawk. + </p> + <p> + This place was known as “Tommy's.” But Tommy himself was only half an + Indian, and swore such bad swears in excellent English, that I was forced + to leave after a minute's inspection. + </p> + <p> + Then I began on the French-Canadians. There were plenty of them. In the + Buildings, on the streets, in the markets, in shops, they were all over. + Some of the most charming people I know were French-Canadians. My landlady + and her husband, quiet, sober devout people, were French-Canadians. + </p> + <p> + What I wanted to find, though, was a genuine unadulterated French-Canadian + of the class known as the <i>habitans</i>. I could recollect many + dark-eyed, fierce-mustached men whom I had seen since my residence in + Canada, and whom I conjectured must have been <i>habitans</i>. Up the + Gatineau and down the St. Lawrence, it would be easy to find whom I + wanted, but I preferred to wait on in town. I had many a disappointment. + One day it would be a cabman, another day a clerk. Though they all <i>looked</i> + French, they invariably turned out to be English or Scotch. My notions of + hair and skin and eyes were being all turned upside down; my favorite + predispositions annulled, my convictions changed to fallacies—in + short I was thoroughly bewildered. I could not find my <i>habitant</i>. At + the same time, when I did find him, he would have to know how to speak + some English, for I could only speak very little French. I read it well of + course, wrote it quite easily, but on essaying conversation was always + seized with that instinctive horror of making a fool of myself, which + besets most Englishmen when they would attempt a foreign language. + Besides, the <i>patois</i> these people spoke was vastly different from + ordinary French, as taught in schools and colleges, and what it might be + like I had not in those days the faintest idea, not having read Rabelais. + </p> + <p> + The worst <i>désillusionnement</i> I suffered I will recount. One day I + noticed an elderly man clad in corduroy trousers, shabby brown velveteen + coat, conical straw hat and dirty blue shirt, lounging about a wharf I + sometimes frequented where, at one time, would lay from thirty to fifty + barges laden with lumber. Bargetown it might have been called; it was a + veritable floating colony of French and Swede, Irish and Scotch, jabbering + and smoking by day and lying quietly at night under the stars, save for + the occasional jig and scrape of the fiddle of some active Milesian. Here, + had I fully known it, was my chance for observation, but I was ignorant at + that time of the ways of these people and did not venture among them. But + the man in the velvet coat interested me. He gesticulated the whole time + most violently, waved his arms about and made great use of his pipe, which + he used to point with. I could not hear what he was saying for his back + was turned to me and the wind carried all he said to the bargemen, as he + wished it to do I suppose. + </p> + <p> + How splendidly that coat becomes him, thought I. The descendant of some + fine old French settler, how superbly he carries himself! + </p> + <p> + The conical becomes on him a cocked hat and in place of ragged fringe and + buttons hanging by a single string, I see the buckles and bows, the sword + and cane of a by-gone age! + </p> + <p> + I made up my mind to address him, when to my disgust he got into one of + the barges, which moved off slowly, transporting him, as I supposed, to + his northern home. + </p> + <p> + The next morning the bell of my front door attracted my attention by + ringing three or four times. Evidently my landlady was out. I sauntered to + the door and found my <i>habitant</i> of the velveteen coat and duty blue + shirt! + </p> + <p> + Gracious heaven! I was overcome! By what occult power had he been driven + here to deliver himself into my hands? Before I could speak, he said: + </p> + <p> + “Av ye plaze, sorr, will yez be having any carrpets to bate? I'm taking + orders against the sphring claning, sorr.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! are you?” said I. I began to feel very sorry for myself, very sorry, + indeed, at this supreme instant. “Do you live near here?” I further + inquired. + </p> + <p> + “Shure and I do, sorr. Jist beyant yez. I pass yez every day in the week. + Me number's 415”—He was about handing me a greasy bit of paper, when + I slammed the door in his face and retired to my own room to meditate on + the strange accent and peculiar calling of this descendant of the “fine + old French settler.” + </p> + <p> + My next choice, however, proved a fortunate one. I got into a street-car + one evening late in the month of March. It was the winter street-car, a + great dark caravan, with a long narrow bench down either side and a mass + of hay all along the middle, with a melancholy lamp at the conductor's + end. Although fairly light outside, it was quite dark inside the caravan, + so the conductor set about lighting the lamp. This is the way he did it. + Opening the door he put his head in, looked all around, shut the door and + stopped his horses. Then he opened the door again and put his head in + again, keeping the door open this time that we might inhale the fresh + March night air. I say we, because when I grew accustomed to the dark, I + saw there was another occupant of the car, a man seated on the opposite + seat a little way down. The conductor felt under the seat for something + which I suppose was the can which, taken presently by him to the corner + grocery before which we had stopped, came back replenished with coal oil. + After he had filled the lamp, he lit in succession three matches, + persistently holding them up so that they all went out one after the + other. He felt in his pockets but he had no more. Then he asked me. I had + none. Then he asked the other man. The other man laughed and replied in + French. I did not understand what he said but saw him supply the conductor + with a couple of matches. When the lamp was finally lighted I looked more + closely at him. He was a working man from his attire: colored shirt, coat + of a curious bronze colour much affected by the Canadian labourer, old fur + cap with ears, and moccasins. At his feet stood a small tin pail with a + cover. His face was pale and singularly well-cut. His hair was black and + very smooth and shiny; a very slight moustache gave character to an + otherwise effeminate countenance and his eyes were blue, very light blue + indeed and mild in their expression. We smiled involuntarily as the + conductor departed. The man was the first to speak: + </p> + <p> + “De conductor not smoke, surely,” he said, showing me his pipe in one + hand. “I always have the matches.” + </p> + <p> + “So do I, as a general thing,”. I rejoined. “One never knows when a match + may be wanted in this country.” I spoke rather surlily, for I had been + getting dreadfully chilled while the conductor was opening and shutting + the door. The man bent forward eagerly, though without a trace of rudeness + in his manner. + </p> + <p> + “You do not live here, eh?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! yes, I do now, but I was thinking of England when I spoke.” + </p> + <p> + “That is far away from here, surely.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! yes,” I sighed. So did the man opposite me. We were silent then for a + few moments when he spoke again. + </p> + <p> + “There is a countree I should like to see and dat is France. I hear, sir, + I hear my mother talk of dat countree, and I tink—I should like to + go there. But that is far away from here, too far away, sure.” + </p> + <p> + My heart leapt up. Here, if ever, must be the man I was in search of. + </p> + <p> + “You are a French-Canadian, I suppose?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Sir, I am dat.” + </p> + <p> + “And where do you live?” said I. + </p> + <p> + “I work in de mill; de largess mill in the Chaudière. You know dat great + water, the fall under the bridge, dat we call the Chaudière.” + </p> + <p> + “I know it well,” said I, “but I have never gone properly over any of the + mills. I should like to go some day very much. Should I see you anywhere + if I went down?” + </p> + <p> + He stared, but gave me the name of his mill. It belonged to one of the + wealthiest lumber kings of the district. I resolved to go down the next + day. + </p> + <p> + “What is your name,” I asked. The man hesitated a minute before he + replied, + </p> + <p> + “Netty.” + </p> + <p> + “Netty!” I repeated “What a curious name! You have another name, I expect. + That must only be a nickname.” + </p> + <p> + “<i>Mais oui Monsieur</i>. My name is much longaire than dat. My whole + name is Etienne Guy Chèzy D'Alencourt, but no man call me dat, specially + in de mill. 'Netty'—dey all know 'Netty.'” + </p> + <p> + It was a long name, truly, and a high-sounding one,—but I preferred + thinking of him by it than by the meaningless soubriquet of “Netty.” At + the next corner he got out, touching his cap to me quite politely as he + passed. + </p> + <p> + I was in high spirits that evening, for I believed I had found my <i>habitant</i>. + I went down to the Chaudière the following day, and got permission to go + over Mr. ——'s mill I found it very interesting, but my mind + was not sufficiently centered on planks and logs and booms to adequately + appreciate them. I wanted “Netty.” After I had made the complete round of + the mill I came upon him hard at work in his place turning off planks in + unfailing order as they whizzed along. The noise was deafening, of bolts + and bars, and saws and chains, with the roar of the great cascade outside. + He saw me and recognized me on my approach, but he could not speak for + some time. It was most monotonous work, I thought. No conversation + allowed, not even possible; the truly demoniacal noise, yet just outside + on the other side of a small window, the open country, the mighty waters + of the ever-boiling “Kettle,” or Chauldron, and the steep spray-washed + cliff. Standing on my toes I could, looking out of Netty's small window, + discover all this. The ice was still in the river, half the fall itself + was frozen stiff, and reared in gabled arches to the sky. I watched the + two scenes alternately until at 6 o'clock the wheels ran down, the belts + slackened and the men knocked off. + </p> + <p> + Netty walked out with me at my request, and learning that he had to return + in an hour I proposed we should have a meal together somewhere and a talk + at the same time. He must have been greatly astonished at a complete + stranger in another walk of life fastening upon him in this manner, but he + gave no hint of either surprise or fear, and maintained the same mild + demeanour I had noticed in him the day before. + </p> + <p> + It was darkening rapidly and I did not know where to go for a meal. Netty + told me he ought to go to St. Patrick St. I knew the locality and did not + think it necessary to go all that way, “unless anybody will be waiting for + you, expecting you.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! not dat I live in a boarding house, my mother—she in the + countree, far from here.” + </p> + <p> + “Then, 'I said,' you can go where you like. Do you know any place near + here where we can get a cup of tea and some eggs? What will do for you, I + daresay, and I hardly want as much.” + </p> + <p> + But he knew of no reliable place and after walking about for a quarter of + an hour we finally went to the refreshment room at the station and ordered + beer and tea and sandwiches. + </p> + <p> + “I daresay you wonder at my bringing you out here with me. You'd get a + better meal perhaps at your boarding-house. But do you know I've taken a + fancy to you and, I want to see a little more of you and learn how you + live, if you will kindly tell me. I am interested in your people, the + French-Canadians.” + </p> + <p> + This sounds very clumsily put and so it did then, but I was obliged to + explain my actions in some way and what is better than the truth? Lies, I + have no doubt to some people, but I was compelled to be truthful to this + man who carried a gentle and open countenance with him. No gentleman could + have answered me more politely than he did now. + </p> + <p> + “Sir I am astonish—<i>oui un peu</i>, but if there is anyting I can + tell you, anyting I can show you I shall be ver glad. The mill—how + do you find dat, Sir? + </p> + <p> + “I like to watch you work very much, but the noise”— + </p> + <p> + Netty laughed, showing his radiant white teeth. + </p> + <p> + “<i>Mais oui</i>, de noise is bad, but one soon custom to dat. I am in de + mill for four year. I come from up in de north—from the Grand + Calumet—do you know there, Sir?” + </p> + <p> + “That is an island is it not? Yes, I know where it is, near Allumette, but + I have never been so far up on the Ottawa. And the Gatineau, that is a + river, is it not? What pretty names these French ones are! Gatineau!” I + repeated thinking. “That comes, I fancy having heard somewhere, from + Demoiselle Marie Josephe Gatineau Duplessis, wife of one of the first + French settlers. By the way your name is a curious one. Say it again.” + </p> + <p> + Netty very gravely repeated, “Etienne Guy Chézy D'Alencourt.” + </p> + <p> + “Was your father a native Canadian?” + </p> + <p> + “<i>Oui Monsieur</i>.” + </p> + <p> + “The name seems familiar to me,” I remarked. “I daresay if you cared to + look the matter up, you might find that your great grandfather was + something or other under the Intendant Bigot or Vaudreuil, or earlier + still under Maisonneuve the gallant founder of Montreal. Ah! how everybody + seems to have forgotten those old days. Even in Canada, you see, there is + something to look back upon.” + </p> + <p> + My companion seemed rather puzzled as I talked in this strain. Very + probably it was over his head. I found he could neither read nor write, + had been reared in the pine-clad and icy fastnesses of Grand Calumet + Island all alone by his mother—an old dame now about seventy. He + himself was about thirty he judged, though he was far from sure. He was a + good Catholic in intention, though very ignorant of all ritual. From his + youth he had been employed on the rafts and lumber-slides of the Ottawa + river until his four years' session at the mill, where he had picked up + the English he knew. He had made no friends he told me. The more I + conversed with him the more I was impressed with his simple and polite + manners, his innate good breeding, and his faith and confidence in the + importance of daily toil and all honest labour. He smoked a little, drank + a little, but never lost his head became obtrusively familiar, noisy or + inquisitive. I felt ashamed to think how deliberately I had sought him + out, to pry into the secrets and facts of his daily life, but solaced + myself into the assurance that it could not at least bode him harm and it + might possibly do him some service. + </p> + <p> + When we returned to the mill, I was astonished at the weirdness of the + scene. The entire premises were flooded with the electric light and the + men were working away, and the saws, belts and bars all in motion as if it + were the middle of the day. What a pandemonium of sound and colour and + motion it was! The strong resinous odor of the pine-wood mingled with the + fresh air blown in from the river, and I inhaled both eagerly. + </p> + <p> + It was almost powerful enough to affect the head, and I fancied I caught + myself reeling a little as I walked out on to the bridge, swaying just the + least bit as the torrent of angry water swept under it I had said “<i>Bonsoir</i>” + to my friend the Frenchman and was free to go home. But I lingered long on + the heaving bridge, though it was cold and starless, and I got quite wet + with the dashed-up spray. + </p> + <p> + Up the river gleamed the icy masses of the frozen fall, beyond that the + northern country of the northern waters stretched away up to the North + Pole with little, if any, human interruption. + </p> + <p> + Down the river on the three superb cliffs, rising high out of the water, + sparkled the many lights in the Gothic windows of the buildings. On either + side were the illuminated mills with their rushing logs and their myriad + busy hands piling, smoothing and sawing the monsters of the forest + helpless under the fetters of leather and steel. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0008" id="link2HCH0008"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER II. + </h2> + <p> + For the events which followed, I hold myself alone and altogether + responsible. Nearly every evening I spent at the Chaudière, either + watching my new friend at his work or lounging on the bridge, and always + finishing the day by walking home with him to his boarding house. Thus I + got to know him very well, and I soon discovered one thing that he was far + from strong. Even a life-long residence among the purifying and + strengthening airs of the keen fresh North had not protected him from the + insidious ravages of that dread complaint—consumption. I fancied the + hereditary taint must be on his father's side, for he always alluded to + his mother as being exceptionally healthy. On Sundays I accompanied him to + Church in the morning at the Basilica; in the afternoons we used to walk + all over the town in various directions. Of course, on all these + excursions, I did most of the talking. He was a good listener, and readily + improved in understanding and appreciation. Noticing that he was + particularly fond of any story connected with the life of the early French + in Canada, I read up all the works I could find on the subject, going + often to the Parliamentary Library for that purpose, and retailing the + more interesting and intelligible facts to him afterwards. Crusoe did not + watch over and educate Friday any more carefully than I my mild and + gentlemanly “Shantyman” in his blue shirt and canvas trowsers. + </p> + <p> + I grew at last, after three months' intimacy with him, quite to love him, + and I am sure my affection was reciprocated for he ever welcomed me with a + strong, clinging pressure of my hand and a smile which was a brighter one + than that which his face had worn when I met him first. A strange + friendship, but one which I felt to be so absorbing that I could not have + endured other friends. April passed, and May, and with the hot weather + Etienne, whose health gave way all at once, would have to return for a + short visit to the old mother all by herself on the island of Grand + Calumet. + </p> + <p> + I feared to let him go, he looked more delicate in my eyes every day, but + I knew it would be good for him in many ways. So a day came that saw my + friend D'Alencourt go back to his northern home. He would not ask me to go + and visit him, he had too much natural pride for that, but I made up my + mind to find him out, for all that. As may be supposed I was like the + traditional fish out of the traditional water for some time after his + departure. + </p> + <p> + I read and amused myself in any way that offered, but cared not to + experiment on any more French-Canadians. + </p> + <p> + In my reading I read for two, and made notes of anything I thought would + interest Etienne. One day I came across the same name as his own, borne by + a certain young soldier, a sprig of the French <i>noblesse</i> who had + followed in the train of Bigot, the dissolute and rapacious Governor of + New France. I meditated long over this. The name was identical—Guy + Chézy D'Alencourt. In the case of my friend the mill-hand there was simply + the addition of Etienne, the first Christian name. Could he possibly be + the descendant of this daring and gallant officer, of whose marriage and + subsequent settling in Canada I could find no mention? The thing seemed + unlikely, yet perfectly possible. I had predicted it myself. As if to + fasten my thoughts even more securely on the absent Etienne that very day + arrived a letter from Grand Calumet. It was addressed to me in a laboured + but most distinct hand. I thought that Etienne had commissioned the priest + doubtless to write for him or some other friend, but when I opened it I + found to my great surprise that it was from Etienne himself and in his own + handwriting, the result he told me of work at home in his Lower Town + boarding-house. + </p> + <p> + I dropped the letter. He had taught himself to, write! This was the first + fruit of my intimacy with him, and I hardly knew whether I was pleased or + not. But I clearly saw that this night-work added to the arduous toil and + late hours imposed upon him by his place in the mill had probably been the + cause of undermining his bodily strength. The letter itself ran: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Dear Sir,—The frend of Etienne D'Alenconrt, he can write you—he + can send you a <i>lettre</i> from the Grand Calumet, his island that + is green, Monsieur, and full of sweet berries. If you would come, + Mossier, you would find Etienne and his mother reddy to do all they + can. Still, Monsieur shall in this please alway himself, the friend + and benefactor of Etienne Chézy D'Alencourt.” + </pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + GRAND CALUMET ISLAND. + + “It was at night, when Monsieur had gone home, that I learnt myself + to write and thank him for all teaching from the books beside.” + + “E.” + </pre> + <p> + Of course, I would accept the invitation. I decided to go in a week's time + and wrote to that effect. I wished to reprimand him for having overtaxed + his strength as I was sure he had done in sitting up teaching himself how + to write, but respect for the dear fellow's perseverance and ability + restrained me. + </p> + <p> + Only when I got him again, I said to myself, I would stop that. I took + with me a gun, fishing rods and tackle, a mosquito net, plenty of cigars + and a hamper of tinned meats, tea, coffee and biscuits. + </p> + <p> + My journey was nearly altogether by water and I enjoyed every inch of the + beautiful river. After I reached the landing stage, a place called + Lichfield, I had to wait an hour before proceeding in the direction which + I had found out it would be necessary to follow in order to find Etienne + and his mother. + </p> + <p> + I shall never forget the delight of that one hour passed in rambling + through the lonely green wood that covered the island down to the shore. + The ferns were young and freshly unfurled, the moss was everywhere, green + and close and soft like velvet and star-clustering, gray and yellow. The + surviving flowers were the large white blossoms of the woodland lily, and + the incoming <i>Linnæa</i> began to show the faint pink of its twin bells, + afterwards to be so sweet and fragrant. + </p> + <p> + I thought of that passage in the letter which told of “the island that was + green and full of sweet berries.” Not a bad description for a person whom + the world must perforce term an illiterate man. + </p> + <p> + When my conveyance arrived, it proved to be a stage of antiquated type and + I suffered horribly during the journey of three hours. At the end of that + time, I was set down with my luggage at the gate of a small log hut, with + a little garden in front, bordered with beautiful pink and green stones, + the like of which I had never seen before. A snake fence ran in front of + this and on two sides, at the back was a thick wood. + </p> + <p> + Etienne was ready for me at which I rejoiced, fearing to make myself known + to the dame his mother. + </p> + <p> + Once more I felt that honest and affectionate hand grasp, once more I met + those clear and steady blue eyes, and I noted the flush of pride which + overspread his face when I told him that I had received his letter and + marvelled at it. + </p> + <p> + “Mossieu know so much and Etienne so ver little.” But when the flush had + died away, I was pained exceedingly to see the pallor of his cheeks and + the prominence of his high cheekbones. His walk was unsteady too, he put + his feet down, I noticed, as if they were light instead of solid supports + for his body, a sure sign of great physical weakness. My worst fears were + realized when I saw on the deal table in the front room, furnished with + home-made rugs drawn from woolen rags dyed all colors and some plain deal + furniture stained brown, a little pile of books. There were two + copy-books, two dictionaries, a small “Histoire de Canada” and some + illustrated magazines. I saw that he could read, too, pretty well, for he + presently drew my attention to a very old book indeed, that lay on a + shelf, a little Roman Catholic missal with tarnished gold clasps and + scarlet edges. + </p> + <p> + “Dat was belong to my fader,” he said, “for many a year; and it was from + his fader he get it.” + </p> + <p> + I looked at it eagerly all over. The fly-leaf bore no inscription, but up + in one corner, in faded red ink, was something that looked like a monogram + with a device underneath. I would have examined it at once but that + Etienne was anxious to read me a little of the Latin which he had picked + out with infinite patience, I should think. I promised to help him a + little occasionally, but told him that he was not looking well and had + better be content with ignorance in this lovely summer weather. + </p> + <p> + “When the winter comes and you are back at the mill, you can study as much + as you like.” + </p> + <p> + The old dame was sallow and sunken from a life of incessant hard work. The + climate itself, so changeable as well as inclement in these northern + wilds, is enough to pinch the face and freeze the blood, although at the + time of my visit it was hot, intensely hot for so early in the summer. + Moreover, the old dame was not given to talking. So taciturn a Frenchwoman + I never met elsewhere. They are usually characterized by a vivacious + loquacity which is the seal of their nationality. But this one was silent + in the extreme and had, as her son told me, never once held a conversation + with him on any subject whatever. Of his father he knew literally only + this fact—that he had been a “shantyman” in his time too, and was + killed by a strained rope striking him across the middle. Etienne did not + remember him. The time sped on. They made me as comfortable as they could + in the front or “best” room, but, when I thought it would not offend them, + I slept outside—“<i>couchant à la belle etoile</i>” as Rousseau has + it—and beautiful nights those were I spent in this manner. We had + plenty of fruit—wild strawberries and raspberries—pork and + beans and potatoes forming the staple articles of diet. There was no cow, + no horse, no dog belonging to the house. Fish we could get ourselves in + plenty, and eggs made their appearance in a farmer's wagon about twice a + week. Etienne and I spent entire days out-of-doors, shooting, fishing, + walking, reading. I tried to take his mind off his books, but it was of no + use. He had got so attached to his studies and new pursuits in life that + one day he startled me by asserting that he did not intend to go back to + the mill in future. I remonstrated gently with him, reminding him that as + yet his education was very incomplete, that few situations of the kind he + probably aspired to would be open to him for some time to come, and that + in the meantime he must suffer from want of money, and thus be the cause + of seeing his mother suffer as well. But he startled me further in reply + by stating that he knew himself to be slowly dying of consumption and that + he would shortly be of little use to anyone. His wish was to leave Canada + altogether and die in—France! France, the country of his dreams, the + goal of his dying ambition, the land of the golden <i>fleur de lis</i>, of + the chivalrous soldiers, the holy women and the pious fathers who + colonized the land of his birth! + </p> + <p> + I remonstrated with him as I have said. I expostulated in every key; I + took his mother into my confidence as well as I could since she knew not a + word of English; I laughed at him, I wept over him, I endeavoured by every + argument in my power to make him change my mind, but— + </p> + <p> + I failed. Then when I understood how firmly his mind was set upon this + extraordinary idea, I made up my mind to accompany him, in fact, not to + leave him at all until he either grew wiser and stronger, or else died the + death he predicted for himself. I found that the old dame had quite a + store of money saved by her little by little every year from Etienne's + earnings, and from what she made by selling the rugs I mentioned. These + sold for a dollar and upwards according to the size. Putting some of my + own to this fund of hers, I calculated she had enough to go upon for at + least a year. Wants are few in that district. Then I turned my attention + to Etienne. He was growing worse; he would lie for hours reading or + attempting to read with great beads of perspiration mounting on his brow. + The heat was excessive and proved very bad for him. I judged he would be + better in town and after I had been on the island for about two months, I + begged him to return with me. I promised him that once there, I would not + leave him for a day, and would even consider the possibility of taking him + across the ocean. He still maintained his calm and perfect manners and + insisted upon paying his fare down the river which I let him do, knowing + that soon his stock of money would be exhausted and he would then be at my + mercy. No sign of cupidity was apparent in his demeanor, yet I wondered + how he ever thought to reach France unless I paid his way. Like all + consumptives, he had a trick of rallying now and then and appearing better + than he really was. This occurred on our arrival in town. He took long + walks with me again daily and seemed so much stronger that I again dared + to suggest the propriety of his returning to the mill, but to no purpose. + He drooped at the very thought, and I perceived that his apparent recovery + was but a delusion, I soon saw he was weaker than ever. But whenever he + was at all able, he persisted in reading what he could understand and + really his progress was a marvel to me. So it came about that one evening, + towards the close of September where we had sometimes to light the lamp as + early as half-past six, I returned to my rooms about that hour of the day + (we shared rooms together, so fond had I grown of him, and I trust, he of + me) to find him poring over the little Catholic Missal. + </p> + <p> + “In this light? This will never do. And you could not light the lamp + yourself, my poor Etienne!” + </p> + <p> + When it was lighted, I saw indeed from his weak and excited appearance + that he was unable to do anything for himself. Lying on my sofa, he had in + one hand the scarlet-edged missal, and in the other the book I have + referred to, which contained a short sketch of Guy Chézy D'Alencourt the + handsome and reckless lieutenant of <i>La Nouvelle France</i>. + </p> + <p> + He could hardly speak but through his gasping I could gather that he + wished me to examine the words in the corner of fly-leaf I had once + noticed before and believed to be a monogram. I quieted him a little, then + bringing the lamp-light to bear upon the faded ink, I was able to decipher + the device, which comprised a crown, three <i>fleurs-de-lis</i> under, and + a lamb bearing a banner, with the letters I.H.S. upon it. + </p> + <p> + “The arms of Rouen!” I exclaimed “and above them, some initials, yes, a + monogram!” + </p> + <p> + My companion sat up in his excitement. + </p> + <p> + “Ah! dat is what I cannot make quite out! Tree letter—<i>oui, vite, + cher mosdieu, vite</i>!” + </p> + <p> + I had to look very closely indeed to decipher these, but with the aid of a + small lens I found them to be “G. C. D'A.” + </p> + <p> + There could be little doubt but that Etienne was the lineal descendant of + Guy Chézy D'Alencourt, native of Rouen, who came to Canada in the same + year as Bigot. I told him so and wondered what his thoughts could be, for + clasping my hands with as much force as he possessed—and that is at + times a wonderful force in the clasp of the dying—he said with a + great effort: + </p> + <p> + “If dat is so, <i>mossieu</i>, if dat is so, I have <i>O le bon Dieu</i>—I + have—<i>mossieu</i>, I have—O if dat is true”— + </p> + <p> + He fell back and I caught no more. The excitement proved too much for my + poor friend. When I spoke to him, he was unconscious and he never fully + recovered his senses. Alas! he lay in a few weeks, beneath the sod of + Grand Calumet Island, and France is ignorant of the fact that a true + aristocrat and simple-hearted gentleman existed in the humble person of my + friend the <i>habitant</i>, Etienne Guy Chézy D'Alencourt, <i>alias</i> + “Netty.” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0018" id="link2H_4_0018"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Descendez a L'Ombre, ma Jolie Blonde. + </h2> + <p> + The Honourable Bovyne Vaxine Vyrus refused to be vaccinated. Stoutly, + firmly and persistently refused to be vaccinated. Not even the temptation + of exposing to the admiring gaze of a medical man the superb muscles and + colossal proportions of an arm which had beaten Grace and thrashed + (literally) Villiers of the Guards, weighed with him. + </p> + <p> + “It's deuced cool!” he said, to his cousin Clarges, of Clarges St. + Mayfair, a fair, slight fellow, with a tiny yellow moustache. “Haven't I + been six times to India, and twice to Africa; that filthy Algiers, you + remember, and Turkey, and New Orleans, and Lisbon, and Naples? and now, + when I was done only eight years ago at home, here I am to be done again, + where, I am sure, it all looks clean enough and healthy! It makes me ill, + and I <i>won't</i> be done; laid up for a week and lose all the fun I came + for!” + </p> + <p> + “Bovey, though you <i>are</i> the strongest fellow in England, you're no + less a coward!” + </p> + <p> + Young Clarges looked up as he spoke, seriously: “<i>I</i> shall be done!” + </p> + <p> + “You? Well, so I should expect from a baby like you, Arthur! You will + never grow up, never learn to think for yourself! Now let me alone on the + subject, and let us look up this country place we were told about!” But + Clarges was not easily silenced. + </p> + <p> + “Think of Lady Violet, Bovey! If anything were to happen to you out here, + and the children, Bovey,—Rex and Florence, you know!” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! cut it, now, Arthur; I tell you it's of no use!” + </p> + <p> + Young Clarges looked out across the river, and bit the tiny yellow + moustache. “Then I won't be done, either!” said he to himself. “It's borne + in upon me that one of us has got to get this accursed thing, and if I can + prevent it, it shan't be Bovey!” What a strange scene it was beneath, + around, above and opposite them! Beneath flowed the river, solid with + sawdust, the yellow accumulation of which sent up a strong resinous smell + that almost made them giddy; to the left the tumultuous foam of the + Chaudière cast a delicate veil of spray over the sharp outlines of the + bridge traced against a yellow sky; to the right, the water stretched away + in a dull gray expanse, bordered by grim pines and flat sterile country. + Around them the three mighty cliffs on which the Capital is built, above + them the cold gray of an autumnal sky, and opposite them the long + undulations of purplish brown hills that break the monotony of the view, + and beyond which stretch away to an untrodden north the wastes and forests + of an uncleared continent. + </p> + <p> + “Are we looking due north, now, Arthur, do you know?” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose so,” returned Clarges. He was astride a cannon and still biting + the tiny moustache. “Yes, by the direction of the sunset we must be, I + suppose. I say, if we are, you know, I should like to be able to tell + between what two trees—it would have to be between two of those + trees there—we should have to walk to get to the North Pole.” + </p> + <p> + The Hon. Bovyne looked around suddenly and laughed. He was fishing + apparently in his pockets for a paper or something of the kind, as he had + a number of letters in his hand, looking them over. + </p> + <p> + “What two trees? Where? Arthur, you <i>are</i> a donkey. What are you + talking about?” + </p> + <p> + “I say,” returned Clarges, “that it is perfectly true that as we sit here, + facing due north, all we have to do is to walk straight over this river—” + </p> + <p> + “On the sawdust?” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly, over those hills and between two of those trees in order to + get to the North Pole. Curious, isn't it? If you look awfully close, real + hard, you know, you can almost count their branches as they stand up + against the sky. Like little feathers—huff-f-f-f—one could + almost blow them away!” + </p> + <p> + The Honorable Bovyne laughed again. Clarges was a mystery to him, as to + many others. Half-witted he sometimes called him, though on other + occasions he stood in awe of his bright, candid, fearless nature, and his + truthful and reckless tongue. + </p> + <p> + “I say,” went on Clarges excitedly, shading his eyes with his hand. “There + are two trees out there in a straight line from this very cannon that—that + I should know again, Bovey! Do look where I point now like a good fellow. + Don't you see there, following the chimney of that big red place, factory + or other, right in a line with that at the very top of the hill at its + highest point, two trees that stand a little apart from the others and + have such funny branches—Oh! you must be able to see them by those + queer branches! One crooks out on one side just as the other does on the + other tree. That isn't very lucid, but you see what I mean can't you? They + make a sort of—of—lyre shape.” + </p> + <p> + The Hon. Bovyne shaded his eyes with his hand and looked out over the + river and distant hills. “I see a line of trees, feathery trees, you aptly + call them my dear Arthur, but I can't make out your particular two. How is + it possible, at such a distance, to see anything like a <i>lyre</i> of all + things? Come along, I've found the address I wanted. It reads most + peculiarly. It seems there are still a great number of French people + around here, in fact, all over this Province which they sometimes call + Lower Canada. Do you remember much of your French?” I spoke a lot in + Algiers of course but I fancy it isn't much like this jargon. Our + destination is or appears to be, <i>c/o Veuve Peter Ross, Les Chats</i>, + pronounced <i>Lachatte</i>, so Simpson told me. + </p> + <p> + “Who told you about the place?” enquired young Clarges getting off the + cannon? “Simpson? What sort of a fellow is he?” + </p> + <p> + “Who? Simpson?” said his cousin in turn. “Um—not bad. Been out here + too long, though. Awfully quiet, goes in for steady work and takes hardly + any exercise. I wonder why it is the fellows here don't walk more! New + country and all that; I should have thought they would all go in for + country walks and shooting and sports of all kinds. They don't, you know, + from some reason or other. It can't be the fault of the country.” + </p> + <p> + “You forget the roads, Bovey, and the fences, and the interminable + distances and the immense rivers, and the long winter. I say, it looks + like snow to-night, doesn't it?” + </p> + <p> + “What do you know about snow!” rejoined the Hon. Bovyne. “Let us get on, + there's a good fellow—confound you! don't stare at those imaginary + trees any longer, but come along.” + </p> + <p> + Certainly young Clarges was possessed with the queerest fancy about those + trees. “I say, Bovey, they were funny, though, to strike me like that, out + of all the others! I am sure I should know them again. Perhaps some day + we'll take a fly and go out there—I wonder if there's an inn? Does + what's her name, your old Scotch lady, keep an inn, or is it a farm we're + going to?” + </p> + <p> + “Scotch? Why do you say Scotch? She's French, I tell you. Simpson says she + can't speak a word of English.” + </p> + <p> + “But 'Peter Ross' is Scotch, isn't it? At least you can't make it French, + however you twist it.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm not anxious to twist it. Don't you see, Arthur, she is evidently a + Frenchwoman who married a man called Peter Ross; she is the <i>veuve</i>, + widow, you know! of the lamented Scotchman. Now do you understand? But it + <i>is</i> peculiar.” + </p> + <p> + “Very,” said Clarges. “When do we start?” + </p> + <p> + “There's a train to-morrow morning at eight o'clock, but I thought we had + better hire a trap, and a man to bring the trap back, and put all our + things, tents and so on, into it, and go out comfortably so as to see the + country.” + </p> + <p> + “All right!” said Clarges. “By Jove, what a splendid night it's going to + be, stars out already, Bovey! Don't you hope it'll be like this tomorrow? + Shall we camp out the first night and think of—of—Lady Violet + by our camp fire, and Rex and Florence—how they'd like to see us, + wouldn't they? And they can't, you know, they're three thousand miles + away, trying to make out each other's faces in the November fog, eh! + Bovey? I say, what shall we get to eat out there, at Lachatte, you know, + the country always makes me desperately hungry.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! we shall do well enough. Simpson says she is a capital old woman, + lives entirely alone; will cook for us, wait on us, make us pancakes, I + expect, and give us plenty of that stuff we had this morning at the + hotel.” + </p> + <p> + “Sweet stuff?” asked Clarges. “<i>I</i> know. Syrup, maple syrup, that'll + do.” + </p> + <p> + Simpson, the authority, thrice quoted by the elder of the two Englishmen, + appeared at dinner with them that evening. He was a hard-working, stodgy + son of person who had come out to the Canadian Civil Service fifteen + years, ago, lived much by himself until he took a wife out of a Canadian + village, a phlegmatic, stolid, unimaginative sort of a girl, who was + nevertheless a good wife and an excellent housekeeper. Simpson sniffed at + the dinner. It wasn't as good as his own. He felt ill at ease in the + presence of the two men, whose airy talk and loud laughter struck him with + a keen sense of its novelty. They joked about everything. Clarges + particularly was in high feather. The wine, which came partly from the + hotel and partly from the Hon. Bovyne's hamper, flowed often and freely, + and Simpson, who was a very moderate fellow, wondered at the quantity his + friends seemed to be able to imbibe. “Without showing any traces of it, + either,” he said to himself. “All this vivacity is natural; I remember the + type; in fact, I was something like it myself ten or twelve years ago.” + </p> + <p> + After dinner, Clarges rushed up stairs and down again with a small silk + plush packet of photographs tied with ribbons. The men were in the smoking + room. + </p> + <p> + “I say, I want Simpson to see Lady Violet, Bovey.” + </p> + <p> + “All right, and the children too? You sentimental ass, Arthur!” Clarges + laughed. It was a funny laugh, a kind of inane ripple that nevertheless + tickled everybody who heard it. “But it's too smoky here. Come up stairs + to the drawing room. There's a jolly big drawing room with a piano, and we + can say what we want to, everyone stares here so!” + </p> + <p> + “I should think they would,” said Simpson quietly. “Why do you get + yourself up like that, simply because you're in Canada? A knitted + waistcoat, three sizes too large for you—” + </p> + <p> + “That's to admit of heavy underclothing,” said Clarges, not in the least + perturbed. “Knickerbockers,” continued Simpson, “that are certainly one + size too small; a cap that looks like a hangman's, and a coat that must + have come off Praed St.” + </p> + <p> + The Hon. Bovyne laughed long and loud. “Oh, Arthur, Arthur!” he said. But + young Clarges did not mind in the least. Indeed, had he but known it, and + be it remembered to his merit that he did not know it, he made a fair and + manly picture as he stood under the light of the chandelier. His slim, + well-knit figure was more prepossessing than the herculean proportions of + his cousin, “the strongest man in England;” his crisp fair hair brushed + boyishly up on one side and his well-trimmed moustache of silky yellow, + his keen gray eyes and delicate features, all went far in point of + attractiveness, especially when added to these mere physical details, rang + the infectious laugh, clear, hearty and youthful, and spoke the natural, + honest, unrestrained tongue. + </p> + <p> + In the drawing room Clarges established himself on a sofa between the + other two. “Now, Simpson,” he said, “you must excuse me calling you + Simpson so freely, by the way, but you know, Bovey always calls you + Simpson—you don't mind, do you? You bang away at my clothing all you + like, and in return I'll call you Simpson. Now I'm going to show you Lady + Violet. You know who she is, she is Bovey's wife, <i>and</i> the loveliest + woman in England. Loveliest woman in England, look at that!” Clarges held + up very carefully, out at arm's length, a very fine photograph of an + undeniably beautiful woman. “Bovey's wife.” he ejaculated again. “You + never saw her, so you don't know what beauty is, do you? But here's the + next best thing, her photograph, and such a photograph! Now, you be good, + as we say to the children, and I'll show you that again after all the + others.” Next he showed him in a sort of ecstasy, Bovey's children. + </p> + <p> + “Rex and Florence,” he said, in an awe-struck tone. Bovey laughed, so did + Simpson. So would anybody have done. + </p> + <p> + “What are you laughing at,” said young Clarges, solemnly. “Oh, at me! + that's all right, everybody laughs at me. I knew it couldn't be the + children. Now here's another lovely girl,” and then there was another and + still another, and then a group in hunting attire just after the + breakfast; then pretty interiors with dainty rooms and women and children + and dogs, a capital likeness of Fred Burnaby, Vyrus' fellow-officer, + autographs of Gordon and Wolseley, a garden party at Clarges Mount, a + water-party at Richmond, photograph's and sketches taken in Algiers, + Cairo, Damascus, Bombay and Edinburgh. Simpson sat through all this + slightly bored and confused. What had he to do with this kind of life? + Once he had had some gleams of it, it is true, but that was years ago, + before his modest little establishment was in existence, presided over by + the plain, but virtuous Matilda of his later days. + </p> + <p> + “Well, now,” said he, preparing to take his leave, “is there anything + further you want to know about your plans, for I suppose I shall scarcely + see you again before you leave if you get off tomorrow morning as you + intend. One thing—of course you've been vaccinated?” + </p> + <p> + The Hon. Bovyne muttered, “bah!” Clarges began putting the photographs + away, all but Lady Violet. + </p> + <p> + “Then you haven't been done, eh?” said Simpson, interrogatively. “I would + if I were you. You can't tell where you're going or whom you'll meet. Why, + you can 'do' yourself if you object to a medical man fussing around.” + </p> + <p> + “Can you?” said Clarges. + </p> + <p> + “I don't object,” said Bovey, loftily; “but I must say I think it is + making a ridiculous and most unnecessary fuss about the matter. Why, there + are half a dozen diseases as virulent as the small-pox stalking about in + every large town, and we don't take those! Why should we take the + small-pox when we don't take the cholera, or the—the—” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” observed Simpson, in his quiet manner, “I thought you would stick + for want of details. The fact is, that you can inoculate for small-pox, + and you can't as yet, for cholera or leprosy, and so wise people accept + the fact, the revelation if you will, and get vaccinated. However, as far + as your immediate surroundings go, you're safe enough. Old Mrs. Ross will + do all she can for you, and it isn't far, only twenty two miles from town + after all. You'll be walking in in a day or two for another tent or a + barrel of whiskey. Nothing like whiskey, Canadian whiskey, out in camp on + cold nights.” Simpson got up. + </p> + <p> + “I wonder,” said he, suddenly, “how you escaped being done on the train. + You came up from Quebec <i>via</i> St. Martin's Junction, didn't you?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! your importunate Inspector did make an effort on my behalf, but I was + firm. Nearly had a lodging in the Police Station though, but I told him + who we were and swore to having marks the size of flat-irons on both arms, + so he let me go.” + </p> + <p> + “And you,” said Simpson, turning to Clarges. “Me! oh! I shall be done. I + say, couldn't I walk out with you now and see a doctor about it? I believe + I will, Bovey, if you can spare me. For look you, Simpson, I am the + plaything of his leisure hours, a kind of Yorick, you know, and he might + be dull.” + </p> + <p> + The Hon. Bovyne looked grave for a second, “I believe I <i>should</i> be + dull without you, dear boy, though you are a crank. Let me see, how old + are you, Arthur?” + </p> + <p> + “Twenty-two,” answered Clarges. “Good heaven!” exclaimed the Hon. Bovine, + “and I am getting perilously near to forty. We'll change the subject. I'm + very sleepy. Don't expect to find me up when you come in, Arthur; + to-morrow night, remember, we may be sleeping on the cold ground, I shall + get all the rest I can to-night.” Clarges and the other man took their + leave. + </p> + <p> + “Once more, Bovey,” said the former, “won't you be done? Simpson, make + him! See here, look once more at Lady Violet, speak with <i>her</i> lips, + look with <i>her</i> eyes—the loveliest woman in England!” + </p> + <p> + “Go and get 'done,' as you call it, for heaven's sake, and let me alone!” + was all he got in reply. + </p> + <p> + But Clarges did not get done. He had an idea and this was his idea: To + walk to some doctor recommended by Simpson and procure an instrument + suitable for the purpose, and the necessary material, and to vaccinate his + cousin himself. The first part was easy enough. Simpson vaguely wondering + at his light-hearted talk, left him at a doctor's surgery door, and + Clarges, who could always get what he wanted from anybody in any part of + the world, soon persuaded the doctor to give him a “point” and all + necessary instructions. + </p> + <p> + “A small lancet is really a better thing,” said that gentleman, “but you + will manage all right, I daresay. We must really take every precaution we + can. Good evening.” + </p> + <p> + All this was easy; now arose the difficulty, how best to tackle Bovey. + </p> + <p> + “He's such a giant of a fellow,” thought Clarges. “But if he is only + asleep as he hinted he would be, there'll not be much difficulty. What + will he do when he finds it out in the morning, supposing I am successful + in operating upon him to-night? What a suggestive word! I am quite the + surgeon. But I'll do it—Arthur Clarges, see that you <i>do</i> do + it, by all you hold dear and sacred in old England!” + </p> + <p> + On his return, however, to the hotel, he found that his cousin was clearly + wide-awake again. + </p> + <p> + “Hang it all!” he said to himself, “why isn't he asleep?” But the Hon. + Bovyne was not in the least sleepy. He rallied Arthur on his poor arm but + fortunately did not ask to look at it. He ordered up a sherry cobbler + apiece and brought out some of his rarest weeds. “I say, what do you think + of Simpson, Bovey?” said Clarges, suddenly. + </p> + <p> + “Think? why, that there's nothing in him to think about.” + </p> + <p> + “Did you know he was married?” + </p> + <p> + “No; is he?” Bovey was always laconic. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, and he has four children. Just think, four! Two boys and two girls.” + </p> + <p> + “How interesting!” The two men smoked silently for a few minutes, then + Clarges said, “It must be a beautiful thing to be married, you know.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I <i>ought</i> to know,” returned his cousin. + </p> + <p> + Clarges put his cigar down and went on. “To have somebody that belongs to + you, and to know that you belong to somebody; that's marriage, and I think + it must be very beautiful. Of course, you belong to other people too, just + the same, and they belong to you, but not so much, not in the same way. + You don't go to church all in a tremble with your father and your mother, + or your sister or your brother. You don't wear a ring—a beautiful, + great broad band of gold, you know, always shining there on your finger—or + you don't put one on for anybody else save just the person that belongs to + you in that way, in the way of marriage, you know. And to be able to think + wherever you are, 'Well, there is that person, anyway, thinking of me, + waiting for me; the whole world doesn't matter if that person is really + there, anywhere, thinking of me, waiting for me.' Now, you know, <i>I'll</i> + never feel that, never, in this world. What good is there in me? I may be + Arthur Clarges, of Clarges, of course, but without money, that means + nothing. I say, Bovey, it's rather ghastly, but it's perfectly true. I + haven't a single soul in the world but you and Lady Violet to think of me + at all, or for me to think of.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't suppose you have,” said the Hon. Bovyne, thoughtfully. “You are a + lone beggar, Arthur, but a cheery one nevertheless.” + </p> + <p> + “So you see,” Clarges went on, “If in accompanying you around the world in + search of new pleasures and exciting experiences, anything happens to me, + you know, Arthur Clarges, of Clarges, nobody need mind. There isn't + anybody to mind.” + </p> + <p> + “All this because Simpson has got four children! Well, I hope you'll get + married yet, Arthur, you queer fish, and have six, two more than Simpson. + I know what you are driving at, however. You think me a selfish brute. You + can't understand how I can leave Lady Vi., and the two kids, and go off + annually on tours of exploration and so forth. I tell you, I am the better + for it, and she is the better for it, and nobody is any the worst for it, + unless it be yourself. Men who have knocked about as I have done, will + continue to knock about as long as they live. In the army, out of the + army, all the same. Lady Vi. understands me, and I her, and you forget, + Arthur, that you are very—young.” + </p> + <p> + “Then may I never get any older,” said Charles, almost rudely. + </p> + <p> + Not long afterwards his cousin, slightly heavy with wine, went to bed. + Clarges, abnormally wakeful, tried to read <i>Bell's Life</i> which lay + before him and waited until Bovey was fast asleep. They occupied the same + room, a large double-bedded one, which opened into a bathroom and parlour + <i>en suite</i>. When he was perfectly certain that his cousin was sound + asleep, so sound that “a good yelp from the county pack, and a stirring + chorus of 'John Peel' by forty in pink could not wake him,” thought + Clarges, the latter undertook his delicate task and accomplished it. He + did it quickly and skilfully with a tiny lancet he found in his cousin's + well-appointed travelling bag. Bovey never stirred. Clarges next undertook + to “do” himself. Then a strange thing happened. He had gone to the glass + and bared his left arm when a sudden faintness overcame him. He tried to + shake it off and sat down. Presently it left him and he felt quite as + usual. Then he made a second attempt. The same thing occurred again. This + time it was worse, and sight and strength failing, he sank on his own bed, + fainting. By a tremendous effort he prevented entire unconsciousness from + taking place and lay there half dressed and tremulous. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I <i>am a fool</i>! I can't help it. I can't try any more to-night, + for I am as weak and sleepy—if I can get up and undress it's as much + as I am capable of. But Bovey's all right. There's Lady Violet”—turning + his eyes to the photograph he had stuck in the looking glass frame—“she'd + thank me if she knew.” Sweet Lady Vi—so good to all around her—so + good to me—dear Lady Vi, the loveliest woman in England! + </p> + <p> + When Clarges awoke he was chilled and dazed, couldn't remember where he + was and what he had done. When he did recollect, he rose quietly, + extinguished the gas and made the room as dark as possible, in hopes that + Bovey might outsleep himself in the morning. Then he went to bed properly, + putting as a final precaution, his watch an hour in advance. It thus + happened that by Clarges' watch it was a quarter past ten when he awoke. + He rose first and bullied his cousin to that extent that the latter + tumbled out of bed and flung on his clothes without indulging in his usual + bath. At eleven the trap was due and Bovey was all on fire, bundled his + things around recklessly and swore a little at Clarges for keeping him up + the night before. Clarges was nervous, but up to the present time was + master of the situation. At breakfast, Bovey discovered the mistake, but + attributed it to Clarges' carelessness in such matters aggravated by a + probable bad arm. + </p> + <p> + “Why I took your watch for an authority instead of my own, I don't know,” + said he. “But last night I thought you were the clearer of the two, in + fact, I don't recollect winding mine at all, and it seems now that <i>you</i> + were the delinquent.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I must have been,” said Clarges, self-reproachfully. + </p> + <p> + At eleven the trap came, and by noon they were half-way to their + destination. The road winding higher and higher as it followed the + magnificent curves of the Gatineau was very beautiful, and revealed at + each turn a superb panorama of water, and wood and sky. For a long time + the Buildings were visible, towering over trees and valleys. Once the sun + came out and lit up the cold, gray scene. + </p> + <p> + “Pull up, Johnny,” said the Hon. Bovyne, “I want to see this. Why, its + immense, this is! Arthur, how's your arm?” + </p> + <p> + But Clarges was evidently struck with something. “I say, over there, is + where we were yesterday, Bovey, I can imagine I see the very spot, cannon + and all.” + </p> + <p> + “Just as then you imagined you saw a couple of trees here, eh? Now go + along, Johnny, and sit down, Arthur. It doesn't agree with you to be + vaccinated. I'm afraid you're too imaginative already my boy. By the way, + how <i>is</i> your arm?” + </p> + <p> + “Its a novel situation,” thought Clarges. “<i>He's</i> the one, not me. + Its <i>his</i> arm, not mine. But my turn will come to-night; pretty soon + he'll find it out for himself.” + </p> + <p> + Arrived at the house of <i>Veuve</i> Peter Ross, they found it clean and + inviting; warmed by a wood stove and carpeted with home-made rugs. The old + woman took a great interest in their arrival and belongings and jabbered + away incessantly, in French. Did they but request her to “cherchez un + autre blankette!” or fry an additional egg, up went her hands, her eyes + and her shoulders, and such a tirade of excited French was visited upon + them that they soon forebore asking her for anything but went about + helping themselves. At first they thought she was angry when these + outbreaks took place, but Bovey, who could partially understand her, + gathered that she was far from offended, but given over to the national + habit of delivering eloquent and theatrical monologues on the slightest + provocation. She had no lodgers at the present moment; a Frenchman had + left the day before, and the prospect was in every way favorable, to the + comfort of the two friends. + </p> + <p> + When the dusk fell, Bovey made a camp-fire. + </p> + <p> + “It's what we came for,” he said, “and we can't begin too early or have + enough of it, and I feel chilly, queer, quite unlike myself to-night. It's + a depressing country just about here.” + </p> + <p> + “It is,” said Clarges, anxious to keep his friend a little longer in the + dark. “We'll be all right when it's really night, you know, and the fire + blazes up. What a jolly tent and what glorious blankets? We ought to go to + bed early, for it was awfully late the last night There! now its getting + better. Hoop-la! more sticks Bovey! Throw them on, make it blaze up. Here + we are in the primeval forest at last, Bovey, pines and moss, and shadows + and sounds—What's that now? Is that on the river?” + </p> + <p> + For suddenly they heard the most wonderful strain coming from that + direction. The river was about three or four hundred yards away across the + road, in front of them, and upon a raft slowly passing by were a couple of + <i>habitans</i> singing. What strain was this, so weird, so solemn, so + earnest, yet so pathetic, so sweet, so melodious! + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Descendez à l'ombre + Ma jolie blonde.” + </pre> + <p> + Those were the words they caught, no more, but the tune eluded them. + </p> + <p> + “It's the queerest tune I ever heard!” ejaculated Clarges. He had a + smattering of music, and not a bad ear. + </p> + <p> + “Can't get it for the life of me. It's like—I tell you what it's + like Bovey, its got the same—you know—the same intervals—that's + the word—that the priests chant in! And then, just when you're + thinking it has, off it goes into something like opera bouffe or those + French rounds our nurse used to sing. But isn't it pretty? I say—where's + Lady Violet now, Bovey, eh? Don't you wish she could see us, see you + there, quite the pioneer, looking like Queen Elizabeth's giant porter in + this queer light? and how she would catch up that tune and bring it out on + the piano, and make ever so much more of it with her clever fingers, first + like a battle-cry, men marching and marching you know, and then put in a + wonderful chord that would make us all creep and sigh as she would glide + into the loveliest nocturne, you know—I say, what a nocturne we're + having, eh! Do you think it's any livelier now?” + </p> + <p> + “My boy,” said the Hon. Bovyne, solemnly, “You are right, it is a nocturne + and a wonderful one. I'm not given to expressing myself poetically as you + know, so I shall content myself with saying that its immense, and now will + you pass the whiskey? I certainly feel shaky to-night, but I shall sleep + out here all the same. What are you going to do?” + </p> + <p> + “I prefer to try the house, I think,” answered Clarges, and so he did. + When he was going to bed, heartily grateful that his cousin was as yet + ignorant of his interference, he looked long and earnestly from his one + window in the roof at the scene outside before he attempted again the + process of self-vaccination. He could see the mighty flames of Bovey's + camp-fire, a first-class fire, well planned and well plied. He could see + the pale outline of the tent and the dark figure of his cousin wrapped in + rugs and blankets by the side of the fire. He could see the tall pines and + the little firs, the glistening line of river and the circles of gleaming + white stones that marked the garden beds in front. The first snow of the + year was just beginning to fall in tiny flakelets that melted as soon as + they touched the ground. + </p> + <p> + “When they're all covered with snow, it must be pretty,” thought Clarges. + “Like all the Christmas trees in the world put together! The winter is + beginning, the long cold, constant Canadian winter we have heard so much + about. Good-bye, dear Lady Violet, good-bye, dear old England!” Clarges + sat on the side of the bed with his arm ready. But the faintness came + again, this time with a sickening thrill of frightful pain and + apprehension, and he rolled over in a deathly swoon with his own words + ringing in his ears. + </p> + <p> + When the morning broke, it broke in bright sunshine and with an inch or so + of snow on the ground. The Hon. Bovyne, though feeling unaccountably ill + and irritable, was delighted. + </p> + <p> + “Still I fear we are too late in the season for much camping,” he said, “I + must see Arthur about it.” + </p> + <p> + He waited till ten, eleven, half-past eleven. No Arthur, not even the old + woman about. He wondered very much. He approached the house, and finding + nobody coming at his knock, opened the door and went in. Something wrong. + He knew that at once. The air was stifling, horrible, with an unknown + quantity in it, it seemed to him. He threw open the front room door. <i>Veuve</i> + Peter Ross was in her bed, ill, and of small-pox. He could tell her that, + for certain. He rushed up-stairs and found Clarges on his bed, raving, + delirious. + </p> + <p> + What was it he heard? + </p> + <p> + “Bovey's all right! Bovey's all right?” This was all, repeated over and + over. + </p> + <p> + The Hon. Bovyne was neither a fool nor a coward. He tore off his coat and + looked at his arm, then he dragged his cousin out of the room, down the + stairs and out of the fatal house. Propping him up against a sturdy pine + and covering him with all available warm clothing, he sped like wind to + the nearest house. But neither the swift, keen self-reproaches of Bovey, + nor the skill of the best physician to be found in the town, nor the pure, + fresh pine-scented air, nor the yearning perchance of a dead yet present + mother could prevail. The young life went out in delirium and in agony, + but “thank God,” thought Bovey, “in complete unconsciousness.” + </p> + <p> + When he set about removing his tent and other camping apparatus some time + later, he was suddenly struck with the appearance of the tree against + which poor Clarges had been propped. He looked again and again. “I must be + dreaming,” said the Hon. Bovyne. “That tree—oh! its impossible—nevertheless, + that tree has its counterpart in the one opposite it, and both have + extraordinary branches! They bend upward, making a kind of—of—what + was it Arthur saw in those imaginary trees of his only—<i>yesterday</i>—my + God—it is true—a kind of lyre shape! There it is, and the more + I look at it the clearer it grows, and to think he has <i>died</i> there—!! + And beneath there he is buried, and the raftsmen will pass within a few + hundred yards of him where he lies, and will sing the same strain that so + fascinated him, but he will not hear it, and learn it and bring it back + for Lady Violet, the loveliest woman in England! For he has gone down into + the eternal shadow that no man ever penetrates.” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0019" id="link2H_4_0019"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + The Prisoner Dubois. + </h2> + <p> + Miss Cecilia Maxwell was the only child of Sir Robert Maxwell, K. C. M. + G., member of the Cabinet, chief orator of the Liberal party, and + understudy for the part of Premier, who, although a Scotchman by birth, + was a typical Canadian—free, unaffected, honest and sincere. His + bushy iron-gray hair, his keen gray eyes, his healthy florid color, and + the well-trimmed black moustache, which gave his face an unusually + youthful appearance for a man of his age, went with a fine stalwart + physique and a general bodily conformation apparently in keeping with the + ideas of early rising, cold ablutions and breakfasts of oatmeal porridge + that the ingenuous mind is apt to associate with Scotch descent and + bringing-up. His daughter was a very beautiful girl. Born in the shadow of + the pines, she had been educated successively in Edinburgh, Brussels and + Munich, had been presented at Court, been through two London seasons, + spent half of one winter in South America, another in Bermuda, had been + ogled by lords, worshipped by artists, and loved by everybody. + </p> + <p> + Once more in Canada, she took her place in the limited yet exacting + political circles of the Capital, of Toronto, and of distant Winnipeg. + Life was full of duties, and she shirked none, though on days when they + were put away earlier than usual she would fall to musing of the country + place down the river she had not seen for years, with the beautiful woods, + and the simple, contented French, and the evenings on the water. + </p> + <p> + “That great, lonely river,” she thought on one occasion, looking idly out + of her window. “What other river in the world is like it?—and the + tiny French villages with the red roofs and doors, and the sparkling + spires and the queer people. Delle Lisbeth, and <i>veuve</i> Macleod, and + Pierre—poor Pierre. I have never forgotten Pierre, with his solemn + eyes and beautiful brown hair. And how he knew the flowers in the wood, + and what were those songs he used to sing?” And Cecilia sang a couple of + verses of: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Un Canadian errant, + Banni de ses foyers.” + </pre> + <p> + When Sir Robert entered later he found her listless and preoccupied. “You + mustn't look like that to-night,” he said. “Don't forget that this is your + first important dinner-party: three French members and their wives, and La + Colombière, the new Minister of Finance, to whom you must be as charming + as possible. This North-West business is quickening as fast as it can. The + Métis are really up, there's no doubt about it.” + </p> + <p> + “In rebellion?” asked Cecilia breathlessly. There was an added interest in + life directly to the imaginative girl. + </p> + <p> + “Ay,” said her father, “there's a rascal at the bottom of it we've been + after for a long time; but now, run away and look bright at dinner, like a + good girl.” + </p> + <p> + The small clique of Frenchmen and their wives could not but have been + charmed with their reception that evening. The dinner was good, and not + too heavy nor long, the wines excellent (for Sir Robert did not as yet + favor the “Scott” Act), and the suavity of his manner combined with the + appearance and grace of his daughter, in a delicate dress of primrose and + brown, with amber in her beautiful golden plaits and round her whitest + neck, left nothing to be desired. And yet on that very first night in her + capacity as hostess, Cecilia found she had to learn to play a part, the + part of woman, which all women who have just left off being girls find so + hard to play at first. For naturally the report of the Métis revolt had + spread. Sir Robert did a brave thing. He referred to it directly they were + seated, and then everybody felt at ease. Now it could be talked about if + anybody chose—and Cecilia did so choose. + </p> + <p> + “Who is this young Frenchman,” she asked of La Colombière, “that is + identified with this new rising? I have been away, and am ignorant of it + all.” + </p> + <p> + “His name is Dubois—Pierre Dubois,” returned La Colombière with a + gleaming smile. “He calls himself the representative of the + French-Canadian party. Bah! such men!” But Cecilia's heart had given a + mighty leap and then stopped, she almost thought, for ever. + </p> + <p> + “Pierre—Pierre Dubois?” she reiterated in her surprise. Her fan of + yellow feathers dropped from her lap, and her face showed extraordinary + interest for a moment. + </p> + <p> + “You know him M'lle.?” said La Colombière, returning her the fan. For an + instant she was the centre of attention. Then with a flutter of the yellow + feathers that subjugated the four impressionable Frenchmen completely, she + resumed her usual manner. + </p> + <p> + “I know the name, certainly. There was somebody of that name living at + Port Joli where we go in the Summer you know.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” said Laflamme carelessly, a little man with a bald head and a + diplomatist's white moustache, “Dubois is not a new offender. He has been + recognized as an agitator for three or four years. He has the eyes of the + ox and the wavy hair of the sculptor. He is to be admired—<i>vraiment</i>—and + has the gift of speech.” + </p> + <p> + When the dinner was over Cecilia played for them in the drawing-room. + Somehow or other, she wandered into the tender yet buoyant melody of the + <i>chanson</i> she had hummed earlier in the day. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Un Canadien errant, + Banni de ses foyers.” + </pre> + <p> + “Hum-hum,” trolled little Laflamme. “So you know our songs? <i>Ca va bien</i>!” + </p> + <p> + “That was taught me” said Cecilia, “once down the river at Port Joli.” But + she did not say who had taught her. Later on when the guests were gone and + Sir Robert was preparing to go back to the office, his daughter said very + quietly. + </p> + <p> + “Papa do you remember that young man at Port Joli who was staying with the + curé for his health, the one who was so kind and showed me so many things, + the woods, you know and the water, and who talked so beautifully?” + </p> + <p> + “I remember the one you mean, I think, but not his name. Why, dear child?” + </p> + <p> + “His name was Dubois,” returned Cecilia. “Pierre Dubois!” + </p> + <p> + “Dubois? Are you sure? That is very singular” said her father. “And he + talked beautifully you say? It must be <i>this</i> one.” + </p> + <p> + “That is what I think” said Cecilia, seeing her father to the door. + </p> + <p> + Then ensued a period of hard work for Cecilia. She read the papers + assiduously, going up every day to the Parliamentary reading-rooms for + that purpose that she might lose no aspect of the affair. She followed + every detail of the rebellion, even possessing herself of many of her + father's papers bearing on the matter. Those details are well known; how + the whisper ran through our peaceful land, breathing of war and battle and + blood-shed; how our gallant men marched to the front in as superb a faith + and as perfect a manhood as ever troops have shown in this country or the + Old; how some fell by the way, and how others were reserved to be clasped + again to the bosoms of wife and mother and how some met with the finest + fate of all, or at least the most fitting fate for a true soldier—death + on the battle-field. For a month the country was in a delirium. Then + joy-bells rang, and bonfires blazed, and hands were struck in other hands + for very delight that the cause of all the mischief, the rebel chief, the + traitor Dubois was taken. Cecilia alone sat in her room in horror. + </p> + <p> + “What will they do with the prisoner Dubois?” she said with a vehemence + that dismayed Sir Robert. + </p> + <p> + “The prisoner Dubois? Why, they will hang him of course. He has caused too + much blood to be shed not to have to give some of his own.” Cecilia + writhed as if in extreme pain. Her beauty, her grace, her youth all seemed + to leave her in a moment, and she stood faded and old before her father. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, they will not do that! Imprison him or send him away—anything, + anything save that! See, they do not know him—poor Pierre, so kind, + so good—they do not know him as I knew him. Father, he could not + hurt a thing—he would step aside from the smallest living thing in + the path when we walked together that summer, and he helped everybody that + wanted help, there was nothing he could not do. And he loves his country—at + least he did so then. There is that song, <i>'O mon cher Canada</i>,' he + used to sing, and he told me of the future of his country, and how he had + prayed to be allowed to aid it and push it forward. And he does not hate + the English, only how can he help loving the French more when he is one of + them, and has good French blood in his veins—better than many of the + so-called English! And he was born to be a leader and to bring men away + from their home into battle and make war for them, and where in that does + he differ from other heroes we are taught to love and admire? If you had + ever heard him talk, and had seen the people all gathered round him when + he spoke of all these things—as for his church and the Virgin, and + the priests, it would be well if you and all of us thought as much about + our religion, and loved and revered it as he did his!” + </p> + <p> + Cecilia broke down into incoherent sobs. Sir Robert sat aghast at this + startling confession. No need to tell him that it was prompted by love. + </p> + <p> + “But what if he be insane, my dear?” he asked very quietly. + </p> + <p> + “Then it is still bad—it is worse,” said Cecilia. “Will hanging an + insane man bring back the others that are slain? Will it make foul fair + and clean still cleaner? Will it bring peace and friendliness, and right + feeling, or will it bring a fiercer fire and a sharper sword than our + country has yet seen—a hand-to-hand fight between rival races, a + civil war based on national distinction!” + </p> + <p> + “What would you do?” said her father, walking up and down the room. “What + can I or anybody do? It is common law and common justice; if he be found + guilty he must swing for it. Personal intercession—” + </p> + <p> + “Might save him!” said the girl. + </p> + <p> + “Must not be thought of!” said her father. + </p> + <p> + “You mean, <i>you</i> may not think of it. But others may—<i>I</i> + may. I am a woman, free and untrammelled by either party or personal + considerations of any kind. Father, let <i>me</i> try!” + </p> + <p> + “Cecilia, it is madness to take such a thing upon yourself. How is it + possible? What are your plans?” + </p> + <p> + “I do not know. I have not thought. All is in a haze through which I see + that vision of the hangman and the rope Father, let me try!” + </p> + <p> + Sir Robert thought for a moment, then he said: “Very well, my dear, you + shall try, on one condition; that first of all you have an interview with + Dubois himself. In fact, for your purpose it is absolutely necessary that + you should see him, in order to identify him with the other Dubois you + used to know. After that interview, if you still persist in your course, I + promise—rash as it certainly seems—to help you. Now hold + yourself in readiness to start for the North-West at a moment's notice. I + have private information that tells me Dubois will be hung and any + intervention on your part or that of anybody else must be set on foot + immediately, do you see?” + </p> + <p> + A few days afterwards Cecilia, unveiled, and dressed in an irreproachable + walking costume of gray, was taken to the gloomy prison outside the little + northern town of ——, where the prisoner Dubois was confined. + There was a bit of tricolor in her hat and her cheeks were very pale—As + the beautiful daughter of Sir Robert Maxwell her way was sufficiently + paved with politeness as she presented her private order to see the + prisoner. Her heart was beating tumultuously and the blood surged round + her temples. The turnkey showed her into a small whitewashed room, + opposite the cell in which Dubois spent his time and informed her that in + compliance with strict orders he would have to be present during the + interview, to which Cecilia bent her head in assent; she could not have + spoken just then. “It is a strange thing that I am doing,” she thought, + “but I shall see Pierre—poor Pierre.” Approaching footsteps were + soon heard and the prisoner Dubois entered, escorted by two warders. He + started when he saw his visitor, and—stared. + </p> + <p> + “Mademoiselle,—” he said, evidently trying to recall her name and + failing. + </p> + <p> + “Cecile,” she said, eagerly, “Ma'amselle Cecile you always called me, and + I liked it so much better than Cecilia. I think I like it still—Pierre—I—.” + </p> + <p> + The prisoner Dubois frowned. + </p> + <p> + “If Mdme. Dubois had ears through these walls, you had not called me + 'Pierre.' But—” laying his hand on his heart and bowing low, “Pierre + himself is flattered—<i>oui, mademoiselle</i>—by your + attention—<i>oui, vraiment</i>—and he is rejoiced to know that + his image is still cherished in that heart so fair, so <i>Anglaise</i>, so + pure, so good. <i>Belle-enfant, Je n'ai pas oublié nos amours</i>!” + </p> + <p> + The three men in the room suppressed a smile. Dubois stood with his head + thrown back, his arms folded and his soft dark eyes fixed on Cecilia. She + was still standing, indeed there was no chair in the room, and her eyes + were fixed on him as his upon herself. It was Pierre, and yet not her + Pierre. Rather an exaggerated growth—of the man she had once known. + The same soft brown hair, only thicker and rougher, one drooping wave + looking tangled and unkempt—the dreamy eyes with the latent sneer in + them dreamier than ever and yet the sneer more visible, the thin sensitive + nose thinner, the satisfied mouth more satisfied and conscious, the weak + chin fatally weaker. And he was married, too! Mdme. Dubois—that must + be his wife! How strange it was! Cecilia's brain was in a frightful state + of doubt and fever and hesitation. It was necessary for her to explain her + presence there, however, for she could not but resent the opening speech + of the prisoner Dubois. She was growing very tired of standing, moreover, + but she would have died rather than have demanded a chair. At length the + turnkey observed her fatigue and sent one of the warders for a chair. + </p> + <p> + “Fetch two,” interposed Dubois, with a flourish of his hand. “I myself + shall sit down.” When the man returned, bringing only one chair on the + plea that he could not find another, Cecilia, whose nerve was returning, + offered it to Dubois. He accepted it calmly and sat down upon it, waiting + to hear what she had to say. At this signal instance of arch selfishness + Cecilia felt her heart tighten and her temples grow cold as if fillets of + fire had been exchanged for ribbons of snow. + </p> + <p> + “Sir,” she began, “I am sorry to find you here.” Dubois smiled the smile + of a great man who listens with condescension to what an inferior has to + say. “I am glad you have not forgotten me, because all the time I was + away, and it has been a long time, I never—it is quite true—forgot + you—I mean (for Dubois smiled again) I never forgot that summer you + spent near us at Port Joli, and the things you talked about, about your + future. When I came home I found you had gone so much further than I know + you ever intended to, and have been the cause of so much trouble, and the + death of brave men, and I was very sorry.” Cecilia leant on the bare table + before her, and felt that every moment as it passed brought with it a + cooling of the once passionate feeling she had entertained for the Dubois + of her childhood. But if the lover were gone, there remained the man, + husband and father, maybe the leader, the orator, the martyr, the dear + human being. + </p> + <p> + “So I thought that if it were possible at all, some step should be taken + to—to prevent the law from taking its course—its final course + perhaps.” Cecilia felt her throat tighten as she spoke. “You have plenty + of friends—you must have—all the French will help and many, + many English, for it is no cause to die for, it is no cause at all! There + should never have been bloodshed on either side!” + </p> + <p> + Dubois uncrossed his long legs at last and said in his loftiest tone: + </p> + <p> + “<i>Chère enfant</i>, the French will not let me die. I—I myself—Pierre + Dubois—allowed to hang by the neck until I am dead! That will never + happen. <i>Voyez-vous donc chérie</i>, I am their King, their prophet, + their anointed, their fat priests acknowledge me, their women adore me!” + </p> + <p> + Cecilia shrunk together as she listened. She had sought and she had not + found, she had expected and it had been denied her. At this moment, the + turnkey signified that time was up. She felt her heart burning in an agony + of undefined grief and disappointment in which was also mingled the relief + of resignation. The prisoner Dubois bowed low with his hand on his heart + and then pressing her own hand lingeringly, gave her a tenderly + insinuating glance. As she turned away she heard him exchange a laugh and + a jest with one of the wardens, and her cheeks flamed with indignant + anger. “Were he a good or suffering man as I dreamed he was, I would have + bent low and kissed his hand; as it was, I am sorry I let him take mine.” + </p> + <p> + She was calm when she reached her carriage in which sat her father + waiting. He divined at once that his plan had been successful. “You look + tired, my dear,” was all he said. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I have been standing for some time,” Cecilia returned in a peculiar + voice. + </p> + <p> + “Could they not find you a chair in the establishment?” + </p> + <p> + “They found one,” she said grimly, “and that was appropriated by the + prisoner Dubois.” + </p> + <p> + “The prisoner Dubois!” thought Sir Robert. “It is well. We shall hear no + more of Pierre.” + </p> + <p> + Two days before Christmas the prisoner Dubois underwent the extreme + penalty of the law. Cecilia sat in her room all that day. She never quite + made up her mind as to whether Pierre had been a lunatic or a fanatic, a + martyr or a fiend, an inspired criminal or a perverted enthusiast. Perhaps + he was a mixture of all. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0020" id="link2H_4_0020"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + How the Mr. Foxleys Came, Stayed and Never Went Away. + </h2> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0009" id="link2HCH0009"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER I. + </h2> + <p> + There flows in Western Canada, by which I mean a region east of the + Saskatchewan and west of the Thousand Islands, a singular and beautiful + stream. It is beautiful because it is narrow, undulating and shallow, + because it has graceful curves and rounded bends, because its banks are + willow-clad and its bed boulder-strewn, because it flows along between + happy farms and neat white villages, because at one spot, it boasts a + picturesque and ruined mill and a moss-covered bridge and because—chiefly + because—it is above all things—placid. The mind familiar with + our Canadian streams will easily understand then, that if these be its + attributes of beauty, they also attest to its claim of singularity. For + the Canadian river is seldom placid, but oftener seething and steaming and + foaming; or else deep and dark and dangerous with many a mighty gorge and + tumbling cascade, wide and lonely and monotonous for the most part; pine + hung down to the very edge, black and lowering, or displaying waving wisps + of dry gray foliage that only resembles human hair. What a contrast, then, + does this cherished river I speak of, afford! No local Laureate has as yet + written it up, though picnic parties used to gather themselves together on + its banks and in its well-wooded shades, defiling everything they touched + from bark to beach, leaving bits of bread here, dead pie there, buttering + the leaves, peppering the grass, salting the stones, and scattering greasy + crumpled paper—PAPER—PAPER—everywhere. That is what + picnic parties do all over the world, and with such gusto all of them, + even the Sunday-schools, Dorcases, W. C. T. U's. and all the rest of them, + that I really think it must be intended as a serious part of the + Picnicker's Ritual and forms very likely a peace-offering or sacrifice of + propitiation towards some unknown God. I don't think the Druids left paper + about underneath their oaks. But presumably they left worse. Well, if as + yet, this river I love so well has not been immortalized in fiction, + travels or verse, it has however attracted the attention of several gifted + members of the Royal Academy—Royal Canadian of course, who have from + time to time invaded its peaceful shores and stuffing themselves into + adjacent if inconvenient farmhouses, sketched it in water and oil, in the + common-place pencil, and the more ambitious charcoal. The results are + charming and you may see them any day in the studios of our foremost + artists or in the picture dealers' windows or haply on the terra-cotta + tinted walls of our esteemed collectors, the retired grocers of Montreal, + or the aesthetic lawyers of a more western and more ambitious city. Still + though the sketches are charming both in conception and execution, I, were + I a Canadian artist, eager to secure Canadian subjects for my pencil, + would hardly choose this particular river as one likely to give the most + correct idea of Canadian scenery. No, I would chose the St. Maurice or the + Richelieu, the Lièvre or the Saguenay, the Ottawa or portions of the St. + Lawrence, with the grim Azoic rocks, the turbulent rapids and the somber + pines. What a superb river system it is! Tell them off on your fingers and + you'll have to go on borrowing from them afterwards and then all over + again. Think of all those rivers that cluster in the French Canada and + feed the mighty Gulf of St. Lawrence. There are the Ottawa, the Gatineau, + the Rideau, the Richelieu, the Lièvre, the Matanne, the Metapedia, the + Métis, the Saguenay. Those are the ones we know. Then look at the + Peribonka, the Maniconagan, all the Ste. Anne's, all the Rouge or Red + rivers, the Du Moine, the Coalonge, the Vermilion, the St. Francis. Then, + look at that cluster of great Saxon named streams, the Churchill, the + Nelson, the Severn, the English, the Albany! Lastly, glance at the + magnificent Saskatchewan with the historic streams of Battle and + Qu'Appelle Rivers! And now I have omitted the Athabasca, the Peace, the + Moose and the Assiniboine! There is no end to them; they defy enumeration + while they invite it. + </p> + <p> + Now, most of these Canadian rivers are Azoic in character; hence their + grim and formidable beauty. But my river has nothing the least Azoic about + it. It belongs to a more recent, a more comfortable, more placid, more + satisfying a formation. It is as idyllic a stream as any English one that + Tennyson noted in a contemplative ramble to work up later into the + “Brook.” + </p> + <p> + Crossing the moss-grown bridge I have alluded to, a gradual ascent + presents itself on the opposite side, of firm white road well macadamized + and leading through small neat low houses, each with a little garden in + front, to a church with a needle-like spire on the top of the hill, and + the parson's house adjoining. On a June day, for example, it made a + pleasant picture. Pastoral and prosperous the landscape, contented the + people on foot, in the fields, at the windows, and most delightful of all—a + certain Old World haze hanging over it. + </p> + <p> + This is what struck the Mr. Foxleys, driving out slowly from the town one + Saturday afternoon. George, the elder, pale with dark hair, lay back in + the phaeton with folded arms. Joseph, the younger, fair-haired and + freckled, sat up, driving. They had hardly exchanged a word since entering + the phaeton. For eight miles they had proceeded in almost perfect silence. + This did not mean that they were out of sorts, or not on pleasant terms + with one another. On the contrary, it proved that they were the very best + of friends, and never bored each other. I may as well say at once that + they were Englishmen, which was easy to gather from their picturesque and + unusual attire of neat gray small-clothes meeting gray stockings at the + knee, low white shoes, a striped blue and white flannel shirt and + canoe-shaped hats of gray, each bearing a snow-white “puggree” with blue + and gold fringed ends. Such was the outward adorning of the Mr. Foxleys. + Behind the phaeton ran a pretty brown retriever answering to the name of + “Bess,” and laid across the floor of the little carriage were a couple of + walking canes, a couple of fishing rods and a gun case strapped together, + while under the seat was a medium-sized portmanteau, and a peculiar long + box with a leather handle. The eight miles having been traversed by them + in silence, George, the elder, broke it by remarking, as they slackened + their pace, before advancing over the bridge, “This is better.” + </p> + <p> + “Very much so. Rather. I should think so,” answered Joseph, the younger, + who had a slightly more lively manner than his brother, and very laughing + eyes. “It looks a little more like the—the Old Country.” + </p> + <p> + The elder brother made no reply. A kind of weary smile flitted across his + face instead. + </p> + <p> + “It's a little bit after—Devonshire, don't you think?” went on + Joseph, surveying the green meadows, the neat painted fences, the sleeping + cows, the rising uplands in the distance leaning lovingly next the sky, + the bridge, the distant church, and the placid narrow river with the + overhanging willows and the stony amber floor. + </p> + <p> + “A long way after,” said George, without unfolding his arms or looking + around him at all. He was gazing straight before him. + </p> + <p> + “But you don't half see the beauty of it,” said the younger brother, + stopping the horse and standing up in the phaeton, “especially after that + horrid eight miles of half-cleared ugly-stumpy stubble! This is really + beautiful, such soft lines you know and little corners—oh! quite + English!” Some of his enthusiasm reached the quieter brother, who + apparently roused himself and looked around as directed. A faint pink came + into his pale cheeks, a new gleam into the weary eyes, “Well, it is <i>better</i>, + as I said before—you'll remember, I noticed it first—but not + English.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, not English altogether of course, I know,” said Joseph gathering up + his reins, “but its a jolly spot enough whatever it is, and—I say, + look at that now, that oak, on the other side of the road, in front of + that little cottage, we'll be up with it now in a minute.” + </p> + <p> + “By Jove, what a splendid tree!” Now I do not in the least wonder at the + Mr. Foxleys stopping opposite this mighty oak to admire it, because I + myself am quite familiar with it and have seen it scores of times, and + must agree with them in pronouncing it one of the finest trees I have ever + seen anywhere. Of course it has no story attached to it that the world + knows, at least it never talked that I am aware of, never hid or screened + anybody of importance—or anything of that sort—so naturally it + has little or no interest about it. And yet, for that very reason, it is + so much easier to think of it as a tree, to consider it and admire it, and + learn to love and understand it just as a tree. So the Mr. Foxleys + thought, as they gazed at its monstrous trunk, its glorious branches of + deep, dark glossy green with here and there an upstart arm of glowing + bronze or a smaller shoot of younger yellow. + </p> + <p> + “It might have grown in the <i>Manor Park</i>!” said the younger brother + airily with a keen sense of pleasure in the suggestion. + </p> + <p> + “It might have grown in the <i>Manor Park</i>, as you say”, rejoined the + elder brother gravely. + </p> + <p> + Then they went on again, slowly up the hill, that they might the better + examine the church, the parsonage and the road beyond. What they wanted + now was an Inn. Presently they espied one, just on the other side of a + tiny bridge spanning a tinier brook. It was no upstart brick building of + flaring red with blind white windows and a door flush with the street, a + dirty stable at one side and a ragged kitchen garden at the other. But low + and white and irregular with a verandah running along in front, it had red + curtains that would draw over the lower halves of the windows and hints of + chintz at the upper portions; the door was open and revealed a tall clock + in the hall, a stand of flowers, and a cat asleep in a large round chair; + at one side a flight of steps led down to the kitchen door at which a + buxom maid in bare arms stood in a pink gown and a pinker face, and at the + other side was the boarded square that held the pump—the village + pump—around which were gathered five or six bare-footed children, + the hostler of the Inn, the village butcher, tailor, and cobbler. A sign + swung out from the verandah. + </p> + <p> + “The Ipswich Inn, by M. Cox,” said the younger Mr. Foxley. Then he looked + at his brother. His brother looked at him. They understood one another at + once, and Joseph pulled up in good style at the door. The hostler, dressed + in old corduroy and with a fiddle under his arm, sprang forward to assist + them. He dropped his H's. “Delightful,” cried Mr. Joseph. So did the + landlady, a cheery person of about fifty in a silk apron. The brothers + were so content that they remained all night, “to look at the place.” + </p> + <p> + Next morning, endless surprises awaited and greeted them. They found that + the large room in front was a kind of drawing-room, in which rose-leaves, + china-bowls, old engravings, a shining mahogany book-case, and a + yellow-keyed piano atoned for the shortcomings of funeral horsehair and + home-made carpets. They thought it on the whole a charming room, only to + be eclipsed by the kitchen. For the kitchen, which was underneath the + ground floor and nearly the entire size of the house, was therefore very + spacious and comfortable, possessing three large pantries and an out-house + or summer kitchen; besides, moreover, it was dark-raftered, ham-hung, with + willow-pattern slates in a neat dresser, and peacock feathers over the + high mantel; with, in one corner—the darkest—a covered well, + into which I used to see myself the beautiful golden pats of butter + lowered twice a week in summer time. One window, a small one, curtained + with chintz and muslin drawn on a string, looked out on a small terraced + garden at the back leading to an orchard; the other window, large and + long, with twelve small panes and no curtains at all, adjoined the door + opening on the court or yard at the side of the house. This yard was paved + irregularly with grey stone slabs, between which the grass had wedged + itself, with an occasional root of the persistent and omnipresent + dandelion; it contained a cistern, a table with flower-pots, a parrot in + one cage, a monkey in another, garden implements, rods, buckets, tins and + tubs! A pleasant untidiness prevailed in the midst of irreproachably clean + and correct surroundings, and the Mr. Foxleys having finished their + breakfast up-stairs in the public dining-room—a bare, almost ugly + apartment, devoid of anything in furniture or appointments to make it + homelike, except a box of mignonette set in the side-window, looked + longingly out at the little paved court-yard beneath. They had had the + most delicious rasher of ham, eggs <i>sans peur et sans reproche</i>, some + new and mysterious kind of breakfast cake, split and buttered while hot, + and light and white inside as it was golden and glazed outside, and three + glasses of fresh milk each! They had been waited on by the buxom girl in a + blue gown this time, against which her arms looked pinker than ever, and + during the meal the landlady of the inn had looked in, with her hands too + floury and her mind too full of coming loaves to do more than inquire + generally as to their comfort. Looking over the mignonette, Mr. Joseph + Foxley espied her presently talking to the parrot and tending the monkey. + This was more than the frivolous Mr. Joseph could stand. He took his + brother and made a tour of the house accordingly, discovering in turn as I + have said the drawing-room, the kitchen, the court-yard, the garden and + orchard and lastly the bar! <i>That</i> proved the most comfortable, most + enticing room of all. More red curtains, at the windows and over one door, + an old-fashioned hearth paved with red brick and bearing even in June a + couple of enormous logs against the possible cold of a rainy evening, two + cases of stuffed birds, a buffalo's head over the fireplace, colored + prints of Love Lies Bleeding, Stocks and Bachelor's Buttons, and over all, + that odour of hot lemons and water, with something spirituous beyond, that + completely won the refractory heart of the elder Mr. Foxley and caused him + to drop down in a chair by the hearth with an incoherent expression of + wonder and relief that did not escape his brother. + </p> + <p> + “How long shall we say, George,” he asked. “She will want to know, because + there are other men who come out here from town occasionally it seems, and + of course it's only fair to let her know about the room. + </p> + <p> + “What shall I say?” Mr. George Foxley crossed his long legs in evident + comfort and took in the entire room in a smiling gaze before he answered. + Outside it was beautifully quiet, in front of the house. From the back + there came the faintest sounds of crow and cackle and farm-yard stir just + audible, from the kitchen rose cheerful laughter, and merry voices, the + smell of baking, and a fainter odor of herbs. Milly, the girl, in the blue + gown, passed with a milk pail in either hand. She looked in shyly. Mr. + Joseph waved his hand gallantly then laughed. Then Mr. George said, very + slowly. + </p> + <p> + “Say? Oh, say that we will take the room—the one we have now, you + know—for the rest of the Summer.” + </p> + <p> + “That is, you will take it, and remain here, while I knock about in town + and come out on Saturdays or whenever I can,” said Joseph. + </p> + <p> + “Exactly,” said his brother. + </p> + <p> + That afternoon Mr. Joseph returned to town in the neat hired phaeton + leaving his brother in full possession of the charming and comfortable + Inn. In a couple of days he came back, this time in the stage that passed + through Ipswich three times a week, and bringing with him a couple of + English trunks and a stout portmanteau. Thus the Mr. Foxleys entered upon + life in earnest in this dear placid little village, not far from the river + described in the beginning of my story. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0010" id="link2HCH0010"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER II. + </h2> + <p> + The Mr. Foxleys, after a week's sojourn or so at the Ipswich Inn, made a + mutual discovery. This was, that not only were the landlady of the Inn, + her son and the ostler all of English origin and descent, but that the + entire village appeared to be populated by people of English extraction. + The butcher was a Englishman, the blacksmith was a Cockney answering to + the name of 'Enry Ide, the cobbler was from South Devon somewhere, and the + parson was an undergraduate of Oxford. The farmers were mostly Scotch, and + the village store-keeper was David Macpherson. The driver of the stage was + an Irishman, and the sexton of the pretty church on the hill was an odd + product of that odd corner of the world known as the Isle of Man. + Certainly the two brothers found and made themselves at home. Milly + perhaps was the only native Canadian that came in their way. It was a + thoroughly British settlement, and it is a noteworthy fact that the only + well-to-do man in the place was an American. It was he who lived in the + square, red brick house with white blinds always pulled down, even in soft + welcome spring days, and with plaster casts of lions and deer couchant on + futile little wooden pedestals in the garden. It was he who owned the new + and prosperous mill which had superseded the worn-out one lower down the + stream, the old mill that the artists loved, and that reminded the Mr. + Foxley's of home. It was he who owned the only family carriage in the + neighborhood, other people had “buggies.” It was his daughter who had been + sent to New York for her education—who now appeared in church on + Sundays, in muslin costumes garnished with a greater number of yards of + ribbons in myriads of bows and ends than the village store had ever + possessed at one time in its life. It was he who once or twice a year + walked as far as the Inn and sitting down stiffly in the stiff dining room + would hold a short conversation with the landlady on village matters and + subjects in general. On these occasions the good woman was secretly amused + and not a little bored. She knew gentlemen when she saw them and he was + not one—that is, he was not one according to her knowledge of types. + The aristocracy of money was as yet a phase unknown to her simple English + mind accustomed to move in traditional and accepted groves. So not much + interchange of civilities took place between the mill and the Inn. Not for + Mr. Simon P. Rattray did the oleanders blossom in the big green tubs and + the wall-flowers and mignonette in the windows. Not for him did the + Jessamine climb and the one hawthorn tree at the back gate leading to the + orchard yield its sweet white May, not for him did the tall clock strike + and the parrot talk. Talk!! Why, the only time the creature was ever known + to be quiet was when Mr. Simon P. Rattray made his portentous visits twice + or three times a year. And as for the hidden sweetness of the drawing-room + or the comforts of the kitchen or the fascinations of the bar, Mr. Simon + P. Rattray knew nothing whatever about them. He was a total abstainer you + see, and the blue ribbon appeared in his buttonhole on certain important + ceremonial days and even on Sundays, and he was known to be interested in + the fortunes of a cold, dismal little place built of plaster and presided + over by a male Methodist just outside the village limits, known as a + “Temperance Hotel.” It will be easily gathered that the advent of the Mr. + Foxleys did not affect the fortunes of such a person as Mr. Simon P. + Rattray, nor was their subsequent career as residents in Ipswich affected + in any way by his existence, prejudices or peculiarities. But to the + remaining portions of the village, their arrival proved full of interest + The landlady took them to her heart at once. They were <i>gentlemen</i>, + she said, and that was enough for her. Her son, a heavy lout, unlike his + mother, accepted them as he did everything and everybody by remaining + outwardly profoundly unconscious of their existence; the hostler adored + them, especially Mr. Joseph; when the latter was there, which he was every + Saturday till Monday, he would stroll over the stable with Squires—that + was the hostler's name—joking incessantly, and treating the latter + to an occasional cigar. Urbane Mr. Joseph would joke with anybody, Mr. + George was more severe and had according to the landlady, the most perfect + and distinguished manners. + </p> + <p> + “What they call <i>hawtoor</i> in the Family Herald,” she told Milly, + “only I never see it gone too far with.” Milly of course was in love with + them both. + </p> + <p> + In time, the entire village succumbed to the charms of the Mr. Foxleys. + The parson called, accompanied by his eldest daughter who was the organist + of the choir and chief promoter of the Sunday-school. They found the + objects of their social consideration seated outside the kitchen in the + little paved yard that had rapidly grown dear. When the brothers appeared + upstairs in the drawing-room into which rose-scented and chintz-hung + apartment the reverend Mr. and Miss had been shown in appreciation of + their station, Mr. Joseph had tuned his laughing eye to a decorum as new + as it was unnatural. It was a hot day in August and Mr. George was so + excessively languid and long and speechless that but for his brother + conversation would have been an impossibility. But he and the parson soon + discovered mutual friends at home, a cousin in the Engineers, and a + friendly coach at the University. + </p> + <p> + “Charles James Foxley? Oh! I knew him well, very well” said the Rev. Mr. + Higgs, referring to the latter. “It is a somewhat—ah—unusual + name. The only other time I remember meeting with the name was once—let + me see—it was a meet, I think, at Foxley Manor, in Derbyshire it + was, and a very beautiful place.” + </p> + <p> + “In Nottinghamshire,” said Mr. Joseph smiling. “Yes, that is—or was—our + home. My father still resides there.” + </p> + <p> + “Indeed?” said Mr. ——. “Is it possible! And you have come out + here? Really, it is most interesting, most fortunate that you should have + chosen our little village, should have pitched your tent so to speak—ah! + quite so.” + </p> + <p> + “My brother likes the country,” said Mr. Joseph. + </p> + <p> + “Ah! yes, quite so. And there is much to see in this new country, in + Canada, much to see. You will remain some time?” + </p> + <p> + “We will remain as long as it suits my brother,” said Mr. Joseph. “At + present, we can hardly tell.” + </p> + <p> + “Quite so, quite so. I hope—I am sure my daughter concurs in the + hope, that we shall see you in church as often as you can come and also—ah! + at the Rectory. Such society as we can give you here you may be assured we + will endeavor to give with all our—ah! heart to the best of our + ability.” + </p> + <p> + “Thanks very much” returned Mr. Joseph. “I am sure my brother and I will + be exceedingly glad to go and see you at the Rectory. About church I will + say that we never go very regularly anywhere, but when it isn't too hot, + too hot, you know, or too cold, or anything of that sort, I am sure we'll + try to turn up there as well.” + </p> + <p> + The rector, smiled indulgently. No call to be hard on the Mr. Foxleys, of + Foxley Manor. Miss Maria left the Inn smitten for the fiftieth time. + </p> + <p> + “I knew I should marry an Englishman,” she exclaimed ecstatically up the + road with her father. + </p> + <p> + “The dark one, oh! the dark one!” + </p> + <p> + “They are somewhat peculiar young men I fancy, Maria. Of course Mrs. Cox + is a very careful and a very good woman and—ah! her place is a very + respectable and comfortable one, and the order of travellers one meets, + that is, one would meet if one went there, is quite proper indeed, but + still, I thought, mind I do not say anything, I do not express any opinion + Maria, I simply say, I <i>thought</i>, that they would have smoked for + instance in the dinning-room or the bar, or on the verandah instead of in + that very conspicuous manner just outside the kitchen door.” But this was + the first and last stricture that the rector made as to the conduct of the + Mr. Foxleys, for by appearing in church two Sundays after his call and + spending an evening on the vine-covered verandah of the pretty Rectory, + they were speedily entered in the very best books kept by that worthy if + slightly common-place gentleman and his gushing daughter. + </p> + <p> + The next persons of distinction in the village were the Miss Dexters, who + lived with their father, at one time a prominent medical man, in the + little cottage graced by the presence of the mighty oak which had so + charmed the strangers when they first beheld it. Their father was old, + very old indeed, and slightly shaken in his mind. He was also an + Englishman and the daughters, not daring to enter upon life in town with + their small income and a helpless old man on their hands into the bargain + had retired to the country some ten years before the advent of the Mr. + Foxleys. Charlotte the elder was now forty and Ellen over thirty-five. + Neither of them had ever been beautiful and now they were, more or less + pinched and worn in their aspect, but they were gentlewomen, neat and + sweet spoken, and capable of offering small evening entertainments of + cribbage and hot weak tea with bread and butter with a gracious and well + bred air that marked them off as people who had seen “better times.” God + help such all over the world and thank Him too for the colonies, where + such people can retreat without being said to hide, and live down their + misfortunes or their follies or their weaknesses, and be of some use to + others after a while! It would be hard to say why the Mr. Foxleys went as + often as they did, especially Mr. Joseph—to the Miss Dexters for + tea. Perhaps the oak had much to do with it. + </p> + <p> + It had something I am sure, for indeed, it was the most beautiful tree for + miles around and it was worth a good deal to sit under its cool shade in + the Summer afternoons or to look up into its dark vault in the slowly + dusking twilights. I can't defend Mr. Joseph further than this. For + between cribbage and choir practice, Sunday rambles in the woods and rows + on the river, the lending of books and the singing of songs, the handing + of bread and butter and the drinking of tea, Mr. Joseph had caused both + the Miss Dexters to fall hopelessly and indeed fatally in love with him. + When the Xmas holidays came, Joseph, who had a clerkship in town, spent + his vacation naturally at the Inn with his brother, and then ensued a + period of very mixed delight for the Miss Dexters. + </p> + <p> + For the callous Joseph made as violent love to the unresisting Miss Higgs + over the Xmas tree and carols as she herself would have chosen to make to + Mr. George had she been given the chance. + </p> + <p> + As for Mr. George, he was just as languid and silent as ever. He hardly + ever went into the town at all, but preferred to remain on quietly at the + inn, fishing, shooting and taking long walks in the summer days when it + was fine, and when it rained, lounging in Mrs. Cox's kitchen. Here he + always had his meals, for the kind friend he had found in his landlady + gratified every whim, and any fancy he chose to profess, and cooked for + him, washed for him and waited on him with unceasing and in fact + ever-increasing devotion. Mr. Foxley's shirts and Mr. Foxley's socks, Mr. + Foxley's white coats and Mr. Foxley's jane boots, his dog, his gun, and + his effects generally were all sacred, all in irreproachable order, all + objects of the greatest value and interest to Mrs. Cox and her niece. You + see there were no children in this comfortable <i>ménage</i> and really, + when the baking and the washing and the preserving and the churning were + all done with early in the day or in the week there remained a good deal + of time on Mrs. Cox's hands, which in her earnest womanly heart she felt + she must fill up in some way. So it came that all this time and energy and + devotion were after a while centred on Mr. George Foxley, late of Foxley + Manor, Notts. As for Mr. Joseph, the good woman oftener told him to “go + along!” than anything else, for though she liked him, his love of mischief + and several practical jokes he had played her which she termed “his ways,” + had rendered her cautious and a little distrustful of him. Such an + existence proved very charming to all parties concerned, excepting perhaps + the Miss Dexters, and their companion in misery, at the rectory. For the + worst of it was, Xmas passed and Easter came, and another spring dawned + for the pretty little village of Ipswich and found the Mr. Foxleys still + there. They never spoke of going away and nobody hinted it to them. The + impression, natural in the extreme, that they were a couple of wealthy + young Englishmen going about for pleasure, who just happening to come to + Ipswich and being taken with it had stayed a little longer than they + intended, was fast giving way to another. For it was a well-known fact + that the Mr. Foxleys did not spend too much money either on themselves or + on other people. They paid their way and that was all one could say about + them. Squires was not included in this arrangement, however, but was + forced to remain content with cigars, cast-off studs and a present at + Christmas-time of a collie pup. I grieve to think of those poor Miss + Dexters—foolish souls—going without butter on their bread and + sugar in their tea that they might have both to offer Mr. Joseph when he + might come in airily for a cup, and making their already too thin gowns + last another winter, that they might spend a little money on a smoking cap + for the same gentleman and a pair of knitted wristlets for his brother. + All these tokens of friendship and attachment the brothers accepted in the + most charming and unconcerned way and never troubled themselves about + returning the compliment as we say. It was quite true that they had not + much money, but a little management of what they did possess would have + left a small sum over each year, which might have been expended on say a + pair of fur-lined gloves for Charlotte or a canary for Ellen, who was fond + of pets and used to keep Bess with her for days, feeding the unconscious + animal for its master's sake better than she was fed herself. And all this + time Mr. Joseph never proposed and never hinted at his prospects or + affairs in any way whatever! + </p> + <p> + The second summer of his stay saw old Mr. Dexter die. After his death + Ellen drooped visibly. General disgust at life, insufficient food and + sleep, and a hopeless passion for Mr. Joseph sapped a naturally weak + constitution, and her sister soon realized another bitter shock when she + helped Ellen to her bed one sultry September night from which she never + rose again. The windows of the little cottage were open, and the unhappy + girl could see the giant oak outside their door. How often she had sat + there with her cruel friend, her hand on his shoulder, and her eyes fixed + on his sharp, clear-cut features and laughing eyes! He had seemed so + gentle, so earnest, so winning—had talked so cleverly, so hopefully, + so gleefully. He had been the sunshine of her life, and alas!—of + Charlotte's too! Each knew the other's secret, but by intuitive sympathy + they had never alluded to it. They referred to him only as “Mr. Joseph,” + and on her death-bed Ellen sent her “kindest wishes to Mr. Joseph.” She + lingered till near the Christmas season, and then one day a small packet + per English mail arrived. They occasionally heard from friends in the Old + Country, and this special parcel contained a couple of silk handkerchiefs + and a sprig of holly. Charlotte took them up to her in the evening, + spreading them out on the bed. Ellen sat up, eagerly pressing the holly to + her lips. Alas! what were the recollections it brought that the poor, weak + frame and the poor, tired spirit could not brook them? Perhaps—not + perhaps—O most certainly, most truly of home and of England; of the + mother so long vanished, dimly remembered, almost forgotten; of winding + green lanes and of ivied walls, of little solemn churchyards—in none + of which she would never lie; of peeps of blue sea from the middle of a + wood; of a primrose at the foot of a tree; of the crowded coach and the + sounding horn; and lastly of the recreant one whom she could not even call + her lover, but who had made her love him so that her very life was eaten + away by sickness of fear, of apprehension, of despair! + </p> + <p> + With the holly pressed to her lips, Ellen Dexter passed out of this world + into another. + </p> + <p> + Did Mr. Joseph Foxley care? Who knows? I should know if anybody ever did, + but I do not hold Mr. Joseph so very much to blame after all. For a man is + often innocent of love-making at the very moment a woman is fancying + herself violently in love with him, and fancying, moreover, that he is in + love with her. Can anything be more fatal, more pernicious, more terrible? + And yet I believe there is nothing more common. There are some men who + press more tenderly than the requirements of ordinary social intercourse + call for or allow, the hand of every woman they meet They are not + necessarily flirts. Perhaps they never go farther than that clinging + hand-pressure. It is a relic of the customs of the days of chivalry—a + little more and this man will kiss the hand. Let the lady be beautiful, + gracious, the hour dusk, or close on midnight, the room a pretty one, and + the environment pleasing, he will bend over the hand, and if he does not + kiss it he will retain it just long enough to make her wish he had kissed + it. If she is a woman of the world she will laugh as she returns the + pressure, making it purposely as thrilling as she can—then she will + forget it completely the next moment as she dispenses five o'clock tea or + late coffee and cake to her husband or brother. But if she be not a woman + of the world, then God help her on her tear-wet pillow, or before her + slowly-dying fire as she thinks of that hand-pressure. It is enough to + last her all her life, she thinks—and yet, should it not come again? + But—<i>should</i> it come again! And the pillow is wet with fresh + tears, or the brow is prematurely wrinkled watching the decaying embers, + while the man—let us do him justice—is as blindly unconscious—unconscious! + Why, at that very moment he is making love—what <i>he</i> calls + making love—to the woman of his choice, his wife, his mistress, or + his <i>fiancée</i>! These are the men who do the most mischief in the + world. Your brute, your beast, your groveller in ditches, is not nearly so + dangerous. Women recoil from him. They understand him. But the man who + presses their hand awakes them, rouses their susceptibility, causes the + tender trouble to steal over them that so often ends in grief, or despair, + or death! And this is because neither sex is as yet properly trained in + the vital duty of responsibility, by which I mean that faculty of + self-repression which will cause a woman to try and understand what a man + means when he presses her hand, and cause the man to try and understand + what a woman feels when he does so. As for poor Ellen Dexter, it is dear + that she was not a woman of the world; but her sister Charlotte and Miss + Maria at the Rectory, if not precisely women of the world, were yet made + of much sterner stuff than she had been, and consequently, after much + reflection, decided that they were not going to be made fools of, in + village parlance. Miss Maria had, of course, long ago given up Mr. George + Foxley altogether. + </p> + <p> + “He is not human,” she said to her father, “and I don't believe he <i>is</i> + one of the Foxleys of Foxley Manor at all.” + </p> + <p> + “There can be no doubt about that, my dear,” answered the actor. + “Difficulties I should say—ah—difficulties have brought these + young men out here, but we must do our duty by them, we must do our duty. + Their father is a fine old gentleman, and well off, and a stanch Tory, my + dear. Patience, my dear Maria. The photographs are quite correct and the + seals bear quite the proper crest—ah—quite so.” + </p> + <p> + So Miss Maria transferred her affections to Mr. Joseph. The second + Christmas passed away, and a third spring dawned for Ipswich. The Inn was + just as comfortable as ever and so were apparently the two Mr. Foxleys but + for one fact and that was, Mr. George's health was not as good as it had + been. Always delicate, he had gradually failed, growing more and more + languid, more and more whimsical in spite of his comfortable abode and the + diligent care of his landlady. Poor Milly! How she worked for him too, + between hours, after hours, before hours! When the attacks of pleurisy, + painful in the extreme, from which he suffered, came on either in the + night or during the day, Milly was always near with her strong young arms, + not quite so pink as they used to be, and her quick young eyes, a shade + more subtle than they used to be, ready to apprehend and quiet the pain + before it came. How Miss Maria at the Rectory and Charlotte Dexter in her + lonely cottage would have envied her had they known, but though there were + gossips in plenty in the village, nothing that occurred in the + rose-scented drawing-room ever went out into that tattling little + Ipswichian world. + </p> + <p> + “Are your young gentlemen with you yet, Mrs. Cox? And one of 'em not over + strong? Deary me! that makes it hard for you and the young gal But you be + standing it remarkable well. And gentlemen born you say! They do say that + the other one wi' the specked skin be making fools of Miss Maria up at the + Rectory and old Miss Dexter at the cottage. Well! well! Poor Miss Ellen + was gone afore we knew it like, poor soul, that was so kind!” + </p> + <p> + Much of this cunning volubility sprung upon Mrs. Cox in pumping fashion + failed to extort from her anything but good-humoured smiles and laughs. If + I have not taken the trouble to describe this beloved Mrs. Cox to you + before this, it is because I fear you will say the picture is Unreal, no + such landlady, no such woman could exist out of England But why not? My + story, remember, deals with people and things as they were twenty years + ago. Twenty years ago there were such Inns, though few at number, to be + found in Western Canada—ay—and as English as any that a + certain Mrs. Lupin presided over in fascinating fiction, and much more + English than many Inns of the present day in England. Twenty years ago + there was such a landlady, rosy and plump and cheerful, wearing a flowered + gown, a black silk apron and a cap with a purple pansy in it and broad and + comfortable lappets, who, when her work was done, would sit in her small + private room opposite the bar also hung with red curtains, making + patchwork quilts or playing a demure rubber with the Scotch store-keeper, + or Irish stage driver, or an occasional gentleman from town. Such was Mrs. + Cox, widow of Captain Cox, able seaman, but bad lot, who died when they + had been five years in Canada, leaving her with her one child. The public + business had attracted her after her loss and she accordingly went into it + on the advice of her numerous friends. People who despise her calling need + not listen to me if I allude to—for I have not time to recount—all + her kindness, her cheerfulness, her powers of dispensing comfort, and + warmth, and happiness, and promoting the direct and indirect welfare of + everyone who came in her path. By what strange coincidence the brothers + Foxley had been led to her glowing fireside and her motherly arms brimming + over with zeal and kindness for the whole human race, does not matter. It + is sufficient that they found her and found with her a sense of + comparative peace and security which compensated for the one big slice of + trouble Fortune had treated them to before their departure from England. + For them did the wall flowers bloom and the mignonette at the window, for + them did the oleander blossom and the old clock strike, for them did the + jessamine climb and the one hawthorn tree yield its annual soft white + drift of snow, and yet who shall say that they were altogether unworthy, + even, if with that picture of poor Ellen Dexter in my mind, I have to say + that they did not deserve it? + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0011" id="link2HCH0011"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER III. + </h2> + <p> + If Mr. Joseph Foxley had but known the sentiments animating the couple of + maiden breasts that awaited his Saturday visits in Ipswich, he would have + been genuinely surprised. The truth is Mr. Joseph was rather what is + termed a general lover. He liked the sex in its entirety. Collectively he + loved all women and belonged to that hand-pressing section of humanity + which I have alluded to as mischievous. Were there not at least five young + ladies in town, at whose houses he visited, and who were more or less + interested in the young Englishman as he in them? Did Miss Charlotte dream + of them or Miss Maria at the rectory? If so, they never dared to ask Mr. + Joseph to give any account of his doings in town, although they managed to + glean what he did with himself in the village. He respected Charlotte + Dexter enough to intend at some future day to tell her a little more about + himself and his brother than he had yet done; as for Miss Maria, she only + bored him and fed his contempt. + </p> + <p> + “When a rather elderly old girl giggles after everything she says, + conversation is difficult and sympathy out of the question,” he had said + to his brother! When Mr. Joseph had known these young ladies for four + years, Miss Maria took her revenge in <i>her</i> way, that was by marrying + the younger brother of Mr. Simon P. Rattray, partner in the mill and the + red brick house by the river. The vision of becoming the cherished wife of + an English aristocrat and going home to reside in a manor house built in + the sixteenth century, with occasional visits to London and glimpses of + the Royal Family had gradually faded, and she accepted the less + rose-coloured lot that Mr. Lyman B. Rattray offered her, sitting in her + father's study, with his hair very much brushed up on one side and very + much flattened down on the other, a white tie and light-yellow duster + adorning his spare person. + </p> + <p> + Such was the American of those days—twenty years ago—there are + none such now I allow. + </p> + <p> + Miss Maria, who was considered “very English,” shuddered as she regarded + him. It so fell out that it being Saturday, Mr. Joseph was just then + passing—“kind of happening along” Mr. Rattray would have said—<i>en + route</i> to the Inn and his brother, on foot in spite of the dusty road + and the hot August sun, clad in trim tight knickerbockers and carrying an + immense bunch of red field lilies, a gun, and a leather satchel over his + shoulder. Slight and straight and cool, he looked the picture of a + contented cheerful energetic young English man. Along the road he came + whistling an old country tune. Miss Maria who had sighted him afar off, + begged her visitor's pardon and went to the window to arrange the blind. + How her heart warmed to that cruel Mr. Joseph, how she loved him then just + for that last moment! Her heart—that foolish old maid's heart—beat + quickly, beat thickly, she remembered to have read something somewhere + about people who could will other people to look at them, to speak to + them, to even think of them, to move across a room at their pleasure. If + she could but do that! She did try, with her fingers clenched on the + blind, and her eyes fixed on Mr. Joseph, she did wish with all her might + that he would turn his head and see her at the window and wave his hand + gallantly as he had done on one or two previous occasions. Then she would + beckon and he would run across and entering the room disconcert this + odious Mr. Lyman B. Rattray and put an end to his stony wooing. But alas! + for Miss Maria and her mesmeric powers! The harder she tried, the less she + succeeded. On came Mr. Joseph, supremely unconscious of the injured heart + beating behind the windowpane. At one moment it seemed as if he were about + to turn and look in her direction. A very brilliant wild yellow canary + crossed over his head and lit on a small shrub just inside the garden + paling. Had it remained there, would Miss Maria have ever become the wife + of Mr. Lyman B. Rattray? No one knows, for the canary flew away again to + the other side of the road and Mr. Joseph's eyes followed it In a moment + he was past, and the chance was gone for ever. Miss Maria left her window + and sat down opposite her visitor. There was nothing to keep her now, + nothing to give her courage and hope for the future, new fire for her + faded eyes, new strength for her jaded limbs. Yet she was only + thirty-four. How strange it is that some unmarried women are old at that + age, even while living in luxury and surrounded by every care and all + affection, while many a married woman, though beset with trials and + weaknesses and perhaps a brood of restless little ones to pull her gown + and get in the way of her busy feet, retains her figure and her step, her + smile and her complexion, her temper and her nerves! + </p> + <p> + It but remained for Charlotte Dexter to take her revenge in her way. Going + very seldom out of her house, and never visiting at the Inn she was really + very ignorant of the doings of either Mr. George or Mr. Joseph Foxley. + Towards the one she had never been greatly drawn, for the other she felt + all the passion that only a supremely lonely woman can feel in middle age + for a man younger than herself who charms her as a child, while he + captivates her as a lover. Of Mrs. Cox and Milly moreover, she hardly ever + thought, and in fact had not seen the latter for a long time. If she had + it is not likely she would even have recognized in the tall pale shapely + young woman with braids of dark hair and white linen cuffs fastened—must + I tell it? with a pair of antique monogram studs, the plump little + handmaiden of four years back. As it was, she only waited on day after + day, to hear Mr. Joseph speak. Instead of Mr. Joseph however appeared + another and less welcome confidante. This was the most malignant gossip in + the village, Mrs. Woods, the wife of the butcher, a tall red faced woman + with high cheek-bones on which the color seemed to have been badly + smirched, watery eyes and a couple of protruding yellow teeth. She looked + more like a butcher than the butcher himself who was a mild little man + with soft silky fair hair and small nervous fluttering hands. Yet he + managed to summon sufficient character to go on a tremendous burst—I + know of no other word, every third or fourth month and disappear for a + week When these periodical eclipses took place, his wife would come flying + into the Inn with her bonnet hanging round her neck and a large green and + red plaid shawl streaming out behind her. + </p> + <p> + “Where's Woods?” She would say. “Where's Woods? Give me Woods! Give 'im + up, I tell you; give 'im up now!” + </p> + <p> + But Woods was never found inside Mrs. Cox's neat dwelling, nor indeed + anywhere, although it had been whispered on, one occasion that he had been + seen in the back room of the little “Temperance Hotel” with the male + Methodist in attendance. This, of course, was clearly impossible. + </p> + <p> + It was this Mrs. Woods then that stopped at Dexter's Oak one Friday + morning with her donkey-cart and a small piece of the neck of mutton in + it. She was not an entirely bad woman, though a downright cunning virago, + and perhaps some inkling of the nature of the blow that was about to fall + on Miss Dexter's head caused her to come prepared by an acceptable present + to somewhat mitigate its appalling approach. + </p> + <p> + “I be at the Inn bright and early this morning Miss,” she began, “and + brought 'em their bit of fresh meat. And I'm bringin' you a bit as was + over, and it is'nt a bad piece for a stew, if you like a stew, Miss, with + an onion or two.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you very much, Mrs. Woods,” said Charlotte, who had come out to the + front door and now stood on the lower step, looking over the cart. “I'm + afraid I can't settle with you just at present,” she said further, with + some effort, “you can call some other time when you are passing. Will that + do? and is it weighed?” + </p> + <p> + “It is, miss, and I'll not say a word about the payin'! Six pound and a + 'alf, and Woods gone agen—I weighed it myself.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! I am sorry to hear that,” said Charlotte. “Your husband gives you a + great deal of trouble. I am very sorry, and he is not at the inn?” + </p> + <p> + If Charlotte was guilty at that moment of purposely leading the + conversation up to this always for her most enthralling, most engrossing + subject, she soon enough received her punishment. On she went to her own + destruction. + </p> + <p> + “At the inn!” repeated the butcher's wife, with ineffable scorn on her + cruel mouth. She wiped her watery eyes and settled the refractory bonnet + before going on. + </p> + <p> + “No miss, he's not at the inn, and if he was sober, he wouldn't be at the + inn, and you'll never see him, nor me, nor 'Ide yonder, nor anyone on us + at all no more at the inn. For the inn's changed 'ands, miss. There's an + end of Mrs. Cox, who was a mother to many, if not to Woods. There's an end + to good old times and dancin' and singin', and honest Robert, though he + was a cross 'un—there's an end to it all now, miss, for the inn's + changed 'ands, and I'm the first in the village as knows it.” + </p> + <p> + “Good gracious. Is it possible?” said Charlotte, genuinely surprised. “Who + can have succeeded Mrs. Cox and why? I thought she was so popular and + making so much money, and what—what will become of the Mr. Foxleys?” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Woods gave a triumphant grin. “It's them, theirselves, miss; it's + them that 'as it now. And the younger one will be marrying Milly in a + little while and settling down comfortable in the inn. It's gentlefolks + and aristocrats we'll have now at the inn, miss, and 'ard workin' people + like me and Woods may trudge all day and freeze all night, and never a pot + of beer or a warm at the kitchen fire and meat paid regular for year in, + year out!” + </p> + <p> + Charlotte stood aghast. The woman's injured volubility rushed past her as + a scene outside a railway car rushes past us, leaving only one idea, one + word caught at, as from the window through which we apprehend the + landscape, one scene or portion of a scene enchains the eye and lingers in + the mind though other scenes fly past in varied succession. + </p> + <p> + “Marry?” she repeated. “Marry! Milly, did you say? That is the girl, isn't + it, Mrs. Cox's niece? Which—” + </p> + <p> + “Ay,” said the woman, “that's Milly, the 'ired girl; she's no I more than + that, if she be her aunt's niece. And 'ard work for one's niece. Me and + Woods, if we'd 'ad one, would have done better for her nor that, makin' + her work like a slave or a dummy. Cows, and pigs, and poultry, and + dish-washing, and scrubbing, and lamps, and starched fronts, and fine + gentlemen—but she's well paid, she's well paid. She's to marry one + of the fine gentlemen, Mr. Joseph it is, and they're to live on at the Inn + with Milly as mistress, and her fine husband behind the bar, very like. + Well, good-mornin', Miss Dexter; I wish you joy of the mutton. Me and + Woods often says—we'll take this or that little Dexter's Oak, but + it's most times forgot, for Woods is 'alf crazed, Miss Dexter, and I've + got to do the whole. Good-mornin'.” + </p> + <p> + Having adjusted her bonnet and the donkey-cart to her satisfaction, Mrs. + Woods drove off rather disappointed on the whole at Miss Dexter's calm + demeanour. Astonishment, perplexity, doubt, contempt and disgust she had + undoubtedly shown, but not a single sigh of weakness. Charlotte Dexter was + not the woman to swoon or lament or even turn pale as her sister Ellen + would have done. But when she came into her house and sat down in her + lonely parlour, she enacted a scene which would have petrified with + astonishment any inhabitant of the prosy little village in which she had + dwelt so long and indeed many other people as well, for when you and I, + dear reader, go to see one of these emotional plays in which the French + actress writhes on the sofa; grovels on the floor, rolls up her + handkerchief into a ball or tears it into strips, prays, weeps, curses, + censures, implores, looks at herself in the glass until she is on the + point of going mad, and strides about the stage as no woman in real life + has ever been seen to stride, ending by throwing herself across an + arm-chair as rigid as marble thereby assuring the audience that she is in + a “dead faint”—I say, that when we see all this performed by a + travelling “star,” and her truly eclectic Company, comprising a Diva, a + Duenna, a Diner-out and a Devil, we are apt to look around at the placid + Canadian or the matter-of-fact American audience and wonder if they + understand the drift of the thing at all, the situations, the allusions, + even in the slightest degree, forgetting that perhaps the most placid, + most commonplace person in the theatre has gone through some crisis, some + tragedy as thrilling, as subtle and as terrible as the scene we have just + witnessed. “Not out of Paris,” we say, “can such things happen?” Do we + know what we are saying? Is it only in Paris that hearts are won and + tossed aside this night—as in the play? Is it only in Paris that + honor is forgotten and promises are broken this night—as in the + play? Is it only in Paris that money allures and rank dazzles, and a dark + eye or a light step entrances, this night—as in the play? Is it only + in Paris that nature is human and that humanity is vile, or weak, or pure, + or firm, as this night in the play? Oh! in that obscure little Canadian + village, a lonely old maid locked her door that morning and pulled down + her blind that the daylight might not come in and see her misery, might + not mock even more malignantly than the ignorant, impertinent and + hard-hearted woman who had dealt her this blow. Like most women in such a + crisis, she lost the habit of thought. Reason entirely deserted her, and + she never dreamed but that it was true. For when a women has to own to + herself that she holds no dominion over a man, that it is only too + perfectly clear that the impulse of loving is all on her side and that she + has neither anything to expect nor anything to fear from him, since + indifference is the keynote of his attitude to her, she will all the more + readily believe that he loves elsewhere, worthily or unworthily the same + to her. A woman is not a noble object in such a situation. All trusting + feminine instincts, all sweet emotions of hope, all sentiment, all passion + even, retreat and fall away from her, leaving either a cold, bitter, + heartless petrifaction, in a woman's clinging robe, or the Fury that is + the twin sister of every little red-lipped, clear-eyed girl born into the + world. She never dreamed but that this story was true. In fact so entirely + had her woman's wit deserted her, she said to herself of <i>course</i> it + was true. Her brain could work sufficiently to conjure up hints, phrases, + words, looks, events, accidents that all bore testimony to the truth of + the extraordinary tale. For it was extraordinary. Miss Dexter herself was + the great grand-daughter of an Admiral, and the grand-daughter of a judge, + and as such, respected all these accidents of birth which we are supposed + to ignore or at least not expected to recognize in a new country. That + such men as the Mr. Foxleys could make themselves as completely at home in + the Inn as rumor had frequently asserted, and with truth, seemed at all + times monstrous to her. She had lived so long out of England, over thirty + years now, that she had forgotten the sweet relations that prevailed there + between the aristocracy or landed gentry and their inferiors. The Mr. + Foxleys were simply doing in Canada what they would have done had they + been still in England, only they were assisted in so doing by the + unusually English surroundings in which they found themselves. Miss Dexter + looked around her in the yellow inclosed light. There was a sampler in a + frame, worked by herself when a little child, another exactly similar, + worked by Ellen, a couple of fine old family portraits in heavy gilt + frames, half a dozen ivory miniatures scattered about on the walls, some + good carvings in ivory, a rare old Indian shawl festooned over the wooden + mantle-board, a couple of skins on the floor, a corner piece of furniture + known as a “whatnot” crowded with bits of egg-shell china, birds' eggs and + nests, a few good specimens of spar and coral and a profusion of plants + everywhere. It was all neat, respectable, even dignified, superior. There + was no such other room in the village. In the village? There were not many + at that time even in the town. Sooner than part with the eggshell china or + the Indian shawl the Miss Dexters had suffered the pains of poverty and + hunger; these cherished reminders of an absent father and an artistic + youth could never be lost or borne away by the hands of a stranger. And + how glad those foolish Miss Dexters had been to possess such beautiful and + interesting objects when it pleased Mr. George Foxley to drink tea out of + the cups on summer afternoons on the verandah of the little cottage + looking up into the splendid vault of the mighty oak, or when Mr. Joseph + would wind the Indian shawl round his silly head in the winter evenings + when the draughts of cold air would rush in through the thin walls. These + and other memories crowded into Charlotte Dexter's brain as she looked + around her room, crowded thick and fast, crowded fast and furious, surged, + broke, leaving an empty moment of perfect blankness, then crowded again + thicker, faster, surged and seethed and then broke again, leaving in the + void of perfect blankness this time a fixed idea, a resolve, a + determination, seen in the dark like a luminous point of phosphorus. + </p> + <p> + That afternoon as Farmer Wise was driving slowly along the road, the main + road leading through Ipswich to the town, he was accosted by Miss Dexter + from her verandah. She had her jacket on and held her bonnet in her hand. + </p> + <p> + “Can you give me a seat as far as the Albion?” said she. “I would have + sent a message to you yesterday if I had known I was going. But if it will + not trouble you—” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! no trouble no trouble at all, Miss Dexter,” replied Farmer Wise. “I'm + sorry I've only the waggon to offer ye. But I'm takin' in apples as you + see, nine barrel of 'em, and only a waggon will do for them.” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly, certainly,” said Miss Dexter, hurriedly trying on her bonnet. + “Can you wait a moment? I won't be longer, Mr. Wise, it is just to lock + the back door.” + </p> + <p> + The farmer nodded and drew up under the shade of Dexter's oak. It was a + beautiful afternoon late in November, characterized by the clear cold air, + the blue and gold of the sky, and the russet coloring of the foliage that + mark the close of the Autumnal season. He looked in at Miss Dexter's + little garden, admirably neat and well-trimmed; dahlias, hollyhocks, sweet + William and asters, though done with blossoms, still bore their green + leaves unsmitten by the frost. The windows appeared full of flowers too, + but the blinds were skimp and faded and drawn down behind them. He started + when he noticed this, for he knew the outer aspect of the house well, and + had never seen such a thing before, except in case of sickness or death. + The honest farmer thought and thought until Miss Dexter reappeared and + assisted by him, got up in her place beside him. Even after that he went + on thinking, and I must here tell you that it was not the first time + Farmer Wise's thoughts had dwelt so persistently upon his companion and + her house and personal history. For twelve years he had nursed a kind of + mild distant passion for Miss Dexter at the Oak, unguessed at by her and + his family, and only half understood by himself. He could not have said he + was in love with her. He had been in love once when he married his first + wife, who bore him a triad of splendid sons, one “keeping store” in the + Western States and the other two at home on the farm, all three great + giants of fellows, handsome in the fields or at barn-doors or in + market-waggons, but plain on Sundays in black coats or at evening dances + in the big ball-room at the Inn, when they would shuffle noisily through + cotillons or labor clumsily through a Highland Schottische. + </p> + <p> + For himself, Farmer Wise was an honest, sincere, good-hearted man, a maker + of money and a spender thereof—witness the fine red ploughs, the + painted barns, the handsome team, Kentucky bred, and the inner decorations + of his house, situated about five miles out of Ipswich, on the main-road. + After Mr. Simon P. Rattray, he was the representative man of the district, + although he did not come so closely into contact with the villagers. This + <i>penchant</i> for the elder Miss Dexter had been a gradual, a slow but + very sure and steady thing. Her father's death had increased it, so had + that of Ellen her sister, and the farmer lived too far away to know as + much as other people knew about the advent of the Mr. Foxleys. Had there + been a sister or a daughter, or a wife or a mother, or an aunt or a cousin + about the farm, he would have known very quickly. As it was, the girl who + did the housework on the farm was as ignorant of gossip, its existence and + the laws which govern its nature, as any male farm hand could be. When + Farmer Wise put up his horses at the Inn three or four times a year, and + sat down in the cheerful bar-room to drink a glass of whisky with his feet + to the fire if it were winter, or a taller glass of Belfast ginger ale if + it were summer, did he never notice Mrs. Cox? Mrs. Cox, well-to-do and + popular herself, fresh, blooming and hearty, a young woman yet, and just + the woman one would say, for him, and above all, the woman who thought + most of him and ran to change her cap—the black one with the knot of + rusty widow's crape—for the smart new one that held the velvet pansy + when she saw the team coming. There's where he should have chosen the + second time, there was the woman he should have noticed instead of poor, + proud, foolish Charlotte Dexter, whom he half feared as a “lady born,” and + who held in her heart, had he only knew it, the image of Mr. Joseph + Foxley. The farmer got on with the English gentlemen at the Inn whenever + he saw them “first-rate,” and it was of them he began most unsuspiciously + to talk when he and Miss Dexter had crossed the bridge, ascended the hill + on the other side of the river, and the team were settling to their work + as they entered upon the dreary eight miles called the Plains which lay + between them and the city. The farmer was consciously happy as he moved + his ponderous body slightly nearer to his companion and tucked her in with + his great hands, a single touch of one of them hurting her thin frame as + if they were made of iron or stiff rope. He thought he was gentle too—poor + man—but long years of manual labor had changed the natural soft + flesh to the consistency of leather, in which immense muscles and joints + seemingly of marble had been imbedded. + </p> + <p> + Besides, there was the delicate touch of another hand, as fine, as soft as + a woman's and yet almost as strong as the farmer's, in her mind, a hand + whiter than her own, though somewhat freckled, a hand that had taper + fingers and well-kept nails, a hand that bore an antique seal ring and a + fine pearl, a hand alas that had often retained her own in its warm + clinging pressure, and once—only once, and that was three years ago—clasped + her unresisting waist for a moment in the dark under the Oak while her + sister fumbled at the gate. And just as she cherished these memories of + Mr. Joseph, so did the widowed farmer retain the few occasions in his mind + on which he had met Miss Dexter, spoken with her, given her a “lift” into + town or up the road to the village store, for this was not the first use + she had made of his gallant good nature and the Kentucky team. + </p> + <p> + He looked down at her now as they drove along in silence and noticed her + thin black gown, her short jacket, her bit of black veil drawn over her + bonnet, and her dingy travelling-bag with its tarnished clasp, and he + heaved a sigh. + </p> + <p> + Charlotte was a “sizeable woman” thought Farmer Wise “and wants a good + live garment sometimes, to bring her figure out and make more of it and do + justice to it. A shawl now! How much would a good shawl be? I miss a woman + round the place; I wouldn't know what to ask for. I might ha' stopped nigh + the Inn and asked Mrs. Cox.” Ay, you might Farmer Wise, and have done + another mischievous thing, upsetting Mrs. Cox for a week as she waited for + a parcel from town and breaking her heart altogether as day after day + followed and no parcel arrived. + </p> + <p> + “I ha' never seen the ekil of those Mr. Foxleys yonder,” began the honest + farmer as something to start a conversation with. “I ha' never seen their + ekil.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” said Miss Dexter. “Yes? In what way?” + </p> + <p> + “So gentle and so funny as they be. Gentlemen both of them with delicate + hands and fine clothes—” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, yes,” murmured Miss Dexter under her breath, clutching at her bag + and closing her eyes. + </p> + <p> + “And not above anybody or anything going. I see the pale one this day, and + pale he is and weak they say, enough to be walked about on the girl's + shoulder—I see him to-day as I passed the Inn, he was on a long + chair out in the bit of paved yard, you know Miss Dexter, and when he saw + me he raises his head and says 'Farmer Wise, is that you?'” May be you + don't remember just how he speaks. He speaks better now nor when he came, + and his brother too. At first It was all in a jumble like one word run + into the other and hard to understand at least for us country folks. But + now 'tis a bit clearer, more as you speak, begging your pardon, Miss + Dexter, for noticing that or anything else that concerns you, Miss Dexter. + And I says, stopping these fellows a bit. “Yes it's me. I'm on my way to + town with nine barrels of apples.” + </p> + <p> + “How many?” he calls out again. + </p> + <p> + “Nine,” I replies. + </p> + <p> + “Let's taste one,” he says. + </p> + <p> + “A barrel?” I says, and Milly, the girl, she come oat by the door, with + another quilt to put over him, laughing, and showing her teeth, rare ones + too, they be and says she. “Throw us down one, Farmer Wise,” and I did, + for I had a couple in my pocket, and here's the tother, “now Miss Dexter, + if you see your way to eatin' it now in the waggon alongside of me, or + will you wait till we get to the Albion?” Charlotte Dexter put her hand + out mechanically and took the apple, a large red one, from the farmer who + again managed to hurt her as his great wrist touched her fingers for an + instant. He blushed perceptibly and moved a little nearer still. And how + unconscious Charlotte Dexter was of his mere presence, let alone tender + thoughts, except when he hurt her! + </p> + <p> + “I have heard this morning, that is I believe everyone has known for some + time, though it is only spoken about generally today, for the first time, + that Mrs. Cox is giving up the Inn. Her niece, the girl you mention, is + going to be married—indeed, it is one of those gentlemen—the + Mr. Foxleys—whom she is to marry, and they will take the Inn out of + Mrs. Cox's hands.” + </p> + <p> + The farmer was as surprised as she had been. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” he ejaculated “didn't I say I'd never seen their ekil? Milly's + going to marry one of the Mr. Foxleys? Which—” + </p> + <p> + “It is Mr. Joseph,” returned Miss Dexter, staring down at the apple in her + lap. “The youngest one, you know. He is a very merry young gentleman and + always has something to say. I daresay it will be a very comfortable + arrangement.” + </p> + <p> + “But it's a great thing for Milly,” said her companion, “it'll be a great + thing for her. She'll live in the tone, no doubt and may be cross the + ocean to see his home and his parents—it'll be a great thing for + Milly. A gentleman born! Ay, ay; ay, ay!” + </p> + <p> + “No, no,” said Miss Dexter, irritably. “Don't I tell you, Farmer Wise, + that they will live on at the Inn? These young gentlemen like comfort, + like being waited upon. They do this in order to insure—in order to—oh! + it is difficult to explain my meaning, but you must see, Farmer Wise, that + it is not a proper marriage at all, it is a very sad thing for the girl, I + should consider, and some one—some friend should tell her so. She + can never be a lady, and what kind of life will it be for him, a gentleman + born, as you say, when he could have chosen too, where he liked. My great + grandfather, Mr. Wise, was an Admiral, and my grandfather was a Judge. My + father was a member of a respected profession, although not brought up to + it in early life, and <i>none</i> of my relations, or ancestors <i>ever</i> + married out of their own proper circle, except my poor father. He made a + most perverse and foolish marriage, Farmer Wise, which though only lasting + a few years, brought sorrow and trouble and poverty and oppression to his + family.” + </p> + <p> + “Ay, ay,” said the farmer, softly. He was thinking still about those + down-drawn blinds. + </p> + <p> + “Ay, ay. You're right in the main, Miss Dexter—yes, you're right in + the main. Now, I thought I'd ask ye—I said to myself this morning, + when I see Miss Dexter the next time, her as is a lady, and no mistake, + I'll ask her—what would you say, or what your sister have said if + someone here right in this village, that is, there in Ipswich, I mean of + course, someone who wanted to just be kind and lend an 'elpin 'and, had + asked ye—or her—say her—had asked her anytime to marry + him, startin' fair, startin' fair, with a year to think on it. And a + comfortable 'ome awaitin' 'er with two 'ired girls to do the work and + plenty of hands on the farm and the best of cheese and butter and the + Harmonium in the parlor and drives to and fro' the Church and behind it + all a—solid man—a solid man—what do ye think she'd 'uv + said?” + </p> + <p> + Was ever man more in earnest, now that it had suddenly broken from him + after all these years, than honest Farmer Wise? The team jogged on, but + the reins were lying loosely in their owner's hands. + </p> + <p> + “I thought I'd ask ye,” he repeated looking away from his companion. “I + thought I'd ask ye.” + </p> + <p> + Miss Dexter had hardly gathered the import of his speech. She looked up + startled. + </p> + <p> + “My sister?” she said with increased irritability. “Ask my sister? What do + you mean? I never knew that anybody here, in the village, had proposed to + her, or dared—dared to think of her at all as a possible mate—wife, + whatever it is you mean. Surely you don't mean yourself, Farmer Wise! It + would never enter your head, I am sure, to propose to my sister!” + </p> + <p> + “No it never did,” said the farmer quietly. + </p> + <p> + “Then it is someone else? Really, you must tell me, if you know anything + about it, Farmer Wise. But I think you are making some mistake, it is + quite impossible that anyone in the village—any native of the + village, or indeed any native of this country should so far forget himself + as to propose to my sister.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course,” said the farmer as quietly, “it is quite impossible. No one + 'ud 'av done it. No one did do it, that I know on. But I thought I'd ask + ye. And about yourself, too? There'd be no gettin' ye to forget all—all + that has been and to take up with things as they be, to be makin' a new + start, startin' fair, as I said, startin' fair, both parties agreed to + think a year on it, and one party to save up and buy nothin' till the year + 'd be out and then the other party to give the word for both to take 'ands + and make the start together! For what's past is past, and what's done is + done, and ye can't make this out the old country any more nor ye can bring + back those that are gone, which they wouldn't be, I 'low to say, if they'd + stayed behind in it. This” said the farmer, in a louder firmer voice, + indicating with his whip the dreary pine forests that bordered the road on + either side, “isn't the old country. I come from it myself, and I know it + taint. Them rustlin' leaves ain't the old country, heaps of brown and + yella up to your knees after a while, nor yet this road, nor that sky, nor + this waggon, nor them apples, nor them horses. Nor me myself. I'm no + longer old country. I'm fond of it—sho! I'm fonder of it now than I + was forty years ago, when I come away from it, I'm fonder of it every year + that goes by. But it's the New Country that's made me, that's give me all + I have and more than all I want, and accordin' I'm grateful to it, and + wouldn't turn my back on it. No Miss Dexter I wouldn't, and so I says, to + all as come out to it, it's better to try and forget the past, or at least + as much of it as 'll bear forgetting in order to let you live, and to take + up with things as they be, and not lookin' always to things as they were, + and to make the best of what the New World has to offer to ye And I don't + think that in England—God bless her—to-day, you 'll find a + finer team, nor redder apples, nor an easier going waggon, nor even a + prettier sky, than that there yella light breakin' all over the landscup + like!” + </p> + <p> + There was perfect silence after that. It had suddenly dawned upon + Charlotte Dexter with accession of disgust and embittered hostility that + the farmer's words related to himself. What new and hateful complication + was this to be reminded by such an ill-timed declaration of the ironical + in her life which had always been near enough to her apprehensions! + Anything and everything but what she wanted, she could have. It had always + been so. A dark frown gathered on her forehead, she clutched her bag and + drew herself away from the side of the honest farmer. + </p> + <p> + “I do not know what you are talking about,” she cried. “Such words can + have nothing to do with me. I could not disgrace myself and my father's + family by allying myself with anybody out here, least of all, one of the + working classes, or a farmer. You are very inconsiderate, Farmer Wise, and + I must ask you to distinctly understand that even conversation on such a + subject is quite out of the question. I cannot even discuss it with you or + with anyone in your position. I have told you what my connections are; + what my family is, you have now, I hope, some correct idea, and you will + see how utterly impossible it is that I should, even to better my + circumstances which I admit are somewhat precarious, make such a <i>mésalliance</i>—such + a mistake, I mean, as you refer to. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said the farmer very quietly this time. “You're right in the main, + Miss Dexter, you're right in the main. But I thought I'd ask ye, I thought + I'd ask ye. Far from harm bein' done, there's only good, there's only + good, for now you understand me and I understand <i>you</i> and thank ye + for your confidences and there's an end on it.” + </p> + <p> + So begun, so ended the honest man's wooing. Did he suffer disappointment + as Miss Dexter's contemptuous eye and her irritated tone showed him—ah! + how plainly—she was forever out of his reach? Was an idol broken, a + dream dissolved, a blossom nipped, or hope murdered, just as much, in the + case of this comfortable placid unimaginative elderly farmer as in the + case of younger, warmer, more impetuous, more idealistic men? If so, + Farmer Wise was as self-contained as the best actor among them and handed + Miss Dexter out at the Albion with as gallant, though cautious politeness + and sat as far away from her at the hotel tea table and met her in the + hall afterwards with as severe an air, as if the situation were perfectly + pleasant and completely ordinary. He asked her when she would be going + back, and learnt that she would pass the night at the Albion, returning to + the village by the Saturday's stage. + </p> + <p> + “Then shall I take a seat for ye?” asked the willing farmer. + </p> + <p> + “No” said Miss Dexter, who appeared to be in a great hurry, “I can arrange + in the morning, thank you.” + </p> + <p> + “In any case, ye're sure ye won't want a 'lift' again, Miss Dexter,” said + the farmer respectfully, though there might have been the least tinge of + irony in the tone. “I'm not goin' back myself till to morrow.” + </p> + <p> + “No, thank you,” returned Miss Dexter for the last time. + </p> + <p> + The Albion was a small hotel or tavern situated just on the outskirts of + the town, which did a flourishing business with the country people. Two + roads, the Ipswich and the Richmond, formed a sort of junction before its + door, one leading into the fine agricultural district or valley of + Richmond, Guernsey and Trenton, and the other following, the dreary Plains + through Ipswich to Orangetown, a thriving little community of mills and + saws and booms and planks picturesquely situated on the Upper Orange + River. + </p> + <p> + There was always a knot of farmers round the Albion, all of them English + or Scotch or native Canadians born of British parents. A French-Canadian + would have been hoisted on a table and examined minutely all over, hair, + eye, skin and costume, had one been present. But though the men were + respectable and decent and hard-working and most of them earned a good + income and few of them drank or gambled it away, they were noisy, smoky, + staring fellows for companions and Miss Dexter, having walked some + distance to a shop, made a purchase, and returned to the parlor of the + hotel while it was yet light, uncertain what to do with herself or where + to go to escape the bustle and clatter of tongues. Farmer Wise was smoking + in the bar, she had seen him as she passed in, and the mere sight of him, + with his head up against the counter, and his legs out on a chair made her + shudder. She sat in the parlor listening to the intolerable noise, heavy + delf and cutlery being momentarily banged down on tables and chairs, an + occasional broken plate and whirling pewter mug or kitchen spoon reaching + her ear with more than usual reverberation. Then would come a volley of + laughter, oaths, and bets on next week's races from the bar, then more + breaking of china from the scullery, the stamping of horses in the stable, + then the bar door would be closed and comparative silence ensue. In one of + these intervals, the girl who had waited at the tea-table appeared in the + parlor and inquired of Miss Dexter if she would like a fire put in the + wood stove that stood on a square of zinc in the middle of the room. It + came as a relief from the nervous broodings that were settling down on her + mind occupied in introspection neither healthy nor cheerful, and she + eagerly assented. + </p> + <p> + When the fire burned up, she opened the door that she might see the blaze + and spread out her thin hands to it and put her cold feet to its warmth. + Then for the first time she unclasped her bag and taking out her purchase, + looked at it. The shop she had gone into was a druggist's, and her + purchase had been a small bottle of a bluish fluid that she now held up to + the light and looked at long and steadily but with no change in her + countenance. The bar-door opened with a creak and closed with a bang. She + started and replaced the bottle in the bag and put the bag over her arm as + before. For a long time she sat before the fire warming first one foot, + then the other and never looking away from the blaze. When half-past ten + came, so did the girl with a lamp and two damp towels for Miss Dexter who + took them without opening her mouth much to the astonishment of the girl, + who though taciturn herself was well used to speech and “language” from + all she came in contact with, and who was also struck with the fact that + the strange lady had never removed her bonnet or jacket “since she come in + the house.” + </p> + <p> + She would have had additional ground for surprise had she known that the + strange lady did not remove them even upon reaching her own room, but + lowering the lamp, lay down fully dressed upon the bed still clasping her + small travelling bag in her hands, and slept until seven o'clock in the + morning. She then rose and hastily straightening her attire, descended to + the dining-room, partook of ham and eggs. Upon the close of this meal, she + went up again to the parlor and sat slightly back from the window that + overlooked the main road until twelve o'clock, when she partook of the + dinner served to the travellers at the Albion, including Farmer Wise who + had sold his apples and soon after dinner hitched up ready to go + homewards. After dinner she went up as before to the parlor and sat there + again. Two o'clock came, half past two, three o'clock, and Miss Dexter + began to look along the road in the direction of the town. Half-past three + found her, still looking along the road. Four o'clock came, half-past + four, then five. She grew visibly uneasy, walked to and fro in the little + parlor, sat down again. Half-past five, the clatter in the kitchen which + had been silent for a little while renewed itself. Six!! The men stumped + into their tea, and the girl ascending asked Miss Dexter if she was coming + down to hers. + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Miss Dexter, “I expect to have a late tea at home, thank you. + And I am just going in a moment or two.” + </p> + <p> + Ten minutes past six. The late November afternoon had almost entirely + faded, it would soon be dark. A quarter past six and Miss Dexter, looking + continuously out of her window perceived the figure she had waited for so + long at length approaching. Gay, Mr. Joseph, you have thrown off the + fetters of town and work and dull care and responsibility, and here you + are free and untrammelled as the air, good humored, cheerful, humming your + Old Country tunes as usual, brisk, <i>débonnair</i>, untouched by thought + of present trouble or evil, unthinking and unsuspecting! Gay Mr. Joseph, + urbane Mr. Joseph, what have you got in your hand this time? Last time it + was a bunch of the red field lily. Now it is, or it looks like—yes, + it is—a genuine florist's bouquet. Something to open the eyes of the + Ipswich villagers. A gorgeous wired platoon of roses, and smilax tuberose + and mignonette—Mr. Joseph, Mr. Joseph, what does this mean, who is + this for? On he came, brisker, more <i>débonnair</i>, more smiling than + Miss Dexter had ever seen him in her life. Her breath came fast as he + neared the window. Exchanging a word with the hostler and a couple of + laboring men who stood almost in the centre of the road Mr. Joseph passed + on, looking down with a smile at the bouquet in his hand. Miss Dexter then + arose and quietly settling her bonnet at a glass walked out of the hotel + having paid her small bill at dinner-time. + </p> + <p> + She walked steadily on in the direction of Ipswich in the wake of Mr. + Joseph who did not appear to be walking as fast as usual himself. So by + straining every nerve as we say—in reality, walking as she had never + attempted to and dreamt of walking in her life—she slowly but surely + gained upon the unconscious Mr. Joseph. They were about in the middle of + the plains, that dreary bit of road bordered by pine forests on either + side when Miss Dexter found she could distinguish the <i>clink, clink</i> + or jingle of his watch-chain, a thing of steel links which she knew well + by sight as well as by sound as it struck against the buttons of his coat. + Slowly Miss Dexter gained on him, until it was necessary either to accost + him or pass him. Which did she mean to do? Dark as it was rapidly growing, + Mr. Joseph, in half turning his head to observe something in the trees or + sky, became conscious of a figure close behind him. The path was narrow, + for he had left the middle of the road since passing the Albion, and he + stepped aside with his usual ready politeness to allow the lady room to go + on before him. But in a moment he recognized Miss Dexter. She waited for + him to speak. + </p> + <p> + “I—really, why—is it possible it is you, my dear Miss Dexter? + I never knew you took such lonely walks so far from home. You don't mean + to say you've walked out from town?” + </p> + <p> + For an answer, Miss Dexter, who had previously unclasped her bag and taken + out the bottle, lifted her right hand and threw the contents over Mr. + Joseph. + </p> + <p> + “In the name of God!” shrieked the unfortunate man, warding off as he + imagined a second attack. But Miss Dexter had done her work and stood + rigid, unmovable, stony as marble, the bag fallen at her feet, her hands + fallen straight down at her sides. Mr. Joseph had sunk upon the ground + moaning and writhing, but through all the torture of the terrible pain he + was suffering, he thought of nothing but the inconceivable brutality of + the act itself. Why had she done it? + </p> + <p> + “I suppose it is vitriol,” he gasped. “Was it an accident—or—did + you—mean—to—do it? How have—I—injured—you? + Oh—say—say—” + </p> + <p> + He could get no further for a few moments in the appalling consciousness + of that living fire which had burnt into his poor eyes and played round + his poor temples. Otherwise he was not injured, for Miss Dexter's aim had + been a faulty one and nearly all the contents of the bottle had in reality + descended on the ground. + </p> + <p> + “Say—say” he went on. “Which it is? My—dear—Miss Dexter—I + am—sorrier for you—than—for—myself, and cannot + imagine—oh! Good God, I shall be blind, blind—ah!!—” + </p> + <p> + Charlotte Dexter still stood in the rapidly darkening air, a stem, rigid, + immovable figure. It was too soon for remorse. That would come in good + time. But a certain pity stole over her as she gazed at the huddled mass + on the ground before her, which a short time ago, had been the gay, + laughing, upright Mr. Joseph. + </p> + <p> + “Are you suffering very much?” She said at length in her ordinary voice. + </p> + <p> + “Good God! How—how—can you ask? Again—tell me—was + it—an accident?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” she replied still in her most ordinary voice. “No. It was no + accident. It <i>is</i> vitriol, and I <i>did</i> mean to throw it.” + </p> + <p> + “It is horrible,” groaned Mr. Joseph, still in agony on the ground where + he had sunk at first. “And you will not—fiend that you appear now to + be—though Heaven knows—I thought you sweet and womanly enough + once—you will not—tell me why! It is infamous!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, it <i>is</i> infamous,” returned Charlotte Dexter. “It <i>is</i> + horrible, and I am a fiend. I am not a woman any longer. I once was, as + you say, sweet and womanly enough for—for what? Joseph Foxley. For + you to come to any house and my sister's house, and blast <i>her</i> life + and strike <i>her</i> down as you thought you would strike me, for this + and that and for much more, but not enough for truth and honesty and an + offer of marriage in fair form, not enough for common respect and decent + friendship.” + </p> + <p> + “My dear lady,” said Mr. Joseph with great difficulty, “there was no one I—” + </p> + <p> + “And all that time, when I thought you at least free, at least your own + master, at least unbiased and unbound, for unlike a gentleman you never + hinted to me of these—other ties—you were engaged to this + miserable girl, this common drudge, the scullery-maid of a country inn. + You, you, you!” + </p> + <p> + “My dear lady,” said Mr. Joseph again with greater difficulty than before, + “I—upon my word—I have—I—” + </p> + <p> + Charlotte Dexter, suddenly regaining the use of her limbs, bent down + quickly and peered into the poor sightless face. Mr. Joseph had fainted. + She owned no fear yet however, though it was now quite dark, and five + miles lay between them and her own door. Pity was just giving away to + remorse. What if she had killed him? She bent down again but found that + there was no fear of that and even consciousness appeared to be returning. + At this moment the sound of wheels struck her ear. Nearer and nearer it + came and she soon descried a waggon coming along the road sharply in which + sat one man. The rest of the waggon was empty and as it was proceeding in + the direction of the village, into that, she made up her mind, should Mr. + Joseph be put. As it drew near, she stepped out of the dark shade of the + pines and bade the man stop. + </p> + <p> + “Whose there!” said he, “What's here? What's the matter? Why, if it ain't + Miss Dexter!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said she, stooping to assist her unfortunate companion. “How do you + do, Farmer Wise! I—do you know Mr. Foxley—Mr. Joseph Foxley—is + here—can you just see him—if you have a lantern, or, will you + help me to get him into the waggon?” + </p> + <p> + Farmer Wise forgot Miss Dexter and her family pride in an instant, though + at first sight the feeling of injury had somewhat revived, and he made + haste to come to her relief. He found Mr. Joseph just coming to himself. + </p> + <p> + “Why, why, what's the matter?” said the Farmer. “It minds me of old times, + this, when highway-men and tramps were a-infestin' the road and a-lyin' in + wait for honest travellers—in the Old Country of course, Miss + Dexter, not here, not here. Yet somethin's been at work here, eh! Mr. + Joseph, or else I'm much mistaken. Here, lend an 'and, Miss Dexter; now, + sir, can you see me?” + </p> + <p> + “Not very well,” gasped poor Mr. Joseph. “It's dark, I know,” said the + farmer, “and I hadn't begun carrying my lantern yet. Never mind Here, now, + place your foot there—are ye hurt anywhere that I may touch ye—tell + me where I hurt ye, if I do—now then, the other foot— + </p> + <p> + “There, now it's done! Miss Dexter, ma'am there's an old blanket at the + back there, lie him on that. Put his head down and let him look straight + up at them stars and he'll soon get himself, I warrant. If I knew where ye + were hurt, perhaps I could bind ye up. There's no wound,” anxiously. + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Mr. Joseph. “Thank you, Farmer Wise. I am—much—better—really. + I was unconscious!” + </p> + <p> + “Ay,” said the farmer, “A little, and can you stand the joltin' now, are + ye sure? For if ye are, we'll drive on.” + </p> + <p> + “Stay a moment,” said Mr. Joseph. “I had some flowers—a bouquet—in + my hands when I—fell. I can't see—very well—in this + light—look for me, will you!” + </p> + <p> + “I do spy somethin' white on yonder ground where you was when I came up. + Maybe it's a pocket-handkerchief, may be it's the flowers you dropped.” + </p> + <p> + The former sprang down and returned with two articles one of which—the + bouquet he gave to Mr. Joseph, the other, a small bottle—he put in + his own pocket The bouquet was as fresh and untumbled as when it emerged + from the careful florist who had prepared it. Not a single drop of the + fiery liquid had fallen upon it nor scorched its fragrant beauty and it + presently lay upon the face of the suffering man, healing with its cool + moist sweet leaves and petals his poor scarred skin. + </p> + <p> + “I won't ask him,” thought the farmer, “I won't ask him. But what are they + doin' here together? Well, I won't ask that neither. And why did not she + came out by the stage as she said? I won't ask that neither. There's three + things I needn't go for to enquire into. But a little general conversation + in a nice kind of way, neither spyin' nor lyin' may do him good and not be + altogether despised by the—the other party.” He looked back and + could dimly see Mr. Joseph sitting up on the blanket. He had removed his + hat, and his hands were pressed to his head. Charlotte Dexter was in the + furthest corner of the waggon, a dark, stern, ominous figure. + </p> + <p> + “Strange that you and me <i>are</i> goin' home together, Miss Dexter, + after all,” said the farmer. + </p> + <p> + “Miss Dexter drove in to the Albion alongside of me yesterday, sir, and I + ask her if so be she need a second lift back to-day, and she said 'no.'” + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” said Mr. Joseph. “Yesterday, did you say? I was—to have—come + out—yesterday—in answer to my brother's note—but I could + not manage—it. I wish,” with a grim attempt at the old humor—“I + had, 'pon my soul I do.” + </p> + <p> + “Your brother is well, I hope, sir?” said the farmer. “Don't talk too + much, I beg of ye, Mr. Joseph. To see ye with yer hands like that!” + </p> + <p> + “It is—better—easier—that way,” returned Mr. Joseph. “My + brother is well for him, thank you. You know, he is—not strong he—is—never—perfectly + well.” + </p> + <p> + “D—” said the farmer to himself. “Of course, of course, I know. I + see him yesterday morning, pale like and weak, but smiling and lookin' + happy enough too, I tell ye.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, yes” said Mr. Joseph, again lying down and pressing the flowers to + his hot lips. “I—these flowers—are for him and—her.” + </p> + <p> + “Her!” said the farmer. + </p> + <p> + “Milly, you know. Ah—perhaps you haven't heard. My brother is going + to—marry Milly, Mrs. Cox's niece, you know.” + </p> + <p> + An absolutely death-like stillness prevailed in the waggon. The Kentucky + team jogged on. The stars shone down on poor Mr. Joseph turning up his + sightless orbs to their beauty and majesty, and on the passion of grief + and remorse that now surged in Miss Dexter's suffering breast. + </p> + <p> + “It may be vanity,” thought Farmer Wise as the bridge and the river and + Dexter's Oak came in sight one after the other, “it may be vanity, though + I'm too old a man to be much given to that, but I can't help thinkin' I'm + a wiser man than I was yesterday by a good lot. I don't half know what's + happened, but somethin's goin' on, whether it's understandable or not to + me and the likes of me, I don't know as yet, and I don't think I'll try to + find out. If ifs bad it'll come out fast enough, and if it's good, leavin' + it alone maybe will make it a little better. But here we are,” he + continued aloud, “at Dexter's Oak. What's to be done, Miss Dexter, now, + and with you, Mr. Joseph? Of course, I'll take you straight to the Inn—as + for Miss Dexter—” + </p> + <p> + “I will get out at once,” said the unhappy woman. “You are sure you can + take him to the Inn all right and—and—lift—that is—without—” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I guess so,” said the farmer, grimly relapsing into an Americanism + that was just beginning to leaven the whole country. “I guess I'll take + care on him, and as for gettin' him out at the Inn, there's plenty there. + Good-night Miss Dexter, take care there!—now you're all right” + </p> + <p> + Charlotte Dexter, with a long look at the prostrate form of Mr. Joseph, + leapt from the waggon and sped through the gate up to her desolate + dwelling. + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” sighed the farmer to himself, one great long sigh that stirred his + hardy frame to its centre. He never sighed like that again either for + Charlotte Dexter or any other woman. + </p> + <p> + The next mile they traversed in silence broken only by occasional moans + from Mr. Joseph which moved the old farmer to wonder and dismay that + almost unnerved him. + </p> + <p> + Presently Mr. Joseph murmured some word the farmer did not catch all at + once. + </p> + <p> + “Is he out of his mind on top of it all!” he said to himself, and + listened. + </p> + <p> + “Farmer Wise,” said the same low voice, “are we near the Inn?” + </p> + <p> + “Just there, Mr. Joseph.” + </p> + <p> + “On the little bridge yet?” + </p> + <p> + “Just come on it, Mr. Joseph.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! Can you—stop your horses?” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly. There! Now what is it?” Mr. Joseph sat up. + </p> + <p> + “I am in your waggon—the market waggon, Farmer Wise, I think?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Mr. Joseph. You can't tell where we are, I see, being so much + shook.” + </p> + <p> + “No. That's not it,” said Mr. Joseph. “I—are you on the seat—the + front seat, Farmer Wise?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Mr. Joseph. You can't make me out by this queer light, and I don't + wonder. The stars is beautiful, but they don't make up for havin' no + moon.” + </p> + <p> + “No. That's not it either, Farmer Wise. Did you say the stars were + shining? Orion, I suppose, and the Bull and the rest of them! Can't you—try—like + a dear old fellow—can't you—tell what's the matter with me? + You say you are sitting on the front seat, and I—have no doubt but + that you are, but your voice sounds so much further away—so very + much further away than that—and when one—can't—see you, + Farmer Wise,—” + </p> + <p> + A frightful pause. + </p> + <p> + “Can't see me, can't see me! Mr. Joseph, Mr. Joseph! Not blind—God + forgive me for sayin' the word out to ye like that! But I thought it, I + thought it, and so, out it come! But it is'nt that! Ye'll forgive me for + sayin' the word out to ye like that! It isn't that!” + </p> + <p> + “I'm afraid it is, Farmer Wise. It can be—nothing—else.' + </p> + <p> + “If, as you say, the stars are shining and to be sure they generally are + about—this time—of night, and if, as you say, you are sitting + directly opposite me on the front seat of your waggon, and I have no + reason to doubt it, if this is so, and I—can see neither—these + stars shining—nor you—yourself—dear old fellow—on + the seat before me—it can be, I fear—nothing else.” + </p> + <p> + “And how—” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! I can't—quite remember. Some time, perhaps, I'll tell you how—shall + I go to my brother or—how can I?” + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Joseph,” entreated the farmer, seizing one of those delicate hands + and patting it as if it had been his own. “Will you come with me? I'll + make you comfortable, and have ye seen to and we'll find out about it and + what can be done, and that'll save your brother, look, and he not strong! + Come, Mr. Joseph! Lie down there as you was, just as ye was—God + forgive me for tellin' you to look up at them stars—and I'll speak a + word for you at the Inn, as we're passing. Won't that do, nor be better + than goin' in like that? Not knowin' either just what is the matter. Come, + Mr. Joseph! I'll drive straight home after that and make ye comfortable + for the night, and there'll be no—womankind, or, or anyone to + disturb ye, just me and the two boys—come, Mr. Joseph!” + </p> + <p> + “I am willing enough to go, old fellow,” answered Mr. Joseph with a groan. + “Willing enough to go anywhere, but where my brother—my poor brother—is. + Yes, it will be best. Drive on.” + </p> + <p> + The warm cheery Inn soon appeared in view. The firelight from the bar and + the lamp-light from the other rooms beamed out from the red-curtained + windows. The scrape of a fiddle came from the kitchen. “Squires,” murmured + Mr. Joseph, feebly. “He's always at it.” The farmer pulled up the team at + the pump corner one instant and looking around descried not a soul in + view. He got down and went to the side door leading to the bar and opening + it put his head in. Mrs. Cox herself was dispensing early gin and water to + three or four indolent but talkative gentlemen before the fire. But she + was not so busy as not to perceive the farmer. Had she already had that + cap on in which bloomed the violet velvet pansy, Mr. Joseph's whereabouts + might have been discovered, for invariably on those occasions she + accompanied the farmer not only to the door but even to the very feet of + the horses as he straightened up one thing or loosened another and would + often joke about the empty waggon or the purchases made in the town which + might happen to fill it. + </p> + <p> + But Farmer Wise left her no time even to adjust her head-dress, far from + changing it. + </p> + <p> + “Good evening, ma'am,” said he, with his head in the door. “No. Don't + trouble about Squires. He's hard at work, I can hear, and besides, I don't + want him. I'm late, and the boys will wait for their supper. I just have + to tell ye that I see Mr. Foxley in town, Mr. Joseph Foxley, and he says + how he can't come out till—say—Monday. He was stuck full of + work—he was indeed—and said positive—he couldn't come. + But he give me this for his brother and for—her,” producing the + bouquet, which caused a thrill of amazement and awe to pervade the + loungers in the bar. “For his brother and for—her,” said the farmer, + taking a long stride across the little room and giving it to Mrs. Cox. “I + congratulate you, ma'am, I do indeed.” + </p> + <p> + Before she could well answer, he had shut the door and mounting the waggon + drove away as quickly as he could. He was too full of thoughts and plans + concerning Mr. Joseph to notice that quick as he was, Mrs. Cox, not + waiting this time to change her cap, had come out to the door and with her + hand shading her eyes, was looking wistfully after the departing team. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0012" id="link2HCH0012"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IV. + </h2> + <p> + It was as Mr. Joseph had said. His brother, George Albert Dacre Foxley, of + Foxley Manor, Notts, was indeed contemplating marriage with Milly, niece + of Mrs. Cox, landlady of the Ipswich Inn. If it seem strange, remember + that he had passed the meridian of his years, health was gone, life + rapidly passing away and it was impossible now for him to make any new + departure in his life or habits. He had become firmly attached to Mrs. + Cox's comfortable <i>ménage</i> and wanted nothing more. Never in England, + even while in the enjoyment of fairly good health and luxurious + surroundings had he ever felt so completely at rest, satisfied with + himself and his small immediate world, every want cared for, every wish + guessed at, and the best of company to his idea—company that called + for nothing but pure naturalness. He could smoke for hours in Mrs. Cox's + kitchen, or in her neat yard or even in the chintz-hung drawing-room and + no one would interrupt him with dissertations on politics, art or + literature. Like all Englishmen of the quiet country-loving stamp, he + cared little about politics except when some general crisis assented + itself, and knew less about art or literature. He thought Wilkie and + Landseer about the summit of the one and Byron the chief modern pillar of + the other. Twenty years ago, Tennyson had not made a very deep impression + on a mind of his calibre. Yet this handsome, quiet, delicate gentleman + when he did choose to talk had such an audience as is not given to many + men, for Mrs. Cox would leave her work (if she dared) and Milly would + listen with her young eyes fastened in a kind of ecstasy on the dark ones + turned to hers, and Squires would come along with his hands in his + trousers pockets and his fiddle under his arm, and Bess would put her paws + upon her master's knees and devour him with her own dark eyes—a + quintette of friends unsurpassed in the world for loyal attachment and + generous devotion. What if what he had to tell was but some simple story + of hunting England, or some bald description of London life seen under the + surveillance of a tutor fifteen or twenty years previous to the time of + narration—he was their oracle, prophet, God, what you will, and they + were his dearest, yes, his very dearest friends. When Mr. Joseph appeared + as one of this happy circle, it became more boisterous of course though + not necessarily any happier, for it was already as happy as it could be. + But the news from town and the occasional English mail, flowers and a + cheap new novel—these were some of the simple delights that Mr. + Joseph used to bring with him. During the first couple of years, both the + brothers would saunter out to the Miss Dexters' or to the Rectory, Mr. + Joseph in particular, never failing to appear on Saturday nights at + choir-practice and Sunday evening service—but Mr. George gradually + discontinued his visits as I have hinted and towards the fourth year of + his stay hardly ever went beyond the Inn. For at the back the small + terraced garden met the orchard, and the orchard sloping down met a small + pebbly brook, and the brook flowing along in sweet rippling fashion met + the most charming of wheat covered golden meadows in which it was pleasant + and good to stroll and which moreover all belonged to that matchless + paragon among landladies, Mrs. Cox. In those days people grew their own + kitchen stuff, and their own fruit and their own grain, fed their own live + stock, made their own butter and cheese, cured their own hams, laid their + own eggs, even brewed their own beer. Now, everything is different, and + let no confiding Englishman, allured by my tempting picture come out to + Canada today in search of such a Utopia for he will not find it. Moreover + all this pleasant prospect of wood and stream and meadow and orchard lay + well <i>behind</i> the Inn, let it be understood, and it was perfectly + possible for Mr. George Foxley to have all the air, walking and + exploration he desired and even a little shooting and fishing if he wanted + them without, as I have said, going beyond it. When he grew really weak, + he was obliged to give up both the latter occupations of course, but he + still walked or strolled a great deal, generally with Milly by his side. + She would leave anything she was at when he called her and opening the + little gate by the one hawthorn tree leading into the orchard, see him + safe down the slope to the side of the little brook where she would give + him her arm, and thus their walk would commence in earnest. Four years had + brought a great change in Milly. New ideas, new habits, association with + such thorough and high-bred gentleman and the natural desire to improve + and grow worthy of such dearly esteemed company, had altered her + completely. Where before she had been pink, now she was pale; thin, where + she had been plump; her features actually aquiline from the girlish snub + of the rounded contour four years back, her hair, three shades darker, her + dress, almost that of a lady. The most perfect sympathy appeared to exist, + and really did, between these two strangely met natures. + </p> + <p> + One day, they had sat down at the side of the brook as a couple of + children would have done to cast in sticks and leaves and watch them float + by. Sometimes these would get caught in the numberless little eddies that + such a stream possesses and be whirled round and round until it was + necessary to dislodge them and send them on their way after the others. + One fine yellow leaf on this November day attracted Mr. Foxley's attention + particularly, for it was obstinate in returning again and again to a cosy + little bay formed by a couple of large stones. Often as he poked it out, + back it came into the bay and anchored itself contentedly on the calm + water. + </p> + <p> + Milly laughed. + </p> + <p> + “He has found a haven,” said Mr. George. “Yes, without doubt he has found + his haven. What do you think, Milly?” + </p> + <p> + “I think so, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “Don't call me sir, child. What makes you do so?” + </p> + <p> + “There is nothing else I can call you, is there,—sir.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” said Mr. Foxley. He lay back at full length on the grass and put his + hands over his eyes. The river rippled on and Milly watched him anxiously. + “Is the leaf there still, Milly?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “Now!” said Mr. Foxley in a warning tone. “I tell you I won't have it.” + </p> + <p> + “No, sir—I beg your pardon, Mr. George.” + </p> + <p> + “Nor that either,” said Mr. Foxley, slowly rising into a sitting posture + again. He had another poke at the yellow leaf. “Call me Dacre, my child, + will you?” Milly no longer watched him with those loving, anxious, eyes. + She was trembling from head to foot and had she spoken, she must have + wept. Mr. Foxley's voice was of itself enough to make any woman weep, it + was so soft, so tender, so subdued and indrawn. Once more he said, “Call + me Dacre, my child!” That pleading voice, so low, so musical, and that it + should plead to her? They were so close together that he could feel her + tremble. Weak as he was, he was the stronger of the two for a moment, and + turning slightly towards her met her rapturous eyes, and heard her call + him the name he wanted to hear. The same instant they kissed, a long + thrilling dark-enfolding kiss that was the first Milly had ever known from + a man and might have been, for its purity and restraint, the first also + that he had ever given to a woman. + </p> + <p> + “Have I found my haven too, like the wise leaf of autumn? Have I! Tell me, + my child, my darling!” + </p> + <p> + “O sir, dearest sir—I mean, dear Dacre, it is I who have found mine. + If indeed you care for me, sir!” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Foxley laid his head just on her shoulder, then let it slide into her + lap, taking her trembling hands and putting them over his eyes. + </p> + <p> + “I do more than care for you, my child. I love you. Stoop and kiss me. + There. Don't take your head away again like that. Leave it. Your face + against mine. Your lips on mine. Is it a haven, child? Truly, yes or no?” + </p> + <p> + “Dear Dacre!” + </p> + <p> + “Well!” + </p> + <p> + “You know it is. And I have always wanted so much to—to—care + for you, but I did not dare.” + </p> + <p> + “Dare! There is no dare about it my child. If you will give me your young + life—how old are you now, love?” + </p> + <p> + “Nineteen,” whispered Milly into his ear. + </p> + <p> + “Only nineteen, and such a tall girl, with such long hair—if you + will give it to me and be happy in giving it, child, that must be thought + of, there is no one else—” + </p> + <p> + “You know there is not, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “Then I will do all I can to deserve it. And nobody must call you Milly + any more. You are Mildred now. Miss Mildred if you like and soon, very + soon, to bear another name, mine. It is a good one, child.” + </p> + <p> + “I am sure of it, dear Dacre, and too good—far too good—for + me.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you know how old I am, my child?” + </p> + <p> + “I heard your brother say.” + </p> + <p> + “And did he dare? What did he say it was, my age?” + </p> + <p> + “He said—you were forty-one.” + </p> + <p> + “Then he was out. It is more than that I am exactly forty-three; I say + exactly, for, Milly, this is my birthday, and—I cannot hope—neither + of as must dare to hope, child—that I shall see many more. You will + marry me whenever I say, my love?” + </p> + <p> + The girl bent over him in a passion of weeping. + </p> + <p> + “There is nothing I would not do for you, dear sir—” + </p> + <p> + “Except call me by my dearly-beloved third name!” + </p> + <p> + It began to turn cold as they sat by the stream and Milly or Mildred as + she is henceforth to be called, drying her eyes, fell into a fever over + her lover and besought him to return to the house. + </p> + <p> + Standing face to face, he put her arms around his neck. + </p> + <p> + “Before we go, dear child, you are sure you love me?” + </p> + <p> + “O do not ask me again, dear Dacre!” + </p> + <p> + “That is right. And you know how old I am?” + </p> + <p> + Another assent. + </p> + <p> + “And that you are to marry me whenever I say?” + </p> + <p> + “If I can.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course you can. And that you are to give me all the love you possibly + have to give and more and more. I shall be exacting!” + </p> + <p> + “Dear Dacre!” + </p> + <p> + “Very well. Remember all those clauses, and now take me back to the house. + And some day, my child, I will tell you all my life and what it was—or + rather who it was—that sent me out of England, dear England—” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! you love it still,” murmured Mildred, looking at the ground. + </p> + <p> + “I shall always love it <i>now</i>, since I have found my happiness in + Canada, but once I hated it, Milly, yes, I hated it!” + </p> + <p> + So was accomplished the wooing of Mr. George Foxley. He was earnestly and + sincerely in love. The girl had grown up under his eye as it were and was + in fact almost a part of himself already. Marriage would complete the + refining and gilding process. The tones of her voice, her accent, her + pronunciation, her habits of sitting, of standing, of walking were all + more or less unconsciously imitated from him, she had modelled herself + upon him, she was indeed his “child” as he loved to call her. For a month + these two people enjoyed as pure and perfect and isolated an happiness as + can be experienced on earth. Then it became necessary to inform Mr. Joseph + and worthy Mrs. Cox. As if Mr. Joseph and Mrs. Cox didn't know! There are + two things that nothing can hide in this life. One is, the light in the + eyes of a girl who has found herself loved by the man she adores, and the + other is, the unutterable content in the mien of that man himself. And + there is no phase of passion sweeter, nor purer, nor warmer, nor more + satisfying, than that which is the result of a young girl's affection for + a man many years older than herself. + </p> + <p> + As for the telling, Mr. George, though he could talk fast enough and + fluently enough to Mildred, hated much talk or fuss about anything and so + made everything the easier by informing his brother, Mr. Joseph, by note. + A few lines sufficed as preparation for the news and he ended by + requesting him to purchase some small and inexpensive gift as from himself + in appreciation of the occasion. Mr. Joseph with characteristic good taste + and delicate feeling, concluded that flowers, though perishable, were the + most appropriate purchase he could light upon, and consequently walked out + from town a certain Saturday afternoon late in November with a monster + affair in smilax and roses in his hand. When it was placed, though not by + himself, in Mildred's hands she felt a disappointment she could not + altogether conceal. + </p> + <p> + “Never mind,” said Mr. George at full length on a sofa with Milly beside + him on a chair. He did indeed prove a most exacting lover. For a long time + her share of daily work in the Inn and out of it, had been growing less + and less, until now she hardly did anything at all besides wait on her + master, lover and friend, prepare what he eat, read to him, and sit by him + for hours, never leaving him in the evenings till long after twelve and + then it was understood that in case of night attacks of the dreadful + pleurisy and asthma combined that were slowing killing him, she would + always be at hand to come at the sound of his bell—or indeed his + voice, for Milly, sleeping in the room opposite his own, always left both + doors open and would lie fully dressed on her bed night after night, + listening in the dark, with wide open eyes and strained ears, for the + slightest cough or sigh that came from that worshipped one across the + narrow hall. + </p> + <p> + “Never mind,” said he on that Saturday night “My brother <i>is</i> busy + just now. Don't you remember, he found it difficult to come out last week. + It's an awful grind for Joseph, poor Joseph! But he enjoys life, I think; + at the present moment I expect he is flirting audaciously in town with + some charming girl. Or some fearfully plain one. You never know who next, + with my brother. He'll turn up on Monday.” + </p> + <p> + And Mr. Joseph did turn up on Monday. Farmer Wise had fetched some doctor + from Orangetown on Sunday, who after examining his injury, pronounced it + incurable. Mr. Joseph was as stoical as Englishmen are generally expected + to be and saw that it was absolutely imperative to tell his brother. + </p> + <p> + “I brought it on myself” he said to the farmer, “At least I try to believe + I did. By Jove! to think—to think of some men! Well, I <i>must</i> + tell my brother.” + </p> + <p> + When he did tell him late on Monday night, having been driven over by + Farmer Wise himself, with his poor eyes bandaged and the sturdy farmer's + hand to guide him into the little back parlor where Mr. George and Mildred + sat alone, for Mrs. Cox had been ordered out by that exacting gentleman as + early as eight o'clock. Nothing but the presence of Mildred herself and + the love divine and human that filled Mr. George's breast to overflowing + could have saved him from succumbing to the painful shock. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I should think you are cured now, my poor Joseph!” said his brother + presently. + </p> + <p> + “Of what, in heaven's name?” said poor Mr. Joseph. “By Jove to think—to + think of some men, George! What had I done, what had I done?” + </p> + <p> + “I do think of them,” said Mr. Foxley gravely. “I do think of them. And + but for my happiness here,” touching Mildred's dress reverently, “I could + wish—” wistfully, “That we had never come here—'twas I who + brought you my poor Joseph, 'twas I, 'twas I.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! that's rubbish!” pronounced Mr. Joseph energetically. “The main point + is now, how am I to get my living. God! I am perfectly useless! They won't + take me back in town there.” + </p> + <p> + “Dear Mr. Joseph,” said Mildred, with her eyes shining on the brother of + her lover. “You will live with us of course, with—Dacre, Dacre and + me, and my aunt. We all love you—see,” and Milly rose, first + pressing Mr. George's fingers as they touched her dress in passing and + giving him a look which was meant to keep him in order for a few moments, + “no one can nurse you as well as I can—ask Dacre—let me take + off that bandage and put it on again more comfortably for you! Will you, + dear Mr. Joseph?” Mr. Joseph groaned and hid his face against Milly's + heaving breast. + </p> + <p> + “She is to be your angel as well as mine, perhaps,” murmured his brother. + </p> + <p> + “I have always been so active,” groaned poor Mr. Joseph, “What is to + become of me? To live here with you would have been beautiful, but now—the + simple thought of existence at all anywhere is unbearable! And the money—good + God, George, how can I Help giving way!” + </p> + <p> + Some few other such scenes had naturally to be gone through before any + course could be suggested to Mr. Joseph. Mrs. Cox had been taken into + confidence, and Farmer Wise made to understand that nothing must be said + about the unhappy affair. Mr. Joseph wrote into town explaining in some + way his resignation of the rather important clerkship he had but just + begun to fill creditably, and sending for all his belongings took to Mrs. + Cox's remaining little room under the roof in the character of an invalid. + The secret was admirably kept, even by the doctor who had been written to + and who had seen a similar case some years ago. + </p> + <p> + “A jealous devil, I suppose,” said he, when he read Mr. George Foxley's + note. + </p> + <p> + “Well, he might have come off worse. But I should like to know who the + country lass was that he'd been sparkin', and who revenged herself like + that.” + </p> + <p> + A few weeks afterwards Mildred was married to George Albert Dacre Foxley, + of Foxley Manor, Notts, by the Rev. Mr. Higgs in the village church. Her + lover looked wonderfully well and strong on the occasion and was so happy + that he was actually mischievously inclined during the ceremony, nearly + causing his bride to laugh out audibly. Handsome and distinguished and + aristocratic a gentleman as he looked, Mildred was not unworthy of him, as + a straighter, firmer, more composed and more smiling a bride never entered + a church. The girl was too happy to know what nervousness meant nor + self-consciousness. She sat with her lover after he was dressed and had + lain down a few moments to rest, until it was time to start in the + carriage which Mr. Rattray had in the most unexpected manner offered them + and which Mr. George accepted with the easy languid grace that + characterized his acceptance of most things in this world excepting Milly. + He had plenty of force and passion and to spare concerning <i>that</i> + gift. Stipulating that “Squires” must sit on the box seat, he and Milly + and Mrs. Cox, an ideal little wedding party, drove off in actually high + glee, laughing and chatting and joking immoderately to the amazement of + the villagers, prominent among whom were Mrs. Woods and “Woods” himself, + rescued in a dazed condition from the back premises of the “Temperance + Hotel” according to popular local tradition, and Mrs. Lyman, B. Rattray, + <i>née</i> Maria Higgs. Mr. Joseph alas! could not be present. + </p> + <p> + In the year that followed this remarkable marriage, the relative positions + of the Mr. Foxleys underwent a great change. So much love and so much care + lightened the elder brother's existence so materially, that his health + actually improved, and by the end of the sixth month of marriage he was + able to shoot and fish once more, and walk with his adoring wife without + the help of her strong arm and shoulder. Indeed it was she who about this + time began to need his assistance during those long strolls by the side of + the brook or through the tall grain grown meadows—a matter which + astonished them both to the extent of stupefaction. Mr. George took his + trouble to Mrs. Cox. + </p> + <p> + “I don't know what you expected, Mr. George, I don't indeed,” said she, + secretly amused at his simplicity. “You went and got married, as was only + natural, and now you are frightened at the results, as is only natural.” + </p> + <p> + “But, my dear lady,” expostulated the perplexed gentleman, “it involves so + many things, all manner of complications. For instance, money. I shall + have—I really believe, my dear good Mrs. Cox—I shall have to + make some money.” + </p> + <p> + “You!” ejaculated Mrs. Cox. + </p> + <p> + “I know. It appears hopeless. I never turned a penny, honest or otherwise + in my life. Joseph you see—ah! poor Joseph!” + </p> + <p> + Poor Joseph indeed, darkness for light, solitude for society, enforced + idleness for long-continued habits of activity, who could enjoy life under + these circumstances—and careful of him as Mildred was, and + sympathetic as his brother was, these two were too intensely absorbed in + each other to give him all the amusement and attention he craved. He grew + thin and weak and slightly perverse and seemed to care more for Mrs. Cox's + company than for his brother's. And yet there was nothing wrong with him + except his terrible affliction. Mrs. Cox was sure he had something on his + mind, and one day she ventured to tell him so. He flushed all over his + pale freckled skin, and feeling for her motherly hands took them in his + own. + </p> + <p> + “There is,” he said. “I wonder no one has ever guessed it. Miss Dexter, + where is she? Does anyone ever see her?” + </p> + <p> + “My poor boy, my dear Mr. Joseph,” cried Mrs. Cox. “You did not really + care for her, did you? Surely! You did not care for her!” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said he decidedly. “No, I did not care for her—I didn't, never + could have cared for her as George cares for Mildred, say—but she + was a lady and kind to me, and I liked to go there, and the fact is—I + miss her—and I am so sorry for her! and yet, you know, I am half + frightened of her too and afraid to go out, thinking she may meet me and I + wouldn't see her coming, you know! Yet she wouldn't do it again, I think!” + </p> + <p> + “Heaven save us, no, Mr. Joseph! And you so forgiving! Mercy me, and + people say men make all the trouble!” + </p> + <p> + “It's half-and-half, Mrs. Cox, dear old soul,” muttered Mr. Joseph, + leaning back on his cushions. “I suppose we were both to blame. I can't, + for the life of me, fall to talking of it as a judgment, for before + heaven, I had done nothing. Yet I forgot how lonely she was and how proud, + and I forgot too, that Ellen—that Ellen—” + </p> + <p> + “Ay, Mr. Joseph. It was Ellen too. Poor Ellen, that passed away out of it + all!” + </p> + <p> + “And she—Miss Dexter—is still here, still living by herself in + the cottage by the oak! I remember so well, Mrs. Cox, the first time my + brother and I ever saw that oak!” + </p> + <p> + “I daresay, Mr. Joseph, I daresay. Yes, she is still there, living in her + cottage unloved and unheeded, Mr. Joseph. And may she ever continue so!” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! don't say that, dear old soul! Don't say that! Do you know, I should + like to see her—I mean—meet her once again!” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Cox was certain he was not in “his right head” as she said to + herself. + </p> + <p> + “See her again! Meet her, talk to her! The woman who served ye like this! + what can you be thinking of? Let me call your brother. There he is coming + along the road, brown and bonny, with his wife on his arm, bless them + both?” + </p> + <p> + “Did you say he was brown, Mrs. Cox? My brother brown! What a change! He + looks so well then, dear old soul!” + </p> + <p> + “If you could but see him, Mr. Joseph, you would see how well.” + </p> + <p> + “Well and brown! And Mildred, she is pale, I suppose, and with her eyes + turned up to his and her lips brushing his shoulder every now and then—O + I can see them—I suppose they go on a worse than ever.” + </p> + <p> + “Indeed and they do, Mr. Joseph. After, breakfast this morning I sent them + up into the drawing-room to be out of the way of the drover's meeting to + be held in the bar, and when I went up to ask them about the lunch they + would take with them on the river this afternoon I heard no sound like and + just whispered at the door a bit if I might come in. When I went in, there + was your brother standing behind her in a chair, with all her hair down, + and a brush in his hand and his wife fast asleep! He looked frightened for + a minute when he saw me and I besought him to bring her to, thinking he'd + mesmerized her. He'd been brushing it and playing with it and the morning + over warm—she had fallen asleep. And I left them, Mr. Joseph, I left + them, for they love each other so. And when I think of the honor he has + done my girl, and how particular he is that she shall be called Mrs. + Foxley—it—” + </p> + <p> + “Well, well, Mrs. Cox, ours is a good name, and I do not think my brother + would have ever allowed any but a good girl to bear it. And if a girl is + lovely and gentle and pure-minded, and innocent, and neat, and clean, and + refined as your niece was, it matters not about her birth. Birth! O my + dear old soul, I am sick of the word! Miss Dexter now, is a lady, you + know.” + </p> + <p> + “Ay.” + </p> + <p> + “And I must see her again,” enforced Mr. Joseph, brought back to his one + idea. “I must see her again.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Cox communicated this intelligence to her niece, Mrs. Foxley. + </p> + <p> + “I think I can understand why,” said she, lying back in her husband's arms + one hot summer night under the trees at the back of the blouse. “It seems + a hard wish to understand and a harder one to comply with, but it may have + to be done. Dacre—” + </p> + <p> + “What my darling!” + </p> + <p> + “When are you going to tell me about your life in England and—and—about + the woman who sent you out of it?” + </p> + <p> + “The woman! I never told you about a woman, child!” + </p> + <p> + “No. But I guessed. It is sure to have been a woman, Dacre.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I don't mind when I tell you. Nothing of all that time is anything + to me now. Shall I tell you now?” + </p> + <p> + “If you please, dearest Dacre. For I must be close to you when I listen to + that, and must not have you see me, for I know I shall cry.” + </p> + <p> + “Dearest child! Well then, it shall be now, for you could scarcely be + closer to me than you are now? And if you cry, as you must try not to do, + you shall be allowed to cry here upon my breast and I will not look. I can + hardly see you as it is, it is so dark. Let me think, how I shall begin. + You know Joseph—our poor Joseph—is my only brother and I never + had any sisters. My father—you know this too—is an English + country gentleman living in one of the most beautiful seats in England. If + I were to describe the old place to you, you would want to go, and I could + not spare you, so I will only say—well, you have seen those + photographs?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, dearest Dacre.” + </p> + <p> + “They only give you a faint idea of what it is. It is Tudor you know—do + you know what Tudor is, Mrs. Foxley—and all red brick, weathered all + colors, and terraced, with lots of little windows and some big ones with + stained glass in them, and urns on the terrace, and a rookery, and an old + avenue of poplars, haunted too, and so on, and so on—there's no end + to it, Mildred! Yes, it's a fine old place, without doubt Well, that is + where I was born. I don't remember my mother. I wish I did. She died when + Joseph was born, he is just four years younger than I am. Our youth was + passed there—at the Manor, of course, and we had the usual small + college education not extending to a university career that gentleman's + sons have in England, you know. I didn't make many friends at school, and + where we lived, there was no one to visit, and we had very few relations. + It is quite unusual I believe for two boys to grow up as we did, in + comparative isolation. My father was a kind of Dombey—you know + Dombey, Mildred—wrapped up in his old place and the associations of + his youth and in his family pride. The Foxleys are better born I believe + than half of the aristocracy; we go back to the Conquest on my father's + side—a thing which he never permits himself to forget for an + instant. Well, Milly, it was a dull life for two lively, affectionate lads + like Joseph and me, wasn't it, and had it not been for all this, child, + nature, you know, and the trees and the streams and the out-door sports I + love so well, I could never have got on at all. Then when I was nineteen—just + your age, love—came a change. I, being the elder and heir to the + estate was sent off to town—I mean, London, my dear—and the + Continent, with a tutor. Joseph—well, I believe I have never fully + understood what became of Joseph during the four years I was away, but I + suppose he amused himself. He has a knack of doing that I never had, + except when I am in the country. Well, this tutor wasn't a bad sort of a + fellow and at first we got on splendidly, living in town in chambers, + going to the plays and the opera, and dining all over, just wherever I + liked or he knew, and excursions oat of London, you know—oh! jolly + enough for a little while! Then we went across to Paris—” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, dearest Dacre?” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Foxley stopped a moment to lift his wife's face closer to his own. He + kissed it—a long long kiss that entranced them both to the degree of + forgetting the story. + </p> + <p> + “If you would rather not go on—” said Mildred. + </p> + <p> + “Oh! I must now. Well, we did Paris, and then the other capitals and Nice—Nice + was just then coming into vogue, and ran down into Italy—I remember + I liked Genoa so much—and then we came back to Paris, for Harfleur—that + was the tutor's name, and it doesn't sound like a real one, does it—preferred + Paris to any other European town and of course so did I. About this time, + his true character began to show itself. He went out frequently without + me, smoked quite freely, would order in wine and get me to drink with him, + and was very much given to calling me fresh, green, and all that you know. + I began to think he was right. I was past twenty-one, and I had never even + had a glimpse into the inside of life. Women, now and all that kind of + thing—I was positively ignorant of—but to be sure, one quickly + learns in Paris.” + </p> + <p> + For one night, Harfleur asked me in his usual sneering tone how I was + going to spend my evening. + </p> + <p> + “I am going out to a charming <i>soirée</i> at the house of Madame de + L'Estarre, the most charming woman in Paris,” said he. + </p> + <p> + “'Then I shall accompany you,' I said, fired by his insulting tone. And I + went, Mildred. I suppose I was good-looking, eh, my child—and had + sufficient air of distinction about me to impress Madame de L'Estarre, for + she left the crowd of waxed and perfumed Frenchmen and devoted herself + entirely to me. Although she was—beautiful—she was not tall, + and I, standing at her side all that evening, never took my eyes off her + dazzling face and her white uncovered bosom. In a week, my child, I had + learnt to know and love every feature in that dazzling face and began to + dream of the day when I should be allowed to kiss that bosom. Yes, I + certainly loved her.” + </p> + <p> + “I am sure you loved her, Dacre my darling. And how could she help loving + you, dear, in return?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh that is another thing entirely, quite another thing. After that night, + Harfleur showed me more respect than he had done for some time previously + and we began to hit it off again better. I went to her <i>hotel</i>—her + house you know, every day. At first she would always receive me alone, + sending anybody away who happened to be there and refusing to admit + anybody who came while we were together.—It is difficult, even to my + wife, to explain what kind of a woman she was. All that first time, when + we would be alone, she would—make love, I suppose it must be called—with + her eyes and her hands, and her very skirts and her fan, and the cushion, + and the footstool. The room was always beautiful and always dim, and she + would greet me with outstretched hands and a shy smile, making room for me + beside her on the sofa—she always sat on a sofa. We would talk of + nothing at all perhaps but look into each other's eyes, until the force of + her look would draw me close, close to her till we were almost in one + another's arms, and I could feel her breath coming faster every moment + when just as I imagined she would sink upon my shoulder—she would + draw herself up with a laugh and push me away, declaring somebody was + coming. Then, if nobody came, she would go through the same farce again. + This would happen perhaps two or three times a day. In the evening, I was + again at her side, night after night regarding her with a devotion that + amazed even my friend Harfleur. + </p> + <p> + “She treats you like a dog. It will kill you yet, George. Come away.” But + of course I would not go. I accompanied her to the theatre, to the Bois, + to the shops, to church—yes, even to church, Mildred, think of that—and + she was very careful and circumspect and all that. I even believe as far + as direct actions go, she may have been a virtuous woman, for she + certainly, had no other lover when I knew her. She was a widow, enormously + rich and nothing to do. Therefore, I suppose she went in for the torturing + business as a profession. Her Frenchmen did not mind; that was the secret + of her charm with them—so clever, they called her, but it nearly + killed me, her cleverness. I grew pale and worn—sleep—I never + slept. All my life I had lived without natural affection, and now I was + pouring forth upon this woman the love I might have rendered friends, + sister, brother, mother, as well as the passion of a young man. I say to + you now, Mildred, my wife, that the woman who tramples on the passion of a + young man is as bad as the man who slays the innocence of a young girl. + And that's what she did. Finally, when this had lasted for a year and a + half, and Harfleur had gone back to England, one day, when I was perfectly + desperate and could have killed her, Milly, as she lay at full length on + her damned sofa—pardon, my dear, no, don't kiss my hand, child, + don't—dressed in some rose-colored stuff all trailing about her and + her hands clasped under her head, I fell by her on my knees and besought + her to tell me what she meant and if she ever could care for me. I give + you my word, my dear, and with my hand over your innocent heart, you know + I dare not lie—in all that year and a half I had not even touched + her lips. You cannot, happily imagine the torture of such a position. + </p> + <p> + Well, that day, she bent over to me on her side and said “What do you + want, is it to kiss me? Chut! wait for that till we are married.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you mean to marry me?” I gasped out. “She said 'yes,' Mildred, and + brushed my cheek with her lips. What do you think I did then, Mildred?” + </p> + <p> + “How can I tell, dearest Dacre!” + </p> + <p> + “I fainted, dearest. Think of it. But I believed her, you see, and the + revulsion was too great. In a moment or two I came to myself with the + sounds of laughter in my ears. I was on her sofa—that damned sofa—pardon + again, my dear—and she was standing with three of her cursed + Frenchmen around her all laughing fit to kill themselves. I saw through it + all in a moment. They had been on the other side of the curtains. I went + straight up to her and said 'Did you say that you were ready to become my + wife?' She only laughed and the men too with her. Then I struck her—on + her white breast, Milly—and struck the three Frenchmen on the face + one after the other. They were so astonished that not one of them moved, + and I parted the curtains, and left the house.” + </p> + <p> + “Did you never see her again?” + </p> + <p> + “Never. I left Paris considerably wiser than I had entered it and avoided + society generally. I had one year's life in London, and was considered no + end of a catch by the mammas, I believe, but you can imagine I did not + easily fall a victim. No. That is all my story, my dear, all at least that + has been unguessed at by you. My health was very bad at home and beyond my + love of sport I cared for nothing. I grew to hate my life in England, even + England, though she had done me no harm. Finally, I quarrelled with my + father who married again, a woman we both disliked, Joseph and I, and so + we turned our backs on the Old World and came out to Canada and to—you.” + </p> + <p> + Mildred still lay, crying softly, in her husband's arms. “I had sometimes + dreamt,” continued Mr. Foxley, “of meeting some young girl who could love + me and on whose innocence and sweetness I could rest and whom besides I + should really love. It did not dawn upon me when I first saw you, that <i>you</i> + were the one I wanted, for we must confess, dear, that you were very plump + and rather pink and spoke—” + </p> + <p> + “Why, Dacre, how can you? I was only fifteen! Cruel!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I know. And how you changed! Now, you are so different that it is + not the same Mildred at all. Such is the power of a true love, my child, + and we must always be happy,—ours is one of those marriages.” + </p> + <p> + Theirs was indeed one of those marriages. Mr. Foxley took to farming and + enriched his purse as well as his health. Mr. Joseph had an interview with + Miss Dexter the nature of which I am not going to reveal, but which + resulted in a placid intimacy between the two to the surprise of all save + Milly who always said that “she thought she knew why.” Miss Dexter + frequently accompanied blind Mr. Joseph on his lonely walks or would sit + with him when the others were out, as none but he cared to meet her. + Towards his death which occurred in about four years time, she was with + him constantly, and died herself in a fortnight after, having left in her + will, all her maiden belongings to her “good friend, Farmer Wise.” The + farmer was not much moved when informed of this fact, so incomprehensible + to the rest of the village. He had always kept the little bottle with its + cruel label, and had always feared and avoided poor, proud, foolish, + wicked Charlotte Dexter since that Saturday night. + </p> + <p> + As for Mr. George and his wife, I see a vision of a successful and happy + husband and father in the prime of early old age (which means, that at + fifty-three one is not old with a young wife and three sweet children) and + of Mildred, who is always a little pale, has her eyes constantly turned up + to her husband's with her lips brushing her shoulder every now and then. + </p> + <p> + Still? + </p> + <p> + Ay, still and forever. And so ends my sketch of how the Mr. Foxleys came, + stayed and never went away. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0025" id="link2H_4_0025"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + The Gilded Hammock. + </h2> + <p> + Who does not know the beautiful Miss De Grammont? Isabel De Grammont, who + lives by herself and is sole mistress of the brown-stone mansion in Fifth + Avenue, the old family estate on the Hudson, the villa at Cannes, the + first floor of a magnificently decayed palace at Naples, who has been + everywhere, seen everything and—cared for nobody? + </p> + <p> + She reclines now in her latest craze—a hammock made of pure gold + wire, fine and strong and dazzling as the late October sun shines upon it + stretched from corner to corner of her regally-furnished drawing-room. Two + gilded tripods securely fastened to the floor hold the ends of the hammock + in which she lies. The rage for yellow holds her as it holds everyone who + loves beauty and light and sunshine. Cushions of yellow damask support her + head, and a yellow tiger-skin is under her feet. The windows are entirely + hidden with thick amber draperies, and her own attire is a clinging gown + of some soft silk of a deep creamy tint that as she sways to and fro in + the hammock is slightly lifted, displaying a petticoat of darker tint, and + Russian slippers of bronzed kid. Amber, large clear and priceless, gleams + in its soft waxy glow in her hair, on her neck, round her waist, where it + clasps a belt of thick gold cloth and makes a chain for a fan of yellow + feathers. + </p> + <p> + Because you see, although it is autumn, it is very warm all through Miss + De Grammont's mansion, as she insists on fires, huge bonfires, you may + call them, of wood and peat in every room and on every hearth. Out of the + fires grew the desire for the hammock. + </p> + <p> + “Why,” says Miss De Grammont, with a faint yawn, “why must I only lie in a + hammock in the Summer, and then, where nobody can see me? I will have a + hammock made for the winter, to lie in and watch my fires by.” + </p> + <p> + And so she did, for money is law and beauty creates duty, and one day, + when the fashionable stream, the professional cliques and the artistic + hangers-on called upon her “from three to six,” they were confronted by + the vision of an exquisitely beautiful woman dressed in faint yellow with + great bunches of primroses in brass bowls from Morocco on a table by her + side, who received them in a “gilded hammock,” with her feet on a + tiger-skin, and her chestnut hair catching a brighter tinge from the + flames of her roaring fire, and the sunlight as it came in through the + amber medium of the silken-draped windows. + </p> + <p> + The tea was Russian, like the slippers, and the butler who presented it + was a mysterious foreigner who spoke five languages. The guests all + wondered, as people always did, at De Grammont. Nobody knew quite what she + had done with herself since she had been left an orphan at the age of + nineteen. She suddenly shot up into a woman, beautiful, with that + patrician and clear-cut loveliness with yet a touch of the <i>bohémienne</i> + about it which only <i>les belles Américaines</i> know. Then she took unto + herself a maid, two dogs, and three Saratoga trunks and went over to + Europe wandering about everywhere. At Cannes, she met and subjugated the + heir to the crown; of this friendship the tiger-skin remained as a <i>souvenir</i>. + The heir to the crown was not generous. Next came various members of + embassies, all proud, all poor, and all frantically in love. She laid all + manner of traps for her lovers and discovered in nearly every case that + these men were after her money. A certain Russian Grand Duke, from whom + had come some superb amber ornaments—he being a man of more wealth + than the others—never forgave her the insult she offered him. He + sent her these ornaments from the same shop in Paris that he ordered—at + the same time—a diamond star for a well-known ballet dancer, and the + two purchases were charged to his account. Through some stupidity, the + star came to her. She ordered her horses and drove the same day to the + jewelers, who was most humble and anxious to retrieve his error. He showed + her the amber. She examined it carefully. “It is genuine, and very fine,” + she said gravely. “I have lived in Russia and I know. I am very fond of + amber. I will buy this myself from you, and you may inform His Highness of + the fact.” + </p> + <p> + The delighted shop-keeper did not ask her very much more than its genuine + value and next day all Paris knew of the transaction and flocked to the + Opera to see her in the ornaments which had cost the Russian Duke his + friendship for the bearer. But though eccentric, impulsive and + domineering, no whisper had ever attached itself to her name. On her + return to her native New York, was she not welcomed, fêted, honored, + besieged with invitations everywhere? People felt she was different from + the girl who went away. <i>She</i> had been undecided, emotional, a trifle + vain, self-conscious, guilty of moods—no small offence in society; + this glorious creature was a queen, a goddess, always calm, always serene, + always a trifle bored, always superbly the same. Her house she + re-furnished altogether. The three Saratoga trunks were now represented by + nine or ten English ones, dress baskets, large packing cases, and one + mysterious long box which when opened contained several panels of old + Florentine carved wood-work which interested all New York immensely. + Pictures and tapestries, armor and screens, and a gate of mediæval wrought + iron were all among her art treasures. The foreign butler was her <i>chargé + d'affaires</i>, and managed everything most wisely and even economically. + He engaged a few servants in New York, her maid, housekeeper and the two + housemaids she had brought out with her. Her house was the perfect abode + of the most faultless æstheticism. It was perfection in every detail and + in the <i>ensemble</i> which greeted the eye, the ear, every sense, and + all mental endowments, from the vestibule in marble and rugs to the inner + boudoir and sanctum of the mistress of the house, hung with pale rose and + straw-color in mingled folds of stamped Indian silks, priceless in color + and quality. Two Persian cats adorned the lounge and one of her great dogs—a + superb mastiff—occupied the rug before the door night and day, + almost without rest. + </p> + <p> + Such were the general surroundings of Isabel de Grammont. Art and letters, + music and general culture were inseparable from the daily life of such a + woman as well as immediate beautiful presences, so that into this + faultless house came everything new that the world offered in books, + magazines, songs and new editions. Thanks to European travel, there was no + language she could not read, no modern work she had not studied. Also came + to her receptions the literary lions of New York. Aspiring journalists, + retiring editors, playrights and composers, a few actors and crowds of + would-be poets flocked to the exquisite drawing-rooms hung with yellow, + wherein the owner of so much magnificence lounged in her golden hammock. + Sonnets were written of her descriptive of orioles flying in the golden + west, and newspaper paragraphs indited weekly in her praise referred to + her as the “Semiramus of a new and adoring society world.” Baskets of + flowers, tubs of flowers, barrels of flowers were sent weekly to her + address, and she was solicited—on charitable, fashionable, + religious, communistic, orthodox and socialistic grounds as lady patroness + of this or member of that and subscriber to the other. In short, she was a + success, and as nothing succeeds like success, we may take it that as the + months rolled on, and the great house still maintained its superb + hospitality and Miss De Grammont still appeared in her sumptuous carriage + either smothered in furs or laces according to the seasons, she still + maintained in like manner her position in society and her right to the + homage and admiration of all classes. + </p> + <p> + But this was not the case. Even a worm will turn and public opinion is + very often a little vernacular, let us say. And it happened, that public + opinion in the case of Miss De Grammont, began to turn, to raise itself up + in fact and look a little about it and beyond it as we have all seen worms + do—both in cheeses and out of them—when the fact that she lay + most of the time in a gilded hammock swung in front of her drawing-room + fire was announced from the pulpits of society journals. It may have been + that her friends were devoid of imagination, that they were cold, prudish, + satirical, unpoetical, unaesthetic, anything we like to call them, that + will explain their action in the matter, for they clearly, one and all, + disliked the notion of the hammock. One spoke of it disparagingly to + another, who took it up and abused it to a third, who described it to a + friend who “wrote for the papers.” This gifted gentleman who lodged with a + lady of the same temper and edited a fashion journal, concocted with her + help a description of the thing which soon found its way into his paper + and was then copied into hers. The public grew uneasy. It would swallow + any story it was told about the Heir Apparent, for instance and a Russian + Grand Duke—is it not the sublime prerogative of American women to + dally with such small game as those gentlemen—but it kicked against + the probability of such an actual fact as the hammock already described + which seemed too ridiculous a whim to possess any real existence. However, + the tongues of the fashionable callers, the professional cliques and the + artistic hangers-on coincided in the affair to that extent that soon the + existence of the gilded hammock was established and from that time Miss De + Grammonts' popularity was on the wane. Dowagers looked askance and matrons + posed in a patronizing manner, the flippant correspondents of society + journals and the compilers of sonnets in which that very hammock had been + eulogized and metaphored to distraction now waited upon her, if at all in + an entirely different manner. Strange how all classes began to recall the + many peculiar or unaccountable things she had done, the extraordinary + costumes she had worn, the fact that she lived alone, and the other fact + that she made so few friends. From aspersions cast on her house, her + equipage, her dresses, there came to be made strictures on her private + character, her love affairs, her friends and career in Europe, her <i>ménage</i> + at present in New York and the members thereof. Finally public opinion + finding that all this made very little impression outwardly, upon the + regal disdain of Miss De Grammont in her carriage or in her Opera-stall, + however she might writhe and chafe when safely ensconced within that rose + and straw-colored boudoir, made up its mind that the secret of the whole + three volume novel, the key to the entire mystery lay with the—butler. + </p> + <p> + That black-moustached functionary, they whispered, had his mistress in his + power. He had been a courier, and she had fallen in love with him abroad. + Or he had been a well-known conjurer and coerced her through means little + less than infernal to run away with him. He was a mesmerist, so they said, + and could send her into trances at will. Then he had been the famous Man + Milliner of Vienna, whose disappearance one fine day with the entire + trousseau of an Austrian Grand Duchess had been a nine days' wonder. These + dresses she wore, strange mixtures never seen on earth before of violet + and blue, pink and pea-green, rose and lemon, were the identical ones + prepared for the Grand Duchess. Finally, he was an Italian Prince rescued + from a novel of “Ouida's,” whom she had found living in exile, having to + suffer punishment for some fiendish crime perpetrated in the days of his + youth. + </p> + <p> + When the stories had reached this point, Miss De Grammont, to whom they + were conveyed through papers, notes from “confidential friends,” her maid + and others, wrote a letter one day directed to the: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + REV. LUKE FIELDING, + Pastor, Congregational Church, + Phippsville, Vermont. +</pre> + <p> + A week or ten days after, Miss De Grammont, seated—not, in the + gilded hammock though it still swung gracefully before the glowing fire—but + in the cushions which graced her window looking on the front of the house, + saw a gentleman arrive in a cab. She rose hastily and opened the door of + the room herself for her visitor. This was the Rev. Luke Fielding, a + gentleman of the severest Puritanical cut and a true New Englander to + boot. With his hat in his hand he advanced with an expression on his face + of the deepest amazement and dismay which increased momentarily as he saw + not only the gorgeous coloring and appointments of the room but the fair + figure of its occupant. To be sure, she had with infinite difficulty + selected the plainest dress she could find in her wardrobe to receive him + in, a gown of dark green velvet made very simply, and high to the throat. + But alas! there was no disguising the priceless lace at her wrists, or the + gems that glittered on her firm white hands. + </p> + <p> + “My dear cousin!” said the lady, giving him both her hands. + </p> + <p> + “My dear cousin Isabel,” returned the minister, laying his hat down on a + plush-covered chair on which it looked curiously out of place, and taking + her hands in his. + </p> + <p> + “My dear cousin Isabel, after so many years!” + </p> + <p> + “It is only eight years, cousin,” returned the lady. + </p> + <p> + “True,” replied the minister gravely. “Yet to one like myself that seems a + long time. You sent for me, cousin.” His gaze wandered round the room and + then fastened once more upon Miss De Grammont. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” she said faintly. “I could not tell you all in my letter. I wanted—I + want still—somebody's help.” + </p> + <p> + “And it is very natural you should apply for mine, cousin, I will do + anything I can. I have”—the minister grew sensibly more severe, more + grave—“I have this day, on the train, seen a paper—a new kind + of paper to me, I confess,—a <i>Society Journal</i> it calls itself, + in which a name is mentioned. Is your—trouble—connected with + that?” + </p> + <p> + Miss De Grammont blushed deeply. “Yes. That is my name. I would not have + troubled you—but I must ask your advice, for you are the only one of + the family, of my mother's family—” Her voice broke. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, cousin, you are right.” + </p> + <p> + The minister rose and stood up before her, a stern though not + unsympathetic figure in his stiff black coat and iron gray hair. “I know + what you are going to ask me to do. You will ask me to see these people, + these editors, reviewers, whatever they are, to talk to them, to impress + upon them what you are and who you are, and who your mother was, and what + is the end of the base man who imagines lies and the end of all the + workers of iniquity. You will ask me to tell them that it is all false, + all abominable intrigue and treachery and I shall demand in your name and + in my own as your only near relative and a minister of the Gospel, an + apology. It is but jealousy, cousin. Forgive me, but you are too beautiful + and too young to live alone in such a house, in such a manner. You must + marry. Or else you must give up such a life. It maketh enemies within your + gates and behold! there shall be no man to say a good thing of thee!” + </p> + <p> + The minister had lifted up his voice as if he had been in the pulpit and + for one instant laid his hand on his cousin's hair. Then he went back to + his seat. + </p> + <p> + Miss De Grammont was profoundly moved. Great tears coursed down her cheeks + and until they had stopped she could not trust herself to speak. + </p> + <p> + “The paper!” she said dismally. “You have seen a paper, you say, with—my—my + name in it! There is nothing new in that. I have been in the papers for + months past. I am never out of them. And this one says—” + </p> + <p> + The minister drew it out of his pocket. + </p> + <p> + “That with you, in this house lives, in the character of a butler, an + exiled Italian Prince who committed grave personal and political offences + many years ago and was sent to prison. That you are married to him. My + dear cousin, it is monstrous!” + </p> + <p> + Miss De Grammont took out her handkerchief already wet through with her + tears and pressed it to her eyes. + </p> + <p> + “It is not monstrous,” she said, “but it is most extraordinary. He <i>is</i> + an Italian Prince, and I <i>am</i> married to him.” + </p> + <p> + To use a hackneyed phrase, the room swam around Mr. Fielding for an + instant When he recovered he could only sit and gaze at the beautiful + woman before him. The details of village life, in Vermont had not educated + him up to exigencies of this sort. A fearful chasm seemed to have opened + under his feet, and he began to comprehend dimly that there were other + lives than his own and that of his estimable but commonplace wife being + daily lived out in this world. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Miss De Grammont, a little more bravely now that the worst + shock was over. “That is quite true. And the extraordinary part of it is + that they can only have guessed at it; evolved it, as it were from the + depths of their inner consciousness, they can't possible have discovered + it. It isn't known anywhere, save perhaps to one or two in Italy.” + </p> + <p> + “In Italy,” murmured the Rev. Mr. Fielding. “You met him in Italy? And why + keep it secret? My dear cousin, you have made a great mistake. And all + this sad and singular story is true?” + </p> + <p> + “Very nearly true. All but the offences. They never happened.” + </p> + <p> + “Your husband is not a political character then?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! not in the least. He knows nothing of politics. My José! he couldn't + hurt anything, moreover!” + </p> + <p> + “José is a Spanish name, surely,” said Mr. Fielding. + </p> + <p> + “His mother was a Castilian, fair and proud as only a Castilian can be. + She named him José—But he has other names, three, all Italian—Antonio—” + </p> + <p> + “I see,” said the minister dryly. “I am sorry that I cannot give you all + the sympathy in this matter that you may desire, but you have entered on a + course of action which is perplexing at least, to say no more. I feel, my + dear cousin, that as a—married woman—your confidences are—ill + placed and I must ask you to withdraw them. You must settle this matter + with your—ahem—husband.” Mr. Fielding took up his hat and in + another moment would have been gone forever, but that turning at the door + he saw such intense supplication in his cousin's eyes that his orthodox + heart melted. + </p> + <p> + “Forgive me cousin,” he said coming back. “There may be still a way out of + it. Will you tell me all?” Miss De Grammont then related her different + heart episodes abroad, entanglements, half-engagements, desperate + flirtations and all the rest of it to this sober, black-coated gentleman. + Such a revelation poured forth in truly feminine style nearly drove him + away the second time, but true to his word, he remained nevertheless, + sitting bolt upright in a padded chair only meant for lounging. Finally, + she told him of her snares to catch lovers and how one day she was caught + herself by the dark-browed, eloquent Prince Corunna. + </p> + <p> + She fell in love herself for the first time in her life, and he with her, + so he declared. But he was miserably poor and with the pride of a + Castilian would not woo her because of her money. She hated it, yet she + could not live without it. + </p> + <p> + The minister smiled pityingly. + </p> + <p> + However she made him marry her, and then proposed as a test, in which he + joyfully acquiesced, that he should make himself of use to her, be in + fact, her major-domo, steward, butler, amanuensis, anything and + everything. + </p> + <p> + “It is most unprecedented,” sighed the minister. “That a man with + Castilian blood in his veins—” + </p> + <p> + Miss De Grammont interrupted him. “He was happier so, dear cousin. But I—I + grew most unhappy. And since I have been here, I have been very unhappy + still. We are both in a false position and now—thanks to that + unlucky hammock—our secret has become common property.” + </p> + <p> + “The hammock!” said Mr. Fielding. “What has that got to do with it? It is + a pretty idea.” + </p> + <p> + “So I think,” said Miss De Grammont, delighted beyond measure. Then she + told him about the paragraphs, large and small, the confidential friends, + the small beginnings that had lead insensibly up to the culminating point—that + of scandal. + </p> + <p> + “I am being dropped gradually,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “Of course you are,” said the minister. “Of course you are. Soon you will + be—forgive me—a dead letter. There is only one thing to be + done and that I can do at once. A letter must be written to this paper, + stating calmly in as few words as possible that this paragraph is true, + that you <i>are</i> married to Prince—ah—Corunna, that he <i>is</i> + a political offender and for that reason the marriage <i>was</i> kept + secret, but that now of course as informers must already have given the + secret away, you are obliged to endorse it yourself.” + </p> + <p> + “But José is not a political offender! Never did anything wrong in his + life!” + </p> + <p> + “Of course not,” said the minister. “Some of us others, even clergymen, + are not so fortunate. Now that must be included, else there is no good + reason for having kept your marriage secret. Other explanations will not + be taken. Besides this will entitle you to sympathy at once. Will you + write the letter and I can leave it at the office for you? There is time + for me to do that before my train starts.” + </p> + <p> + Miss De Grammont wrote her letter as dictated by her cousin. He put it in + his pocket and rose to go. + </p> + <p> + “Will you not stay and see my husband?” she said timidly. + </p> + <p> + “Thank you, no.” returned Mr. Fielding. “I haven't met many foreigners. I + don't think, perhaps, we should get on. Down in Phippsville—well, my + circle is so different from yours, Isabel. It is the fashion I hear to + live abroad now, and desert America—at least to depreciate it, and + not to care about its opinion—but that hasn't spread yet to our + little village. It seems as if it might have been better for instance, had + you stayed in Europe. You see, having married an Italian, all this trouble + would have been avoided—I mean—it could have gone on over + there—but now—well, riches are a snare, my dear cousin, as you + have by this time found. Good-bye, dear cousin, and God be with you.” + </p> + <p> + When a letter addressed to the editor of the Society Journal appeared the + next day signed Isabel Corunna (née De Grammont) with its paralysing + statement in a few concise words, New York was startled to its foundation. + Public opinion which for a week had been at the culminating point of + distrust, malevolence and resentment, turned the corner in a moment and + for the moment believed implicitly in the faith of the lady it had + abandoned. The greatest sympathy was shown Madame La Princesse Corunna, or + Princess Corunna, or Miss De Grammont that was, or whatever her friends + chose to call her. The butler disappeared for ever and the Prince came in. + It was a transformation scene equal to Beauty and the Beast. Dark-browed + and eloquent as ever, the Prince was a social success whenever he chose to + be, but as time went on, he and his wife became more and more absorbed in + each other and the world saw little of either of them. For a time he posed + as a political offender which gave his wife no end of amusement. They were + so far reinstated into public favor that the hammock—source of + mingled joy and woe—was again considered as a thing of beauty and a + thing to be imitated. There are a dozen such hammocks now in New York + City. + </p> + <p> + But there are still a few ill-natured people, dowagers, matrons, an old + love or two, and a handful of shrivelled spinsters who declare that the + Prince is no Prince at all, but a Pastrycook. + </p> + <div style="height: 6em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Crowded Out! and Other Sketches, by +Susie F. Harrison + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CROWDED OUT! 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