Romance
The living-room at Tahawus cabin suggested an outdoor cathedral.
Evergreens arched overhead; the walls were lined with green branches of
holly, cedar and pine; while above the mantel and hanging from the
chandelier were bunches of mistletoe, the white berries, like captured
snowflakes.
Between the front windows swung a bell composed of mistletoe leaves with
the clapper of the white berries. Underneath was an improvised platform
with a background of green and stalks of lilies and roses.
Yet the wedding ceremony was to be of the simplest character with no
outside guests.
On Peggy's part this involved no especial sacrifice, since nearly every
one she cared for deeply was at present in Tahawus cabin, her father
having arrived with Ralph Merritt.
Ralph's parents were the cause of the hurried wedding. Spending the
winter in China, it had been their intention to return home in the early
spring in order to be present at the marriage of their son and Peggy
Webster. However, a cable announcing his mother's serious illness, had
urged Ralph to sail for China as soon as possible. And he had the good
fortune at the last moment to persuade Peggy not to force him to make
the long journey alone.
There was no opportunity for the purchase of wedding clothes, but Peggy
was to spend several days in New York, where she could outfit herself
for the journey.
The wedding was to take place at high noon, with a clergyman from
Saranac officiating.
At exactly the moment of high noon, with the clock in the hall chiming
twelve strokes, Peggy walked into the living-room on the arm of her
father. Her brother, Dan, was best man and he and Ralph stood awaiting
her.
Afterwards the Sunrise Camp Fire girls formed a semicircle about the
bride, wearing simple toilettes of white serge which had been intended
for the Christmas dinner party.
Peggy's wedding dress was a white crepe de chine without trimming of any
kind save an exquisite collar of Duchess lace, which Miss Patricia had
unexpectedly produced as a wedding gift. Without a wedding veil Peggy
looked as her family and friends were accustomed to seeing her at any
time; her color never wavered, her dark eyes remained steadfast and
untroubled, in fact she seemed less agitated than any one of the other
Camp Fire girls.
Not far away from the little group the Camp Fire guardian stood between
her husband and Miss Patricia. Having solemnly promised Peggy not to
break down, her lips were firmly closed, her face white with two bright
spots of color in her cheeks, yet her blue eyes less brilliant than
usual.
Mrs. Webster cried softly during the ceremony, nevertheless, her lips
continued to smile while her eyes were dim; her own marriage had proved
so satisfying and, devoted to Ralph Merritt, she had the faith to
believe that Peggy's would be equally so.
Mary Gilchrist, whose position was at one of the ends of the
semi-circle, toward the close of the ceremony glanced toward the group
of people who were slightly more in the background--Mr. and Mrs. Ashton,
and Philip Stead with Elspeth and David Murray behind them and David
Hale a few feet away.
Beside the great fireplace Mrs. Burton was standing near Allan Drain,
who always seemed to prefer her society to any other.
She had on a soft gray chiffon dress over silk. In an irrelevant fashion
it occurred to Gill that Mrs. Burton was rather too close to the open
fire.
The next instant the impression vanished as her interest in Peggy
recurred. Yet the subconscious thought must have remained, for scarcely
aware of her action a second time she turned her head to behold a
little, light flame flare suddenly amid the folds of the soft material
and spread with amazing rapidity.
She was a number of yards away and a movement on her part would
interrupt the ceremony, now at its most solemn moment. Besides, Mrs.
Burton, or some one near, must know what was occurring before she could
dream of reaching her. Transfixed, she remained staring perhaps not
thirty seconds. Then she saw Mrs. Burton utter a little cry that was
almost soundless, so promptly was it suppressed. Not wishing to destroy
the beauty of the ceremony or to attract attention, unwisely she turned
to escape from the room and with her first movement the blaze so
increased that she appeared to be standing in a circle of flame.
However, Allan Drain immediately threw his arms about her and was
holding her still, while at the same time he was beating out the flames.
The following instant David Hale, aware at last of the situation,
snatched a heavy shawl from a chair, enfolded Allan Drain and Mrs.
Burton inside it.
It was all so quickly and quietly accomplished that Peggy and the other
Camp Fire girls had no knowledge of what had taken place until the
service was ended.
The others had seen it, and yet for Peggy's sake, as the danger was
past, had made no outcry.
"But, Betty, I do not understand how you could have been so careless,"
Mrs. Burton protested almost irritable from fright, when Peggy and Ralph
had turned and were surrounded by their mother and father, the Camp Fire
girls, Dan and Mr. and Mrs. Ashton.
Only Bettina and Mary Gilchrist moved over to the smaller group
encircling Mrs. Graham and almost concealing her.
"I am not hurt, Bettina dear, don't be alarmed. And, Polly, it was
careless of me, I am sorry to have frightened you. No, I am perfectly
all right, only I am afraid Allan Drain is hurt. I am so sorry, Allan, I
seem to be your evil genius. Bettina, suppose you come with us and
please don't let any one else trouble; I would so regret disturbing
Peggy's and Ralph's wedding. We will come back in a few moments."
So the little group disappeared, accompanied by David Hale and Mary
Gilchrist, who followed after them to offer assistance.
A quarter of an hour later they all returned to the living-room save
Allan Drain. Mrs. Burton, having changed her dress, showed no trace of
her recent peril and begged that there be no discussion of it.
Peggy and Ralph were to remain for Christmas dinner at two o'clock and
afterwards to leave for New York.
The dinner was the usual Christmas feast, but because Miss Patricia was
hostess, she had ordered from the great city beautiful favors and
bonbons as well, the principal favor a tiny log cabin with a small camp
fire glowing outside upon a little surface of crystal to represent the
frozen earth.
Before four Peggy and Ralph departed, driven to Saranac by David Murray
and soon after a slight atmosphere of depression descended upon Tahawus
cabin.
The older members of the house party departed to their own rooms,
including Bettina Graham who felt Peggy's marriage more keenly than the
other Camp Fire girls, besides being worried over the possible nervous
shock to her mother from the catastrophe of a few hours before.
The Camp Fire guardian was about to drop down on her couch to rest, and
Captain Burton sat reading by the fire, when a knock at the door of her
bed-room, which Mrs. Burton opened, admitted Miss Patricia Lord.
"I came in for a moment to find out how you have borne the day's
excitement," she began in a tone of unexpected gentleness. "You look
rather better than I anticipated."
Mrs. Burton put her arm about the angular figure and drew her down on
the couch beside her.
"What does it feel like to be a Christmas fairy godmother, Aunt
Patricia--unlike being a fairy godmother during the remainder of the
year. But you look tired yourself, dear, or if not tired something is
the matter. What is it?"
Miss Patricia's expression was unusual, a little shamefaced and
appealing, altogether unlike her ordinary air of command.
"I want you to do me a favor, Polly. I came in to ask you and Richard
when I hoped to discover you alone. I have wished to find you some
little Christmas offering, but could not be sure of what you might
desire, besides being shut off up here. So I thought perhaps you might
get what you wish and so keep me from making a mistake."
Flushing, and not glancing toward Mrs. Burton, Miss Patricia thrust into
her hand a small slip of paper, and when her eyes fell upon it she
discovered it to be a check for a thousand dollars.
"This is merely a small Christmas gift, Polly, which I trust you will
not speak of," Miss Patricia announced in her more familiar tone of
severity before the younger woman had an opportunity to respond.
"Richard," Mrs. Burton said finally, her voice a little uncertain, "Aunt
Patricia has just given us a check for a thousand dollars, which of
course we cannot accept, chiefly because she is the most generous person
in the world, and if she is permitted to go on in this fashion some day
will have no money at all. Dear, you know I am everlastingly grateful
and that Richard and I already owe you more than we would be willing to
accept from any one else, but really we cannot take this as well. There
is your home in France for war orphans which must absorb a portion of
your capital and then the expense of this cabin and all you have done
for me and the girls this winter. You know how deeply I appreciate the
added gift, dear, but you must try and see that it is out of the
question for Richard and me to be under further obligation."
"Obligation!" Miss Patricia repeated. "Were you my own daughter,
Polly--and a dozen times I have told you that I am as much attached to
you as if you were--would you treat my gift in this fashion?"
"Why, yes, dear, I think so. Please do not be hurt, I have told you
Richard and I could not accept gifts of money from you."
Leaning over, Miss Patricia took the check from the younger woman's
hand, tossing it into the fire.
"I presume you agree with Polly, Richard, since you have made no
remark," she added. Then, notwithstanding their protests and effort at
persuasion, she arose and stalked out of the room.
"You have wounded Aunt Patricia very deeply, I am afraid, Polly,"
Captain Burton said the next moment. "However, I suppose you were right
and that it was unavoidable."
Mrs. Burton had flung herself down on her couch.
"Of course I was right, Richard, and you need not have placed the entire
responsibility of the refusal upon me. Do you suppose I enjoy wounding
Aunt Patricia any more than you do? Was there ever any one so dear and
so difficult? She will not forgive me in many a day! The truth is,
Richard, Aunt Patricia has conceived the idea that you are worried over
some money difficulty and would like to give us a good deal more money
if we should need it. Can she by any chance be right?"
Rising, Captain Burton walked over to the fireplace and stood looking
into the fire.
"Yes, Polly, Aunt Patricia is never altogether mistaken. One can trust
always to her wisdom and kindness. We have some investments which of
late have not been turning out so well as I hoped. Yet at present there
is no occasion to be troubled; after a little they will adjust
themselves. I beg of you not to worry or in any way to allow the idea to
interfere with your recovery."
"You are telling me the truth, Richard? I object to being treated like a
child or an invalid when I am neither. I am ever so much better and
there is no reason now why I should not be allowed to return to work. In
a year I feel convinced I could again be fairly successful."
"Please do not refer to the subject, Polly. Before I should agree to
such rashness I would appeal to Aunt Patricia. However, there is no
necessity."
"But you promise to let me know if there should be a necessity."
At first Captain Burton made no reply and then said smiling:
"Polly, there are times when I agree with Aunt Patricia, that you are a
trying person. I presume I shall be forced to tell you, but there will
be no occasion."
During this discussion the living-room of Tahawus cabin was gradually
being deserted.
Dan Webster, David Hale, Philip Stead with Alice Ashton, Marguerite
Arnot and Vera Lagerloff had departed for an hour's walk, the other
girls having declined for various reasons. Alone before the fire with an
open book, Allan Drain was trying to amuse himself and to forget the
pain whose existence he steadfastly had been denying. There was nothing
serious the matter, save that his hands had been burned, and, in spite
of the cooling bandages in which they were wrapped, continued to ache.
With difficulty he could turn the pages of his book, so that he
immediately heard the rustle of a soft silk gown and glanced up to find
Mrs. Graham beside him. She had taken off her more formal dress and was
wearing a light blue tea gown.
"I came in to ask if there was anything I could do for you, Allan? I am
afraid you are pretty uncomfortable in spite of your denial of the fact.
I have been wishing there was some way in which I could make up to you
for the loss of your verses, but instead I am more than ever under
obligation. I don't intend to allow myself to think of what might have
happened this morning except for your presence of mind and courage. What
are you reading?"
"A volume of new plays, some one seems to have sent Mrs. Burton. I did
nothing for you this morning; it was David Hale who really rescued us
both, Mrs. Graham. Yet there is something you can do for me. I wonder if
I am asking too much? Could you, would you ask Mrs. Burton to glance
over a one-act play I lately have been struggling to write? A single
word, or suggestion from her would be the greatest help and inspiration
to me, more than you can dream. It is not that I think my little play is
worth anything, yet if she only considers the idea worth while, why,
some day I may be able to do something with it."
"Why, of course Polly shall read your play and give you her criticism,
although I warn you, she may not be flattering. Doubtless she would have
read it had you asked her yourself. She certainly will now that I shall
allow her no peace of mind until the fact is accomplished. You are going
to stay with us a few days until you have recovered, but Bettina will
walk over to your cabin with you to-morrow and bring back your
manuscript. We shall see this manuscript does not come to grief.
Good-by, go back to your reading, I'll not interrupt you any further."
But Allan Drain did not return to his reading; instead he allowed the
leaves of his book to close while he sat gazing into the fire. He had
been afraid he would not have sufficient courage for the request he had
just made, but now having gone through the ordeal he wondered whether or
not he regretted his own act. Doubtless the little play was no good and
Mrs. Burton would be tired and bored by being forced to devote a half
hour to it. Moreover, she was too sincere an artist not to give him her
true opinion, and afterwards he would never have the steadfastness to go
on with his writing, knowing her estimate of his work. This winter was
going to be difficult enough, so why not better have kept this dream at
least until the spring, when he need not be so much indoors?
On this occasion Allan Drain did not hear the door open, nor glance up
until Mary Gilchrist stood beside him.
"I met Mrs. Burton in the hall and she suggested that I come in and
offer to read to you if you will allow me. She said you were having some
trouble in trying to turn over the pages of your book. I do not read
very well, but it would give me a great deal of pleasure if you will let
me make the attempt. Then if you can't bear my effort, why I'll stop and
not be in the least offended."
Gill's manner was so friendly and had in it such a new atmosphere of
shyness, almost of apology, that Allan Drain, although not anxious to
have his reverie interrupted, did not like to decline.
"Perhaps it would be pleasanter to talk; I can read at any time, as I am
so much alone."
Declining a chair, Gill dropped down on the floor before the fire.
"Will you talk to me? I should like it ever so much better. There is
something I want specially to say to you--I want to apologize for my bad
manners ever since our original meeting. You see, you said something
then which annoyed me and afterwards impulsively I did something for
which I never have forgiven myself, so ever since I have in a way wished
to believe you responsible. I thought you had no courage, because you
are not the kind of man----"
Hesitating, Gill flushed hotly. How hopelessly stupid and awkward she
was! Actually she was about to say the very thing she intended not!
"Because I am not the kind of fellow you admire. Go on, Miss Gilchrist.
You don't suppose I have any illusions on the subject, do you?"
"Well, yes--no," Gill answered. "Only to-day I discovered that you
possessed both courage and presence of mind, the very traits of
character I _do_ admire. Besides, at this moment I appreciate you are in
lots of pain, your face shows it, and yet you would rather not have me
mention the fact.
[Illustration: "I Wish You Would Help Me About Something," She Said.]
"I wish you would help me about something," she went on. "The truth is,
I seem to possess no moral courage, and somehow I feel that you do. I
have been guilty of a fault that I am ashamed and afraid to confess. It
has troubled me for weeks and I have been a good deal more unhappy than
any one has realized. I really have wronged you more than any one else,
and this morning while Peggy Webster was being married I decided I must
confess to some one and that perhaps I had best confess directly to
you."
"But I haven't the faintest idea what you are talking about," Allan
Drain protested.
"No, of course not," Gill answered.
She had thrown back her head so that her face was slightly upturned. The
light was on her red-brown hair, leaving her face in shadow. Yet Allan
Drain observed that the gallant half boyish expression which she
ordinarily wore had vanished and that her square, too determined chin
was trembling.
"Let me tell you quickly and please don't interrupt, else I might not be
able to go on. I have done you the greatest injustice, and not only you,
but Mrs. Graham and Bettina, whom I like so much and whose good opinion
I would give a great deal to possess.
"You remember when you brought your collection of verses here for Mrs.
Graham to read and she told you afterwards that she had placed them upon
a table in her bed-room, and then, after being away for a few hours, on
her return discovered they had vanished?"
"I am not likely to forget."
"Well, I went into Mrs. Graham's bedroom while she was away and saw the
verses lying among some books and papers. As I was curious and wished to
read them, although I thought they would be poor, I took them to my own
room. I had no opportunity to read them then, as I went for a walk soon
afterwards."
His eyes alight, Allan Drain leaned forward.
"You have them and will return them to me! I appreciate they are no
good, just the same they mean a great deal to me. You would not be so
unkind as to keep them when they are of no value to you."
Gill shook her head.
"No, the trouble is I have _not_ the verses. You see, you see, I
destroyed them. Please, please don't believe I intended this, it was
wholly an accident, and yet so dreadfully stupid perhaps you can
scarcely believe me.
"Not wishing the other girls to know I was sufficiently interested to
have borrowed the poems, I hid your manuscripts in an old box with some
papers of no value. Then, this is the incredible thing, I forgot they
were there. It was only a moment of forgetfulness; I remembered when it
was too late. Later in the same afternoon I decided suddenly to clear
out my bureau drawer and so piled all the trash I could find into this
self-same box and carried it into our study and flung the box and
everything it contained into the fire. The instant the papers caught
fire I knew what I had done. I did thrust my hands into the flames only
to draw forth a few charred scraps without a single line upon them."
Gill drew up her sleeve; the scar from a burn showed above her wrist.
"See I burned my arm in the attempt," she murmured indifferently, "not
that I cared except that I have had trouble in hiding the burn from the
other girls. The worst thing I have done was not so much the accident
and my foolish loss of memory, but the fact that when Mrs. Graham and
Bettina asked if I had seen the manuscripts of your poems, I told them
no, or at least I deliberately gave them this impression. Yet all the
days of my life I have esteemed truthfulness and a sense of honor the
greatest of all human possessions. This is why I have never been able to
make the confession. I could not pass through Christmas day without
telling you and to-morrow I shall speak to Mrs. Burton, Mrs. Graham, and
Bettina and let them know of what I have been guilty. Afterwards I shall
go home, I cannot remain here at Tahawus cabin."
"Nor can I say that I forgive you, Miss Gilchrist. If I should say so I
would not be telling the truth. I'll do my best to forget after a time.
After all, I had given up any idea of my verses being restored, so I am
not much worse off."
Gill arose.
"I much prefer your not pretending to forgive me, because you could not
mean it truthfully. After I leave Half Moon Lake I hope we may never see
each other again. I cannot exactly explain, but I felt when I met you
that you would have an unfortunate influence upon me. Now I can never
see you without recalling that because of you, or through you, I have
done what I never could have believed of myself."
"I am sorry," Allan Drain responded stiffly.
"So am I, but that makes no real difference now. I hear the others
returning. Good-by."