It is just as well, perhaps, that the matter had become notorious.
Otherwise the Armours had lived in that unpleasant condition of being
constantly “discovered.” It was simply a case of aiming at absolute
secrecy, which had been frustrated by Frank himself, or bold and
unembarrassed acknowledgment and an attempt to carry things off with
a high hand. The latter course was the only one possible. It had
originally been Richard’s idea, appropriated by General Armour, and
accepted by Mrs. Armour and Marion with what grace was possible. The
publication of the event prepared their friends, and precluded the
necessity for reserve. What the friends did not know was whether they
ought or ought not to commiserate the Armours. It was a difficult
position. A death, an accident, a lost reputation, would have been
easy to them; concerning these there could be no doubt. But an Indian
daughter-in-law, a person in moccasins, was scarcely a thing to be
congratulated upon; and yet sympathy and consolation might be much
misplaced; no one could tell how the Armours would take it. For even
their closest acquaintances knew what kind of delicate hauteur was
possible to them. Even the “‘centric” Richard, who visited the cottages
of the poor, carrying soup and luxuries of many kinds, accompanying them
with the most wholesome advice a single man ever gave to families and
the heads of families, whose laugh was so cheery and spontaneous,--and
face so uncommonly grave and sad at times,--had a faculty for manner.
With astonishing suddenness he could raise insurmountable barriers; and
people, not of his order, who occasionally presumed on his simplicity of
life and habits, found themselves put distinctly ill at ease by a quiet,
curious look in his eye. No man was ever more the recluse and at the
same time the man of the world. He had had his bitter little comedy of
life, but it was different from that of his brother Frank. It was buried
very deep; not one of his family knew of it: Edward Lambert, and one
or two others who had good reason never to speak of it, were the only
persons possessing his secret.
But all England knew of Frank’s mesalliance. And the question was, What
would people do? They very properly did nothing at first. They waited to
see how the Armours would act: they did not congratulate; they did not
console; that was left to those papers which chanced to resent General
Armour’s politics, and those others which were emotional and sensational
on every subject--particularly so where women were concerned.
It was the beginning of the season, but the Armours had decided that
they would not go to town. That is, the general and his wife were
not going. They felt that they ought to be at Greyhope with their
daughter-in-law--which was to their credit. Regarding Marion they
had nothing to say. Mrs. Armour inclined to her going to town for the
season, to visit Mrs. Townley, who had thoughtfully written to her,
saying that she was very lonely, and begging Mrs. Armour to let her
come, if she would. She said that of course Marion would see much of her
people in town just the same. Mrs. Townley was a very clever and tactful
woman.
She guessed that General Armour and his wife were not likely to come
to town, but that must not appear, and the invitation should be on a
different basis--as it was.
It is probable that Marion saw through the delicate plot, but that did
not make her like Mrs. Townley less. These little pieces of art make
life possible, these tender fictions!
Marion was, however, not in good humour; she was nervous and a little
petulant. She had a high-strung temperament, a sensitive perception of
the fitness of things, and a horror of what was gauche; and she would,
in brief, make a rather austere person if the lines of life did not run
in her favour. She had something of Frank’s impulsiveness and temper;
it would have been a great blessing to her if she had had a portion of
Richard’s philosophical humour also. She was at a point of tension--her
mother and Richard could see that. She was anxious--though for the world
she would not have had it thought so--regarding Captain Vidall. She had
never cared for anybody but him; it was possible she never would. But he
did not know this, and she was not absolutely sure that his evident but
as yet informal love would stand this strain--which shows how people
very honourable and perfect-minded in themselves may allow a large
margin to other people who are presumably honourable and perfect-minded
also. There was no engagement between them, and he was not bound in any
way, and could, therefore, without slashing the hem of the code, retire
without any apology; but they had had that unspoken understanding which
most people who love each other show even before a word of declaration
has passed their lips. If he withdrew because of this scandal there
might be some awkward hours for Frank Armour’s wife at Greyhope; but,
more than that, there would be a very hard-hearted young lady to play
her part in the deceitful world; she would be as merciless as she could
be. Naturally, being young, she exaggerated the importance of the event,
and brooded on it. It was different with her father and mother. They
were shocked and indignant at first, but when the first scene had been
faced they began to make the best of things all round. That is, they
proceeded at once to turn the North American Indian into a European--a
matter of no little difficulty. A governess was discussed; but General
Armour did not like the idea, and Richard opposed it heartily. She
must be taught English and educated, and made possible in “Christian
clothing,” as Mrs. Armour put it. Of the education they almost
despaired--all save Richard; time, instruction, vanity, and a dressmaker
might do much as to the other.
The evening of her arrival, Lali would not, with any urging, put on
clothes of Marion’s which had been sent in to her. And the next morning
it was still the same.
She came into the breakfast-room dressed still in buckskin and
moccasins, and though the grease had been taken out of her hair it
was still combed flat. Mrs. Armour had tried to influence her through
Mackenzie, but to no purpose. She was placidly stubborn.
It had been unwisely told her by Mackenzie that they were Marion’s
clothes. They scarcely took in the fact that the girl had pride, that
she was the daughter of a chief, and a chieftainess herself, and that it
was far from happy to offer her Marion’s clothes to wear.
Now, Richard, when he was a lad, had been on a journey to the South
Seas, and had learned some of the peculiarities of the native mind, and
he did not suppose that American Indians differed very much from certain
well-bred Polynesians in little matters of form and good taste. When
his mother told him what had occurred before Lali entered the
breakfast-room, he went directly to what he believed was the cause,
and advised tact with conciliation. He also pointed out that Lali was
something taller than Marion, and that she might be possessed of that
general trait of humanity-vanity. Mrs. Armour had not yet got used to
thinking of the girl in another manner than an intrusive being of a
lower order, who was there to try their patience, but also to do their
bidding. She had yet to grasp the fact that, being her son’s wife, she
must have, therefore, a position in the house, exercising a certain
authority over the servants, who, to Mrs. Armour, at first seemed of
superior stuff. But Richard said to her: “Mother, I fancy you don’t
quite grasp the position. The girl is the daughter of a chief, and the
descendant of a family of chiefs, perhaps through many generations. In
her own land she has been used to respect, and has been looked up to
pretty generally. Her garments are, I fancy, considered very smart in
the Hudson’s Bay country; and a finely decorated blanket like hers is
expensive up there. You see, we have to take the thing by comparison; so
please give the girl a chance.”
And Mrs. Armour answered wearily, “I suppose you are right, Richard; you
generally are in the end, though why you should be I do not know, for
you never see anything of the world any more, and you moon about among
the cottagers. I suppose it’s your native sense and the books you read.”
Richard laughed softly, but there was a queer ring in the laugh, and
he came over stumblingly and put his arm round his mother’s shoulder.
“Never mind how I get such sense as I have, mother; I have so much time
to think, it would be a wonder if I hadn’t some. But I think we had
better try to study her, and coax her along, and not fob her off as a
very inferior person, or we shall have our hands full in earnest. My
opinion is, she has got that which will save her and us too--a very high
spirit, which only needs opportunity to develop into a remarkable thing;
and, take my word for it, mother, if we treat her as a chieftainess, or
princess, or whatever she is, and not simply as a dusky person, we shall
come off better and she will come off better in the long run. She is not
darker than a Spaniard, anyhow.” At this point Marion entered the room,
and her mother rehearsed briefly to her what their talk had been. Marion
had had little sleep, and she only lifted her eyebrows at them at first.
She was in little mood for conciliation. She remembered all at once
that at supper the evening before her sister-in-law had said How! to
the butler, and had eaten the mayonnaise with a dessert spoon. But
presently, because she saw they waited for her to speak, she said, with
a little flutter of maliciousness: “Wouldn’t it be well for Richard--he
has plenty of time, and we are also likely to have it now--to put us all
through a course of instruction for the training of chieftainesses?
And when do you think she will be ready for a drawing-room--Her Majesty
Queen Victoria’s, or ours?”
“Marion!” said Mrs. Armour severely; but Richard came round to her, and,
with his fresh, child-like humour, put his arm round her waist and added
“Marion, I’d be willing to bet--if I were in the habit of betting--my
shaky old pins here against a lock of your hair that you may present her
at any drawing-room--ours or Queen Victoria’s--in two years, if we go at
it right; and it would serve Master Frank very well if we turned her out
something, after all.”
To which Mrs. Armour responded almost eagerly: “I wish it were only
possible, Richard. And what you say is true, I suppose, that she is of
rank in her own country, whatever value that may have.”
Richard saw his advantage. “Well, mother,” he said, “a chieftainess is a
chieftainess, and I don’t know but to announce her as such, and--”
“And be proud of it, as it were,” put in Marion, “and pose her, and
make her a prize--a Pocahontas, wasn’t it?--and go on pretending world
without end!” Marion’s voice was still slightly grating, but there
was in it too a faint sound of hope. “Perhaps,” she said to herself,
“Richard is right.”
At this point the door opened and Lali entered, shown in by Colvin,
her newly-appointed maid, and followed by Mackenzie, and, as we said,
dressed still in her heathenish garments. She had a strong sense of
dignity, for she stood still and waited. Perhaps nothing could have
impressed Marion more. Had Lali been subservient simply, an entirely
passive, unintelligent creature, she would probably have tyrannised over
her in a soft, persistent fashion, and despised her generally. But Mrs.
Armour and Marion saw that this stranger might become very troublesome
indeed, if her temper were to have play. They were aware of capacities
for passion in those dark eyes, so musing yet so active in expression,
which moved swiftly from one object to another and then suddenly became
resolute.
Both mother and daughter came forward, and held out their hands,
wishing her a pleasant good-morning, and were followed by Richard, and
immediately by General Armour, who had entered soon after her. She had
been keen enough to read (if a little vaguely) behind the scenes, and
her mind was wakening slowly to the peculiarity of the position she
occupied. The place awed her, and had broken her rest by perplexing her
mind, and she sat down to the breakfast-table with a strange hunted look
in her face. But opposite to her was a window opening to the ground, and
beyond it were the limes and beeches and a wide perfect sward and far
away a little lake, on which swans and wild fowl fluttered. Presently,
as she sat silent, eating little, her eyes lifted to the window. They
flashed instantly, her face lighted up with a weird kind of charm, and
suddenly she got to her feet with Indian exclamations on her lips, and,
as if unconscious of them all, went swiftly to the window and out of
it, waving her hands up and down once or twice to the trees and the
sunlight.
“What did she say?” said Mrs. Armour, rising with the others.
“She said,” replied Mackenzie, as she hurried towards the window, “that
they were her beautiful woods, and there were wild birds flying and
swimming in the water, as in her own country.”
By this time all were at the window, Richard arriving last, and the
Indian girl turned on them, her body all quivering with excitement,
laughed a low, bird-like laugh, and then, clapping her hands above her
head, she swung round and ran like a deer towards the lake, shaking her
head back as an animal does when fleeing from his pursuers. She would
scarcely have been recognised as the same placid, speechless woman in a
blanket who sat with folded hands day after day on the Aphrodite.
The watchers turned and looked at each other in wonder. Truly, their
task of civilising a savage would not lack in interest. The old general
was better pleased, however, at this display of activity and excitement
than at yesterday’s taciturnity. He loved spirit, even if it had to be
subdued, and he thought on the instant that he might possibly come
to look upon the fair savage as an actual and not a nominal
daughter-in-law. He had a keen appreciation of courage, and he thought
he saw in her face, as she turned upon them, a look of defiance or
daring, and nothing could have got at his nature quicker. If the case
had not been so near to his own hearthstone he would have chuckled. As
it was, he said good-humouredly that Mackenzie and Marion should go and
bring her back. But Mackenzie was already at that duty. Mrs. Armour had
had the presence of mind to send for Colvin; but presently, when
the general spoke, she thought it better that Marion should go, and
counselled returning to breakfast and not making the matter of too
much importance. This they did, Richard very reluctantly; while Marion,
rather pleased than not at the spirit shown by the strange girl, ran
away over the grass towards the lake, where Lali had now stopped. There
was a little bridge at one point where the lake narrowed, and Lali,
evidently seeing it all at once, went towards it, and ran up on it,
standing poised above the water about the middle of it. For an instant
an unpleasant possibility came into Marion’s mind: suppose the excited
girl intended suicide! She shivered as she thought of it, and yet--!
She put that horribly cruel and selfish thought away from her with an
indignant word at herself. She had passed Mackenzie, and came first to
the lake. Here she slackened, and waved her hand playfully to the girl,
so as not to frighten her; and then with a forced laugh came up panting
on the bridge, and was presently by Lali’s side. Lali eyed her a little
furtively, but, seeing that Marion was much inclined to be pleasant, she
nodded to her, said some Indian words hastily, and spread out her hands
towards the water. As she did so, Marion noticed again the beauty of
those hands and the graceful character of the gesture, so much so that
she forgot the flat hair and the unstayed body, and the rather broad
feet, and the delicate duskiness, which had so worked upon her in
imagination and in fact the evening before. She put her hand kindly on
that long slim hand stretched out beside her, and, because she knew
not what else to speak, and because the tongue is very perverse at
times,--saying the opposite of what is expected,--she herself blundered
out, “How! How! Lali.”
Perhaps Lali was as much surprised at the remark as Marion herself, and
certainly very much more delighted. The sound of those familiar
words, spoken by accident as they were, opened the way to a better
understanding, as nothing else could possibly have done. Marion was
annoyed with herself, and yet amused too. If her mind had been perfectly
assured regarding Captain Vidall, it is probable that then and there
a peculiar, a genial, comradeship would have been formed. As it was,
Marion found this little event more endurable than she expected. She
also found that Lali, when she laughed in pleasant acknowledgment of
that How! had remarkably white and regular teeth. Indeed, Marion Armour
began to discover some estimable points in the appearance of her savage
sister-in-law. Marion remarked to herself that Lali might be a rather
striking person, if she were dressed, as her mother said, in Christian
garments, could speak the English language well--and was somebody else’s
sister-in-law.
At this point Mackenzie came breathlessly to the bridge, and called
out a little sharply to Lali, rebuking her. In this Mackenzie made
a mistake; for not only did Lali draw herself up with considerable
dignity, but Marion, noticing the masterful nature of the tone,
instantly said: “Mackenzie, you must remember that you are speaking to
Mrs. Francis Armour, and that her position in General Armour’s house
is the same as mine. I hope it is not necessary to say anything more,
Mackenzie.”
Mackenzie flushed. She was a sensible woman, she knew that she had
done wrong, and she said very promptly: “I am very sorry, miss. I was
flustered, and I expect I haven’t got used to speaking to--to Mrs.
Armour as I’ll be sure to do in the future.”
As she spoke, two or three deer came trotting out of the beeches down
to the lake side. If Lali was pleased and excited before, she was
overwhelmed now. Her breath came in quick little gasps; she laughed;
she tossed her hands; she seemed to become dizzy with delight; and
presently, as if this new link with, and reminder of, her past, had
moved her as one little expects a savage heart to be moved, two tears
gathered in her eyes, then slid down her cheek unheeded, and dried
there in the sunlight, as she still gazed at the deer. Marion, at first
surprised, was now touched, as she could not have thought it possible
concerning this wild creature, and her hand went out and caught Lali’s
gently. At this genuine act of sympathy, instinctively felt by Lali,
the stranger in a strange land, husbanded and yet a widow, there came a
flood of tears, and, dropping on her knees, she leaned against the low
railing of the bridge and wept silently. So passionless was her grief
it seemed the more pathetic, and Marion dropped on her knees beside her,
put her arm round her shoulder, and said: “Poor girl! Poor girl!”
At that Lali caught her hand, and held it, repeating after her the
words: “Poor girl! Poor girl!”
She did not quite understand them, but she remembered that once just
before she parted from her husband at the Great Lakes he had said those
very words. If the fates had apparently given things into Frank Armour’s
hands when he sacrificed this girl to his revenge, they were evidently
inclined to play a game which would eventually defeat his purpose,
wicked as it had been in effect if not in absolute motive. What the end
of this attempt to engraft the Indian girl upon the strictest convention
of English social life would have been had her introduction not been at
Greyhope, where faint likenesses to her past surrounded her, it is hard
to conjecture. But, from present appearances, it would seem that Richard
Armour was not wholly a false prophet; for the savage had shown herself
that morning to possess, in their crudeness, some striking qualities of
character. Given character, many things are possible, even to those who
are not of the elect.
This was the beginning of better things. Lali seemed to the Armours not
quite so impossible now. Had she been of the very common order of Indian
“pure and simple,” the task had resolved itself into making a common
savage into a very common European. But, whatever Lali was, it was
abundantly evident that she must be reckoned with at all points, and
that she was more likely to become a very startling figure in the Armour
household than a mere encumbrance to be blushed for, whose eternal
absence were preferable to her company.
Years after that first morning Marion caught herself shuddering at
the thought that came to her when she saw Lali hovering on the bridge.
Whatever Marion’s faults were, she had a fine dislike of anything that
seemed unfair. She had not ridden to hounds for nothing. She had at
heart the sportsman’s instinct. It was upon this basis, indeed, that
Richard appealed to her in the first trying days of Lali’s life among
them. To oppose your will to Marion on the basis of superior knowledge
was only to turn her into a rebel; and a very effective rebel she made;
for she had a pretty gift at the retort courteous, and she could take
as much, and as well, as she gave. She rebelled at first at assisting in
Lali’s education, though by fits and starts she would teach her English
words, and help her to form long sentences, and was, on the whole, quite
patient. But Lali’s real instructors were Mrs. Armour and Richard--, her
best, Richard.
The first few days she made but little progress, for everything was
strange to her, and things made her giddy--the servants, the formal
routine, the handsome furnishings, Marion’s music, the great house, the
many precise personal duties set for her, to be got through at stated
times; and Mrs. Armour’s rather grand manner. But there was the relief
to this, else the girl had pined terribly for her native woods and
prairies; this was the park, the deer, the lake, the hares, and birds.
While she sat saying over after Mrs. Armour words and phrases in
English, or was being shown how she must put on and wear the clothes
which a dressmaker from Regent Street had been brought to make, her eyes
would wander dreamily to the trees and the lake and the grass. They soon
discovered that she would pay no attention and was straightway difficult
to teach if she was not placed where she could look out on the park.
They had no choice, for though her resistance was never active it was
nevertheless effective.
Presently she got on very swiftly with Richard. For he, with instinct
worthy of a woman, turned their lessons upon her own country and Frank.
This cost him something, but it had its reward. There was no more
listlessness. Previously Frank’s name had scarcely been spoken to her.
Mrs. Armour would have hours of hesitation and impotent regret before
she brought herself to speak of her son to his Indian wife. Marion tried
to do it a few times and failed; the general did it with rather a forced
voice and manner, because he saw that his wife was very tender upon the
point. But Richard, who never knew self-consciousness, spoke freely of
Frank when he spoke at all; and it was seeing Lali’s eyes brighten and
her look earnestly fixed on him when he chanced to mention Frank’s
name, that determined him on his new method of instruction. It had its
dangers, but he had calculated them all. The girl must be educated at
all costs. The sooner that occurred the sooner would she see her own
position and try to adapt herself to her responsibilities, and face the
real state of her husband’s attitude towards her.
He succeeded admirably. Striving to tell him about her past life, and
ready to talk endlessly about her husband, of his prowess in the hunt,
of his strength and beauty, she also strove to find English words for
the purpose, and Richard supplied them with uncommon willingness. He
humoured her so far as to learn many Indian words and phrases, but he
was chary of his use of them, and tried hard to make her appreciative
of her new life and surroundings. He watched her waking slowly to an
understanding of the life, and of all that it involved. It gave him a
kind of fear, too, because she was sensitive, and there was the possible
danger of her growing disheartened or desperate, and doing some mad
thing in the hour that she wakened to the secret behind her marriage.
His apprehensions were not without cause. For slowly there came into
Lali’s mind the element of comparison. She became conscious of it one
day when some neighbouring people called at Greyhope. Mrs. Armour, in
her sense of duty, which she had rigidly set before her, introduced Lali
into the drawing-room. The visitors veiled their curiosity and said some
pleasant casual things to the young wife, but she saw the half-curious,
half-furtive glances, she caught a sidelong glance and smile, and when
they were gone she took to looking at herself in a mirror, a thing she
could scarcely be persuaded to do before. She saw the difference between
her carriage and theirs, her manner of wearing her clothes and theirs,
her complexion and theirs. She exaggerated the difference. She brooded
on it. Now she sat downcast and timid, and hunted in face, as on the
first evening she came; now she appeared restless and excited.
If Mrs. Armour was not exactly sympathetic with her, she was quiet and
forbearing, and General Armour, like Richard, tried to draw her out--but
not on the same subjects. He dwelt upon what she did; the walks she
took in the park, those hours in the afternoon when, with Mackenzie or
Colvin, she vanished into the beeches, making friends with the birds and
deer and swans. But most of all she loved to go to the stables. She was,
however, asked not to go unless Richard or General Armour was with her.
She loved horses, and these were a wonder to her. She had never known
any but the wild, ungroomed Indian pony, on which she had ridden in
every fashion and over every kind of country. Mrs. Armour sent for a
riding-master, and had riding-costumes made for her. It was intended
that she should ride every day as soon as she seemed sufficiently
presentable. This did not appear so very far off, for she improved daily
in appearance. Her hair was growing finer, and was made up in the modest
prevailing fashion; her skin, no longer exposed to an inclement climate,
and subject to the utmost care, was smoother and fairer; her feet,
encased in fine, well-made boots, looked much smaller; her waist was
shaped to fashion, and she was very straight and lissom. So many things
she did jarred on her relatives, that they were not fully aware of the
great improvement in her appearance. Even Richard admitted her trying at
times.
Marion went up to town to stay with Mrs. Townley, and there had to face
a good deal of curiosity. People looked at her sometimes as if it was
she and not Lali that was an Indian. But she carried things off bravely
enough, and answered those kind inquiries, which one’s friends make when
we are in embarrassing situations, with answers so calm and pleasant
that people did not know what to think.
“Yes,” she said, in reply to Lady Balwood, “her sister-in-law might be
in town later in the year, perhaps before the season was over: she could
not tell. She was tired after her long voyage, and she preferred the
quiet of Greyhope; she was fond of riding and country-life; but still
she would come to town for a time.” And so on.
“Ah, dear me, how charming! And doesn’t she resent her husband’s
absence--during the honeymoon? or did the honeymoon occur before she
came over to England?” And Lady Balwood tried to say it all playfully,
and certainly said it something loudly. She had daughters.
But Marion was perfectly prepared. Her face did not change expression.
“Yes, they had had their honeymoon on the prairies; Frank was so
fascinated with the life and the people. He had not come home at once,
because he was making she did not know how great a fortune over there in
investments, and so Mrs. Armour came on before him, and, of course, as
soon as he could get away from his business, he would follow his wife.”
And though Marion smiled, her heart was very hot, and she could have
slain Lady Balwood in her tracks. Lady Balwood then nodded a little
patronisingly, and babbled that “she hoped so much to see Mrs. Francis
Armour. She must be so very interesting, the papers said so much about
her.”
Now, while this conversation was going on, some one stood not far behind
Marion, who seemed much interested in her and what she said. But Marion
did not see this person. She was startled presently, however, to hear a
strong voice say softly over her shoulder: “What a charming woman Lady
Balwood is! And so ingenuous!”
She was grateful, tremulous, proud. Why had he--Captain Vidall--kept out
of the way all these weeks, just when she needed him most, just when he
should have played the part of a man? Then she was feeling twinges at
the heart, too. She had seen Lady Agnes Martling that afternoon, and had
noticed how the news had worn on her. She felt how much better it had
been had Frank come quietly home and married her, instead of doing the
wild, scandalous thing that was making so many heart-burnings. A few
minutes ago she had longed for a chance to say something delicately acid
to Lady Haldwell, once Julia Sherwood, who was there. Now there was a
chance to give her bitter spirit tongue. She was glad--she dared not
think how glad--to hear that voice again; but she was angry too, and he
should suffer for it--the more so because she recognised in the tone,
and afterwards in his face, that he was still absorbingly interested in
her. There was a little burst of thanksgiving in her heart, and then she
prepared a very notable commination service in her mind.
This meeting had been deftly arranged by Mrs. Townley, with the help
of Edward Lambert, who now held her fingers with a kind of vanity of
possession whenever he bade her good-bye or met her. Captain Vidall had,
in fact, been out of the country, had only been back a week, and had
only heard of Frank Armour’s mesalliance from Lambert at an At Home
forty-eight hours before. Mrs. Townley guessed what was really at the
bottom of Marion’s occasional bitterness, and, piecing together many
little things dropped casually by her friend, had come to the conclusion
that the happiness of two people was at stake.
When Marion shook hands with Captain Vidall she had herself exceedingly
well under control. She looked at him in slight surprise, and casually
remarked that they had not chanced to meet lately in the run of
small-and-earlies. She appeared to be unconscious that he had been out
of the country, and also that she had been till very recently indeed at
Greyhope. He hastened to assure her that he had been away, and to lay
siege to this unexpected barrier. He knew all about Frank’s affair, and,
though it troubled him, he did not see why it should make any difference
in his regard for Frank’s sister. Fastidious as he was in all things, he
was fastidiously deferential. Not an exquisite, he had all that vanity
as to appearance so usual with the military man; himself of the
most perfect temper and sweetness of manner and conduct, the unusual
disturbed him. Not possessed of a vivid imagination, he could scarcely
conjure up this Indian bride at Greyhope.
But face to face with Marion Armour he saw what troubled his mind,
and he determined he would not meet her irony with irony, her assumed
indifference with indifference. He had learned one of the most important
lessons of life--never to quarrel with a woman. Whoever has so far erred
has been foolish indeed. It is the worst of policy, to say nothing of
its being the worst of art; and life should never be without art. It
is absurd to be perfectly natural; anything, anybody can be that.
Well, Captain Hume Vidall was something of an artist, more, however,
in principle than by temperament. He refused to recognise the rather
malicious adroitness with which Marion turned his remarks again upon
himself, twisted out of all semblance. He was very patient. He inquired
quietly, and as if honestly interested, about Frank, and said--because
he thought it safest as well as most reasonable--that, naturally, they
must have been surprised at his marrying a native; but he himself had
seen some such marriages turn out very well--in Japan, India, the South
Sea Islands, and Canada. He assumed that Marion’s sister-in-law was
beautiful, and then disarmed Marion by saying that he thought of going
down to Greyhope immediately, to call on General Armour and Mrs. Armour,
and wondered if she was going back before the end of the season.
Quick as Marion was, this was said so quietly that she did not quite see
the drift of it. She had intended staying in London to the end of the
season, not because she enjoyed it, but because she was determined to
face Frank’s marriage at every quarter, and have it over, once for all,
so far as herself was concerned. But now, taken slightly aback, she
said, almost without thinking, that she would probably go back soon--she
was not quite sure; but certainly her father and mother would be glad to
see Captain Vidall at any time.
Then, without any apparent relevancy, he asked her if Mrs. Frank Armour
still wore her Indian costume. In any one else the question had seemed
impertinent; in him it had a touch of confidence, of the privilege of
close friendship. Then he said, with a meditative look and a very calm,
retrospective voice, that he was once very much in love with a native
girl in India, and might have become permanently devoted to her, were it
not for the accident of his being ordered back to England summarily.
This was a piece of news which cut two ways. In the first place it
lessened the extraordinary character of Frank’s marriage, and it roused
in her an immediate curiosity--which a woman always feels in the past
“affairs” of her lover, or possible lover. Vidall did not take pains to
impress her with the fact that the matter occurred when he was almost a
boy; and it was when her earnest inquisition had drawn from him, bit by
bit, the circumstances of the case, and she had forgotten many parts of
her commination service and to preserve an effective neutrality in tone,
that she became aware he was speaking ancient history. Then it was too
late to draw back.
They had threaded their way through the crowd into the conservatory,
where they were quite alone, and there, with only a little pyramid of
hydrangeas between them, which she could not help but notice chimed well
with the colour of her dress, he dropped his voice a little lower, and
then suddenly said, his eyes hard on her: “I want your permission to go
to Greyhope.”
The tone drew her eyes hastily to his, and, seeing, she dropped them
again. Vidall had a strong will, and, what is of more consequence, a
peculiarly attractive voice. It had a vibration which made some of his
words organ-like in sound. She felt the influence of it. She said a
little faintly, her fingers toying with a hydrangea: “I am afraid I do
not understand. There is no reason why you should not go to Greyhope
without my permission.”
“I cannot go without it,” he persisted. “I am waiting for my commission
from you.”
She dropped her hand from the flower with a little impatient motion.
She was tired, her head ached, she wanted to be alone. “Why are you
enigmatical?” she said. Then quickly: “I wish I knew what is in your
mind. You play with words so.”
She scarcely knew what she said. A woman who loves a man very much is
not quick to take in the absolute declaration of that man’s love on the
instant; it is too wonderful for her. He felt his check flush with hers,
he drew her look again to his. “Marion! Marion!” he said. That was all.
“Oh, hush, some one is coming!” was her quick, throbbing reply. When
they parted a half-hour later, he said to her: “Will you give me my
commission to go to Greyhope?”
“Oh no, I cannot,” she said very gravely; “but come to Greyhope-when I
go back.”
“And when will that be?” he said, smiling, yet a little ruefully too.
“Please ask Mrs. Townley,” she replied; “she is coming also.”
Marion, knew what that commission to go to Greyhope meant. But she
determined that he should see Lali first, before anything irrevocable
was done. She still looked upon Frank’s marriage as a scandal. Well,
Captain Vidall should face it in all its crudeness. So, in a week or
less, Marion and Mrs. Townley were in Greyhope.
Two months had gone since Lali arrived in England, and yet no letter had
come to her, or to any of them, from Frank. Frank’s solicitor in London
had written him fully of her arrival, and he had had a reply, with
further instructions regarding money to be placed to General Armour’s
credit for the benefit of his wife. Lali, as she became Europeanised,
also awoke to the forms and ceremonies of her new life. She had
overheard Frank’s father and mother wondering, and fretting as they
wondered, why they had not received any word from him. General Armour
had even called him a scoundrel, which sent Frank’s mother into tears.
Then Lali had questioned Mackenzie and Colvin, for she had increasing
shrewdness, and she began to feel her actual position. She resented
General Armour’s imputation, but in her heart she began to pine and
wonder. At times, too, she was fitful, and was not to be drawn out. But
she went on improving in personal appearance and manner and in learning
the English language. Mrs. Townley’s appearance marked a change in her.
When they met she suddenly stood still and trembled. When Mrs. Townley
came to her and took her hand and kissed her, she shivered, and then
caught her about the shoulders lightly, but was silent. After a little
she said: “Come--come to my wigwam, and talk with me.”
She said it with a strange little smile, for now she recognised that
the word wigwam was not to be used in her new life. But Mrs. Townley
whispered: “Ask Marion to come too.”
Lali hesitated, and then said, a little maliciously: “Marion, will you
come to my wigwam?”
Marion ran to her, caught her about the waist, and replied gaily: “Yes,
we will have a pow-wow--is that right--is pow-wow right?”
The Indian girl shook her head with a pretty vagueness, and vanished
with them. General Armour walked up and down the room briskly, then
turned on his wife and said: “Wife, it was a brutal thing: Frank doesn’t
deserve to be--the father of her child.”
But Lali had moods--singular moods. She indulged in one three days after
the arrival of Marion and Mrs. Townley. She had learned to ride with the
side-saddle, and wore her riding-dress admirably. Nowhere did she show
to better advantage. She had taken to riding now with General Armour on
the country roads. On this day Captain Vidall was expected, he having
written to ask that he might come. What trouble Lali had with one of the
servants that morning was never thoroughly explained, but certain it
is, she came to have a crude notion of why Frank Armour married her. The
servant was dismissed duly, but that was after the contre-temps.
It was late afternoon. Everybody had been busy, because one or two other
guests were expected besides Captain Vidall. Lali had kept to herself,
sending word through Richard that she would not “be English,” as she
vaguely put it, that day. She had sent Mackenzie on some mission. She
sat on the floor of her room, as she used to sit on the ground in her
father’s lodge. Her head was bowed in her hands, and her arms rested on
her knees. Her body swayed to and fro. Presently all motion ceased. She
became perfectly still. She looked before her as if studying something.
Her eyes immediately flashed. She rose quickly to her feet, went to her
wardrobe, and took out her Indian costume and blanket, with which she
could never be induced to part. Almost feverishly she took off the
clothes she wore and hastily threw them from her. Then she put on the
buckskin clothes in which she had journeyed to England, drew down her
hair as she used to wear it, fastened round her waist a long red sash
which had been given her by a governor of the Hudson’s Bay Company
when he had visited her father’s country, threw her blanket round her
shoulders, and then eyed herself in the great mirror in the room. What
she saw evidently did not please her perfectly, for she stretched out
her hands and looked at them; she shook her head at herself and put her
hand to her cheeks and pinched them, they were not so brown as they once
were, then she thrust out her foot. She drew it back quickly in disdain.
Immediately she caught the fashionable slippers from her feet and threw
them among the discarded garments. She looked at herself again. Still
she was not satisfied, but she threw up her arms, as with a sense
of pleasure and freedom, and laughed at herself. She pushed out her
moccasined foot, tapped the floor with it, nodded towards it, and said
a word or two in her own language. She heard some one in the next room,
possibly Mackenzie. She stepped to the door leading into the hall,
opened it, went out, travelled its length, ran down a back hallway, out
into the park, towards the stables, her blanket, as her hair, flying
behind her.
She entered the stables, made for a horse that she had ridden much, put
a bridle on him, led him out before any one had seen her, and, catching
him by the mane, suddenly threw herself on him at a bound, and, giving
him a tap with a short whip she had caught up in the stable, headed him
for the main avenue and the open road. Then a stableman saw her and ran
after, but he might as well have tried to follow the wind. He forthwith
proceeded to saddle another horse. Boulter also saw her as she passed
the house, and, running in, told Mrs. Armour and the general. They both
ran to the window and saw dashing down the avenue--a picture out of
Fenimore Cooper; a saddleless horse with a rider whose fingers merely
touched the bridle, riding as on a journey of life and death.
“My God, it’s Lali! She’s mad--she’s mad! She is striking that horse! It
will bolt! It will kill her!” cried the general.
Then he rushed for a horse to follow her. Mrs. Armour’s hands clasped
painfully. For an instant she had almost the same thought as had Marion
on the first morning of Lali’s coming; but that passed, and left
her gazing helplessly after the horse-woman. The flying blanket had
frightened the blooded horse, and he made desperate efforts to fulfil
the general’s predictions.
Lali soon found that she had miscalculated. She was not riding an
Indian pony, but a crazed, high-strung horse. As they flew, she sitting
superbly and tugging at the bridle, the party coming from the railway
station entered the great gate, accompanied by Richard and Marion. In
a moment they sighted this wild pair bearing down upon them with a
terrible swiftness.
As Marion recognised Lali she turned pale and cried out, rising in her
seat. Instinctively Captain Vidall knew who it was, though he could not
guess the cause of the singular circumstance. He saw that the horse
had bolted, but also that the rider seemed entirely fearless. “Why,
in Heaven’s name,” he said between his teeth, “doesn’t she let go that
blanket!”
At that moment Lali did let it go, and the horse dashed by them, making
hard for the gate. “Turn the horses round and follow her,” said Vidall
to the driver. While this was doing, Marion caught sight of her father
riding hard down the avenue. He passed them, and called to them to hurry
on after him.
Lali had not the slightest sense of fear, but she knew that the horse
had gone mad. When they passed through the gate and swerved into the
road, a less practised rider would have been thrown. She sat like wax.
The pace was incredible for a mile, and though General Armour rode well,
he was far behind.
Suddenly a trap appeared in the road in front of them, and the driver,
seeing the runaway, set his horses at right angles to the road. It
served the purpose only to provide another danger. Not far from where
the trap was drawn, and between it and the runaway, was a lane, which
ended at a farmyard in a cul-de-sac. The horse swerved into it, not
slacking its pace, and in the fraction of a minute came to the farmyard.
But now the fever was in Lali’s blood. She did not care whether she
lived or died. A high hedge formed the cul-de-sac. When she saw the
horse slacking she cut it savagely across the head twice with a whip,
and drove him at the green wall. He was of too good make to refuse it,
stiff as it was. He rose to it magnificently, and cleared it; but
almost as he struck the ground squarely, he staggered and fell--the girl
beneath him. He had burst a blood-vessel. The ground was soft and wet;
the weight of the horse prevented her from getting free. She felt its
hoof striking in its death-struggles, and once her shoulder was struck.
Instinctively she buried her face in the mud, and her arms covered her
head.
And then she knew no more.
When she came to, she was in the carriage within the gates of Greyhope,
and Marion was bending over her. She suddenly tried to lift herself, but
could not. Presently she saw another face--that of General Armour. It
was stern, and yet his eyes were swimming as he looked at her.
“How!” she said to him--“How!” and fainted again.