BERNARD PONDERS
It was getting dark in the hall at Langrigg and Jim, who had just
returned from the marsh, sat in the hollow of the big fireplace. Rain
beat upon the windows, outside which the trees tossed their naked
branches against the lowering sky, and a cold wind wailed about the
ancient walls. Oak logs snapped in the grate and Carrie sat on the rug
in the flickering light. She was toasting muffins, and a silver teapot
and some cups stood on the low table in front of Mrs. Winter. Now the
days were getting cold and short, tea by the hearth was a popular
function. Carrie buttered a muffin and gave it Jim on the end of the
fork.
"Jake must wait for the next. I can't toast the things fast enough for
him," she said. "They're quite nice if you eat them hot, but they're
not like the flapjacks I made in the woods. After all, we had some
pretty good times on the new line; hadn't we, Jim? Mother doesn't
know; she wasn't there."
"I was not," said Mrs. Winter. "If you had taken me along, I wouldn't
be with you now. A roof that keeps out the rain, a warm room, and a
comfortable chair are good enough for me."
"You'd have said _for mine_, not long since. Looks as if we were all
getting English," Carrie replied. "Jim was very nice when he got you
the chair. It's up against all the other things. If I was Jim, I'd
hate to have it around."
Jim laughed. He had sent to London for the American spring
rocking-chair that clashed with the old oak in the hall, but it was a
pattern Mrs. Winter liked and he was satisfied. He ate his muffin
silently, for he was tired, and Carrie's remarks had wakened memories
of other fires that burned among the tall straight trunks in the
Canadian wilds; he thought he could hear the snow-fed river brawl, and
smell the smoke that drifted in blue wreaths about the lonely camp.
Carrie had laughed and bantered him then and he had been happy. He was
happy now and hoped to be happier yet, but Carrie was often quiet and
he had a puzzling feeling that he had lost something he could not
recapture.
Presently she picked up a local newspaper and lighted a candle with a
shade. The light only spread a yard or two, but it touched the page
she folded back and sparkled in her hair.
"They have got a master for the otter-hounds!" she exclaimed, and then
her color rose and her eyes went hard. "I don't know the committee,
but if the others are like Hodson, they're solemn old fools."
"I'd rather have liked the post, but it doesn't matter much," said Jim,
and added, with a smile: "Now you're like the Carrie who went North
with us."
"Bernard meant you to have the hounds; he's a dear, although some
stupid people are afraid of him," Carrie went on. "He'd certainly have
fixed it if he hadn't got lame again. But I remember--Dick went to
their old meeting and was mad about something afterwards. I think it
was something about Lance Mordaunt--now I begin to see!"
"I don't think it's worth while your bothering about the thing."
"Don't interrupt!" said Carrie. "I'm going to talk. Lance doesn't
like you, and I imagine Dick doesn't trust him. Dick is smart
sometimes and knows Lance is mean. He is mean; he has a yellow
streak----"
She stopped, for she saw Jim's frown. He was not vexed with her, but
her statement chimed with some vague doubts of his. She got up and
made him a formal curtsy.
"I'm sorry, Jim. That was the Carrie you knew in the woods. If you
don't want her, you oughtn't to burn logs and sit by the fire when it's
getting dark, as we used to do. But she has gone back to the shadows
that creep among the pines, and I don't think she will come out again."
She pulled up an easy-chair, and when she sat down and shielded her
face from the fire with her hand Jake's eyes twinkled. He wondered
whether Jim saw she was cleverly imitating Evelyn's graceful
languidness. After a few moments she indicated the dark oak paneling
and old furniture.
"That's your proper background, Jim, when you frown. It's plain that
you belong to Langrigg. When you fought the Scots and hunted wolves I
expect you often looked like you looked just now."
"But I didn't fight the Scots," Jim objected.
"Your people did," said Carrie. "Sometimes you're very dull."
Jim laughed and glanced at her. Flames leaped up round the logs and
the red light played about her face. Her color was rather marked, she
looked strangely alert and forceful, and something about her dress gave
her a touch of stateliness, for Carrie had well chosen her English
clothes. Jim knew her to be staunch and fearless, and although her
humor was sometimes puzzling he felt her charm.
"By George!" he said impulsively, "I think you belong to the old days
as much as I belong. One could have trusted you to hold the tower
against all comers when your man went off to hunt."
Carrie held her hand to her face a moment, as if the fire were hot, and
then smiled as she looked up.
"If my man had gone off often, I would have taken the wolf-spear and
gone with him."
Mrs. Winter, who had quietly studied both, began to talk about
something else, and presently a servant brought in some letters. Jim
moved the shaded candle and opened his, but after a time put one down
and looked straight in front, knitting his brows.
"What is it, partner?" Jake asked.
"I have got a knock. I told my Vancouver agent to sell some shares and
send along a check. He says I'd better wait; the market's very flat."
"Then you bought the Bench-lands Irrigation stock?"
"I did. I have invested most of the money I got for the Bluebird mine."
"All ours is at the Merchants' Bank," Carrie remarked. "Jake wanted to
buy Irrigation stock, but I wouldn't let him. However, the company
ought to make good."
"I hope so. Jeffreys is doubtful. I bought because I know the Bench
country and Martin was interested in the scheme. It seems they are
having trouble about their water rights and an order has been granted
to stop the ditches. Jeffreys says nobody wants the stock just now and
imagines the lawsuit may go against them."
"Will this make things awkward for you?"
"To some extent. Langrigg costs much to run and the dykes are
expensive. I'll get my farm rents soon, but they won't go very far.
For all that, the dykes must be finished; it's the only way to get back
the money I have spent."
"Besides, you want to finish them," Carrie suggested.
"That is so," Jim agreed. "You can't leave a job half done."
He began to ponder and struggle with a disturbing doubt. If the
Irrigation Company failed, he must use economy, because the farm rents
would not enable him to live at Langrigg like a country gentleman. For
himself, this did not matter much; he did not want a number of servants
and gardeners. But Evelyn was used to the extravagance at Whitelees,
and he knew Mrs. Halliday's views.
"Well," said Carrie, "to begin with, the dykes must be finished. When
your money runs out you will use ours."
"Carrie speaks for the rest of us," Jake declared. "What she says
goes."
Jim hardly understood the emotion by which he was moved and said
awkwardly: "Thanks! You're generous, but I can't let you pay for my
mistakes."
"We are partners, Jim," said Carrie. "Until you break the partnership,
all that's ours is yours. Go on with the dykes and when you need
money, ask Jake for a check."
"Give him the book," said Mrs. Winter. "Jake can sign some forms."
Jim hesitated and smiled to hide his embarrassment. "We'll wait. I'm
not broken yet, and since Martin is backing the scheme things can't go
very wrong. However, it's lucky they didn't make me master of hounds."
In the evening he went to Dryholm and dined with Bernard at a small
table in the spacious room. Afterwards they sat by the fire talking
quietly. Flickering reflections played about the carved marble and
bright steel; electric lights, half-hidden by the cornice, threw down a
soft light, and Bernard looked old and worn as he leaned back languidly
in his big chair.
"Since you have begun to drain the marsh, we may take it for granted
you are going to stay at Langrigg," he said.
"Yes, I mean to stay."
"Then it's obvious that you ought to marry."
"I don't know if it's obvious or not," Jim rejoined. "However, since
you are the head of the house, I dare say you are entitled to feel some
curiosity."
Bernard smiled. "Suppose you think about me as an old man who would
like to be your friend."
"I'm sorry, sir," said Jim. "We're an independent lot in Canada and
I've fought for my own hand since I was a boy. Anyhow, I mean to marry
Evelyn, if she is willing."
"It looks as if you had not asked her yet."
"I have not; I'm half-afraid. In one way, it would be a rash plunge
for a girl like Evelyn. Though I've inherited Langrigg, I'm a Western
adventurer; I've lived with rough men in the wilds. She's refined and
cultivated. Well, I've gone slow, trying to persuade myself I was
justified before I persuaded her. Then I wanted her, so to speak, to
get used to me."
"You are modest," Bernard remarked. "You imply that Evelyn does not
know."
"I don't think she knows. I have been cautious. If I hinted at my
hopes too soon, she might get disturbed and alarmed."
Bernard smiled. "Well, perhaps you have taken a prudent line. But do
you imagine your reserve has deceived Janet Halliday?"
"Perhaps it has not; Mrs. Halliday is clever. I think she is my
friend."
"It's possible," Bernard agreed, with a touch of ironical humor. "How
long do you think you must give Evelyn, in order to avoid the jar she
might get if you prematurely revealed your hopes?"
Jim knitted his brows. He was used to Bernard's cynical dryness and
trusted him. "It will be longer than I thought," he answered, grimly.
"I have had a bad set-back."
He told Bernard about the risk of his losing his money, and the latter
was silent for a minute or two. Then he remarked: "I suppose you see
that if I thought it a good plan I could help you out."
"That is not why I told you," said Jim. "I could not take your help."
"I imagined you would not. Well, perhaps your frankness accounts for
our friendship. You are unembarrassed because you have no grounds for
indulging my caprices and expect nothing from me."
Jim made a little abrupt movement. He had once said something like
that; to Mordaunt, he thought.
"Very well," Bernard resumed. "If you think I can help, I am willing;
but I will not insist."
"Thank you," said Jim, "I must trust my own efforts."
Bernard lighted a cigar and pondered. He was satisfied and somewhat
amused. It would not have cost him much to banish Jim's difficulties
and he would have liked to earn his gratitude, but was glad the other
had refused. It was better that Jim's troubles about money should not
be banished yet. He was something of a romantic fool; but Bernard knew
Evelyn was not. By and by he led Jim into confidential talk about his
investments in Canada and his plans for developing his new estate, and
then let him go.
When Jim had gone, he sat by the fire, thinking hard, and after a time
sent a servant to the library for a bundle of architect's drawings.
The drawings gave the plans and elevation of a new hospital and Bernard
thought the plain, straight front, looked mean. Knowing something
about building, he saw how it could be altered and ornamented, and the
hospital enlarged, if funds permitted. He was one of the founders and
thought it might be advisable to augment his gift.
Next day he went to Whitelees and was received by Mrs. Halliday in her
drawing-room, which always annoyed him. He felt he wanted to clear out
Janet's room and furnish it on another plan. Bernard hated sensual
prettiness and liked bold, clean lines and subdued color. Besides, his
gout was rather bad, the fragile chair was uncomfortable, and he could
not rest his foot. When the pain gripped him he frowned, and Mrs.
Halliday remarked that he was not looking well.
"I am getting old and have recently felt my age," he replied. "One
must pay for a strenuous youth, and it's becoming plain that I ought to
straighten my affairs while the opportunity is mine."
Mrs. Halliday looked sympathetic and felt curious. She had wondered
when Bernard would give her his confidence. "Well," she said, "I
suppose this is one's duty, although I hope you have no particular
grounds for imagining it needful just now."
"One cannot tell," Bernard remarked. "Anyhow, I have responsibilities
that must not be shirked. Well, Evelyn and Lance will get a share of
my property; in fact, I have made some provision for them."
"I expect you have been generous," said Mrs. Halliday, who wondered how
far she durst go. "But what about Jim?"
"His claim will need some thought. For that matter, he has hinted that
he is satisfied with Langrigg. Independence like his is not common and
perhaps ought to be indulged."
Mrs. Halliday was disturbed, but Bernard did not seem to be curious
about her feelings and resumed: "In the meantime, I've been thinking
about the new Brunstock hospital and am going to see the committee.
Since you promised us a donation, I have brought the plans." He
unrolled the elevation and gave it her. "This is not the kind of
building we want and I mean to propose some alterations."
He indicated the alterations, and Mrs. Halliday said: "But it will cost
a very large sum."
"I expect so. My money came from the iron mines; the Brunstock pitmen
and furnace men earned the most part for me. A number get hurt and it
is just that I should give them something back. Then if we called it
the Dearham hospital, as the committee suggest, the building would keep
my memory green, and I am vain enough to prefer a handsome monument."
"In some ways it is a good ambition," Mrs. Halliday agreed, although
she was puzzled, for she thought Bernard had an object he had not
stated. He certainly was not vain.
"Of course," he went on, "one must be just to one's relations, and it
would be harsh to leave out Jim altogether. Still, you see, he's rash;
we have an example in his dyking plan, and I would not like my money
squandered. I expect you know he has lost much of his in a Canadian
speculation?"
Mrs. Halliday did not know and got something of a jar. She gave
Bernard a quick and rather anxious glance.
"But if he has lost his, your gift would be more needful."
Bernard made a sign of disagreement. "The drawback is, Jim might use
it as rashly as he has used the rest."
"They sometimes waste money at hospitals."
"That is so, but if I carry out my plans, there will not be much waste
at Brunstock. I have been pondering some stipulations, and if I give
them a proper endowment, the trustees must consent."
"Do you mean to endow the new wards? We understood you would be
satisfied with giving part of what they needed for the original
building."
"Of course," said Bernard. "Since I'm going to urge the extension, I
must find the money. The hospital is getting a hobby of mine and I may
make the endowment much larger than I meant." He got up. "It's a long
drive and I must not keep the committee."
He went off and Mrs. Halliday tried to brace herself. She had grounds
for disturbance, but she must think. If Bernard carried out his plans,
it was obvious that she must change hers.