UPON THE HEIGHTS
Vane rose early the next morning, as he had been accustomed to do, and
taking a towel he made his way across dewy meadows and between tall
hedgerows to the tarn. Stripping where the rabbit-cropped sward met the
mossy boulders, he swam out, joyously breasting the little ripples which
splashed and sparkled beneath the breeze that had got up with the sun.
Coming back, where the water lay in shadow beneath a larchwood which as
yet had not wholly lost its vivid vernal green, he disturbed the paddling
moor-hens and put up a mallard from a clump of swaying reeds. Then he
dressed and turned homeward, glowing, beside a sluggish stream which
wound through a waste of heather where the curlew were whistling eerily.
He had no cares to trouble him, and it was delightful to feel that he had
nothing to do except to enjoy himself in what he considered the fairest
country in the world, at least in summertime.
Scrambling over a limestone wall tufted thick with parsley fern, he
noticed Mabel stooping over an object which lay among the heather where a
rough cartroad approached a wooden bridge. On joining her he saw that she
was examining a finely-built canoe with a hole in one bilge. She looked
up at him ruefully.
"It's sad, isn't it? That stupid Little did it with his clumsy cart."
"I think it could be mended," Vane replied.
"Old Beavan--he's the wheelwright--said it couldn't; and Dad said I could
hardly expect him to send the canoe back to Kingston. He bought it for me
at an exhibition."
Then a thought seemed to strike her and her eyes grew eager.
"Perhaps you had something to do with light canoes in Canada?"
"Yes; I used to pole one loaded with provisions up a river and carry the
lot round several falls. If I remember, I made eight shillings a day at
it, and I think I earned it. You're fond of paddling?"
"I love it! I used to row the fishing-punt, but it's too old to be safe;
and now that the canoe's smashed I can't go out at all."
"Well, we'll walk across and see what we can find in Beavan's shop."
He took a few measurements, making them on a stick, and they crossed the
heath to a tiny hamlet nestling in a hollow of a limestone crag. There
Vane made friends with the wheelwright, who regarded him dubiously at
first, and obtained a piece of larch board from him. The grizzled North
Countryman watched him closely as he set a plane, which is a delicate
operation, and he raised no objections when Vane made use of his
work-bench. When the board had been sawed up, Vane borrowed a few tools
and copper nails, and he and Mabel went back to the canoe. On the way she
glanced at him curiously.
"I wasn't sure old Beavan would let you have the things," she remarked.
"It isn't often he'll even lend a hammer, but he seemed to take to you; I
think it was the way you handled his plane."
"It's strange what little things win some people's good opinion,
isn't it?"
"Oh, don't!" exclaimed Mabel. "That's the way the Archdeacon talks. I
thought you were different!"
The man acquiesced in the rebuke; and after an hour's labor at the canoe,
he scraped the red lead he had used off his hands and sat down beside the
craft. The sun was warm now, the dew was drying, and a lark sang
riotously overhead. Vane became conscious that his companion was
regarding him with what seemed to be approval.
"I really think you'll do, and we'll get on," she informed him. "If
you had been the wrong kind, you would have worried about your red
hands. Still, you could have rubbed them on the heather, instead of on
your socks."
"I might have thought of that," Vane laughed. "But, you see, I've been
accustomed to wearing old clothes. Anyway, you'll be able to launch the
canoe as soon as the joint's dry."
"There's one thing I should have told you," the girl replied. "Dad would
have sent the canoe away to be mended if it hadn't been so far. He's very
good when things don't ruffle him; but he hasn't been fortunate lately.
The lead mine takes a good deal of money."
Vane admired her loyalty, and he refrained from taking advantage of her
candor, though there were one or two questions he would have liked to
ask. When he was last in England, Chisholm had been generally regarded as
a man of means, though it was rumored that he was addicted to hazardous
speculations. Mabel, without noticing his silence, went on:
"I heard Stevens--he's the gamekeeper--tell Beavan that Dad should have
been a rabbit because he's so fond of burrowing. No doubt, that meant
that he couldn't keep out of mines."
Vane made no comment; and Mabel, breaking off for a moment, looked up at
the rugged fells to the west and then around at the moors which cut
against the blue of the morning sky.
"It's all very pretty, but it shuts one in!" she cried. "You feel you
want to get out and can't! I suppose you really couldn't take me back
with you to Canada?"
"I'm afraid not. If you were about ten years older, it might be
possible."
Mabel grimaced.
"Oh, don't! That's the kind of thing some of Gerald's smart friends say,
and it makes one want to slap them! Besides," she added naively, glancing
down at her curtailed skirt, "I'm by no means so young as I appear to be.
The fact is, I'm not allowed to grow up yet."
"Why?"
The girl laughed at him.
"Oh, you've lived in the woods. If you had stayed in England, you would
understand."
"I'm afraid I've been injudicious," Vane answered with a show of
humility. "But don't you think it's getting on toward breakfast time?"
"Breakfast won't be for a good while yet. We don't get up early. Evelyn
used to, but it's different now. We used to go out on the tarn every
morning, even in the wind and rain; but I suppose that's not good for
one's complexion, though bothering about such things doesn't seem to me
to be worth while. Aunt Julia couldn't do anything for Evelyn, though she
had her in London for some time. Flora is our shining light."
"What did she do?"
"She married the Archdeacon; and he isn't so very dried up. I've seen him
smile when I talked to him."
"I'm not astonished at that, Mabel," laughed Vane.
His companion looked up at him.
"My name's not Mabel--to you. I'm Mopsy to the family, but my special
friends call me Mops. You're one of the few people one can be natural
with, and I'm getting sick--you won't be shocked--of having to be the
opposite. If you'll come along, I'll show you the setter puppies."
It was half an hour later when Vane, who had seldom had to wait so long
for breakfast, sat down with an excellent appetite. The spacious room
pleased him after the cramped quarters to which he had been accustomed.
The sunlight that streamed in sparkled on choice old silver and glowed on
freshly gathered flowers; and through the open windows mingled fragrances
flowed in from the gardens. All that his gaze rested on spoke of ease and
taste and leisure. Evelyn, sitting opposite him, looked wonderfully fresh
in her white dress; Mopsy was as amusing as she dared to be; but Vane
felt drawn back to the restless world again as he glanced at his hostess
and saw the wrinkles round her eyes and a hint of cleverly hidden strain
in her expression. He fancied that a good deal could be deduced from the
fragments of information her younger daughter had given him.
It was Mabel who suggested that they should picnic upon the summit of a
lofty hill, from which there was a striking view; and as this met with
the approval of Mrs. Chisholm, who excused herself from accompanying
them, they set out an hour later. The day was bright, with glaring
sunshine, and a moderate breeze drove up wisps of ragged cloud that
dappled the hills with flitting shadow. Towering crag and shingly scree
showed blue and purple through it and then flashed again into brilliancy,
while the long, grassy slopes gleamed with silvery gray and ocher.
On leaving the head of the valley they climbed leisurely up easy slopes,
slipping on the crisp hill grass now and then. By and by they plunged
into tangled heather on a bolder ridge, rent by black gullies, down
which at times wild torrents poured. This did not trouble either of the
men, who were used to forcing a passage over more rugged hillsides and
through leagues of matted brush, but Vane was surprised at the ease with
which Evelyn threaded her way across the heath. She wore a short skirt
and stout laced boots, and he noticed the supple grace of her movements
and the delicate color the wind had brought into her face. It struck him
that she had somehow changed since they had left the valley. She seemed
to have flung off something, and her laugh had a gay ring; but, while she
smiled and chatted with him, he was still conscious of a subtle reserve
in her manner.
Climbing still, they reached the haunts of the cloudberries and brushed
through broad patches of the snowy blossoms that open their gleaming
cups among the moss and heather. Vane gathered a handful and gave them
to Evelyn.
"You should wear these. They grow only far up on the heights."
She flashed a swift glance at him, but she smiled as she drew the fragile
stalks through her belt, and he felt that had it been permissible he
could have elaborated the idea in his mind. They are stainless flowers,
passionlessly white, that grow beyond the general reach of man, where the
air is keen and pure; and, in spite of her graciousness, there was a
coldness and a calm, which instead of repelling appealed to him strongly,
about this girl. Mabel laughed mischievously.
"If you want to give me flowers, it had better be marsh-marigolds," she
said. "They grow low down where it's slushy--but they blaze."
Carroll laughed.
"Mabel," he remarked a few moments later to Vane, "is unguarded in what
she says, but she now and then shows signs of being considerably older
than her years."
They left the black peat-soil behind them, and the heather gave place to
thin and more fragile ling, beaded with its unopened buds, while fangs of
rock cropped out here and there. Then turning the flank of a steep
ascent, they reached the foot of a shingly scree, and sat down to lunch
in the warm sunshine where the wind was cut off by the peak above.
Beneath them, a great rift opened up among the rocks, and far beyond the
blue lake in the depths of it they could catch the silver gleam of the
distant sea.
The fishing creel in which the provisions had been carried was promptly
emptied; and when Mabel afterward took Carroll away to climb some
neighboring crags, Vane lay resting on one elbow not far from Evelyn. She
was looking down the long hollow, with the sunshine, which lighted a
golden sparkle in her brown eyes, falling upon her face.
"You didn't seem to mind the climb."
"I enjoyed it;" Evelyn declared, glancing at the cloudberry blossom in
her belt. "I really am fond of the mountains, and I have to thank you for
a day among them."
On the surface the words offered an opening for a complimentary
rejoinder; but Vane was too shrewd to seize it. He had made one venture,
and he surmised that a second one would not please her.
"They're almost at your door. One would imagine that you could indulge in
a scramble among them whenever it pleased you."
"There are a good many things that look so close and still are out of
reach," Evelyn answered with a smile that somehow troubled him. Then her
manner changed. "You are content with this?"
Vane gazed about him. Purple crags lay in shadow; glistening threads of
water fell among the rocks; and long slopes lay steeped in softest color
under the cloud-flecked summer sky.
"Content is scarcely the right word for it," he assured her, "If it
weren't so still and serene up here, I'd be riotously happy. There are
reasons for this quite apart from the scenery; for one, it's remarkably
pleasant to feel that I need do nothing but what I like during the next
few months."
"The sensation must be unusual. I wonder if, even in your case, it will
last so long?"
Vane laughed and stretched out one of his hands. It was lean and brown,
and she could see the marks of old scars on the knuckles.
"In my case," he answered, "it has come only once in a lifetime, and, if
it isn't too presumptuous, I think I've earned it." He indicated his
battered fingers. "That's the result of holding a wet and slippery drill;
and those aren't the only marks I carry about with me--though I've been
more fortunate than many fine comrades."
Evelyn noticed something that pleased her in his voice as he concluded.
"I suppose one must get hurt now and then," she responded. "After all, a
bruise that's only skin-deep doesn't trouble one long, and no doubt some
scars are honorable. It's slow corrosion that's the deadliest."
She broke off with a laugh.
"Moralizing's out of place on a day like this," she added; "and such days
are not frequent in the North. That's their greatest charm."
Vane nodded. He knew the sad gray skies of his native land, when its
lonely heights are blurred by driving snow-cloud or scourged by bitter
rain for weeks together, though now and then they tower serenely into the
blue heavens, steeped in ethereal splendor. Once more it struck him that
in their latter aspect his companion resembled them. Made finely, of warm
flesh and blood, she was yet ethereal too. There was something aloof and
intangible about her that seemed in harmony with the hills among which
she was born.
"Yes," he agreed. "On the face of it, the North is fickle; though to
those who know it that's a misleading term. To some of us it's always the
same, and its dark grimness makes one feel the radiance of its smile. For
all that, I think we're going to see a sudden change in the weather."
Long wisps of leaden cloud began to stream across the crags above,
intensifying, until it seemed unnatural, the glow of light and color
on the rest.
"I wonder if Mopsy is leading Mr. Carroll into any mischief? They have
been gone some time," said Evelyn. "She has a trick of getting herself
and other people into difficulties. I suppose he is an old friend of
yours, as you brought him over; unless, perhaps, he's acting as your
secretary."
Vane's eyes twinkled.
"If he came in any particular capacity, it's as bear-leader. You see,
there are a good many things I've forgotten in the bush, and, as I left
this country young, there are no doubt some that I never learned."
"And so you make Mr. Carroll your confidential adviser. How did he gain
the necessary experience?"
"That is more than I can tell you; but I'm inclined to believe he has
been at one of the universities--Toronto, most likely. Anyhow, on the
whole he acts as a judicious restraint."
"But don't you really know anything about him?"
"Only what some years of close companionship have taught me, though I
think that's enough. For the rest, I took him on trust."
Evelyn looked surprised, and he spread out his hands in a humorous
manner.
"A good many people have had to take me in that way, and they seemed
willing to do so--the thing's not uncommon in the West. Why should I be
more particular than they were?"
Just then Mabel and Carroll appeared. The latter's garments were stained
in places, as if he had been scrambling over mossy rocks, and his pockets
bulged. Mabel's skirt was torn, while a patch of white skin showed
through her stocking.
"We've found some sun-dew and two ferns I don't know, as well as all
sorts of other things," she announced.
"That's correct," vouched Carroll dryly; "I've got them. I guess they're
going to fill up most of the creel."
Mabel superintended their transfer, and then addressed the others
generally.
"I think we ought to go up the Pike now, when we have the chance. It
isn't much of a climb from here: and we'll have rain before to-morrow.
Besides, the quickest way back to the road is across the top and down the
other side."
Evelyn agreed, and they set out, following a sheep path which skirted the
screes, until they left the bank of sharp stones behind and faced a steep
ascent. Parts of it necessitated a breathless scramble, and the sunlight
faded from the hills as they climbed, while thicker wisps of cloud drove
across the ragged summit. They reached the top at length and stopped,
bracing themselves against a rush of chilly breeze, while they looked
down upon a wilderness of leaden-colored rock. Long trails of mist were
creeping in and out among the crags, and here and there masses of it
gathered round the higher slopes.
"I think the Pike's grandest in this weather," Mabel declared. "Look
below, Mr. Carroll, and you'll see the mountain's like a starfish. It has
prongs running out from it."
Carroll did as she directed him, and noticed three diverging ridges
springing off from the shoulders of the peak. Their crests, which were
narrow, led down toward the valley, but their sides fell in rent and
fissured crags to great black hollows.
"You can get down two of them," Mabel went on. "The first is the nearest
to the road, but the third's the easiest. It takes you to the
Hause--that's the gap between it and the next big hill. You must be a
climber to try the middle one."
A few big drops began to fall, and Evelyn cut her sister's
explanations short.
"It strikes me that we'd better make a start at once," she said.
They set out, Mabel and Carroll leading, and drawing farther away from
the two behind. The rain began in earnest as they descended. Rock slope
and scattered stones were slippery, and Vane found it difficult to keep
his footing on some of their lichened surfaces. He was relieved, however,
to see that his companion seldom hesitated, and they made their way
downward cautiously, until near the spot where the three ridges diverged
they walked into a belt of drifting mist. The peak above them was
suddenly blotted out, and Evelyn bade Vane hail Carroll and Mabel, who
had disappeared. He sent a shout ringing through the vapor, and caught a
faint and unintelligible answer. A flock of sheep fled past and dislodged
a rush of sliding stones. Vane heard the stones rattle far down the
hillside, and when he called again a blast of chilly wind whirled his
voice away. There was a faint echo above him and then silence.
"It looks as if they were out of hearing; and the slope ahead of us seems
uncommonly steep by the way those stones went down. Do you think Mabel
has taken Carroll down the Stanghyll ridge?"
"I can't tell," answered Evelyn. "It's comforting to remember that she
knows it better than I do. I think we ought to make for the Hause;
there's only one place that's really steep. Keep up to the left a little;
the Scale Crags must be close beneath us."
They moved on circumspectly, skirting what seemed to be a pit of profound
depth in which dim vapors whirled, while the rain, growing thicker, beat
into their faces.