THE INTERCEPTED LETTER
The wind was fresh from the northwest when Vane drove the sloop out
through the Narrows in the early dawn and saw a dim stretch of
white-flecked sea in front of him. Land-locked as they are by Vancouver
Island, the long roll of the Pacific cannot enter those waters, but they
are now and then lashed into short, tumbling seas, sufficient to make
passage difficult for a craft no larger than the sloop. Carroll frowned
when a comber smote the weather bow and a shower of stinging spray
lashed his face.
"Right ahead again," he remarked. "But as I suppose you're going on, we'd
better stretch straight across on the starboard tack. We'll get smoother
water along the island shore."
They let her go and Vane sat at the helm hour after hour, drenched with
spray, hammering her mercilessly into the frothy seas. They could have
done with a second reef down, for the deck was swept and sluicing, and
most of the time the lee rail was buried deep in rushing foam; but Vane
showed no intention of shortening sail. Nor did Carroll, who saw that his
comrade was disturbed in temper, suggest it; resolute action had, he
knew, a soothing effect on Vane. As a matter of fact, Vane needed
soothing. Of late, he had felt that he was making steady progress in
Evelyn's favor, and now she had most inexplainably turned against him.
There was no doubt that, as Jessy had described it, he was in disgrace;
but rack his brain as he would, he could not discover the reason. That he
was conscious of no offense only made the position more galling.
In the meanwhile, the boat engrossed more and more of his attention, and
though he was by no means careful of her, he spared no effort to get her
to windward. It was a relief to drive her hard at some white-topped sea
and watch her bows disappear in it with a thud, while it somehow eased
his mind to see the smashed-up brine fly half the height of her drenched
mainsail. There was also satisfaction in feeling the strain on the tiller
when, swayed down by a fiercer gust, she plunged through the combers with
the froth swirling, perilously close to the coaming, along her
half-submerged deck. In all their moods, men of his kind find pleasure in
such things; the turmoil, the rush, the need for quick, resolute action
stirs the blood in them.
The day was cold; the man, who was compelled to sit almost still in a
nipping wind, was soon wet through; but this in some curious way further
tended to restore his accustomed optimism and good-humor. He had partly
recovered both when, as the sloop drove through the whiter turmoil
whipped up by a vicious squall, there was a crash forward.
"Down helm!" shouted Carroll. "The bobstay's gone!"
He scrambled toward the bowsprit, which having lost its principal support
swayed upward, in peril of being torn away by the sagging jib. Vane first
rounded up the boat into the wind and then followed him; and for several
minutes they had a savage struggle with the madly-flapping sail before
they flung it, bundled up, into the well. Then they ran in the bowsprit,
and Vane felt glad that, although the craft had been rigged in the usual
western fashion as a sloop, he had changed that by giving her a couple of
headsails in place of one.
"She'll trim with the staysail if we haul down another reef," he
suggested.
It cost them some labor, but they were warmer afterward, and when they
drove on again Vane glanced at the bowsprit.
"We'll try to get a bit of galvanized steel in Nanaimo," he said. "I
can't risk another smash."
Carroll laughed.
"You'd better be prepared for one, if you mean to drive her as you have
been doing." He flung back the saloon scuttle. "You'd have swamped her in
another hour or two--the cabin floorings are all awash."
"Then hadn't you better pump her out?" retorted Vane. "After that, you
can light the stove. It's beginning to dawn on me that it's a long while
since I had anything worth speaking of to eat. The kind of lunch you
brought along in the basket isn't sustaining."
They made a bountiful if somewhat primitive meal, in turn, sitting in the
dripping saloon which was partly filled with smoke, and Carroll sighed
for the comforts he had abandoned. He did not, however, mention his
regrets, because he did not expect his comrade's sympathy. Vane seldom
noticed what he was eating when he was on board his boat.
The craft, being under reduced sail, drove along more easily during the
rest of the afternoon, and they ran into a little colliery town late on
the following day. There Vane replaced the broken bobstay with a solid
piece of steel, and then sat down to write a letter while Carroll
stretched his cramped limbs ashore.
The letter was addressed to Evelyn, and he found it difficult to express
himself as he desired. The spoken word, as he had discovered, is now and
then awkward to use, but the written one is more evasive and complex
still, and he shook his head ruefully over the production when he laid
down his pen. This was, perhaps, unnecessary, for having grown calm he
had framed a terse and forcible appeal to the girl's sense of justice,
which would in all probability have had its effect on her had she
received it. Though he hardly realized it, the few simple words were
convincing.
Having had no news from Nairn or Jessy, they sailed again in a day or
two, bound for Comox farther along the coast, where there was a
possibility of communications overtaking them; but in the meanwhile
matters which concerned them were moving forward in Vancouver.
It was rather early one afternoon when Jessy called on one of her friends
and found her alone. Mrs. Bendle was a young and impulsive woman from one
of the eastern cities and she had not made many friends in Vancouver yet,
though her husband, whom she had lately married, was a man of some
importance there.
"I'm glad to see you," she said, greeting Jessy eagerly. "It's a week
since anybody has been in to talk to me, and Tom's away again. It's
a trying thing to be the wife of a western business man--you so
seldom see him."
Jessy made herself comfortable in an easy-chair before she referred to
one of her companion's remarks.
"Where has Mr. Bendle gone now?" she asked.
"Into the bush to look at a mine. He left this morning and it will be a
week before he's back. Then he's going across the Selkirks with that
Clavering man about some irrigation scheme."
This suggested one or two questions which Jessy desired to ask, but she
did not frame them immediately. Mrs. Bendle was incautious and
discursive, but there was nothing to be gained by being precipitate.
"It must be dull for you," she sympathized.
"I don't mean to complain. Tom's reasonable; the last time I said
anything about being left alone he bought me a pair of ponies. He said I
could have either them or an automobile, and I took the ponies. I thought
them safer."
Jessy smiled.
"You're fortunate in several ways; there are not a great many people who
can make such presents. But while everybody knows your husband has been
successful lately, I'm a little surprised that he's able to go into
Clavering's irrigation scheme. It's a very expensive one, and I
understand that they intend to confine it to a few, which means that
those interested will have to subscribe handsomely."
"Tom," explained her companion, "likes to have a number of different
things in hand. He told me it was wiser, when I said that I couldn't tell
my friends back East what he really is, because he seemed to be
everything at once. But your brother's interested in a good many things,
too, isn't he?"
"I believe so," answered Jessy. "Still, I'm pretty sure he couldn't
afford to join Clavering and at the same time take up a big block of
shares in Mr. Vane's mine."
"But Tom isn't going to do the latter now."
Jessy was startled. This was valuable information which she could
scarcely have expected to obtain so easily. There was more that she
desired to ascertain, but she had no intention of making any obvious
inquiries.
"It's generally understood that Mr. Vane and your husband are on good
terms," she said. "You know him, don't you?"
"I've met him once or twice, and I like him, but when I mention him Tom
smiles. He says it's unfortunate Mr. Vane can see only one thing at a
time, and that the one which lies right in front of his eyes. For all
that, he once owned that the man is likable."
"Then it's a pity he's unable to stand by him now."
Mrs. Bendle looked thoughtful.
"I really believe Tom's half sorry he can't do so. He said something last
night that suggested it--I can't remember exactly what it was. Of course,
I don't understand much about these matters, but Howitson was here
talking business until late."
Jessy was satisfied. Her hostess's previous incautious admission had gone
a long way, but to this was added the significant information that Bendle
was inclined to be sorry for Vane. The fact that he and Howitson had
decided on some joint action after a long private discussion implied that
there was trouble in store for the absent man, unless he could be
summoned to deal with the crisis in person. Jessy wondered whether Nairn
knew anything about the matter yet, and decided that she would call and
try to sound him. This would be difficult, because Nairn was not the man
to make any rash avowal, and he had an annoying habit of parrying an
injudicious question with an enigmatical smile. In the meanwhile she led
her companion away from the subject and they discussed millinery and such
matters until she took her departure.
It was early in the evening when she reached Nairn's house, for she
thought it better to arrive there a little before he came home. She was
told that Mrs. Nairn and Miss Chisholm were out but were expected back
shortly. Evelyn had been by no means cordial to her since their last
interview, and Mrs. Nairn's manner had been colder; but Jessy decided
to wait; and for the second time that day fortune seemed to play into
her hands.
It was dark outside, but the entrance hall was brightly lighted and Jessy
could see into it from where she sat. Highly trained domestics are
generally scarce in the West, and the maid had left the door of the room
open. Presently there was a knock at the outer door and a young lad came
in with some letters in his hand. He explained to the maid that he had
been to the post-office and had brought his employer's private mail. The
maid pointed out that the top letter looked dirty, and the lad owned that
he had dropped the bundle in the street. Then he withdrew and the maid
laid the letters carelessly on a little table and also retired, banging a
door behind her. The concussion shook down the letters, and one,
fluttering forward with the sudden draught, fell almost upon the
threshold of the room. Jessy, who was methodical in most things, rose to
pick it up and replace it with the rest.
When she reached the door, however, she stopped abruptly, for she
recognized the rather large writing on the envelope. There was no doubt
that it was from Vane and she noticed that it was addressed to Miss
Chisholm. Jessy picked it up, and when she had laid the others on the
table, she stood with Vane's letter in her hand.
"Has the man no pride?" she said half aloud.
Then she looked about her, listening, greatly tempted, and considering.
There was no sound in the house; Evelyn and Mrs. Nairn were out, and the
other occupants were cut off from her by a closed door. Nobody would know
that she had entered the hall, and if the letter were subsequently missed
it would be remembered that the lad had confessed to dropping the bundle.
It was most unlikely, however, that any question regarding its
disappearance would ever be asked. If there should be no response from
Evelyn, Vane, she thought, would not renew his appeal. Jessy had no doubt
that the letter contained an appeal of some kind which might lead to a
reconciliation, and she knew that silence is often more potent than an
outbreak of anger. She had only to destroy the letter, and the breach
between the two people whom she desired to separate would widen
automatically.
There was little risk of detection, but, standing tensely still, with set
lips and heart beating faster than usual, she shrank from the decisive
action. She could still replace the letter and look for other means of
bringing about what she wished. She was self-willed and endowed with few
troublesome principles, but until she had poisoned Evelyn's mind against
Vane she had never done anything flagrantly dishonorable. Then while she
waited, irresolute, a fresh temptation seized her in the shape of a
burning desire to learn what the man had to say. He would reveal his
feelings in the message and she could judge the strength of her rival's
influence over him. Jessy had her ideas on this point, but she could now
see them confirmed or refuted by the man's own words.
Yet she hesitated, with a half-instinctive recognition of the fact that
the decision she must make was an eventful one. She had transgressed
grievously in one recent interview with Evelyn, but, while she had no
idea of making reparation, she could at least stop short of a second
offense. She had, perhaps, not gone too far yet, but if she ventured a
little farther she might be driven on against her will and become
inextricably involved in an entanglement of dishonorable treachery.
The issue hung in the balance--the slightest thing would have turned
the scale--when she heard footsteps outside and the tinkle of a bell.
Moving with a start, she slipped back into the room just before the
maid opened the adjacent door. In another moment she thrust the
envelope inside her dress, and gathered her composure as Mrs. Nairn and
Evelyn entered the hall. The former approached the table and turned
over the handful of letters.
"Two for ye from England, Evelyn, and one or two for me," she said,
flashing a quick glance at the girl. "Nothing else; I had thought Vane
would maybe send a bit note from one of the island ports to say how he
was getting on."
Then Jessy rose, smiling, to greet her hostess. The question was
decided--it was too late to replace the letter now. She could not
remember what they talked about during the next half-hour, but she took
her part, until Nairn came in, and she contrived to have a word with him
before leaving. Mrs. Nairn had gone out to give some instructions about
supper, and when Evelyn followed her, Jessy turned to Nairn.
"Mr. Vane should be at Comox now," she began. "Have you any idea of
recalling him? Of course, I know a little about the Clermont affairs."
Nairn glanced at her with thoughtful eyes.
"I'm no acquainted with any reason that would render such a course
necessary."
Evelyn reappeared shortly after this, and Jessy excused herself from
staying for the evening meal and walked home thinking hard. It was
needful that Vane should be recalled. He had written to Evelyn, but Jessy
still meant to send him word. He would be grateful to her, and, indignant
and wounded as she was, she would not own herself beaten. She would warn
the man, and afterward perhaps allow Nairn to send him a second message.
On reaching her brother's house, she went straight to her own room and
tore open the envelope. The color receded from her face as she read, and
sinking into a chair she sat still with hands clenched. The message was
terse, but it was stirringly candid; and even where the man did not
fully reveal his feelings in his words she could read between the lines.
There was no doubt that he had given his heart unreservedly into her
rival's keeping. He might be separated from her, but Jessy knew enough
of him to realize at last that he would not turn to another. The lurid
truth was burned upon her brain--she might do what she would, but this
man was not for her.
For a while she sat still, and then stooping swiftly she seized the
letter, which she had dropped, and rent it into fragments. Her eyes had
grown hard and cruel; love of the only kind that she was capable of had
suddenly turned to hate. What was more, it was a hate that could be
gratified.
A little later Horsfield came in. Jessy was very composed now, but she
noticed that her brother looked at her in a rather unusual manner once or
twice during the meal that followed.
"You make me feel that you have something on your mind," she observed
at length.
"That's a fact."
Horsfield hesitated. He was attached to and rather proud of his sister.
"Well?" she prompted.
He leaned forward confidentially.
"See here," he said, "I've always imagined that you would go far, and I'm
anxious to see you do so. I shouldn't like you to throw yourself away."
His sister could take a hint, but there was information that she desired
and the man was speaking with unusual reserve.
"You must be plainer," she retorted with a slight show of impatience.
"Then, you have seen a good deal of Vane, and in case you have any
hankering after his scalp, I think I'd better mention that there's reason
to believe he won't be worth powder and shot before very long."
"Ah!" exclaimed Jessy with a calmness that was difficult to assume; "you
may as well understand that there is nothing between Vane and me. I
suppose you mean that Howitson and Bendle are turning against him?"
"Something like that." Horsfield's tone implied that her answer had
afforded him relief. "The man has trouble in front of him."
Jessy changed the subject. What she had gathered from Mrs. Bendle was
fully confirmed; but she had made up her mind. Evelyn's lover might wait
for the warning which could save him, but he should wait in vain.