DEPARTURE
But Adrian need not have dreaded the interview to which his host had
summoned him. Mr. Dutton's face was a little graver than usual but his
manner was even more kind. He was a man to whom justice seemed the
highest good, who had himself suffered most bitterly from injustice.
He was forcing himself to be perfectly fair with the lad and it was
even with a smile that he motioned toward an easy-chair opposite
himself. The chair stood in the direct light of the lamp, but Adrian
did not notice that.
"Do not fear me, Adrian, though for a moment I forgot myself. For you
personally--personally--I have only great good will. But---- Will you
answer my questions, believing that it is a painful necessity which
compels them?"
"Certainly."
"One word more. Beyond the fact, which you confided to Margot, that
you were a runaway I know no details of your past life. I have wished
not to know and have refrained from any inquiries. I must now break
that silence. What--is your father's name?"
As he spoke the man's hands gripped the arms of his chair more
tightly, like one prepared for an unpleasant answer.
"Malachi Wadislaw."
The questioner waited a moment, during which he seemed to be thinking
profoundly. Then he rallied his own judgment. It was an uncommon name,
but there might be two men bearing it. That was not impossible.
"Where does he live?"
"Number --, Madison Avenue, New York."
A longer silence than before, broken by a long drawn: "A-ah!" There
might, indeed, be two men of one name, but not two residing at that
once familiar locality.
"Adrian, when you asked my niece that question about her father, did
you--had you---- Tell me what was in your mind."
The lad's face showed nothing but frank astonishment.
"Why, nothing, sir, beyond an idle curiosity. And I'm no end sorry for
my thoughtlessness. I've seen how tenderly you both watch her mother's
grave and I wondered where her father's was. That was all. I had no
business to have done it----"
"It was natural. It was nothing wrong, in itself. But--unfortunately,
it suggested to Margot what I have studiously kept from her. For
reasons which I think best to keep to myself, it is impossible to run
the risk of other questions which may rouse other speculations in her
mind. I have been truly glad that she could for a time, at least, have
the companionship of one nearer her own age than Angelique or me, but
now----"
He paused significantly, and Adrian hastened to complete the
unfinished sentence.
"Now it is time for her to return to her ordinary way of life. I
understand you, of course. And I am going away at once. Indeed, I did
start, not meaning to come back, but--I will--how can I do so, sir? If
I could swim----"
Mr. Dutton's drawn face softened into something like a smile; and
again, most gently, he motioned the excited boy to resume his seat. As
he did so, he opened a drawer of the table and produced a purse that
seemed to be well filled.
"Wait. There is no such haste, nor are you in such dire need as you
seem to think. You have worked well and faithfully and relieved me of
much hard labor that I have not, somehow, felt just equal to. I have
kept an account for you and, if you will be good enough to see if it
is right, I will hand you the amount due you."
He pushed a paper toward Adrian who would not, at first, touch it.
"You owe me nothing, sir, nor can I take anything. I thank you for
your hospitality and some time----" he stopped, choked, and made a
telling gesture. It said plainly enough that his pride was just then
deeply humiliated but that he would have his revenge at some future
day.
"Sit down, lad. I do not wonder at your feeling, nor would you at
mine if you knew all. Under other circumstances we should have been
the best of friends. It is impossible for me to be more explicit,
and it hurts my pride as much to bid you go as yours to be sent.
Some time--but no matter. What we have in hand is to arrange for
your departure as speedily and comfortably as possible. I would
suggest----" but his words had the force of a command--"that Pierre
convey you to the nearest town from which, by stage or railway, you
can reach any further place you choose. If I were to offer advice, it
would be to go home. Make your peace there; and then, if you desire a
life in the woods, seek such with the consent and approval of those
to whom your duty is due."
Adrian said nothing at first; then remarked:
"Pierre need not go so far. Across the lake, to the mainland is
enough. I can travel on foot afterward, and I know more about the
forest now than when I lost myself and you, or Margot, found me. I owe
my life to you. I am sorry I have given you pain. Sorry for many
things."
"There are few who have not something to regret; for anything that has
happened here no apology is necessary. As for saving life, that was by
God's will. Now--to business. You will see that I have reckoned your
wages the same as Pierre's: thirty dollars a month and 'found,' as the
farmers say, though it has been much more difficult to find him than
you. You have been here nearly three months and eighty dollars is
yours."
"Eighty dollars! Whew! I mean, impossible. In the first place I
haven't earned it; in the second, I couldn't take it from--from
you--if I had. How could a man take money from one who had saved his
life?"
"Easily, I hope, if he has common sense. You exaggerate the service we
were able to do you, which we would have rendered to anybody. Your
earnings will start you straight again. Take them, and oblige me by
making no further objections."
Despite his protests, which were honest, Adrian could not but be
delighted at the thought of possessing so goodly a sum. It was the
first money he had ever earned, therefore better than any other ever
could be, and as he put it, in his own thoughts: "it changed him from
a beggar to a prince." Yet he made a final protest, asking:
"Have I really, really, and justly earned all this? Do you surely mean
it?"
"I am not in the habit of saying anything I do not mean. It is getting
late, and if you are to go to-night, it would be better to start
soon," answered Mr. Dutton, with a frown.
"Beg pardon. But I'm always saying what I should not, or putting the
right things backward. There are some affairs 'not mentioned in the
bond': my artist's outfit, these clothes, boots, and other matters. I
want to pay the cost of them. Indeed, I must. You must allow me, as
you would any other man."
The woodlander hesitated a moment as if he were considering. He would
have preferred no return for anything, but again that effort to be
wholly just influenced him.
"For the clothing, if you so desire, certainly. Here, in this account
book, is a price list of all such articles as I buy. We will deduct
that much. But I hope, in consideration of the pleasure that your
talent has given me, that you will accept the painting stuff I so
gladly provided. If you choose, also, you may leave a small gift for
Angelique. Come. Pride is commendable, but not always."
"Very well. Thank you, then, for your gift. Now, the price list."
It had been a gratification to Mr. Dutton that Adrian had never worn
the suits of clothing which he had laid out ready for use, on that
morning after his arrival at the island. The lad had preferred the
rougher costume suited to the woods and still wore it.
In a few moments the small business transactions were settled, and
Adrian rose.
"I would like to bid Margot good-bye. But, I suppose, she has gone to
bed."
"Yes. I will give her your message. There is always a pain in parting
and you two have been much together. I would spare her as much as I
can. Angelique has packed a basket of food and Pierre is on the beach
with his canoe. He may go as far with you as you desire, and you must
pay him nothing for his service. He is already paid, though his greed
might make him despoil you, if he could. Good-bye. I wish you well."
Mr. Dutton had also risen, and as he moved forward into the lamplight
Adrian noticed how much altered for the worse was his physical
bearing. The man seemed to have aged by many years and his fine head
was now snow-white. He half extended his hand, in response to the
lad's proffered clasp, then dropped it to his side. He hoped that the
departing guest had not observed this inhospitable movement--but he
had. Possibly, it helped him over an awkward moment, by touching his
pride afresh.
"Good-bye, sir, and again--thank you. For the present, that is all I
can do. Yet I have heard it was not so big a world, after all, and my
chance may come. I'll get my traps from my room, if you please, and
one or two little drawings as souvenirs. I'll not be long."
Fifteen minutes later Pierre was paddling vigorously toward the
further side of the lake and Adrian was straining his eyes for the
last glimpse of the beautiful island which even now, in his banishment
from it, seemed his real and beloved home. It became a vague and
shadowy outline, as silent as the stars that brooded over it; and
again he marveled what the mystery might be which enshrouded it, and
why he should be connected with it.
"Now that I am no longer its guest, there is no dishonor in my finding
out; and find out--I will!"
"Hey?" asked Pierre, so suddenly, that Adrian jumped and nearly upset
the boat. "Oh! I thought you said somethin'. Say, ain't this a go?
What you done that make the master shut the door on you? I never knew
him do it before. Hey?"
"Nothing. Keep quiet. I don't feel like talking."
"Pr-r-r-rp! Look a here, young fello'. Me and you's alone on this dead
water and I can swim--you can't. I've got all I expect to get out the
trip and I've no notion o' makin' it. Not 'less things go to my
thinkin'. Now, I'll rest a spell. You paddle!"
With that, he began to rock the frail craft violently and Adrian's
attention was recalled to the necessity of saving his own life.