A DISCLOSURE
As the sun rose, Margot came out of her own room, fresh from her
plunge that had washed all drowsiness away, as the good sleep had also
banished all perplexities. Happy at all times, she was most so at
morning, when, to her nature-loving eyes, the world seemed to have
been made anew and doubly beautiful. The gay little melodies she had
picked up from Pierre, or Angelique--who had been a sweet singer in
her day--and now again from Adrian, were always on her lips at such an
hour, and were dear beyond expression to her uncle's ears.
But this morning she seemed to be singing them to the empty air. There
was nobody in the living room, nor in the "study-library," as the
housekeeper called the room of books, nor even in the kitchen. That
was oddest of all! For there, at least, should Angelique have been,
frying, or stewing, or broiling, as the case might be. Yet the coffee
stood simmering, at one corner of the hearth and a bowl of eggs waited
ready for the omelet which Angelique could make to perfection.
"Why, how still it is! As if everybody had gone away and left the
island alone."
She ran to the door and called: "Adrian!"
No answer.
"Pierre! Angelique! Where is everybody?"
Then she saw Angelique coming down the slope and ran to meet her. With
one hand the woman carried a brimming pail of milk and with the other
dragged by his collar the reluctant form of Reynard, who appeared as
guilty and subdued as if he had been born a slave not free. To make
matters more difficult, Meroude was surreptitiously helping herself to
a breakfast from the pail and thereby ruining its contents for other
uses.
"Oh! the plague of a life with such beasts! And him the worst o' they
all. The ver' next time my Pierre goes cross-lake, that fox goes or I
do! There's no room on the island for the two of us. No. Indeed no.
The harm comes of takin' in folks and beasties and friendin' them 'at
don't deserve it. What now, think you?"
Margot had run the faster, as soon as she descried poor Reynard's
abject state, and had taken him under her own protection, which
immediately restored him to his natural pride and noble bearing.
"I think nothing evil of my pet, believe that! See the beauty now!
That's the difference between harsh words and loving ones. If you'd
only treat the 'beasties' as well as you do me, Angelique dear, you'd
have less cause for scolding. What I think now is--speckled rooster.
Right?"
"Aye. Dead as dead; and the feathers still stickin' to the villain's
jaws. What's the life of such brutes to that o' good fowls? Pst!
Meroude! Scat! Well, if it's milk you will, milk you shall!" and,
turning angrily about, Snowfoot's mistress dashed the entire contents
of her pail over the annoying cat.
Margot laughed till the tears came. "Why, Angelique! only the other
day, in that quaint old 'Book of Beauty' uncle has, I read how a Queen
of Naples, and some noted Parisian beauties, used baths of milk for
their complexions; but poor Meroude's a hopeless case, I fear."
Angelique's countenance took on a grim expression. "Mistress Meroude's
got a day's job to clean herself, the greedy. It's not her nose'll go
in the pail another mornin'. No. No, indeed."
"And it was so full. Yet that's the same Snowfoot who was to give us
no more, because of the broken glass. Angelique, where's uncle?"
"How should I tell? Am I set to spy the master's ins and outs?"
"Funny Angelique! You're not set to do it, but you can usually tell
them. And where's Adrian? I've called and called, but nobody answers.
I can't guess where they all are. Even Pierre is out of sight, and
he's mostly to be found at the kitchen door when meal time comes."
"There, there, child. You can ask more questions than old Angelique
can answer. But the breakfast. That's a good thought. So be. Whisk in
and mix the batter cakes for the master's eatin'. 'Tis he, foolish
man, finds they have better savor from Margot's fingers than mine.
Simple one, with all his wisdom."
"It's love gives them savor, sweet Angelique! and the desire to see me
a proper housewife. I wonder why he cares about that, since you are
here to do such things."
"Ah! The 'I wonders!' and the 'Is its?' of a maid! They set the head
awhirl. The batter cakes, my child. I see the master comin' down the
hill this minute."
Margot paused long enough to caress Tom, the eagle, who met her on the
path, then sped indoors, leaving Reynard to his own devices and
Angelique's not too tender mercies. But she put all her energy into
the task assigned her and proudly placed a plate of her uncle's
favorite dainty before him when he took his seat at table. Till then
she had not noticed its altered arrangement, and even her guardian's
coveted: "Well done, little housekeeper!" could not banish the sudden
fear that assailed her.
"Why, what does it mean? Where is Adrian? Where Pierre? Why are only
dishes for three?"
"Pst! my child! Hast been askin' questions in the sleep? Sure, you
have ever since your eyes flew open. Say your grace and eat your meat,
and let the master rest."
"Yes, darling. Angelique is wise. Eat your breakfast as usual, and
afterward I will tell you all--that you should know."
"But, I cannot eat. It chokes me. It seems so awfully still and
strange and empty. As I should think it might be, were somebody dead."
Angelique's scant patience was exhausted. Not only was her loyal heart
tried by her master's troubles, but she had had added labor to
accomplish. During all that summer two strong and, at least one,
willing lads had been at hand to do the various chores pertaining to
all country homes, however isolated. That morning she had brought in
her own supply of fire-wood, filled her buckets from the spring,
attended the poultry, fed the oxen, milked Snowfoot, wrestled over the
iniquity of Reynard and grieved at the untimely death of the speckled
rooster: "When he would have made such a lovely fricasee, yes. Indeed,
'twas a sinful waste!"
Though none of these tasks were new or arduous to her, she had not
performed them during the past weeks, save and except the care of her
cow. That she had never entrusted to anybody, not even the master; and
it was to spare him that she had done some of the things he meant to
attend to later. Now she had reached her limit.
"Angelique wants her breakfast, child. She has been long astir. After
that the deluge!" quoted Mr. Dutton, with an attempt at lightness
which did not agree with his real depression.
Margot made heroic efforts to act as usual but they ended in failure,
and as soon as might be her guardian pushed back his chair and she
promptly did the same.
"Now I can ask as many questions as I please, can't I? First, where
are they?"
"They have gone across the lake, southward, I suppose. Toward whatever
place or town Adrian selects. He will not come back but Pierre will do
so, after he has guided the other to some safe point beyond the woods.
How soon I do not know, of course."
"Gone! Without bidding me good-bye? Gone to stay? Oh! uncle, how could
he? I know you didn't like him but I did. He was----"
Margot dropped her face in her hands and sobbed bitterly. Then ashamed
of her unaccustomed tears she ran out of the house and as far from it
as she could. But even the blue herons could give her no amusement,
though they stalked gravely up the river bank and posed beside her,
where she lay prone and disconsolate in Harmony Hollow. Her squirrels
saw and wondered, for she had no returning chatter for them, even when
they chased one another over her prostrate person and playfully pulled
at her long hair.
"He was the only friend I ever had that was not old and wise in
sorrow. It was true he seemed to bring a shadow with him and while he
was here I sometimes wished he would go, or had never come; yet now
that he has--oh! it's so awfully, awfully lonesome. Nobody to talk
with about my dreams and fancies, nobody to talk nonsense, nobody to
teach me any more songs--nobody but just old folks and animals! And he
went, he went without a word or a single good-bye!"
It was, indeed, Margot's first grief; and the fact that her late
comrade could leave her so coolly, without even mentioning his plan,
hurt her very deeply. But, after awhile, resentment at Adrian's
seeming neglect almost banished her loneliness; and, sitting up, she
stared at Xanthippe, poised on one leg before her, apparently asleep
but really waiting for anything which might turn up in the shape of
dainties.
"Oh! you sweet vixen! but you needn't pose. There's no artist here now
to sketch you, and I don't care, not very much, if there isn't. After
all my trying to do him good, praising and blaming and petting, if he
was impolite enough to go as he did---- Well, no matter!"
While this indignation lasted she felt better, but as soon as she came
once more in sight of the clearing and of her uncle finishing one of
Adrian's uncompleted tasks, her loneliness returned with double force.
It had almost the effect of bodily illness and she had no experience
to guide her. With a fresh burst of tears she caught her guardian's
hand and hid her face on his shoulder.
"Oh! it's so desolate. So empty. Everything's so changed. Even the
Hollow is different and the squirrels seem like strangers. If he had
to go, why did he ever, ever come!"
"Why, indeed!"
Mr. Dutton was surprised and frightened by the intensity of her grief.
If she could sorrow in this way for a brief friendship, what untold
misery might not life have in store for her? There must have been some
serious blunder in his training if she were no better fitted than this
to face trouble; and for the first time it occurred to him that he
should not have kept her from all companions of her own age.
"Margot!"
The sternness of his tone made her look up and calm herself.
"Y-es, uncle."
"This must stop. Adrian went by my invitation. Because I could no
longer permit your association. Between his household and ours is a
wrong beyond repair. He cannot help that he is his father's son, but
being such he is an impossible friend for your father's daughter. I
should have sent him away, at my very first suspicion of his identity,
but--I want to be just. It has been the effort of my life to learn
forgiveness. Until the last I would not allow myself even to believe
who he was, but gave him the benefit of the chance that his name might
be of another family. When I did know--there was no choice. He had to
go."
Margot watched his face, as he spoke, with a curious feeling that this
was not the loved and loving uncle she had always known but a
stranger. There were wrinkles and scars she had never noticed, a
bitterness that made the voice an unfamiliar one, and a weariness in
the droop of the figure leaning upon the hoe which suggested an aged
and heart-broken man.
Why, only yesterday, it seemed, Hugh Dutton was the very type of a
stalwart woodlander, with the grace of a finished and untiring
scholar, making the man unique. Now---- If Adrian had done this thing,
if his mere presence had so altered her beloved guardian, then let
Adrian go! Her arms went around the man's neck and her kisses showered
upon his cheeks, his hands, even his bent white head.
"Uncle, uncle! Don't look like that! Don't. He's gone and shall never
come back. Everything's gone, hasn't it? Even that irreparable past,
of which I'd never heard. Why, if I'd dreamed, do you suppose I'd even
ever have spoken to him? No, indeed. Why you, the tip of your smallest
finger, the smallest lock of your hair, is worth more than a thousand
Adrians! I was sorry he'd treated me so rudely. But now I'm glad,
glad, glad. I wouldn't listen to him now, not if he said good-bye
forever and ever. I love you, uncle, best of all the world, and you
love me. Let's be just as we were before any strangers came. Come,
let's go out on the lake."
He smiled at her extravagance and abruptness. The times when they had
gone canoeing together had been their merriest, happiest times. It
seemed to her that it needed only some such outing to restore the
former conditions of their life.
"Not to-day, dearest."
"Why not? The potatoes won't hurt and it's so lovely."
"There are other matters, more important than potatoes. I have put
them off too long. Now--Margot, do you love me?"
"Why--uncle!"
"Because there is somebody whom you must love even more dearly. Your
father."
"My--father! My father? Of course; though he is dead."
"No, Margot. He is still alive."