A PAST EPISODE
"YOU are staying for some time at Castle Hill?" observed Kathleen Alyn,
with her air of interest.
They were under a tree on the lawn; Mr. Dugdale having retreated to a
basket-chair and a book within earshot. Giles had walked with Phyllys
and Gordon to Brook-End Grange, and had stayed to luncheon. A business
engagement then claimed him, and Mrs. Alyn would not hear of Phyllys
going before six. Since Phyllys welcomed the delay, nothing remained
for Giles but gloomily to depart alone.
"I'm afraid not. Mrs. Keith did ask me to stay longer, but Grannie gave
leave only for three weeks." Phyllys did not hear her own sigh. "The
days are going so awfully fast."
"You don't begin to feel home-sick yet?"
"No. Ought I?"
"It is natural that you should enjoy change. Midfell seems so out of
the world."
"It 'is' out of the world. It belongs to two centuries ago. Everything
and everybody is asleep."
"So even quiet Castle Hill seems gay by contrast."
"No, not gay, but awake—alive. One sees and learns here."
"You begin to know Giles and Colin by this time. I wonder which of the
two strikes you, on an early acquaintance, as the finer character?"
"Is it an early acquaintance?" Phyllys felt as if she had known them
always. "They are so unlike. One can hardly compare them."
"Colin is popular."
Mr. Dugdale was peering over the edge of his book. "So is Giles, among
his own set. Which does Phyllys say she prefers?"
"I didn't say either," laughed Phyllys. "I like both—each in his own
way."
"One feels so sorry for poor Colin," remarked Kathleen; and, as before,
the word annoyed Phyllys.
"I can't see why one should be sorry for him. He is to be envied—not
pitied. He is so much above ordinary men. I think he can afford not to
be so—so—"
"Muscular," suggested Mr. Dugdale. "I see you rate a man's intellect
above his biceps."
"Wouldn't you?"
"Some don't in this athletic age."
"But I do," decisively. "And Colin is a genius. That is a thousand
times better than being able to walk thirty miles without feeling
tired."
"Colin is to be congratulated. He has found some one to fight his
battles," Mr. Dugdale lowered his book, and scanned Phyllys with
quizzical eyes. She stood her ground.
"I mean it. I would rather be a genius than anything. Much rather than
just be rich and strong."
"Not that Colin falls short in the length of his walks," murmured Mr.
Dugdale. "It's rather in the extent of his mental exertions."
"That was what I meant—that he cannot use his powers," put in Kathleen.
"He has always been hampered by ill-health, since he was sixteen."
"Not before?" asked Phyllys.
"No. He was delicate-looking, but wiry, and up to anything. Giles was
the more robust, but Colin could outdo even Giles in endurance."
"Giles was not the more robust in their infancy," declared Mr. Dugdale.
"He was when I first knew them, father. But Colin had such spirit. He
never flagged, and nothing ailed him till that unhappy accident."
"What was the accident?" asked Phyllys. "No one has told me."
"Your grandmother must know. You will hear no mention of it at Castle
Hill. Mrs. Keith dislikes the subject; and neither Giles nor Colin
allude to what happened. They were so devoted to poor little Elsye."
A word from Phyllys made her add—"Did you not know Elsye Wallace was
killed then?"
"No. Please tell me about it."
"She and the boys were always together. It was pretty to see them—she
like a little queen, and they her devoted knights. A lovely child, full
of fun, yet with that pathetic look in her eyes which you see on the
memorial window. Quite unnatural, for there never was a happier being."
"But what was the accident?"
"They were at the seaside. Elsye had been poorly, and Mrs. Keith took
her away for change, with the boys. Rather unusual, for she never liked
Dr. Wallace, and I do not think she cared for Elsye. Still, it came
about somehow—perhaps brought on by Giles. He was masterful even at
sixteen, as you may imagine."
Phyllys assented.
"And he worshipped Elsye. It was adoration. Colin was fond of her, but
not in the same vehement style. One day they were on the cliff, and I
suppose were playing too near the edge. Nobody ever seemed to know how
it happened, but Elsye and Colin fell over. There was a rough shingle
beach below, with rock-boulders lying about. Elsye, I believe, slipped,
and dragged Colin with her—and Giles was too late to save them. Elsye
was undermost, and she never regained consciousness. Colin's head
struck on a rock, and he was stunned; but at the time they did not
think him so badly hurt. Everybody's attention was taken up with Elsye.
She breathed for an hour or two, but died before her father could
arrive."
"How dreadful for them!"
"It 'was' dreadful; all the more because one could not help feeling
that the boys ought to have been more careful. When I saw them a
fortnight later Giles seemed to have grown into a man—so grave and
silent! Colin looked awfully ill, and we thought it was Elsye's death.
But in time it came out that he was suffering fearfully from his head,
and was making a fight to keep about as usual, that nobody might know.
He soon had a breakdown, and was worse than if he had been taken in
hand at first. He had fallen with the back of his head against a
boulder, and the doctors said that the front part of the brain had
been badly jarred against the skull by the concussion; so there was
double injury. For more than two years he was ill; often kept for days
in a dark room. The boy's patience was wonderful, and the pluck with
which he would struggle to be well, the moment he was easier. Of course
school was out of the question. He was hardly allowed to look at a
book. Giles used to read to him when he could bear to listen—which was
not for a long while. The marvel is that he has turned out so well,
considering his disadvantages. Still, there always is a something
about him not like other men. He lives a life of his own. And he is so
dreamy—so mystical, if that is the right word."
"He is a genius," remarked Phyllys, as if that explained everything.
"Public school life would have done his genius no harm. I wish he could
have had it."
"He didn't model—then?"
"Mrs. Keith snubbed him if he began. He always was trying. Of course,
as a boy, he could not take his own way. She tried him at times—made
him ill, when he might have been fairly well. The least worry brings on
his headache, and she can't help worrying. Colin somehow excites her,
while she never minds anything done by Giles."
"My dear, she is a woman with a temper; but her prosperity depends on
keeping straight with Giles," said Mr. Dugdale.
"Yet I have seen him furious with her, for Colin's sake."
"Is Giles a man with a temper?" asked Phyllys.
"I should hardly call him so," Mrs. Alyn replied. "He is not touchy
about little things—not quick to imagine slights. But if once he 'is'
upset—"
She made a pause. Mr. Dugdale's book had risen to its former position,
and he looked over its edge.
"My nephew Jack was at school with Giles. He once remarked that it took
a jolly lot to put Giles into a wax; but when, by combined efforts,
that feat had been accomplished, Jack's expression was, 'My eyes! We
fellows take care to be in the treetops out of his reach.'"
"Yes; I suppose he 'could' be angry," murmured Phyllys.
"But never with Colin," added Kathleen.
Phyllys was silent. She knew better.