He had scarcely uttered these words before the reason for the Maria's
abrupt departure became apparent. The anchorage of the yacht had been at
a spot whence nearly the whole south of the lake towards Far Harbor was
open, whilst a high tongue of land hid that part from us on the shore.
As he spoke, there shot before our eyes a steaming tug-boat, and a
second look was not needed to assure me that she was the “H. Sinclair,
of Far Harbor.” They had perceived her from the yacht an hour since, and
it was clear that my client, prompt to act as to think, had decided at
once to put out and lead her a blind chase, so giving the Celebrity a
chance to make good his escape.
The surprise and apprehension created amongst us by her sudden
appearance was such that none of us, for a space, spoke or moved. She
was about a mile off shore, but it was even whether the chief would
decide that his quarry had been left behind in the inlet and turn in,
or whether he would push ahead after the yacht. He gave us an abominable
five minutes of uncertainty. For when he came opposite the cove he
slowed up, apparently weighing his chances. It was fortunate that we
were hidden from his glasses by a copse of pines. The Sinclair increased
her speed and pushed northward after the Maria. I turned to the
Celebrity.
“If you wish to escape, now is your chance,” I said.
For contrariness he was more than I have ever had to deal with. Now he
crossed his knees and laughed.
“It strikes me you had better escape, Crocker,” said he. “You have more
to run for.”
I looked across at Miss Thorn. She had told him, then, of my
predicament. And she did not meet my eye. He began to whittle again, and
remarked:
“It is only seventeen miles or so across these hills to Far Harbor, old
chap, and you can get a train there for Asquith.”
“Just as you choose,” said I, shortly.
With that I started off to gain the top of the promontory in order to
watch the chase. I knew that this could not last as long as that of the
day before. In less than three hours we might expect the Maria and the
tug in the cove. And, to be frank, the indisposition of the Celebrity to
run troubled me. Had he come to the conclusion that it was just as
well to submit to what seemed the inevitable and so enjoy the spice of
revenge over me? My thoughts gave zest to my actions, and I was climbing
the steep, pine-clad slope with rapidity when I heard Miss Trevor below
me calling out to wait for her. At the point of our ascent the ridge
of the tongue must have been four hundred feet above the level of the
water, and from this place of vantage we could easily make out the Maria
in the distance, and note from time to time the gain of the Sinclair.
“It wasn't fair of me, I know, to leave Marian,” said Miss Trevor,
apologetically, “but I simply couldn't resist the temptation to come up
here.”
“I hardly think she will bear you much ill will,” I answered dryly; “you
did the kindest thing possible. Who knows but what they are considering
the advisability of an elopement!”
We passed a most enjoyable morning up there, all things taken into
account, for the day was too perfect for worries. We even laughed at our
hunger, which became keen about noon, as is always the case when one
has nothing to eat; so we set out to explore the ridge for blackberries.
These were so plentiful that I gathered a hatful for our friends below,
and then I lingered for a last look at the boats. I could make out but
one. Was it the yacht? No; for there was a trace of smoke over it. And
yet I was sure of a mast. I put my hand over my eyes.
“What is it?” asked Miss Trevor, anxiously.
“The tug has the Maria in tow,” I said, “and they are coming this way.”
We scrambled down, sobered by this discovery and thinking of little
else. And breaking through the bushes we came upon Miss Thorn and the
Celebrity. To me, preoccupied with the knowledge that the tug would soon
be upon us, there seemed nothing strange in the attitude of these two,
but Miss Trevor remarked something out of the common at once. How keenly
a woman scents a situation.
The Celebrity was standing with his back to Miss Thorn, at the edge of
the water. His chin was in the air, and to a casual observer he looked
to be minutely interested in a flock of gulls passing over us. And Miss
Thorn? She was enthroned upon a heap of drift-wood, and when I caught
sight of her face I forgot the very existence of the police captain. Her
lips were parted in a smile.
“You are just in time, Irene,” she said calmly; “Mr. Allen has asked me
to be his wife.”
I stood, with the hatful of berries in my hand, like a stiff wax figure
in a museum. The expected had come at last; and how little do we expect
the expected when it comes! I was aware that both the young women were
looking at me, and that both were quietly laughing. And I must have cut
a ridiculous figure indeed, though I have since been informed on good
authority that this was not so. Much I cared then what happened. Then
came Miss Trevor's reply, and it seemed to shake the very foundations of
my wits.
“But, Marian,” said she, “you can't have him. He is engaged to me. And
if it's quite the same to you, I want him myself. It isn't often, you
know, that one has the opportunity to marry a Celebrity.”
The Celebrity turned around: an expression of extraordinary intelligence
shot across his face, and I knew then that the hole in the well-nigh
invulnerable armor of his conceit had been found at last. And Miss
Thorn, of all people, had discovered it.
“Engaged to you?” she cried, “I can't believe it. He would be untrue to
everything he has written.”
“My word should be sufficient,” said Miss Trevor, stiffly. (May I
be hung if they hadn't acted it all out before.) “If you should wish
proofs, however, I have several notes from him which are at your
service, and an inscribed photograph. No, Marian,” she added, shaking
her head, “I really cannot give him up.”
Miss Thorn rose and confronted him, and her dignity was inspiring. “Is
this so?” she demanded; “is it true that you are engaged to marry Miss
Trevor?”
The Bone of Contention was badly troubled. He had undoubtedly known what
it was to have two women quarrelling over his hand at the same time, but
I am willing to bet that the sensation of having them come together in
his presence was new to him.
“I did not think--” he began. “I was not aware that Miss Trevor looked
upon the matter in that light, and you know--”
“What disgusting equivocation,” Miss Trevor interrupted. “He asked
me point blank to marry him, and of course I consented. He has never
mentioned to me that he wished to break the engagement, and I wouldn't
have broken it.”
I felt like a newsboy in a gallery,--I wanted to cheer. And the
Celebrity kicked the stones and things.
“Who would have thought,” she persisted, “that the author of The
Sybarites, the man who chose Desmond for a hero, could play thus idly
with the heart of woman? The man who wrote these beautiful lines:
'Inconstancy in a woman, because of the present social conditions, is
sometimes pardonable. In a man, nothing is more despicable.' And how
poetic a justice it is that he has to marry me, and is thus forced to
lead the life of self-denial he has conceived for his hero. Mr. Crocker,
will you be my attorney if he should offer any objections?”
The humor of this proved too much for the three of us, and Miss Trevor
herself went into peals of laughter. Would that the Celebrity could have
seen his own face. I doubt if even he could have described it. But I
wished for his sake that the earth might have kindly opened and taken
him in.
“Marian,” said Miss Trevor, “I am going to be very generous. I
relinquish the prize to you, and to you only. And I flatter myself there
are not many girls in this world who would do it.”
“Thank you, Irene,” Miss Thorn replied gravely, “much as I want him, I
could not think of depriving you.”
Well, there is a limit to all endurance, and the Celebrity had reached
his.
“Crocker,” he said, “how far is it to the Canadian Pacific?”
I told him.
“I think I had best be starting,” said he.
And a moment later he had disappeared into the woods.
We stood gazing in the direction he had taken, until the sound of his
progress had died away. The shock of it all had considerably muddled
my brain, and when at last I had adjusted my thoughts to the new
conditions, a sensation of relief, of happiness, of joy (call it what
you will), came upon me, and I could scarce restrain an impulse to toss
my hat in the air. He was gone at last! But that was not the reason. I
was safe from O'Meara and calumny. Nor was this all. And I did not dare
to look at Miss Thorn. The knowledge that she had planned and carried
out with dignity and success such a campaign filled me with awe. That I
had misjudged her made me despise myself. Then I became aware that she
was speaking to me, and I turned.
“Mr. Crocker, do you think there is any danger that he will lose his
way?”
“No, Miss Thorn,” I replied; “he has only to get to the top of that
ridge and strike the road for Saville, as I told him.”
We were silent again until Miss Trevor remarked:
“Well, he deserved every bit of it.”
“And more, Irene,” said Miss Thorn, laughing; “he deserved to marry
you.”
“I think he won't come West again for a very long time,” said I.
Miss Trevor regarded me wickedly, and I knew what was coming.
“I hope you are convinced, now, Mr. Crocker, that our sex is not as
black as you painted it: that Miss Thorn knew what she was about, and
that she is not the inconsistent and variable creature you took her to
be.”
I felt the blood rush to my face, and Miss Thorn, too, became scarlet.
She went up to the mischievous Irene and grasping her arms from behind,
bent them until she cried for mercy.
“How strong you are, Marian! It is an outrage to hurt me so. I haven't
said anything.” But she was incorrigible, and when she had twisted free
she began again:
“I took it upon myself to speak a few parables to Mr. Crocker the other
day. You know, Marian, that he is one of these level-headed old fogies
who think women ought to be kept in a menagerie, behind bars, to be
inspected on Saturday afternoons. Now, I appeal to you if it wouldn't be
disastrous to fall in love with a man of such ideas. And just to let
you know what a literal old law-brief he is, when I said he had had a
hat-pin sticking in him for several weeks, he nearly jumped overboard,
and began to feel himself all over. Did you know that he actually
believed you were doing your best to get married to the Celebrity?”
(Here she dodged Miss Thorn again.) “Oh, yes, he confided in me. He used
to worry himself ill over that. I'll tell you what he said to me only--”
But fortunately at this juncture Miss Trevor was captured again, and
Miss Thorn put her hand over her mouth. Heaven only knows what she would
have said!
The two boats did not arrive until nearly four o'clock, owing to some
trouble to the tug's propeller. Not knowing what excuse my client might
have given for leaving some of his party ashore, I thought it best to
go out to meet them. Seated on the cabin roof of the Maria I beheld Mr.
Cooke and McCann in conversation, each with a black cigar too big for
him.
“Hello, Crocker, old man,” shouted my client, “did you think I was never
coming back? I've had lots of sport out of this hayseed captain” (and
he poked that official playfully), “but I didn't get any grub. So we'll
have to go to Far Harbor.”
I caught the hint. Mr. Cooke had given out that he had started for
Saville to restock the larder.
“No,” he continued, “Brass Buttons didn't let me get to Saville. You
see, when he got back to town last night they told him he had been
buncoed out of the biggest thing for years, and they got it into his
head that I was child enough to run a ferry for criminals. They told him
he wasn't the sleuth he thought he was, so he came back. They'll have
the laugh on him now, for sure.”
McCann listened with admirable good-nature, gravely pulling at his
cigar, and eyeing Mr. Cooke with a friendly air of admiration.
“Mr. Crocker,” he said, with melancholy humor, “it's leery I am with the
whole shooting-match. Mr. Cooke here is a gentleman, every inch of him,
and so be you, Mr. Crocker. But I'm just after taking a look at the
hole in the bottom of the boat. 'Ye have yer bunks in queer places, Mr.
Cooke,' says I. It's not for me to be doubting a gentleman's word, sir,
but I'm thinking me man is over the hills and far away, and that's true
for ye.”
Mr. Cooke winked expressively.
“McCann, you've been jerked,” said he. “Have another bottle!”
The Sinclair towed us to Far Harbor for a consideration, the wind being
strong again from the south, and McCann was induced by the affable owner
to remain on the yellow-plush yacht. I cornered him before we had gone a
great distance.
“McCann,” said I, “what made you come back to-day?”
“Faith, Mr. Crocker, I don't care if I am telling you. I always had a
liking for you, sir, and bechune you and me it was that divil O'Meara
what made all the trouble. I wasn't taking his money, not me; the saints
forbid! But glory be to God, if he didn't raise a rumpus whin I
come back without Allen! It was sure he was that the gent left that
place,--what are ye calling it?--Mohair, in the Maria, and we telegraphs
over to Asquith. He swore I'd lose me job if I didn't fetch him to-day.
Mr. Crocker, sir, it's the lumber business I'll be startin' next week,”
said McCann.
“Don't let that worry you, McCann,” I answered. “I will see that you
don't lose your place, and I give you my word again that Charles Wrexell
Allen has never been aboard this yacht, or at Mohair to my knowledge.
What is more, I will prove it to-morrow to your satisfaction.”
McCann's faith was touching.
“Ye're not to say another word, sir,” he said, and he stuck out his big
hand, which I grasped warmly.
My affection for McCann still remains a strong one.
After my talk with McCann I was sitting on the forecastle propped
against the bitts of the Maria's anchor-chain, and looking at the
swirling foam cast up by the tug's propeller. There were many things I
wished to turn over in my mind just then, but I had not long been in a
state of reverie when I became conscious that Miss Thorn was standing
beside me. I got to my feet.
“I have been wondering how long you would remain in that trance, Mr.
Crocker,” she said. “Is it too much to ask what you were thinking of?”
Now it so chanced that I was thinking of her at that moment. It would
never have done to say this, so I stammered. And Miss Thorn was a young
woman of tact.
“I should not have put that to so literal a man as you,” she declared.
“I fear that you are incapable of crossing swords. And then,” she added,
with a slight hesitation that puzzled me, “I did not come up here to ask
you that,--I came to get your opinion.”
“My opinion?” I repeated.
“Not your legal opinion,” she replied, smiling, “but your opinion as
a citizen, as an individual, if you have one. To be frank, I want your
opinion of me. Do you happen to have such a thing?”
I had. But I was in no condition to give it.
“Do you think me a very wicked girl?” she asked, coloring. “You once
thought me inconsistent, I believe, but I am not that. Have I done wrong
in leading the Celebrity to the point where you saw him this morning?”
“Heaven forbid!” I cried fervently; “but you might have spared me a
great deal had you let me into the secret.”
“Spared you a great deal,” said Miss Thorn. “I--I don't quite
understand.”
“Well--” I began, and there I stayed. All the words in the dictionary
seemed to slip out of my grasp, and I foundered. I realized I had said
something which even in my wildest moments I had not dared to think of.
My secret was out before I knew I possessed it. Bad enough had I told it
to Farrar in an unguarded second. But to her! I was blindly seeking some
way of escape when she said softly:
“Did you really care?”
I am man enough, I hope, when there is need to be. And it matters not
what I felt then, but the words came back to me.
“Marian,” I said, “I cared more than you will ever learn.”
But it seems that she had known all the time, almost since that night I
had met her at the train. And how? I shall not pretend to answer, that
being quite beyond me. I am very sure of one thing, however, which is
that I never told a soul, man or woman, or even hinted at it. How was it
possible when I didn't know myself?
The light in the west was gone as we were pulled into Far Harbor, and
the lamps of the little town twinkled brighter than I had ever seen them
before. I think they must have been reflected in our faces, since Miss
Trevor, when she came forward to look for us, saw something there and
openly congratulated us. And this most embarrassing young woman demanded
presently:
“How did it happen, Marian? Did you propose to him?”
I was about to protest indignantly, but Marian laid her hand on my arm.
“Tell it not in Asquith,” said she. “Irene, I won't have him teased any
more.”
We were drawing up to the dock, and for the first time I saw that a
crowd was gathered there. The report of this chase had gone abroad. Some
began calling out to McCann when we came within distance, among others
the editor of the Northern Lights, and beside him I perceived with
amusement the generous lines: of the person of Mr. O'Meara himself. I
hurried back to give Farrar a hand with the ropes, and it was O'Meara
who caught the one I flung ashore and wound it around a pile. The people
pressed around, peering at our party on the Maria, and I heard McCann
exhorting them to make way. And just then, as he was about to cross
the plank, they parted for some one from behind. A breathless messenger
halted at the edge of the wharf. He held out a telegram.
McCann seized it and dived into the cabin, followed closely by my client
and those of us who could push after. He tore open the envelope, his eye
ran over the lines, and then he began to slap his thigh and turn around
in a circle, like a man dazed.
“Whiskey!” shouted Mr. Cooke. “Get him a glass of Scotch!”
But McCann held up his hand.
“Holy Saint Patrick!” he said, in a husky voice, “it's upset I am,
bottom upwards. Will ye listen to this?”
“'Drew is your man. Reddish hair and long side whiskers, gray
clothes. Pretends to represent summer hotel syndicate. Allen at
Asquith unknown and harmless.
“' (Signed.) Everhardt.”'
“Sew me up,” said Mr. Cooke; “if that don't beat hell!”