In very few words Pats told his story.
As Elinor had believed, he was forced beneath the water by the sliding
earth and stones; but instead of lying at the bottom he had been carried
by the under-current far out toward the middle of the river. On coming
to the surface, more dead than alive, he found himself among the
branches of an uprooted pine, also speeding toward the sea, at the mercy
of the torrent.
Numb with cold from the icy water, he clung to this friend all one day
and night, ever drifting toward the Gulf. At last, when rescued, he was
barely conscious. And on recovering his wits he found himself aboard a
Government coaster just starting on a two months' cruise.
"I insisted on being landed. They refused at first, but when I told them
the situation--of the solitary girl I was leaving alone in the
wilderness,--they not only put me ashore, but gave me all the provisions
I could carry."
"Bravo! A boat-load of lovers!" exclaimed the Princess. "And they did
well!"
"Indeed they did!" said Pats, "for they were pressed for time, and it
cost them several hours. So, in high spirits, I started westward along
the coast, expecting to get here in three or four days."
Then, turning to Elinor: "Do you remember the wide marsh we noticed from
the top of that farthest hill to the east, at the end of our journey
last autumn?"
"Yes, I remember. We thought it the mouth of a river."
"Well, it _was_ the mouth of a river, with a vengeance. That marsh
extends for miles on both sides of a river as impassable as ours. Ten
days I tramped northward up the farther bank. And then, in swimming
across, I lost nearly all my provisions, and most of my clothes."
With a slight bow to the Princess, he added, "I hope madam will pardon
these intimate details: also certain deficiencies in my present toilet."
"Make no apologies, and tell everything," she answered, "I am one of the
family."
Pats continued: "During nine days I travelled south, retracing my steps,
but on this side of the river. The woods are different up there, with a
maddening undergrowth, and it soon made an end of what clothes I had
left. Yesterday morning I saw the sea again."
To every word of this narrative Elinor had listened, absorbed and
self-forgetful. As for the Princess, she loved the unexpected, and here
she found it. The more she studied Pats, the better she liked him and
his cheerfulness,--a cheerfulness which seemed to rise triumphant above
all human hardship. She took an interest in his unkempt hair and
barbaric, four weeks' beard, in his scratched and sunburnt chest and
arms. Even in the tattered remnants of his clothes she found a certain
entertainment. And she noticed that while he stood talking in the
presence of two ladies he appeared unembarrassed by his semi-nakedness,
perhaps from the habit of it. And, after all, what cause for
embarrassment? How many times, on the beach at Trouville, had she
conversed with gentlemen who wore even less upon their persons?
Another surprise was given her when a brown setter, from somewhere in
the forest, came flying toward them, and threw himself upon the long
lost Pats. And the dog's delight at the meeting was similar to Elinor's.
He, in turn, was presented to the Princess, who patted his head.
"_Bon jour, Monsieur Solomon_. I am happy to meet you: and for your
enthusiasm I have the profoundest regard."
Then, as they all started toward the cottage, Pats still answering
Elinor's questions, there appeared among the pines a black figure which
recalled pictures of Dante in the forest of Ravenna. This figure halted
in surprise at sight of the half-naked savage approaching with an easy
self-possession, a lady on either side. And evidently the savage was a
welcome object--a thing of interest--of affection even, if outward signs
were trustworthy. And his Grace, when presented to this uncouth object,
made no effort at assuming joy. Whether from an unfamiliarity with wild
men, or from some other reason, this creature proved offensive to him.
The lately lamented lover appeared politely indifferent to the priest's
opinion,--good or bad,--and this so augmented his Grace's irritation
that his words of welcome displayed more dignity than warmth. After
proper congratulations on the return of her friend, he said to Elinor,
in impressive tones, with a fatherly benevolence:
"We always rejoice when a human life is saved, but it would prove a sad
misfortune, indeed, should it cause you to falter in your high resolve
and return to worldly affairs."
Elinor instinctively edged a little closer to Pats and slid a hand in
one of his,--a movement observed by the Princess.
His Grace, with yet greater impressiveness in tone and manner, added:
"Yours is not a nature to forget or lightly ignore a pledge once given.
And please understand, my dear child, it is for your spiritual future
that I remind you of your solemn words to our dear friend--to him who is
no longer here to recall them to you, and whose beneficent influence is
forever gone."
Into Elinor's face had come a look of pain, for these words to a
conscience such as hers were as so many stabs. Pats frowned. Still
clasping the fingers that had slid among his own, and with a slight
upward movement of the chin, he took one step forward toward the
prelate. But before he could speak the Princess acted quickly, to avert
a scene. In a vivacious, off-hand manner, yet with a certain easy
authority, she said, smiling pleasantly in turn upon her three
listeners:
"You speak of a convent? Ah, your Grace forgets something! Religion is a
mighty thing. We all know that. But there is one thing mightier--and
here are two of its victims. 'T is the thing that makes the world go
round. You know what it is. Oh, yes, you know! And it has made
archbishops go round, too; even Popes--and many times! And when once it
gets you--well! _il s'en moque de la religion et de touts les
Saints_--for it has a heaven of its own. Moreover, we must not
forget, your Grace and I, that this unconventional gentleman--"
Here she turned a mirthful glance upon Pats and his rags, and he smiled
as his eyes met hers:
"That our unconventional gentleman has already tried to give his life
for this girl. Moreover, he will do it again, whenever necessary, and
she is not likely to forget it."
Indeed not, if truth were in the look that came to Elinor's eyes.
"Princess," said the Archbishop, "this is not a matter for argument. It
is a question to be decided by the lady's own conscience."
"But I have made no promise," said Elinor. "I told Father Burke it was
my intention to enter a convent. It was merely the expression of a
wish--not in the nature of a binding promise."
"But to me," said Pats, smiling pleasantly upon the Archbishop, "she
_did_ make a binding promise--a very definite promise of a
matrimonial nature. If she enters a convent--I go too."
Thereupon the Princess laughed,--a gentle, merry laugh, spontaneous and
involuntary. "A nunnery with a bridal chamber! _Fi, l'horreur_!
Imagine the effect on the other sisters!"
At this utterance the Archbishop closed his eyes in reprobation. Then,
with a paternal air he regarded Elinor. "Dear lady, I have no desire to
argue, or to persuade you against your wishes--or against the wishes of
your friends. Pardon me if I have appeared insistent. I only ask that
you will not forget that our Church is your Church--that in sorrow and
in trouble, and at all times, her arms are open to you."
Then addressing the Princess: "I am the bearer of a message from Jacques
Lafenestre. The baggage is aboard, and the yacht can sail whenever your
Highness is ready."
With a ceremonious bow--ceremoniously returned by the group before
him--his Grace strode slowly away toward the little path that led to the
beach. The Princess also--after handing to Pats the key of the
house--moved away in the direction of the two graves, promising the
lovers another half hour for their parting visit to the cottage. She had
gone but a few steps, however, when she stopped and wheeled about as if
moved by a sudden thought.
"You know well the tapestry that screens the chamber. The scene in the
Garden of Eden?"
Both nodded; and Pats exclaimed: "The most entertaining work of art I
have ever seen!"
"I give it for my wedding present, so that Madame Pats may have a
portrait of her husband as he appeared when first I met him."
With a smile and a nod she turned away and the jaunty figure was soon
lost among the trees.
Once more alone, Pats and Elinor turned and looked into each other's
eyes; and both discovered an overflowing happiness that choked all
words--and all attempt at words.
Pats opened his arms. As of old, she entered, and the familiar rite was
observed.
The surrounding silence remained unbroken. But in the murmuring of the
pines, in that floating music now dear to both, there came to the
reunited lovers a subdued but universal rejoicing--felicitations from
above.
[Illustration]