THE AWAKENING
The snow had ceased an hour or two earlier, and the moon shone down
upon the glistening pines that shook off their white covering under a
bitter wind, when a wagon came lurching into the Somasco valley. Four
weary horses floundered in front of it, a thin white steam rising from
them into the nipping air, and Okanagan swayed half asleep upon the
driving-seat, growling inarticulate objurgations when the vehicle sank
creaking into a hollow he could not see. He had, wearing out several
horses during the journey, driven close upon a hundred miles through
the frost and snow, and had ceased to encourage his companions during
the last hour or so. In fact, he was almost as incapable of speech
just then as they were of comprehending him.
They had, however, won his admiration, which he was somewhat slow of
according city folk, for although there had been times when, as he
dragged the worn-out team up steep hillsides through the blinding snow,
he almost despaired of reaching Somasco, he had heard no complaint from
either Deringham or his daughter. The man had helped him where he
could, and when there was nothing that he could do sat silent beside
him smoking tranquilly, while, with the flung-up snow whirling about
them, the team went floundering down almost precipitous gully or rutted
declivity, where a stumble would have hurled them all into the tops of
the pines below. Nor had a cry escaped the girl who sat behind them,
gripping the side of the bouncing vehicle, when once a horse went down,
and on another occasion the wagon left the trail and drove into a
hemlock. Okanagan also remembered that though it had been necessary to
lift her down when twice they stopped to change the team at a lonely
ranch, she rose smiling with blue lips when it was time to go on again.
"Yes, sir," he afterwards said to Seaforth, "there wasn't any weakening
down in either of them, and the girl's a daisy."
Deringham, however, was now sitting amidst the straw in the bottom of
the wagon, with his arm about his daughter, who nestled close to him
for the sake of warmth. A bitter frost had set in during the last hour
or so, and the snow was frozen in white patches upon her wrappings,
while it was with numbed senses she vacantly watched the pines flit
past her. It seemed that they would crawl up out of the darkness and
slide by, white beneath the moonlight, forever.
Nor could she recollect much of the journey, which had only left a hazy
memory of biting cold and blinding snow, fierce struggles through the
drifts, and brief interludes of warmth and brightness in
forest-shrouded ranches, where her chilled flesh shrank from the task
before her when she rose to go on again. There was Alton blood in
Alice Deringham, and more than a trace of the Alton pride, but she did
not know what motive had sustained her or why she had borne it all so
patiently, and in this she differed from her father. Deringham seldom
did anything without a purpose, and he had one now.
His daughter had been asleep with her head on his shoulder when a shout
roused her two hours earlier, and with a drumming of hoofs they came
lurching into the settlement. For a blissful moment she fancied the
journey was at an end, for there were lights and voices and a pleasant
smell of firwood smoke, but Okanagan shouted to his team, and the
lights faded away behind as they plunged into the silence beneath the
pines again.
"Father," she said faintly, "do you think he has gone the wrong way?
It seems ever so long since we left the settlement."
Okanagan may have heard her, though the words were almost
indistinguishable. "You lie right where you are for another ten
minutes, and keep warm, miss," he said; "then I'll show you something."
Alice Deringham shivered all through. "It is a little difficult," she
said.
Okanagan spoke to his horses, and after what appeared an interminable
time looked down again.
"There," he said, with a curious, almost silent laugh, and the girl saw
a red blink amidst the pines across the valley. "That's Somasco."
Alice Deringham let her head drop back on her father's shoulder with a
little sigh. "It seems a very long way," she said, "and I am very
cold."
It was some time later when the wagon stopped with a jerk, and she
roused herself as a glare of light shone about her. Voices came out of
it, somebody held out a hand, and a man whom she did not recognize
lifted her from the wagon. Then she walked unevenly into the
brightness of a log-walled hall and grew faint, while a tingling pain
ran through her with the change of temperature. A woman whom she did
not know clumsily took her wrappings from her, and then led her into a
room where Seaforth drew a chair up to a table beside the stove. Alice
Deringham's head was throbbing, but she could see that he was white and
haggard.
"How is he?" she said, and the tingling pain grew more pronounced as
she waited the answer.
Seaforth's face was very grave. "I think it is touch and go with
him--but if he wears the night out he may pull through. It was very
good of you to come."
Alice Deringham made a little gesture of impatience. "But there is
hope?" she said, and her voice was very low and strained.
Seaforth glanced round sharply as the woman, knocking over something,
went out of the room.
"A little, I believe, if he could sleep," he said huskily. "The doctor
is with him now--scarcely left him the last four days. We have nobody
to help us. Mrs. Margery broke down. The woman you saw is incapable.
Harry has been delirious--and asking for you--half the time."
Seaforth looked at his companion as he spoke, and the girl met his gaze
directly. There was no room for anything but frankness at such a time.
"Ah," she said simply. "I am glad I came."
Seaforth's eyes seemed to grow a little misty, and Alice Deringham, who
suddenly looked aside, wondered whether it was only the effect of
weariness. Whatever he felt, he, however, quietly poured something
into a cup and handed it to her. "But you must eat," he said.
Hungry and cold as she had been, the girl could eat but little, though
the steaming liquid in the cup put a little life into her, and
presently she rose up and shook off the coarse shawl which somebody had
wrapped about her shoulders.
"I am ready now," she said.
Seaforth glanced at her a moment with open admiration. The girl to
hide her weariness stood very straight, and Alice Deringham knew how to
hold herself. The pallor in her face intensified the little glow in
her eyes and the ruddy gleam of her lustrous hair under the lamplight.
She was, it seemed to him, almost splendid in her statuesque symmetry,
but there was also a subtle change in her, and a sudden sense of
confusion came upon him. He remembered his previous distrust of her,
and that it was to save his comrade she had come.
"No," he said quietly; "you must rest and sleep before you go to him."
Alice Deringham smiled a little, but there was a vibration in her voice
that stirred the man. "Do you think I could?"
This time there was no mistaking the faint haziness in Seaforth's eyes.
"God bless you," he said simply. "He is my friend--and I think you are
the only one who can do anything for him."
Alice Deringham had in her a trace of greatness which was instinctive,
and not the result of the training that had taught her serenity. So,
though the man had not hidden his meaning, she made no protest nor
asked any question.
"All this is new to me," she said; "but I will do the best I can."
Seaforth led her into a room where a dim light was burning. It was
most of it in shadow, but she could see the still form on the bed, and
for a moment or two nothing else. The face on the pillow was very
white and hollow, the half-closed eyes had a curious glitter, while a
lean hand was clenched upon the coverlet. Alice Deringham had seen
very little of suffering of any kind, and nothing of sickness, and for
a moment she stood motionless, horrified at the sight of what was left
of the man who had parted from her on the verandah the incarnation of
resolute virility. As she watched him he moaned a little, and the
sound, which was scarcely human and suggested the cry of some
unreasoning creature in pain, sent a thrill through her. Her eyes
dimmed a little, and moving forward softly she laid a cool palm on the
flushed forehead.
"Don't you know me, Harry? I have come to take care of you," she said.
The man's eyes opened wider, and though it was evident that there was
not complete comprehension in them he sighed as with a great
contentment. Then they closed altogether as he turned his head a
trifle on the pillow. The girl did not move, but stood stooping a
little, and looking down at him with a great compassion, until a man
who had been watching her nodded unseen to Seaforth as he also bent
over the bed. He waited for almost a minute, and then straightened
himself wearily as he spoke in a just audible whisper.
"Quiet at last, and sleep may come! Miss Deringham, I think?" he said.
The girl bent her head, and moved softly with him towards the door.
"He knew me?" she said.
The doctor shook his head. "No--not altogether, I think. Still, he is
quiet, and that is everything. Now I may be wanted--presently--and for
a little there is nothing I can do, while Mr. Seaforth and I have
reached our limits. If Alton opens his eyes, let him see you, and you
will give him the draught yonder in an hour from now. It is of vital
importance that he should take it. If he does not, tap on the door for
me."
Alice Deringham bent her head again, and, when the doctor went out with
Seaforth, sat down beside the bed. Her fatigue had gone from her, and
though she had never done such things before, she gently drew the
coverings higher about the man, and once ventured to raise his head a
trifle and smooth down the pillow. Alton opened his eyes, and for a
moment they seemed to follow her, but the gleam of understanding went
out of them when she sat down again. Then he lay very still, and there
was an oppressive quietness through which she could hear the crackle of
the stove and the night wind moaning about the ranch. Alton's eyes
were shut now, and the girl sat and watched him, too intent almost to
wonder at herself. This was the man she had striven to despise, and
yet she, who had never concerned herself with woman's work before,
forgot her weariness as she waited to minister to him. It was but
little help that she could offer--a gentle touch that checked a
restless movement, a wrinkle smoothed from the pillow--but it was done
with a great tenderness, for fibres in the girl's nature that had lain
silent long awoke that night and thrilled.
Now and then Alton moved a little, and once or twice he moaned. The
firewood snapped and crackled in the stove, the sigh of the pines came
up in fantastic cadence across the clearing, and so while the dark
angel stooped above the lonely ranch the night wore on.
There was, however, one man in Somasco ranch who needed sleep that
night and found it fly from him. Deringham, who had spoken with the
doctor, lay fully dressed in an adjoining room, listening to the
ticking of his watch, and for any sound that might rise from beyond the
cedar boarding where his daughter kept her vigil. He had gathered that
before the morning Alton of Somasco and Carnaby would either have laid
aside his activities for ever or be within hope of recovery, and while
Deringham dare not ask himself just then whether he desired the death
of his kinsman, the suspense was maddening. If the flame of vitality
that was flickering so feebly went out Carnaby would be his daughter's,
and the burden which almost crushed him lifted. If it burned on there
was at the best a long struggle with adversity before him, and at the
worst disgrace, and possibly a prison.
A very little thing, he knew, would turn the scale, an effort made in
delirium, a draught that struck too shrewdly on the fevered frame, and
the issue, of stupendous importance as it was to both of them, lay in
his daughter's hands. Seaforth and the doctor slept the sleep of
exhaustion, and Deringham could have laughed with bitter mirthlessness
at the irony of it all. Until she had quarrelled with her maid, Alice
Deringham had apparently been incapable of putting on her own dresses
unassisted, and it seemed that the grim, mysterious destiny which
treated men as puppets and traversed all their schemes was the one
factor to reckon with in that comedy. Deringham, however, found little
solace in such reflections, and could not lie still, and rising,
strained his ears to listen. There was nothing but the moaning of the
wind, the ranch was very still, and the sound of his watch grew
maddening. If Alton was sleeping now, Deringham knew it was ticking
his last hold on good fame and fortune away. Twice he paced up and
down the room with uncovered feet, and then, quivering a little when
the floor creaked, opened the door that led into the one adjoining.
"Alice," he said, and, for he had thrown off the mask now, his daughter
wondered at his face.
"Hush," she said almost sternly, and then moved very quietly away from
the bed. Deringham came in and leaned upon the table beside her.
"The great question is still unanswered?" he said.
His daughter bent her head, and then looked at him steadily. "I think
we shall know in an hour or two. Is it important to you?"
Deringham, who was not wholly master of himself, made a little grimace,
and the girl glanced away from him with a curious shrinking. Under
stress of fatigue and anxiety the veneer had worn off both of them, and
in that impressive hour, when the spirit is bound most loosely to the
clay, each had seen something not hitherto suspected of the other's
inmost self. In the girl's case the sight had been painful, for all
that was good in her had risen uppermost just then. In Deringham's
there was very little but veneer, and craven fear and avarice looked
out through his eyes.
"Yes," he said in a voice that was the harsher for its lowness; "and to
you. I did not tell you, but if that man dies you will be the mistress
of Carnaby."
Alice Deringham made a little half-contemptuous gesture of impatience,
but the colour showed in her cheek. "You are over-tired, father, or
you would not have thought of that--just now."
Deringham glanced at her curiously with an unpleasant smile. "You
apparently did not comprehend me," he said. "Would you be astonished
to hear that Alton, who seems to have anticipated disaster, left you
Carnaby by will?"
The girl rose and met the man's gaze directly, though the colour had
crept beyond her cheeks now. "No," she said very quietly; "though I
never thought of this. I know him better than ever you could do. But
it is time I gave him the medicine, and you must go."
Deringham did not move, but watched his daughter as she took up the
glass and phial. "It is important that he should have the draught?" he
said.
"Yes," she said in a voice that thrilled a little as she stood very
straight before him. "I think it would make all the difference
between--a girl without a dowry, and the mistress of Carnaby."
Then she pointed as it were commandingly towards the door, and
Deringham went out with a white face, as though she had struck him upon
it, while Alice Deringham shivered and sank down limply into the chair.
She sat still for a moment with eyes that shone mistily and a great
sense of humility, and then, rousing herself with an effort, moved
towards the bed and touched the sick man gently. He opened his eyes as
she did so, and there was no glitter in them now, but a dawning
comprehension. He seemed to smile a little when she raised his head.
"You must drink this," she said.
Alton made a gesture of understanding, and drained the glass, then let
his head fall back, and feebly stretched out his hand until it touched
her fingers. The girl did not move, and his grasp tightened suddenly.
"Hold me fast. I am slipping--slipping down," he said.
Alice Deringham returned the pressure of the clinging fingers, and as
she saw a curious unreasoning confidence creep into the haggard face
her eyes once more shone through a gathering mistiness. "I will hold
you fast," she said.
"Yes," said the sick man in a strained voice. "You will not let go.
It's five hundred feet to the river--in the dark below. I'm slipping,
slipping--no holding in the snow."
He ceased and looked up at her suddenly as though the fear had left
him, and the girl said very softly, "Don't you know me?"
"Yes," said the man. "Of course. I was sliding back into the gully,
but I knew you would help me."
He stopped again, and the strained expression suddenly sank out of his
eyes, while the girl flushed to the temples when they met her own.
"Now," he said very softly, "I shall get better. Nothing can stop me.
You will hold me fast, and not let go."
He drew her towards him, and Alice Deringham, seeing that the brief
flash of reason was fading again, yielded to the feeble pressure, and
sank to her knees holding fast the hot fingers that drew her hand to
his breast. Then moved by an impulse swift and uncontrollable she bent
a little farther and kissed him on the cheek. Alton said nothing, but
opened his eyes and smiled at her, and then lay still.
For a space of minutes the girl dare scarcely breathe. Everything, she
had been told, depended upon the sick man sleeping, and now he was very
quiet. Then she raised her head and glanced at him. He had not moved
at all, and his face was tranquil, but the hot fingers still clung to
her hand. It was borne in upon her that she could in verity draw him
back from the darkness he was slipping into, and with a great fear and
compassion she held the hot fingers fast. There was no longer any
snapping in the stove. The roar of the pines grew louder and the room
grew cold, but while the minutes slipped by Alton slept peacefully,
with the hand of the woman he had dispossessed in his, and she
forgetting her fatigue watched him with eyes that filled with
tenderness.
Still, she was not more than a woman, and at last the eyes grew hazy,
while every joint ached. There was a horrible cramp in her shoulder,
and to lessen it she moved a trifle so that her arm rested on the
pillow. That was easier, and while she struggled with her weariness
her head followed it, until it sank down close by Alton's shoulder.
Then for five minutes she fought with her weakness, and was vanquished,
for her head settled lower into its resting place, and her eyes closed.
It was some little time later when Seaforth came very softly into the
room, and stopped with a little gasp. He could just see his comrade's
face, and it was still and serene, but there was a gleam of red-gold
hair beside it on the coverlet, and now a shapely arm was flung
protectingly about the sick man's shoulder. The girl was also very
still, and a little flush of colour crept into Seaforth's face as he
stooped above her and saw the clasped hands.
"Thank God!" he said.
Then he moved backwards on tiptoe towards Deringham's room, but
apparently changed his intention, and presently knocked at the doctor's
door.
"Time's up, and I thought I'd better rouse you," he said. "Shall I go
in, and look at your patient?"
The doctor rose up fully dressed, and Seaforth, who watched him enter
the other room, nodded to himself, while the man he had left stooped
above the sleeping pair and smiled with a great contentment. He had
done what he could, but he knew that a greater power than any he
wielded had driven back the dark angel which had stooped above the sick
man's bed.
The sun was in the heavens when, finding other procedure unavailing, he
gently touched the girl, and Alice Deringham rose silently and turned
to him some moments later almost proudly with a soft glow in her
cheeks, and a question in her eyes.
"Yes," said the doctor, smiling. "I fancy we have seen the worst."
Then the girl's strength went from her, and she caught at the rail of
the bed, shivering, until the man touched her arm and led her from the
room. "You have done a great deal, I think, and must sleep," he said.
It was afternoon when Alice Deringham resumed her watch, and she met
Seaforth on her way to the sick man's room.
"I want to thank you, Miss Deringham. He is my partner, and the only
friend I have," he said, with a slight huskiness.
The girl regarded him steadily. "You mean it?"
Seaforth winced a little. "Yes," he said.
Alice Deringham still fixed her eyes upon him. "And yet you distrusted
me once?"
Seaforth's face was haggard, but it was less pale than it had been when
he bent his head. "I can only throw myself on your mercy. I was more
of a fool than usual then."
Alice Deringham laughed softly but graciously. "I could not blame
you--and you may have been right," she said.
Then she passed into the room, and saw the light creep into Alton's
eyes, which had apparently been fixed upon the door. Her blood tingled
and her neck grew hot, for it was evident that while his mind was clear
at last he remembered a little.
"The river is farther away now, but I want you still," he said.