ALTON FINDS A WAY
Daylight was fading, and it was growing dim in the little upper room
where Miss Townshead sat alone. The front of the stove was, however,
open, and now and then a flicker of radiance fell upon the girl, and
showed that her eyes were hazy, and there were traces of moisture on
her cheek. Her patience had been taxed to the uttermost that day, but
Townshead, who had spent most of it in querulous reproaches, had gone
out, and his daughter was thankful to be alone at last, for the effort
to retain a show of composure had become almost unendurable.
It was with a sinking heart she glanced down across the roofs of the
city into the busy streets where already the big lights were blinking,
and remembered all she had borne with there during the last few days.
Somebody, it seemed, had industriously spread the story of her
dismissal, and a refusal had followed every application she made for
employment; but while that alone was sufficient to cause her
consternation, the half-contemptuous pity of her former companions, and
the fashion in which one or two of them had avoided her, were almost
worse to bear, and sitting alone in the gathering darkness the girl
flushed crimson at the memory. There was also the grim question by
what means she could stave off actual want to grapple with, and to that
she could as yet find no answer, while her eyes grew dim as she glanced
about the little room. Townshead had changed his quarters, and many of
the trifles that caught his daughter's glance had cost her a meal or
hours of labour with the needle after a long day in the city, but they
made the place a home, and she knew what it would cost her to part with
them.
Twice she had raised her head and straightened herself with an effort,
while a flicker of pride and resolution crept into her eyes, only to
sink back again limply in her chair, when there was a tapping at the
door, and she rose as some one came into the room. Then she set her
lips and stood up very straight as she saw that it was Alton.
"I could find nobody about, and there was no answer when I knocked," he
said. "So I just came in."
The girl moved a little so that she could see his face in the light
from the stove, and it was quietly stern, but the movement had served
two purposes, for her own was now invisible.
"And you fancied you could dispense with common courtesy in my case?"
she said.
Alton made a little grave gesture of deprecation. "I wanted to see
you--very much--but please sit down."
Nellie Townshead took the chair he drew out, and was glad that it was
in the shadow, for Alton stood leaning against the window-casing
looking down on her with grave respect and pity in his face.
"I am a little lame--as you may have heard," he said, as though to
explain his attitude.
"Yes," said the girl, whose composure returned as she saw that he was
temporizing. "I am sorry."
"Well," said Alton quietly, "so am I--especially just now--but I did
not come to talk to you about my injury."
Nellie Townshead appeared very collected as she glanced in his
direction, for she had a good courage, and had been taught already that
when an issue is unavoidable it is better to face it boldly.
"One would scarcely have fancied that was your object."
"No," said Alton very quietly. "Now I am just a plain bush rancher,
and don't know how to put things nicely, but I don't know that there's
any disrespect in a straight question, and I came to ask if you would
marry me."
The girl was mistress of herself, and the man's naive directness was in
a fashion reassuring. She was also, for a moment, very angry.
"It is a little sudden, is it not?" she said. "Did I ever give you any
cause for believing that I would?"
"No," said Alton, "I don't think you did."
Nellie Townshead afterwards wondered a little at her composure and
temerity, but she fancied she knew what had prompted the man, and,
because it hurt her horribly, all the pride she had came to her
assistance, and in place of embarrassment she was sensible of a desire
to test him to the uttermost.
"Then," she said, "one should have a reason for asking such a question,
and, at least, something to urge in support of it."
Alton moved forward, and leaned over the back of her chair, where
because he did most things thoroughly he attempted to lay one hand
caressingly on her hair. Miss Townshead, however, moved her head
suddenly, and the man drew back a pace with a flush in his face.
"It is very lonely up at the ranch, and I have begun to see that I have
been missing the best of life. Mine is too grim and bare, and I want
somebody to brighten and sweeten it for me."
The girl was very collected. What she had borne during the last few
days had turned her gentleness into bitterness and anger. Thus it was,
with a curious dispassionate interest she would have been incapable of
under different circumstances, she continued to try the man, realizing
that though it was no doubt unpleasant to him, there was one great
reason which precluded the possibility of his suffering as he would
otherwise have done.
"But you are going to live in the city now," she said.
"Yes," said Alton gravely. "That is why I want you more. You see I
know so little, and there is so much you could teach me. I want
somebody to lead me where I could not otherwise go, though I know it is
asking a great deal while I can give so little."
This, the girl realized, was, though somewhat impersonal, wholly
genuine. The tone of chivalrous respect rang true, and she could
comprehend the half-instinctive straining after an ideal by one whose
belief in her sex was, if slightly crude, almost reverential. It
touched her, though she knew that to benefit him it could only be
offered to one woman, and she was not that one.
"And that is all?" she said.
"Of course!" said Alton too decisively, because he remembered, as Miss
Townshead quite realized, that the other reason must always remain
hidden. This was also as balm to her pride, and there was a trace of a
smile in her eyes.
"It is, as you appear to understand, very little."
"Well," said Alton, who seemed to take courage, "now when I see your
meaning there is a trifle more."
Again he moved a pace, and the girl fancied he would have laid his hand
upon her shoulder. "No," she said decisively.
Alton sighed, and his face became impassive, but it seemed to the girl
that there was relief in it.
"I think I could be kind to you and make things smooth for you," he
said very simply. "I should always look up to you, and I wouldn't ask
for very much--only to see you happy."
He stopped apparently for inspiration, and Nellie Townshead smiled a
little. "Do you think that last was wise?"
Alton turned towards her with a little glint in his eyes, and the girl,
who knew his temperament, felt that she had gone far enough. He had
borne it very well, and it seemed to her that other men might have
handled the situation, which was difficult, less delicately.
"I asked you a question, and it seems to me that it still waits an
answer."
The girl rose and stood looking at him with a little colour in her
cheeks and a flash in her eyes, but there was that in her attitude
which held Alton at a distance. "If you were not the man you are, and
I was a little weaker, I should have said yes," she said. "As it
is--there is nothing that would induce me to marry you."
It was almost dark now, and Nellie Townshead could not see her
companion's face, but she was no longer careful to keep her own in the
shadow, even when the radiance from the stove flickered about the room.
"Will you not think it over?" he said very quietly. "I know how unfit
I am for you--and I am a cripple--but----"
The light was now more visible in Nellie Townshead's eyes, but her
voice was gentle. "No," she said, "There are two very good reasons why
it is impossible--and you know one of them. Now do you believe I do
not know what brought you here to-day?"
"I think I have been trying to tell you," said Alton sturdily. "If you
fancy it was anything else you are wrong."
The girl shook her head. "You are a good man, Harry Alton, but not a
clever one. Only that it would have been a wrong to you, you would
almost have persuaded me--by your silence chiefly. Still, you must go
away, and never speak of this again."
Alton stood still a moment glancing at her with pity and a great
admiration. The girl was good to look upon, he knew her courage, and
now as she flung all that he could offer her away and stood alone and
friendless with the world against her, but undismayed, all his heart
went out to her, and what he had commenced from duty he could almost
have continued from inclination.
"Please listen just a little, and I'll be quite frank," he said. "You
told me there were two reasons."
Possibly the girl read what was passing in his mind, for she smiled
curiously.
"I think you had better go--now--and leave me only a kindly memory of
you. Do you think I should be content to take--the second place?" she
said. "Nothing that you could tell me would remove one of the
obstacles, and you will be grateful presently. When that time comes be
wise, and don't ask for less than everything."
Alton said nothing further, and when his steps rang hollowly down the
stairway the girl sat down and sighed. Then she laughed a curious
little laugh and stopped to brush the tears from her eyes.
As it happened, while Nellie Townshead sat alone in the darkness Miss
Deringham was writing a note to Alton. Spoiled sheets of paper were
scattered about the table, and though there was nobody to see it the
girl's face was flushed as she glanced down at the last one. The
message it bore was somewhat laconic and ran, "We are going to the
opera-house on Thursday, and as there is a place not filled I would
like to see you there before you start for the ranges, if you know of
no reason why you should not come."
She gave it to a maid, and sat still until she heard a door swing to,
then rose swiftly and ran down the stairway. She met the maid at the
foot of it, and said breathlessly, "I want to add something to the
letter."
"It's too late, miss," said the maid, who was a recent importation from
Britain. "I gave it John the Chinaman, and he went off trotting as
usual. I couldn't overtake him."
Alice Deringham smiled a little, though her voice belied her as she
said, "It is of no importance. I can write another."
She knew, however, that no second message she could send would repair
what she had done, for Alton had timed his departure for the ranges
next day, and several must elapse before Thursday came. He would, she
also felt assured, not fail to come.
Miss Deringham was justified, for a few days later Seaforth stood
waiting in the snow with a pack-horse's bridle in his hand, and several
brawny men with heavy packs slung about them close by, when Tom of
Okanagan drove into the clearing as fast as his smoking team could haul
the jolting wagon.
"You can sling all those things down again," he said. "Thomson rode in
with a wire from the railroad, and Harry's not coming."
"Not coming?" said Seaforth bewilderedly as he opened the message.
"We've no time to lose--now."
Then he crumpled the strip of paper angrily. "We'll push on slowly,
boys, until he comes up with us, but you had better wait for him, Tom,"
he said, and added half aloud, "The devil take all women!"
Miss Deringham went to the opera-house on Thursday with a somewhat
distinguished party, and though a storm of applause greeted the eminent
English dramatist, and the play was a popular one, saw very little of
him or the first act of it. Then when the glitter of lights filled the
building as the curtain went down she looked about her with veiled
expectancy. She knew Alton of Somasco, and that if he intended to keep
the assignation he would then come when everybody could see him.
She had also surmised correctly, for just then Alton, who had
shouldered his way through a group in the corridor, moved down it under
a blaze of light, his head erect, and his face somewhat grim as he saw
the smiles and glances of disapproval of those who made way for him.
As the rancher who was fighting Hallam and the capitalists behind him
he was already known in that city, and the story that the woman who was
spoken of with him had assisted him from the beginning by betraying the
secrets of those who employed her at his instigation had spread, and
told against him.
Alton saw it all, and did not for a moment turn aside so long as the
smiles and whispers were directed at him, but he stopped and waited,
leaning on a chair some distance behind the spot where Forel's party
were until the curtain rose again. The next act commenced, as he knew,
with a night scene, and while most of the audience had no eyes for any
one but the great tragedian, he moved forward quickly, and Alice
Deringham turned her head a trifle as a shadowy form slipped into the
vacant place beside her. She could scarcely see the man, and was not
certain that she desired to, but she would have known who he was had he
been wholly invisible.
"It is you," she said softly. "I knew that you would come."
"Yes," said Alton. "You asked me to, but now I know that I should not
have done so."
"And that I should not have asked you?" said Alice Deringham. "You
should have been on your journey already."
Alton laughed a little. "That was not what I meant--as of course you
know," he said. "Still, I wanted to see you--and I had to come."
"Why?"
Alton was silent a little. "It may be the last time."
Alice Deringham shivered. "But there is no reason?"
"No--and yes," said Alton grimly. "I--and it is due to you and another
to tell you this--have done no wrong, but there are reasons why I
should not intrude myself into your company, and I am going back up
there into the snow to-morrow."
"But," said the girl, feeling horribly guilty, "there are times when
one's friends can do a good deal for one."
Alton seemed to laugh a trifle bitterly. "Yes," he said. "Still, I do
not care to trouble mine in that direction. One must stand alone now
and then, and things have not been going well with me lately. I had
another blow to-day. I asked Miss Townshead to marry me--and she would
not."
Alice Deringham said nothing for a space, and then her voice was
different. There was no shade of expression in it. "And you are going
back to look for the silver tomorrow? I hope you will be successful."
"Thank you," said Alton. "It would mean a good deal to everybody--and
now I think I have already stayed too long."
Alice Deringham heard the creaking of a chair, and when she looked
round he had gone, but she said very little to any one when the curtain
came down again, while Alton, turning in a doorway for a moment, set
his lips as he caught the gleam of her hair.
"I think I have done the right thing all round, but it was condemnably
hard," he said as he went down the corridor.
By chance he came face to face with Forel a few moments later, and both
men stopped. "I am glad I found you," said Alton. "It is only fitting
to tell you that for a minute or two I joined your party."
Forel looked uncomfortable. "To be frank, there are unpleasant tales
about you, and while they needn't interfere with business one has
to----" he said, and stopped.
Alton nodded. "You needn't be too explicit. The tales, so far as you
have heard them, are not true. I tell you so on my word of honour--and
I want you to show that you believe me by finding Miss Townshead
something to do. You can draw on me for the salary if it's necessary."
Forel, who was a good-tempered man, flushed a little. "If there was
anything in the stories I should take this very ill."
"Of course," said Alton. "I shouldn't have objected if you had knocked
me down, but, as I see you are not quite sure yet, for just five
minutes you have got to listen to me."
Forel did so, and nodded when Alton concluded, "I think you should do
what I want you to, because in the first place it will give you very
little trouble, and if you can't take my word so far, I'm not fit to be
trusted with your interests in the big deal we have in hand."
"And in the second?" said Forel, who stood to benefit considerably by
the success of the Somasco Consolidated, dryly.
Alton laughed. "I think it would be more tasteful to leave that
unexpressed, because it's connected with the other one," he said.
"Well," said Forel, "frankly, I should have doubted what you have told
me had it come from most other men, but in this case I will see what I
can do. We are, as it happens, in want of somebody at Westminster, and
I'll send them down a line to-morrow."
"Thanks," said Alton, with a little sigh of relief. "Now I think I've
straightened up everything, and I can go back to the ranges contented."