OPEN CONFESSION
It was about the middle of the afternoon when Alison reached the Hunter
homestead, and she was slightly astonished when, on inquiring for
Florence, a maid informed her that the latter was busy and could not be
with her for some minutes. Alison had imagined from what she had seen on
previous visits that in the warm weather Florence invariably spent her
afternoons reclining in a canvas chair on the veranda. A couple of
chairs stood on it when she arrived, and after the maid had gone she
drew one back into the shadow, and sitting down looked out across the
great stretch of grain in front of the house.
All round the edge of it there were scattered men and teams, but they
were moving very slowly, and almost every minute the clatter of one or
another of the binders ceased and she saw stooping figures busy in front
of the machine. Though she could not make out exactly what they were
doing, the state of the harvest-field seemed to explain why the delays
were unavoidable. Great patches of the wheat lay prone; the part that
stood upright looked tangled and torn, and there were wide stretches
from which it had partially disappeared, leaving only ragged stubble
mixed with crumpled straw. Alison had, however, seen other crops that
had been wholly wiped out by the scourging hail. She waited about a
quarter of an hour before Florence appeared, looking rather hot and
dressed with unusual plainness.
"You'll have to excuse me for keeping you, but I'm glad you came," she
said. "I've been busy since seven o'clock this morning, and now that
I've a little leisure it's a relief to sit down."
A gleam of amusement crept into Alison's eyes, and her companion
evidently noticed it.
"It is rather a novelty in my case," she laughed. "On the other hand,
there's no doubt that the exertion is necessary. The waste that has been
going on in this homestead is positively alarming."
It cost Alison an effort to preserve a becoming gravity. Florence, who
had presided over the place for several years, spoke as if the fact she
mentioned, which had been patent to those who visited her for a
considerable time, had only dawned upon her very recently.
"You are trying to set things straight?" she suggested.
"It threatens to prove a difficult task, but I'm making the attempt
while I feel equal to it; and there's a certain interest even in looking
into household accounts. For instance, I had an idea this morning that
promised to save me three or four dollars a month, but when I mentioned
it to Elcot he only grinned. There are one or two respects in which I'm
afraid he's a little extravagant."
Alison laughed outright. The idea that Florence, who had hitherto
squandered money with both hands, should trouble herself about the
saving of three dollars and complain of her self-denying husband's
extravagance was irresistibly amusing.
"When did the desire to investigate affairs first get hold of you?" she
asked.
"I believe that it was when I came back from Toronto," answered
Florence thoughtfully. "Afterward we had the hail, and it became clear
at once that there would have to be some cutting down of our expenses."
Her face grew suddenly anxious as she glanced toward the grain. "That,"
she added, "ought to explain why the subject's an interesting one to
me."
Alison was somewhat puzzled. There were signs of a change in her
companion, who hitherto had, so far at least as she had noticed, taken
only a very casual interest in her husband's affairs.
"Yes," she replied, "it does. I was very sorry when I heard about it."
Florence made a little abrupt gesture, as though in dismissal of the
topic.
"What brought you over? You haven't been very often."
It was difficult to answer offhand, and Alison proceeded circuitously.
"You and I were pretty good friends in England, weren't we?"
"Of course," assented Florence. "You stood by me when your mother turned
against me, and I've always had an idea that you suffered for it. We'll
admit the fact. What comes next?"
Her manner was abrupt, but that was not infrequently the case, and
Alison, who was fighting for her lover, was not readily daunted.
"Well," she said, "I have never troubled you for any favors in return."
Florence regarded her in a rather curious fashion.
"No," she admitted, "you haven't. You made no claim on me, as, perhaps,
you were entitled to do, when you first came out here. In fact, I have
once or twice felt slightly vexed with you because you went to Mrs.
Farquhar."
Alison smiled as she remembered that her companion had not shown the
least desire to prevent her doing the thing she now resented.
"Then there's a favor that I must ask at last; but first of all I'd
better tell you that I'm going to marry Leslie Thorne."
"Mavy Thorne!" Florence gazed at her in open wonder. "I heard a whisper
or two that seemed to point to the possibility of your doing something
of the kind, but I resolutely refused to believe it."
"Why?"
Florence laughed.
"Oh, in half a dozen ways it's ludicrous. If you really mean it, you are
as absurd as he is."
Alison rose with an air of quiet dignity.
"If you are quite convinced of that, there is nothing more to be said.
You couldn't expect me to appreciate your attitude."
Her companion laid a restraining hand on her arm as she was about to
move away.
"Sit down! If I vexed you, I'm sorry; but you really shouldn't be so
quick in temper. Besides, you shouldn't have flung the news at me in
that startling fashion. After all, I've no doubt he has something to
recommend him. Most of them have a few good qualities which now and then
become evident when you don't expect them."
She paused and looked up at Alison with a smile in which there was a
hint of tenderness.
"For instance, it has been dawning on me of late that there's a good
deal that's rather nice in Elcot. Now try to be reasonable, and tell me
what the trouble is."
Alison's indignation dissipated. It was, after all, difficult to be
angry with Florence, and she supplied her with a brief account of how
Thorne was situated. Her companion listened with more interest than she
had fancied her capable of displaying, and when Alison stopped she made
a sign of comprehension.
"You want me to ask Elcot to send him over some of our men? I wish I
could--I almost feel I owe you that--but it's difficult. Elcot's trying
desperately to save the remnant of his crop. He has been very badly
hit."
Alison sat silent in tense anxiety. She could not urge Florence to do
anything that would clearly be to her husband's detriment, and she did
not see how Hunter could help Thorne without neglecting his own harvest.
Then her companion turned to her again.
"I quite realize that Thorne will be turned out unless he clears off the
loan, but you haven't mentioned the name of the creditor who wishes to
ruin him."
"It's Nevis."
An ominous sparkle crept into Florence's eyes, and her face grew hard.
"Then I'll try to explain it all to Elcot to-night, and if he can drive
off Nevis by any means that won't cost him too great a sacrifice I think
you can count on its being done."
Alison felt inclined to wonder why the mention of Nevis's part in the
affair had had such an effect on her companion, but that, after all, did
not seem a very important point, and when she drove away half an hour
later she was in an exultant mood. When she had gone, Florence
supervised the preparations for the men's supper, and after the meal
was over she stopped Hunter as he was going out again through the
veranda.
"If you can wait for a few minutes I have something to tell you," she
said. "To begin with, Alison Leigh is going to marry Thorne."
Hunter did not look much astonished.
"I think Mavy has made a wise choice, but I'm very much afraid there's
trouble in front of them," he said.
"That," returned Florence, "is exactly what I meant to speak about.
Alison was here this afternoon, and she mentioned it to me. I want to
save them as much as I can."
Hunter's face remained expressionless. It was the first time, so far as
he could remember, that Florence had concerned herself about any other
person's difficulties.
"Well," he asked gravely, "how do you propose to set about it?"
"In the first place, I thought I'd mention it to you."
A dry smile crept into Hunter's eyes.
"Then you'd better give me all the particulars in your possession. I
have some idea as to the cause of the trouble, but I haven't been over
to Mavy's place for some time, and he has sent no word to me."
Florence told him what she knew, and when she had finished he gazed at
her reflectively.
"You want me to send him all the men and binders I can spare? That's the
only useful course."
Florence hesitated, and when she spoke her manner was unusually
diffident.
"I feel it's rather shabby to promise a favor and then hand on the work
to you, but in this case I'm helpless. I should like you to get Thorne
out of his trouble, if it's only on Alison's account; but on the other
hand I don't want you to increase your own difficulties by sending men
away. You stand first with me."
Hunter made no allusion to the last assurance.
"It seems very likely that what the boys are now doing will in the end
come to much the same thing as changing a dollar and getting about
ninety cents back for it, which naturally prevents me from feeling that
I would be making very much of a sacrifice in discontinuing the
operation."
"I don't quite understand how that could be. Even if the hail has almost
spoiled the crop, you have the men, and it won't cost you any more if
you keep them busy saving as much of it as is possible."
"That," explained Hunter, "is partly why I'm doing so, and the other
reason is that I must have something that will keep me occupied just
now. On the other hand, before I can get anything for the wheat it must
be thrashed and hauled in to the elevators. Now, thrashing is usually
done by contract--at so much the bushel--in this country, and I've
reason to believe that the thrasher boys will charge me considerably
more than the average rate. Considering the state of the crop, they'll
have to do a great deal of work for a very little wheat. Besides, that
little's damaged and would bring less than the market price, which is a
particularly low one this year. Then there's the cost of haulage, which
is an item, because it would entail keeping the hired men on, and I've
the option of paying them off as soon as harvest's over."
"In short," said Florence in a troubled voice, "it would probably be
more profitable to let the whole crop rot as it stands."
"I'm afraid that's the case," Hunter agreed.
Florence sat silent for almost a minute watching him covertly. It once
more struck her that he looked very jaded, and she was touched by the
weariness in his face. Then, though the occasion seemed most
inopportune, she was carried away by a sudden impulse which compelled
her to mention Nevis's loan.
"Elcot," she blurted out, "I have made things worse for you all
along--and now there's another trouble I have brought upon you."
For a minute or two she poured out disjointed sentences, and though the
man listened gravely, almost unmoved in face, she found the making of
that confession about the most difficult thing she had ever done.
"How much did you borrow?" he inquired.
She told him; and raising himself a little from his leaning posture he
looked down upon her with an embarrassing quietness.
"I was half afraid there might be something of that kind in the
background," he said at length. "There's one point I must raise.
Presumably, you wouldn't allow a man who was to all intents and purposes
a stranger to lend you money?"
He spoke as if the matter were open to doubt, and Florence found the
situation rapidly becoming intolerable, but it was to her credit that
she recognized that half-measures would be useless then.
"No," she acknowledged.
"Then I must ask exactly what kind of interest you took in the man, and
how far your acquaintance with him went?"
Florence's face burned, but she roused herself to answer him.
"He was amusing," she said slowly, picking her words. "He came here once
or twice when you were out, and on a few occasions I met him by accident
on the prairie and at the settlement. I suppose I was--pleasant--to him,
but nobody could have called it more than that. Then there was a change
in his attitude."
"It was to be expected," Hunter interposed dryly. "Do you wish me to
understand that you were astonished?"
Florence rose and turned on him with hot anger in her eyes.
"Yes!" she exclaimed, "I was astonished and--you must believe
it--horribly mortified! He tried to make me feel that I was in his
power!"
She paused and clenched one hand tight before she cried:
"What can I do to convince you? I hate the man! I want you to crush and
humble him!"
Hunter greeted this outbreak with a smile, but he made no answer; and
growing calmer in a few moments she looked at him again.
"What are you going to do about it, Elcot?" she asked.
"In the first place, those two notes of yours must be paid when they
fall due. After that I shall act--as appears advisable."
Florence sat down with relief in her face.
"Raising the money will be another difficulty," she said. "I will give
up my allowance until it is paid off."
"That," replied Hunter, with undiminished dryness, "will no doubt have
to be done."
He turned away from her and leaned heavily on the balustrade for a
minute or two, apparently watching the hired men toiling among his
ruined wheat. Then he slowly looked around again.
"Well," he observed, "I'm glad you have told me about the thing; but I'm
somewhat surprised that you didn't realize that you could have disarmed
Nevis--and freed yourself--by mentioning it earlier."
"I was ashamed--though there was in one sense no reason why I should be.
It would have looked--so suggestive."
Hunter interrupted her with a little bitter laugh.
"No; when I asked you what interest you took in Nevis it wasn't quite
what I meant. I merely thought your answer might throw some light on his
views, which I wanted to be sure of. You are too dispassionate, and too
much alive to your own benefit, to make much of a sacrifice for the sake
of any man."
Florence winced at this, but she rose and laid her hand on his arm.
"Try me, Elcot," she begged. "I know I'm fond of ease and
luxury--perhaps it's because I had so little of them before I married
you, but now you must give me nothing for the next twelve months. Cut
the household expenses down by half and send everybody but one maid
away."
"I'm afraid you'll have to be prepared for something of the kind,"
replied Hunter quietly. "In the meanwhile, I'll take the boys and the
binders over to Thorne's place in the morning."
He moved away toward his ruined crop without another word, but Florence
did not resent the attitude he had adopted. Indeed, his uncompromising
directness had appealed to her in his favor. When, soon after their
marriage, she had by various means made it plain that he was expected
to keep his distance and leave her largely to her own devices it had
been a relief that he had fallen in with her views without protest,
though it had been evident that it had grievously hurt him. Then his
forbearance and apparent content with the situation had by degrees grown
galling, and now, when at last he seemed inclined to assert himself, she
was not displeased. It had, as she had admitted to Alison, begun to dawn
on her that she had somehow never recognized her husband's good
qualities, and that there were unexpected possibilities in the simple
farmer. Besides this, she was seized with a fit of wholly genuine
penitence.
In the meanwhile Hunter climbed into the seat of a binder which he drove
slowly through the tangled grain, and Florence, still lingering on the
veranda, noticed the carefulness with which he and his men stooked the
sheaves of wheat which might never be sold. The rows of black shadows
behind them lengthened rapidly, until at last they coalesced and the
stubble lay dim, while the western face of the grain along which the
binders crept alone glowed with a coppery radiance as the red sun
dipped. Then a wonderful exhilarating coolness crept into the air, and
there was a stillness not apparent earlier through which the clash and
clatter of the machines rang harshly distinct. They moved on with the
bent figures which grew dimmer toiling behind them for another
half-hour, and then while the others trooped off to the stables Hunter
walked slowly toward the house. Florence noticed the suggestive
slackness of his bearing and her heart smote her, for she knew it was
not mere physical weariness which had crushed the vigor out of the man.
When he came up the steps she turned to him.
"Is the wheat looking no better?"
"No," answered Hunter simply; "It's looking worse. I'm going in to write
a letter--to the bank."
He strode on and disappeared into the house, but Florence, who presently
saw a light stream out from one of the windows, sat still, though the
dew was getting heavy and it was chilly now.