Now that everything was settled Eric wished to give up teaching and go
back to his own place. True, he had “signed papers” to teach the school
for a year; but he knew that the trustees would let him off if he
procured a suitable substitute. He resolved to teach until the fall
vacation, which came in October, and then go. Kilmeny had promised
that their marriage should take place in the following spring. Eric
had pleaded for an earlier date, but Kilmeny was sweetly resolute, and
Thomas and Janet agreed with her.
“There are so many things that I must learn yet before I shall be ready
to be married,” Kilmeny had said. “And I want to get accustomed to
seeing people. I feel a little frightened yet whenever I see any one I
don’t know, although I don’t think I show it. I am going to church with
Uncle and Aunt after this, and to the Missionary Society meetings. And
Uncle Thomas says that he will send me to a boarding school in town this
winter if you think it advisable.”
Eric vetoed this promptly. The idea of Kilmeny in a boarding school was
something that could not be thought about without laughter.
“I can’t see why she can’t learn all she needs to learn after she is
married to me, just as well as before,” he grumbled to her uncle and
aunt.
“But we want to keep her with us for another winter yet,” explained
Thomas Gordon patiently. “We are going to miss her terrible when she
does go, Master. She has never been away from us for a day--she is all
the brightness there is in our lives. It is very kind of you to say
that she can come home whenever she likes, but there will be a great
difference. She will belong to your world and not to ours. That is for
the best--and we wouldn’t have it otherwise. But let us keep her as our
own for this one winter yet.”
Eric yielded with the best grace he could muster. After all, he
reflected, Lindsay was not so far from Queenslea, and there were such
things as boats and trains.
“Have you told your father about all this yet?” asked Janet anxiously.
No, he had not. But he went home and wrote a full account of his summer
to old Mr. Marshall that night.
Mr. Marshall, Senior, answered the letter in person. A few days
later, Eric, coming home from school, found his father sitting in Mrs.
Williamson’s prim, fleckless parlour. Nothing was said about Eric’s
letter, however, until after tea. When they found themselves alone, Mr.
Marshall said abruptly,
“Eric, what about this girl? I hope you haven’t gone and made a fool of
yourself. It sounds remarkably like it. A girl that has been dumb all
her life--a girl with no right to her father’s name--a country girl
brought up in a place like Lindsay! Your wife will have to fill your
mother’s place,--and your mother was a pearl among women. Do you think
this girl is worthy of it? It isn’t possible! You’ve been led away by
a pretty face and dairy maid freshness. I expected some trouble out of
this freak of yours coming over here to teach school.”
“Wait until you see Kilmeny, father,” said Eric, smiling.
“Humph! That’s just exactly what David Baker said. I went straight to
him when I got your letter, for I knew that there was some connection
between it and that mysterious visit of his over here, concerning which
I never could drag a word out of him by hook or crook. And all HE said
was, ‘Wait until you see Kilmeny Gordon, sir.’ Well, I WILL wait till I
see her, but I shall look at her with the eyes of sixty-five, mind you,
not the eyes of twenty-four. And if she isn’t what your wife ought to
be, sir, you give her up or paddle your own canoe. I shall not aid or
abet you in making a fool of yourself and spoiling your life.”
Eric bit his lip, but only said quietly,
“Come with me, father. We will go to see her now.”
They went around by way of the main road and the Gordon lane. Kilmeny
was not in when they reached the house.
“She is up in the old orchard, Master,” said Janet. “She loves that
place so much she spends all her spare time there. She likes to go there
to study.”
They sat down and talked awhile with Thomas and Janet. When they left,
Mr. Marshall said,
“I like those people. If Thomas Gordon had been a man like Robert
Williamson I shouldn’t have waited to see your Kilmeny. But they are all
right--rugged and grim, but of good stock and pith--native refinement
and strong character. But I must say candidly that I hope your young
lady hasn’t got her aunt’s mouth.”
“Kilmeny’s mouth is like a love-song made incarnate in sweet flesh,”
said Eric enthusiastically.
“Humph!” said Mr. Marshall. “Well,” he added more tolerantly, a moment
later, “I was a poet, too, for six months in my life when I was courting
your mother.”
Kilmeny was reading on the bench under the lilac trees when they reached
the orchard. She stood up and came shyly forward to meet them, guessing
who the tall, white-haired old gentleman with Eric must be. As she
approached Eric saw with a thrill of exultation that she had never
looked lovelier. She wore a dress of her favourite blue, simply and
quaintly made, as all her gowns were, revealing the perfect lines of her
lithe, slender figure. Her glossy black hair was wound about her head in
a braided coronet, against which a spray of wild asters shone like
pale purple stars. Her face was flushed delicately with excitement. She
looked like a young princess, crowned with a ruddy splash of sunlight
that fell through the old trees.
“Father, this is Kilmeny,” said Eric proudly.
Kilmeny held out her hand with a shyly murmured greeting. Mr. Marshall
took it and held it in his, looking so steadily and piercingly into her
face that even her frank gaze wavered before the intensity of his keen
old eyes. Then he drew her to him and kissed her gravely and gently on
her white forehead.
“My dear,” he said, “I am glad and proud that you have consented to be
my son’s wife--and my very dear and honoured daughter.”
Eric turned abruptly away to hide his emotion and on his face was a
light as of one who sees a great glory widening and deepening down the
vista of his future.
THE END.
End of Project Gutenberg’s Kilmeny of the Orchard, by Lucy Maud Montgomery