Mr. Bellairs came, according to his promise, and drove Mrs. Costello and
Lucia to Fairfield, where they were to take the boat for Moose Island.
It was a distance of about five miles; and as they glided along rapidly
and smoothly, Lucia remembered with a sigh that this was probably the
last sleigh drive of any length that she would have before leaving
Canada. Perhaps it was not right, considering what the object of their
present journey was, that she should be at liberty to have any such
thoughts; it might have been more decorous if she had been absorbed by
the grave and sombre ideas which the occasion demanded; but Lucia was at
heart too frank and natural to try to force upon herself the
affectation of a grief she did not feel. It had come into her heart,
while Christian was slowly wearing out the last days of his unhappy
life, to care for him as her father, to be deeply sorry for him, and to
desire to comfort him; but now that his sufferings were over, she
honestly thought that there was no further reason for grieving on his
account. She was sad, however, for very simple and childish reasons; and
this idea that it was her last sleigh drive actually brought tears into
her eyes. Everything was so lovely! The road along which they passed lay
like a broad white line between the dark woods and the river. The sun,
setting over the opposite shore, brought out millions of sparkling
points brighter than diamonds on the surface of the snow, and the
gorgeous colours of the sky, deeper and more vivid even than in summer,
filled her heart with an inexpressible and ever-changing delight. That
wonderful union of spotless purity and glorious colour seemed almost
supernatural--as if it needed but for men's eyes to be opened that they
might see plainly the city of "pure gold like unto clear glass" which
stood upon those many-hued foundations, and the forms with garments
white as snow which might come down and walk unsullied over the
white-robed earth. But to see all this loveliness for the last time! To
enjoy for the last time this luxury of nestling down among the sleigh
robes, and being carried silently and swiftly forward, with nothing to
disturb the dreamy, fanciful mood of the moment! She was actually
crying, letting large heavy tears drop quietly down upon her
furs--crying with the first premonitory attack of homesickness--when the
village came in sight, and she had to rouse herself and dry her eyes,
lest her mother should turn round and see her.
By-and-by they turned down the road to the steamboat wharf, and found
themselves among a little group of people. The boats only stopped here
when they were signalled to do so; but to-night there happened to be
other passengers going, and Mr. Bellairs advised Mrs. Costello to remain
in the sleigh till the 'Reindeer,' which was just in sight, should
arrive. They sat still, accordingly, while he stood beside them talking;
and when the boat had stopped at the landing, they went on board and
straight down to the ladies' cabin. It was by this time growing dusk; in
the low cabin, with its small windows, there was but a faint glimmer of
daylight remaining, and as soon as the boat was again under way, the
hanging lamps were lighted and people who had till then lingered on deck
began to come down by twos and threes. Mrs. Costello and Lucia took
possession of a sofa; their voyage was to end about ten o'clock, and for
the few hours it would last they were disposed to keep quiet and avoid
observation. It happened that the number of passengers was large, the
last boat having been detained at some of the Lake ports, and the
continuance of navigation at that time of year being so uncertain; and
the greater part of the women on board having come from places much
further west than Cacouna, formed a crowd of strangers, among whom two
veiled and muffled figures easily passed unnoticed.
The cabin had grown very quiet, and the dull monotonous noise of the
paddles had lulled Lucia almost to sleep, when she was startled by the
touch of her mother's hand upon her arm.
"It is very nearly time we were there," Mrs. Costello said. "If it is a
fine night we ought to be able to see the island."
They drew their cloaks closely round them and went up on deck. The night
was brilliantly clear and starlight, though there was no moon, and
already the lights of the small American town of Claremont, where they
were to land, were in sight, with their bright reflection shining in the
river below them. To the left a large dark mass seemed to lie upon the
water, and to that Mrs. Costello's eyes turned.
"There is the island," she said in a low voice. "Your birthplace, Lucia,
and my first Canadian home."
But in vain Lucia strained her eyes to distinguish the size or form of
the land. The end of the island which they were approaching was still
thickly wooded, and the drooping branches added still more vagueness to
the outline. Only as they came nearer a small clearing was dimly
distinguishable, where a kind of promontory ran out into the river, and
on the point of land a small white house.
Mrs. Costello laid her hand upon Lucia's.
"Look!" she said, "can you see that space where the house stands? What a
lonely place it looks! I wonder how I lived there for six years. I can
see even the place where the canoe used to lie on the beach. There is
one there now!" She stood straining her eyes to watch the scene once so
familiar, until the steamer, drawing towards the landing-place,
completely hid it from her. Then the lights on shore flashed out more
brightly close at hand, and the figures of men waiting on the wharf
could be distinguished. Just as the cable was thrown on shore a boat
came flying across the river from the island. It drew up to the wharf,
and next moment Mr. Strafford was seen coming through the little crowd
to receive his visitors. They landed immediately, and he led them to his
boat.
"You remember this crossing?" he said to Mrs. Costello; "it was by this
way that you left the island."
"With my baby in my arms. Yes; I am not likely to forget it."
They took their places in the boat, where an Indian boy was waiting. Mr.
Strafford took an oar, and they glided out of the light and noise of the
shore into the starry darkness.
Very few words passed as they crossed the river. Mrs. Costello's mind
was full of thoughts of her life here, and Lucia looked forward with
wondering curiosity to the sight of an Indian settlement. She was
conscious, too, that the feeling of terror and dislike, which for so
many years of her life had been always awakened by the sight of one of
her father's people, was not even now altogether extinguished. Since she
had known her own origin she had tried to get rid of this prejudice more
earnestly than before, but the habit was so strong that she had not yet
quite mastered it. She sat and watched the shadowy outline of the Indian
boy's figure in the boat, and lectured herself a little on the folly and
even wickedness of her sensations.
They had to pass round the lower end of the island, where the village
lay, in order to reach Mr. Strafford's house; but the lights were all
extinguished, and the inhabitants already asleep. They coasted along,
passing a little wooden pier, and some fishing-boats and canoes lying
moored beside the beach, and at last came to a boarded landing-place
with a small boat-house at one end. Here they stopped, and Mr. Strafford
bidding his boy run up to the door and knock, assisted the strangers to
land. They were scarcely out of the boat when a bright gleam of
lamplight flashing from the open door showed them a sloping path, up
which they went, and found themselves in a bright warm room, all glowing
with lamplight and firelight. A very neat little old woman in a
Quaker-like cap and dress was ready to welcome them, and in front of
the great blazing fire a table stood ready for supper. The old woman Mr.
Strafford introduced as his housekeeper, Mrs. Hall, and Mrs. Costello
recognized her as her own successor in the charge of that school for
Indian women and girls of which she had told Lucia.
The room in which supper was laid, and into which the outer door opened,
was large and square. At each end two smaller ones opened off it--on one
side Mr. Strafford's study and bedroom, at the other Mrs. Hall's room
and the one which had been prepared for the guests. Here also a fire
burned brightly on the hearth, shining on the white walls and on the bed
where, years ago, Mrs. Costello had watched her baby through its first
illness. She sat down for a moment to recall that time, and to recognize
bit by bit the familiar aspect of the place; then she made haste to lay
aside her wrappings and get ready for supper.
It was quite ready by this time--the most luxurious meal Mrs. Hall's
resources could provide. There was coffee--not to be praised in itself,
but hot, and accompanied by an abundance of cream. There were venison
steaks, and a great pile of buckwheat cakes that moment taken from the
fire, with a glass dish of clear golden maple syrup placed beside them,
and expressly intended for Lucia's benefit. Altogether not a meal to be
despised.
When supper was over, and Mrs. Hall had left them, Mr. Strafford began
to ask Mrs. Costello for particulars of the arrangements made for the
removal of Christian's remains, and when they would probably arrive at
the island.
Mr. Bellairs had had some difficulty, she told him, in finding means of
transport, but the matter had been finally settled by his engaging a
sailing-boat belonging to a fisherman. The coffin had been put on board
early in the morning, and the boat started at once. It ought, therefore,
to reach the island early to-morrow.
"All here is ready," Mr. Strafford said. "I suppose three o'clock in the
afternoon will do to fix for the funeral; the boat is sure to be here
long before that."
"Oh! yes, long before. Do the people know?"
"Yes, I suppose most of them do. There are not very many who remember
you, but Mary Wanita will be here in the morning to see you. Shall you
dislike it?"
"On the contrary, I shall be very glad. Mary was a true friend."
They talked a little longer, sitting round the fire, when the great logs
began to break through in the middle and fall down on the hearth outside
the andirons, sending up clouds of sparks as they were put back into the
fire. The night was very still; and in the pauses of their talk they
could hear the mournful wash of the river as its steady current pressed
against the landing-place below. To the two elder people, who said
nothing to each other of their fancy, another presence, shadowy and
silent, seemed to take its place among them at the fireside--a fair,
serene presence, matronly and gracious, which had passed away from human
eyes years ago. And they paused and thought of her as she had been that
winter night when she took the fugitive mother and child into her kindly
home, and gave them all her womanly pity and help. What lonely years had
passed here since then!
By some instinctive sympathy their eyes met, and each knew what the
other's thoughts had been. Mr. Strafford rose.
"To-morrow," he said, "we shall have time for a long chat; to-night you
must be tired. I hope Mrs. Hall has done what she could to make you
comfortable."
There could be no doubt about that. For two or three days nothing had
occupied the good woman's thoughts but this strange and wonderful
arrival of strangers--of ladies, too--at the house where so few
strangers ever came; and she had exerted all her backwoods' ingenuity to
repair what deficiency of comfort there might be.
They were in no humour either to be critical; and Lucia was soon asleep,
while her mother lay listening to the sound of the river, and thinking
of the many things which this very room brought so freshly to her mind.