UNDER THE STANLEY PINES
It was a pleasant afternoon when Millicent Leslie stood in the portico
of her villa, which looked upon the inlet from a sunny ridge just
outside Vancouver. Like the other residences scattered about, the
dwelling quaintly suggested a doll's house--it was so diminutively
pretty with its carved veranda, bright green lattices, and spotless
white paint picked out with shades of paler green and yellow. Flowers
filled tiny borders, and behind the house small firs, spared by the ax,
stood rigid and somber. With clear sunshine heating upon it and the
blue waters sparkling close below, the tiny villa was so daintily
attractive that one might almost suppose its inhabitants could carry
neither care nor evil humor across its threshold, but there was disgust
and weariness in Millicent's eyes as she glanced from the little
pony-carriage waiting at the gate to her husband leaning against a
pillar.
Leslie was evidently in a complacent frame of mind, and he did not
notice his wife's expression. There was a smile upon his puffy face
which suggested pride of possession. It was justifiable, for Mrs.
Leslie was still a distinctly handsome woman, and she knew how to dress
herself.
"You will meet very few women who excel you, and the team is unique,"
he remarked exultantly. "Drive around by some of the big stores and
let folks see you before you turn into the park. Since that affair of
Thurston's I am almost beginning to grow proud of you."
"Isn't it somewhat late in the day?" was the answer, and Millicent's
tone was chilly. "If you had wished to pay me a compliment that was
not intended ironically, it would have been wiser to omit all reference
to the subject you mentioned. It is done now--and heaven knows why I
told you--but I can't thank you for reminding me of a deed I am ashamed
of. Further, I understood the ponies were for my pleasure, and I have
stooped far enough in your interest without displaying myself as an
advertisement of a prosperity which does not exist."
Leslie laughed unpleasantly, noticing the flash in the speaker's eyes
before he rejoined: "Perhaps it is tardy praise I give you, but
regarding your last remark, to pretend you have achieved prosperity is,
so far as I can see, the one way to attain it, and I have a promising
scheme in view. It is not a particularly pleasant part to play, and
there was a time when it appeared very improbable that either of us
would be forced, as you say, to stoop to it. Neither was it my
ambition which brought about the necessity. As to the ponies--I had
fancied they might do their part, too, but they are a reward for
services rendered in finding me a clue to the missing-man mystery.
Nobody need know that they're not quite our own. Now you have got
them, isn't it slightly unfair to blame me because you were willing to
earn them?"
"I suppose so," admitted Millicent. "Still, I can't help remarking
that you take the man's usual part of blaming the woman for whatever
happens. To-day I will not drive through the city, but straight into
the park."
Leslie said nothing further, but followed his wife to the gate. On his
way to his office, he turned and looked after her with a frown as she
rattled her team along the uneven road. She was a vain and covetous
woman with a bias towards intrigue, but there had been times since her
marriage when she despised herself, and as a natural consequence blamed
her husband. Sometimes she hated Thurston, also, though more often she
was sensible of vague regrets, and grew morbid thinking of what might
have been. Now she flushed a little as she glanced at the ponies and
remembered that they were the price of treachery. The animals were
innocent, but she found satisfaction in making them feel the sting of
the whip.
She looked back at the city.
It rose in terraces above the broad inlet--a maze of wooden buildings,
giving place to stone. Over its streets hung a wire network, raised
high on lofty poles, which would have destroyed the beauty of a much
fairer city. Back of the city rose the somber forest over which at
intervals towered the blasted skeleton of some gigantic pine.
Millicent felt that she detested both the city, with its crude mingling
of primitive simplicity and Western luxury, and the life she lived in
it. It was a life of pretense and struggle, in which she suffered
bitter mortifications daily. Presently she reined the team in to a
walk as she drove under the cool shade of the primeval forest which,
with a wisdom not common in the West, the inhabitants of Vancouver have
left unspoiled as Nature. A few drives have been cut through the trees
and between the long rows of giant trunks she could catch at intervals
the silver shimmer of the Straits. In this park there was only restful
shadow. Its silence was intensified by the soft thud of hoofs. A dim
perspective of tremendous trees whose great branches interlocked,
forming arches for the roof of somber green very far above, lured her
on.
Millicent felt the spell of the silence and sighed remembering how the
lover whom she had discarded once pleaded that she would help him in a
life of healthful labor. She regretted that she had not consented to
flee with him to the new country. Now she was tied to a man she
despised, and who had put her, so she considered, to open shame. She
could not help comparing his weak, greedy, yet venomous nature, with
the other's courage, clean purpose and transparent honesty.
"I was a fool, ten times a fool; but it is too late," she told herself,
and then tightening her grip on the reins she started with surprise.
The man to whom her thoughts had strayed was leaning against a hemlock
with his eyes fixed on her face. It was the first time they had met
since she played the part of Delilah, and, in spite of her customary
self-command, Millicent betrayed her agitation. A softer mood was upon
her and she had the grace to be ashamed. Still, it appeared desirable
to discover whether he suspected her.
"I was quite startled to see you, Geoffrey, but I am very glad. It is
almost too hot for walking. Won't you let me drive you?" she said with
flurried haste.
If Geoffrey hesitated Millicent noticed no sign of it beyond that he
was slow in answering. He was conscious that Mrs. Leslie looked just
then a singularly attractive companion, but she was the wife of another
man, and, of late, he had felt a vague alarm at the confidences she
seemed inclined to exchange with him. Nevertheless, he could find no
excuse at the moment which would not suggest a desire to avoid her, and
with a word of thanks he took his place at her side.
"I came down to consult my friend, Mr. Thomas Savine, on business," he
explained. "I had one or two other matters to attend to, and promised
to overtake him and his wife during their stroll. I must have missed
them. What a pretty team! Have you had the ponies long?"
Millicent's well-gloved fingers closed somewhat viciously upon the
whip, for the casual question was unfortunate, but she smiled as she
answered and she chatted gayly until, in an interlude, Thurston felt
prompted to say:
"Coincidences are sometimes striking, are they not? You remember, the
last time we met, suggesting that I was fortunate in having no enemies
among the mountains?"
"Yes," she replied, shrinking a little, "I do--but do you know that it
makes one shiver to talk about glaciers and snow on such a perfect day."
A man of keener perceptions, reading the speaker's face, would have
changed the subject at once, and Millicent had earned his tactful
consideration. It was a good impulse which prompted her to place
herself beyond the reach of further temptation. Geoffrey, however, was
unobservant that afternoon.
"I am certainly tired of glaciers and snow and other unpleasant things
myself, and was merely going to say that, shortly after I last talked
with you, I discovered another instance of an unknown enemy's
ingenuity," he went on. "A wagon we had chartered upset down a steep
ravine, and several costly pieces of machinery I had brought out from
England, and can hardly replace, were smashed to pieces."
"Ah!" responded Millicent, staring straight before her. "What a pity!
Still accidents of that description must be fairly common where the
mountain roads are bad?"
"They are; but this was not an accident. We found that somebody had
pulled out the cotter or iron pin which held the wagon wheel on."
"Did any of your own men do it?" Millicent inquired, concealing her
eagerness, and Thurston answered with pride in his tone:
"My own men risk their lives almost every day in my service. There is
not one among them capable of treachery--now. We made tolerably
certain it was the work of two strangers, who hung about the
neighboring settlement and disappeared immediately after the accident."
Millicent's eyes flashed, her white teeth were set together, and,
filled with hot indignation against her husband, she lashed the ponies
viciously. There were several reasons for what she had done, including
a dislike to Miss Savine, but perhaps the greatest was the sordid fear
of poverty. Now she saw that her husband had tricked her. She had
stooped to save his position and not to enable him to work further
injury for Thurston. The innocent ponies were Leslie's gift, and the
smart of the lash she drew across their sleek backs appeared vicarious
punishment.
"Have I displeased you?" Geoffrey asked.
"No," replied Millicent. "Displeased me! How could I resent anything
you might either say or do? Have I not heaped injury upon you?"
She turned to gaze straight at him with a curious glitter in her eyes.
Thurston, bewildered by it and by the traces of ill-suppressed passion
in her voice, grew distinctly uneasy. He was glad that one of the
ponies showed signs of growing restive under its punishment.
"Steady, Millicent! They're a handsome pair, but not far off bolting,
and there's no parapet to yonder bridge," he cautioned.
In place of an answer the woman again flicked one of the beasts
viciously with the whip, and, next moment, the light vehicle lurched
forward with a whir of gravel hurled up by the wheels. The team had
certainly shied, and the road curved sharply to the unguarded bridge
over a little creek.
"This is my business," declared Geoffrey, wrenching the reins from her
grasp. "Sit well back, throw the whip down and clutch the rail fast."
Then he stood upright grasping the lines in his hard hands. It was,
however, evident that he could not steer the ponies around the bend,
and the fall to the rocks beneath the bridge might mean death.
"Hold fast for your life," he shouted, and let the team run straight
on. There was a heavy shock as the light wheels struck a fallen branch
on leaving the graded road. The vehicle lurched, and Millicent, whose
eyes were wide with terror, screamed faintly. Geoffrey still stood
upright driving the team straight ahead down a more open glade of the
forest. He knew that the stems of the fern and the soft ground beneath
would soon bring them to a standstill if they did not strike a
tree-trunk first.
The going was heavy, and with a plunge or two, the ponies stopped on
the edge of a thicket. Geoffrey, alighting, soothed the trembling
creatures with some difficulty, led them back to the road, and, taking
his place again, turned towards Millicent. It appeared necessary that
he should soothe her, too, for, though generally a self-possessed
person, the emotions of the last few minutes had proved too much for
her. She had suffered from remorse, disgust with herself, rage against
her husband, and to these there had also been added the fear of sudden
death.
"It ended better than it might have done," said Geoffrey, awkwardly.
"Very sorry, but you must really be careful in using the whip to the
ponies. Shall I get down and bring you some water, Millicent? You
look faint. The fright has made you ill."
"No," Millicent denied. "I am not ill; only startled a little--and
very grateful." Instinctively, she moved a little nearer him when
Geoffrey handed her the reins again. He bent his head and smiled
reassuringly. Millicent was white in the face, and shivered a
little--she was also very pretty, and it would have been unkind not to
try to comfort her. Whether it was love of power, dislike to her
husband, or perhaps something more than this, even the woman was not
then sure, but she took full advantage of the position, and the ponies
walked undirected, while Geoffrey essayed to chase away her fears. He
bent his head lower towards her, and Millicent smiled at him with
apparently shy gratitude.
Lifting his eyes a moment, Geoffrey set his teeth as he met the coldly
indifferent gaze of Helen, who came towards them in company with Mr.
and Mrs. Thomas Savine. Millicent also saw the three Savines, and,
either tempted by jealousy of the girl or by mere vanity, managed to
convey a subtle expression of triumph in her smile of greeting.
Possibly neither Thomas Savine nor Geoffrey would have understood the
meaning of the smile had they seen it, but Helen read it, and it was
with the very faintest bend of her head that she acknowledged
Thurston's salutation.
Geoffrey was silent after they had driven by, but Millicent, who seemed
to recover her spirits, chatted gayly and even said flattering things
of Miss Savine.
Meantime Helen felt confused, hurt and angry. It was true that she had
rejected Thurston's suit, but she had found his loyalty pleasant, and
had believed implicitly in his rectitude. Now a hot color rose to her
temples as she remembered that it was the second time she had seen him
under circumstances which suggested that he had transferred the homage
offered her to a married woman. She felt the insult as keenly as if he
had struck her. The Dominion had not progressed so far in one
direction as the great republic to the south of it, neither are
friendships or flirtations of the kind looked upon as leniently as they
are in tropical colonies, and there was a good deal of the Puritan in
Helen Savine.
"Well, I'm--just rattled. That's Mrs. Leslie!" remarked Thomas Savine.
"Thurston goes straight and steady, but what in the name of----"
Mrs. Savine, whose one weakness was medicine, flashed a warning glance
at him, and hastened to answer, perhaps for the benefit of Helen who
came up just then.
"There is not a straighter man in the Dominion, and one could stake
their last cent on the honor of Geoffrey Thurston," she declared.
"From several things I've heard, I've settled that's just a dangerous
woman."
Helen heard, and, knowing her friendship for the young engineer,
guessed her aunt's motive. The explanation, in any case, would not
have improved the position much, for if the woman were utterly
unprincipled, which she could well believe, why should the man who had,
of his own will, pledged himself to her?--but she flushed again as she
refused to follow that line of thought further. Nevertheless, she
clenched a little hand in a manner that boded ill for Thurston when
next he sought speech with her. Afterwards she endeavored to treat the
incident with complete indifference, and succeeded in deceiving her
uncle only, for in spite of her efforts, her face and carriage
expressed outraged dignity. Her aunt was not in the least deceived,
and her eyes twinkled now and then as she chattered on diverse topics,
while the party drove leisurely towards the city.
When Leslie returned home from his office he found his wife awaiting
him with the disdainful look upon her face which he had learned to hate.
"What's the matter now, Millicent? Has something upset your usually
pacific temper?" he asked with a sneer.
"Yes," was the direct answer. "When you last asked my assistance you,
as usual, lied to me. I helped you to trace your--your confederate,
because you told me it was the only way to escape ruin. For once I
believed you, which was blindly foolish of me. I met Mr. Thurston and
learned from him how somebody had plotted to destroy his machinery. He
did not know it was you, and I very nearly told him."
"Don't be a fool, Millicent," Leslie admonished. "I'm sick of these
displays of temper--they don't become you. I tell you I plotted
nothing except to get my man into my own hands again. The other
rascals exceeded their orders on their own responsibility. Oh, you
would wear out any poor man's patience! Folks in my position don't do
such childish things as hire people to upset wagons loaded with
machinery."
"I do not believe you," replied Millicent, and Leslie laughed
ironically.
"I don't know that it greatly matters whether you do or not. Have you
any more such dutiful things to say?"
"Just this. One hears of honor among thieves, and it is evident you
cannot rise even to that. You have once more tricked me, and
henceforward I warn you that you must carry on your work in your own
way. Further, if I hear of any more plotting to do Thurston injury, I
shall at once inform him."
"Then," Leslie gripped her arm until his fingers left their mark on the
soft white flesh, "I warn you that it will be so much the worse for
you. Good heavens, why don't you--but go, and don't tempt me to say
what I feel greatly tempted to."
Millicent shook off his grasp, moved slowly away, turning to fling back
a bitter answer from the half-opened door.
"Confound her!" said Leslie, refilling the glass upon the table. "Now,
what the devil tempted me to ruin all my prospects by marrying that
woman?"