A RASH PROMISE
A few days before he started for England, Festing went over to
Charnock's homestead, which was shortly to be sold. The evenings were
getting light, and although Festing had finished his day's work before
he left the bridge, the glow of sunset flooded Charnock's living-room.
The strong red light searched out the signs of neglect and dilapidation,
the broken boots and harness that needed mending, the dust sticking to
the resin-stains on the cracked walls, and the _gumbo_ soil on the dirty
floor. As Charnock glanced up a level ray touched his face and showed
a certain sensual coarseness that one missed when the light was normal.
Festing, however, knew the look, and although he had not remarked it
when he first met Charnock, thought it had always been there.
The change he had noted in his friend was only on the surface. Charnock
had not really deteriorated in Canada; the qualities that had brought
him down had been overlaid by a spurious grace and charm, but it now
looked as if moral slackness might develop into active vice. On the
whole, he thought Sadie would have trouble with Bob, but this was not
his business.
“I've come to say good-bye,” he remarked. “I won't see you again until
my return, and expect you'll be married then.”
“Yes,” said Charnock, shortly. “I suppose you have made some plans for
your trip. Where are you going to stop in England?”
Festing told him and he looked surprised. “I didn't know you had friends
in that neighborhood. Will you be with them some time?”
“A month, anyway. Then I may come and go.”
Charnock pushed his chair back out of the light. “Well, this makes it
easier; there's something I want to ask. We are friends and I've let you
give me good advice, though I haven't always acted on it. I don't know
if this gives me a claim.”
“If there's anything I can do----”
“There is,” said Charnock, who hesitated for a few moments. “I want you
to go and see Helen Dalton. She's the girl I ought to have married, and
doesn't live very far from your friends.”
“Ah!” said Festing with a start. “It was her portrait you meant to
burn?”
Charnock gave him a sharp glance. “Just so. I imagine I did burn it,
because I couldn't find it afterwards.”
There was silence for a few moments while Festing wondered whether the
other suspected him. Bob had an air of frankness, but was sometimes
cunning. This, however, was not important, and Festing was strongly
moved by the thought that he might see the girl.
“Why do you want me to go?” he asked.
“In order that you can tell her how I was situated. I want her to know
why I was forced to give her up.”
“But you have written and stated your reasons.”
“Of course. But I've no talent for explanation, and in a letter you say
too little or too much; probably I didn't say enough. Then you can't
tell how far the person written to will understand, and questions rise.
But will you go?”
Festing wanted to go, although he saw his task might be embarrassing. He
had been some time in Western Canada, where people are frank and do not
shrink from dealing with delicate matters. Then Charnock was his friend.
“It will be an awkward job, but you can indicate the line you think I
ought to take.”
“The line is plain. You will tell Helen what it means to lose one's
crop, and try to make her understand the struggle I've had--how the
weather was against me, and the debts kept piling up until I was ruined.
You can describe the havoc made by drought, and frost, and cutting sand.
Then there's the other side of the matter; the hardships a woman must
bear on the plains when money's scarce. The loneliness, the monotonous
drudgery, the heat, the Arctic cold.”
“Miss Dalton looks as if she had pluck. She wouldn't be easily daunted.”
“Do you think I don't know? But when you meet her you'll see that the
life we lead is impossible for a girl like that.”
“It looks as if you wanted me to be your advocate,” Festing remarked
rather dryly. “I'm to make all the excuses for you I can, and prove that
you were justified in breaking your engagement. I doubt if I'm clever
enough--”
Charnock stopped him. “No! Perhaps I used excuses, but my object is not
to clear myself.” He paused and colored. “We'll admit that Helen lost
nothing when I gave her up; but a girl, particularly a young, romantic
girl, feels that kind of thing, and it might hurt worse if she thought
she had loved a wastrel. I want her to feel that I broke my engagement
for her sake, when nothing else was possible. That might soften the
blow, and I really think it's true.”
“How much of it is true?” Festing asked bluntly.
“Ah,” said Charnock, “you're an uncompromising fellow. You meant that if
you'd had my debts and difficulties, you could have made good?”
“I might; but we both know two or three other men whom I'd have backed
to do so.”
“For all that, you'll admit that the thing was impossible for me?”
Festing knitted his brows. “I believe you could have overcome your
difficulties; that is, if you had really made an effort and faced the
situation earlier. But since you hadn't nerve enough, I dare say it was
impossible.”
“You forget one thing; I hadn't time. At the best, it would have
taken me three or four years to get straight, and as you haven't much
imagination, I suppose you don't realize what Helen's trials would have
been in the meanwhile. An engaged girl's situation isn't easy when her
lover is away. She stands apart, forbidden much others may enjoy, and
Helen would have had to bear her friends' contemptuous pity for being
bound to a man who had turned out a failure or worse.”
“I expect that's true,” Festing agreed. “However, there's another
difficulty. Suppose I persuade Miss Dalton that you made a plucky fight
and only gave her up when you were beaten? She may refuse to let you go,
and insist on coming out to help.”
Charnock started, but with a rather obvious effort recovered his calm.
“You must see your suggestion's stupid. Helen can't come out; I'm going
to marry Sadie.”
“I forgot,” said Festing. “Well, since you urge me, I'll do what I can,
although I don't like the job.”
He left the homestead shortly afterwards, but felt puzzled as he walked
across the plain. When he suggested that Miss Dalton might resolve to
join and help her lover, Charnock had looked alarmed. This was strange,
because although Festing had, for a moment, forgotten Sadie, it was
ridiculous to imagine that Bob had done so. Then why had he started.
There were, however, one or two other things that disturbed Festing, who
felt that he had made a rash promise. But the promise had been made, and
he must do his best to carry it out.
He had a fine voyage, and a week after his arrival in the Old Country
walked up and down the terrace of a house among the hills in the North
of England. His host was an old friend of the family who had shown
Festing some kindness when he was young, and his daughter, Muriel,
approved her father's guest. She liked the rather frank, brown-skinned,
athletic man, whom she had joined on the terrace. He was a new and
interesting type; but although she was two or three years the younger
and attractive, their growing friendship was free from possible
complications. Muriel, as Festing had learned, was going to marry the
curate.
After the roar of activity at the bridge, where the hammers rang all day
and often far into the night, he found his new surroundings strangely
pleasant. In Canada, he had lived in the wilds; on the vast bare plains,
and among snowy mountains where man grappled with Nature in her sternest
mood. Thundering snowslides swept away one's work, icy rocks must be cut
through, and savage green floods threatened the half-built track when
the glaciers began to melt. Every day had brought a fresh anxiety, and
now he welcomed the slackening of the strain. The struggle had left
its mark on him; one saw it in his lean, muscular symmetry, his quiet
alertness, and self-confidence. But he could relax, and found the
English countryside had a soothing charm.
The sun was low and rugged hills cut against the pale-saffron sky. The
valley between was filled with blue shadow, but in the foreground a
river twinkled in the fading light. Feathery larches grew close up to
the house, and a beck splashed in the gloom among their trunks. Farther
off, a dog barked, and there was a confused bleating of sheep, but this
seemed to emphasize the peaceful calm.
“It's wonderfully quiet,” Festing remarked. “I can't get used to the
stillness; I feel as if I was dreaming and would wake up to hear the din
of the rivers and the ballast roaring off the gravel cars. However, I
have some business to do to-morrow that I'm not keen about. Can one see
Knott Scar from here?”
“It's the blue ridge, about six miles off. The dark patch on its slope
is a big beech wood.”
“Then do you know the Daltons?”
“Oh, yes,” said Muriel. “Helen Dalton is a friend of mine. Although the
Scar's some way off, I see her now and then. But are you going there?”
“I am; I wish it wasn't needful,” Festing answered rather gloomily.
“Ah!” said Muriel, giving him a sharp glance. “Helen was to have married
a man in Canada, but the engagement was broken off. Do you know him?”
“I do. That's why I'm going to the Scar. I've promised to explain
matters as far as I can.”
Muriel studied his disturbed face with a twinkle of amusement. “Well,
I'm sorry for Helen; it must have been a shock. For all that, I thought
the engagement a mistake.”
“Then you have seen Charnock?”
“Once. He's a friend of some people Helen used to stay with in the
South, but I met him at the Scar. Handsome, and charming, in a way, but
I thought him weak.”
“What are Miss Dalton's people like?”
“Don't you want to know what Helen is like?”
“No,” said Festing. “I know her already; that is, I've seen her
picture.”
Muriel, glancing at him keenly, did not understand his look, but
replied: “Helen lives with her mother and aunt, but it's hard to
describe them. They are not old, but seem to date back to other times.
In fact, they're rather unique nowadays. Like very dainty old china;
you'd expect them to break if they were rudely jarred. You feel they
ought to smell of orris and lavender.”
“Ah,” said Festing. “I was a fool to promise Charnock. I've never met
people like that, and am afraid they'll get a jar to-morrow.”
“I don't think you need be afraid,” Muriel replied. “They're not really
prudish or censorious, though they are fastidious.”
“And is Miss Dalton like her mother and aunt?”
“In a way. Helen has their refinement, but she's made of harder stuff.
She would wear better among strains and shocks.”
Festing shook his head. “Girls like her ought to be sheltered and kept
from shocks. After all, there's something to be said for Charnock's
point of view. Your delicate English grace and bloom ought to be
protected and not rubbed off by the rough cares of life.”
“I don't know if you're nice or not,” Muriel rejoined with a laugh.
“Anyway, you don't know many English girls, and your ideas about us are
old-fashioned. We are not kept in lavender now. Besides, it isn't the
surface bloom that matters, and fine stuff does not wear out. It takes
a keener edge and brighter polish from strenuous use. And Helen is fine
stuff.”
“So I thought,” said Festing quietly, and stopped at the end of the
terrace. The bleating of sheep had died away, and except for the splash
of the beck a deep silence brooded over the dale. The sun had set and
the landscape was steeped in soft blues and grays, into which woods and
hills slowly melted.
“It's remarkably pleasant here,” he said. “Not a sign of strain and
hurry; things seem to run on well-oiled wheels! Perhaps the greatest
change is to feel that one has nothing to do.”
“But you had holidays now and then in Canada.”
“No,” said Festing. “Anyhow I've had none for a very long time. Of
course there are lonely places, and in winter the homesteads on the
plains are deadly quiet, but I was always where some big job was rushed
along. Hauling logs across the snow, driving them down rivers, and after
I joined the railroad, checking calculations, and track-grading in the
rain. It was a fierce hustle from sunrise to dark, with all your senses
highly strung and your efforts speeded up.”
“Then one can understand why it's a relief to lounge. But would that
satisfy you long?”
Festing laughed. “It would certainly satisfy me for a time, but after
that I don't know. It's a busy world, and there's much to be done.”
Muriel studied him as they walked back along the terrace. He wore no
hat, and she liked the way he held his head and his light, springy step,
though she smiled as she noted that he pulled himself up to keep pace
with her. It was obvious that he was not used to moving leisurely. Then
his figure, although spare, was well proportioned, and his rather
thin face was frank. He had what she called a fined-down look,
but concentrated effort of mind and body had given him a hint of
distinction. He was a man who did things, and she wondered what Helen,
who was something of a romantic dreamer, would think of him. Then she
reflected with a touch of amusement that he would probably find the
errand his friend had given him embarrassing.
“You don't look forward to seeing the Daltons to-morrow,” she remarked.
“That's so,” Festing admitted. “I didn't quite know what I'd undertaken
when I gave my promise. The thing looks worse in England. In fact, it
looks very nearly impossible just now.”
“But you are going?”
Festing spread out his hands. “Certainly. What can I do? Charnock
hustled me into it; he has a way of getting somebody else to do the
things he shirks. But I gave him my word.”
“And that's binding!” remarked Muriel, who was half amused by his
indignation. She thought Charnock deserved it, but Festing could be
trusted.
“I wish I could ask your advice,” he resumed. “You could tell me what to
say; but as I don't know if Charnock would approve, it mightn't be the
proper thing.”
Muriel was keenly curious to learn the truth about her friend's love
affair, but she resisted the temptation. Because she liked Festing, she
would not persuade him to do something for which he might afterwards
reproach himself.
“No,” she said, “perhaps you oughtn't to tell me. But I don't think you
need be nervous. If you have the right feeling, you will take the proper
line.”
Then they went into the house where the curate was talking to Gardiner.