Doctor Rugvie's visit! It was fruitful of much, little as I
anticipated that.
I wrote regularly every month to Delia Beaseley telling her all that I
knew would be of interest to her about my life at Lamoral, and assuring
her that my lines had fallen in pleasant places. She wrote, at first,
to tell me that my wish, in regard to keeping my identity from Doctor
Rugvie for the present, would be respected; but in a later letter she
urged me to make it known to him; to ascertain all the facts possible
about my parentage. I replied that I preferred to wait.
And why did I prefer to wait? I asked myself this question and found
no answer. When the answer came, it was unmistakable in its leadings.
"A letter from Doctor Rugvie; he is coming Monday!" I cried joyfully,
flourishing the sheet in Jamie's face when he appeared at the door to
ask for his mail.
I was sitting on the floor by the shelves in the living-room, for I was
busy cataloguing the books in the general and mixed collection, and
searching for allied subjects. This work Mr. Ewart assigned to me
after I had finished the "forestry" cataloguing.
"Where 's mine?"
"You have n't any, nor Mr. Ewart--from the Doctor, I mean."
"You seem to be particularly elated over the fact."
"Jamie, my friend, feel--" I held up the envelope to him; he took it
and fingered it investigatingly.
"What's this in it?"
"That is an object which in international currency exchange we call a
draft--the equivalent of my wages, Jamie; in other words, payment for
industrial efficiency; do you hear?"
"My, but you are a mercenary woman! One of the kind we read of in the
States," he retorted.
"Wait till you get your first check for royalties from London, then use
that word and tone to me again if you dare."
Mr. Ewart opened the door of the office.
"What's this I hear about the Doctor and mercenary tendencies--the two
don't go together as I happen to know." He spoke from the threshold.
Jamie showed him the envelope, holding it high above my head.
"This, Ewart, is the compensation for sundry days of so-called labor on
the part of Miss Farrell--drives, snow-shoeing, tobogganing with Cale
not discounted, of course. Shall I read it, Marcia?"
"For all I care."
Mr. Ewart looked on smiling at our chaff.
"It's on the First National Bank of New York, Ewart, for the amount of
fifty-two dollars and eighty-seven cents--how 's that about the cents,
Marcia?"
"Because the Doctor insists on paying me every two months and seems to
call thirty days a month--why every two, I don't know, do you?" I said
laughing, and looking up, questioning, into Mr. Ewart's face. What I
saw there, what I am sure Jamie saw, was not encouraging for more
jesting on Jamie's part or mine. He turned away abruptly and sat down
at his desk before he spoke:
"The Doctor wired me this afternoon that he would be here to-night
instead of Monday, as he can get in an extra day. I can't say how
sorry I am it has happened so, for I made arrangements to be in Quebec
to-night and in Ottawa to-morrow night. I return Monday. Well, I must
leave him in your hands--he won't lack entertainment. I wish, Jamie,
it were possible for you to risk it and meet him with me this evening;
but I suppose this night air is too keen--it's ten below now. I shall
take the train he comes on and may not have time for a word of welcome."
"I suppose it would be risking too much." Jamie spoke with something
that sounded like a sigh. "I don't want the Doctor to roar at me the
first thing because I am indiscreet--not after what he and his advice
and kindness have done for me already."
Mr. Ewart laid a hand on his shoulder.
"You 're another man, Macleod, since coming here. We won't make any
back tracks into that wilderness, will we?" He spoke so gently, so
affectionately, that Jamie turned suddenly to him, exclaiming
impulsively:
"Gordon, if you were a woman I 'd kiss you for saying that."
I knew what courage it gave him to hear this from his friend; and I
wondered what kind of a man this might be who, one moment, could look
stern and unyielding at our half childish chaffing, and in the next be
all affectionate solicitude for this younger man who, at times, was all
boy.
"Then, Miss Farrell," he turned to me, "won't you come? Cale will
drive me over in the double pung."
There was no hesitation in my giving an affirmative answer.
"We 'll have supper within an hour, please, Mrs. Macleod," he said, as
she entered the room. He looked at the pile of books on the floor
beside me.
"It's too late for you to work any more." He stooped and, gathering up
an armful, began to place them. "Will you be so kind as to speak to
Marie and tell her to have four soapstones thoroughly heated, and ask
Cale to warm the robes? It will be twenty below before you get back."
"Just what I 've wanted to do all winter," I exclaimed; "a drive on
such a clear, full-moon night to Richelieu-en-Haut will be something to
remember."
"I hope to make it so; for it's a typical Canadian midwinter night--a
thing of splendor if seen with seeing eyes."
"Then you won't expect me to talk much, will you?"
"No,"--he smiled genially, and Jamie audaciously winked at me behind
his back,--"it's apt to make my teeth ache, and although yours are as
sound as mine, I don't believe they can stand prolonged exposure to
severe cold any better. But how about Cale? There is no ice embargo
on his flow of speech."
Jamie burst into a laugh. "You 're right, Gordon, he 'll do all the
talking for both, and for the Doctor too. By the way, mother," he
said, turning to Mrs. Macleod and at the same time holding out a hand
to help me up from the floor--an attention I ignored to save his
strength--"something Cale said the other day, but casually, led me to
think he may be a benedict instead of a bachelor; you have n't found
out yet?"
"No, but sometime it will come right for me to ask him. He has
consideration for women in just those little things that would lead me
to believe that he has been married--"
"Oh, I say, mother, that's rough on Ewart and me. Give us a point or
two on the 'little things', will you?"
"Stop teasing, Jamie; I still think, as I thought from the first, that
he has been--"
"Perhaps more than once, mother! Perhaps he 's a widower, or even a
grass widower--I 've heard of such in the States--or he might be a
divorce, or a Mormon, or a swami gone astray--"
"Havers!" she exclaimed, with a show of resentment which caused her son
to rejoice, for it was only when thoroughly out of patience with him
that she used the Scotch.
"You 're too absurd," I said with a warning look.
"Mother is for stiff back-boned unrelentingness in such things," he
remarked soberly, after she and Mr. Ewart left the room; "and I 've put
my foot into it too," he added dolefully. "Why, the deuce, did n't you
stop me in time?"
"How did I know how far your nonsense would lead you?"
"Well, I don't care--much; I can't step round on eggs just because of
what I 've heard--"
"If only you had n't said anything about 'grass widower'!"
"Don't rub it in so," he said pettishly, and by that same token I knew
he was repentant because, without intention, he might have spoken in a
way to hurt momentarily his friend.
"Beats all how dumb critters scent a change," said Cale, just after
supper. He was loaded with the robes he had been warming. Pierre was
waiting in the pung, having brought the horses around a little early.
Little Pete with a soapstone was following Cale. "They begun to be
uneasy 'bout two hours ago; I take it they heard Mr. Ewart say he was
leavin' on the night express, and begun to get nerved up."
"So they did, Cale; they were in the office, all four of them, and
heard every word. Look at them!"
Cale stopped on his way to the front door and looked up the stairway.
Mr. Ewart was coming down, a dog on each side of him, and two behind
fairly nosing his heels. They made no demonstration; were not
apparently expectant; but, as Cale remarked 'they froze mighty close to
him', sneaking down step by step beside and behind him, ears drooping,
tails well curled between their legs--four despairing setters!
We watched them. Mr. Ewart paid no heed to them. They heeled along in
the passageway almost on their bellies when he took his fur coat from
the hook. He had another on his arm which he held open for me.
"I really am warmly enough dressed," I said.
"I don't doubt it--for now; but you 'll be grateful enough to me three
hours later for insisting on your wearing it--in with you!" He moved a
dog or two from under his feet, gently but forcibly with the tip of his
boot; whereupon they literally crawled on the floor.
"If you don't mind, Cale,"--he spoke purposely in a low monotone, but
with a look of amusement,--"if you don't mind having the dogs in with
you under the robes on the front seat, I 'm willing to have them go,
but I don't want them to run with the pung."
I noticed no movement on the part of the dogs except an intense
quivering of the whole body. One who does not understand doghood might
have fancied they were shivering at the prospect of the eighteen-mile
drive in the cold.
"I ain't no objection," said Cale; "the fact is there ain't no better
foot-warmer 'n a dog on a cold night, an' I was goin' ter ask if I
could n't have the loan of one of 'em fer ter-night."
"Well, they can all go--"
The last word was drowned in a chaos of frantically joyous barks. They
leaped on him, caressed him, stood up with their forepaws stemmed on
the breast of his fur coat, licked his boots, his hands, and attempted
his face--but of that he would have none.
"Be still now--and come on, comrades!" he said. The four made a mad
but silent rush for the door. Cale gave them right of way; Pierre
swore great French oaths wholly disproportionate to the occasion, for
the outrush of the dogs caused the French coach horses to plunge only
twice. At last we were in--the dogs in front with Cale, and Mr. Ewart
and I on the back seat, so muffled in furs, fur robes, fur caps, coats
and mittens, that we humans were scarce to be distinguished from our
canine neighbors.
We no longer used the frozen creek for a crossing, but drove a mile up
the road to the highroad bridge. The night was very cold. The moon
had not yet risen. The stars shone with Arctic splendor. Cale drove
us rapidly over the dry, hard-packed snow--to my amazement in silence.
Through the woods, down the river road we sped, and on through
Richelieu-en-Bas. The light in the cabaret by the steamboat landing
shone dimly; the panes were thick with frost. Here and there a bright
lamp gleamed from some window, but, as a whole, the village was dark.
We drove on to the open country towards Richelieu-en-Haut six miles
away, sometimes through a short stretch of deep woods where the horses
shied at the misshapen stumps, snow-covered. Then out into the open
again, the flat expanse of white seemingly unbroken. Here and there,
far across the snow-fields, I caught a glimpse of a light from some
farmhouse. Once we heard the baying of a hound, at which all four
setters came suddenly to life from beneath the robes and barked
vindictive response.
To the north the sky was dark and less star-strewn than above.
Suddenly I was aware of a wondrous change: the stars paled; the north
glowed with tremulous light, translucent yellow that deepened to
gold--an arc of gold spanning twenty degrees on the horizon. The glory
quivered; ran to and fro; fluctuated from east to west, unstable as
liquid, ethereal as gas; paled gradually; then, in the twinkling of an
eye, dissolved, and in its dissolution sent streamer after streamer,
rose, saffron, pale crocus and white, rapidly zenithward, rising,
sinking, undulating, till the heavens were filled with marvellous
light. Cale reined in the horses for a moment.
"Guess this can't be beat by the biggest show on earth," he remarked
appreciatively.
"Look to the right--the east, Miss Farrell," said Mr. Ewart.
I leaned forward to look past him. Over the white expanse, lightened
in the rays of the northern aurora, the moon, nearly full, showed the
half of its red-gold disk.
The glory faded from the heavens; the moon, rising rapidly, sent its
beams over the fields; the horses saw their shadows long on the off
side. Cale chirruped to them, and we sped onwards to the station.
I was happy! If Cale had called me by that name at this time I would
have welcomed it. It applied to me. It was good to be alive; good to
be out in such a world of natural glory; good to have, in the night and
the silence, such companionship that understood my own silence of
enjoyment.
I was happy at the prospect of the Doctor's coming. The thought of the
future removal to the farm no longer filled me with misgivings. "I
shall still be near the manor, it will not be banishment in any sense."
So I comforted myself.
I turned to get a look over the ridge of fur at the man beside me. He
had spoken but once, to ask if I were comfortable. I wondered if he
were enjoying all this as much as I? He must have read my thought for
he turned his face to me, saying:
"I am enjoying all this on my own behalf, and doubly because your
enjoyment of it is so evident."
"How evident? You can't see that, and I have n't said a word."
"Perhaps for that very reason."
He leaned over and drew the robe farther about my exposed shoulder. I
felt the strength of his arm as he pulled at the heavy pelt, the
gentleness of his touch as he tucked it behind my back. So little of
this thoughtfulness and care had been mine! Almost nothing of it in my
life! No wonder that other women who are cared for, carried on loving
hands, protected by the bulwark of a man's love, cannot understand what
the simple adjustment of that robe around a chilled shoulder meant to
me, Marcia Farrell!
He was always doing something in general for my comfort and pleasure,
but never anything special. Even this drive I owed to Jamie's physical
inability to accept his friend's invitation. But this fact did not
quench my joy.
"Are you comfortable--feet warm?" he asked for the second time.
"As warm as toast."
What was it that I felt as I continued to sit silent by this man's
side?--an alien, I had called him to the Doctor; fool that I was! I
felt a peculiar sense of perfect physical rest I had never before
experienced, a consciousness of happy companionship that needed no word
to make itself understood. This sense of companionship, this rest of
soul and body during the two hours I passed at this man's side--I
enjoyed them to the full. The feelings and emotions of the woman who,
only a few evenings before, had thrown off the yoke of burdening
circumstance, who had broken, to her own physical benefit, with past
associations and memories, found scope, in the protecting night and the
silence, for perilous nights of imagination. Thoughts undreamed of
hitherto, desires I had never supposed permissible in my narrow walk of
life, proved their power over me at this hour. Hopes unbounded, if
wholly unfounded,--for what had this man ever said to me since his
home-coming that he had not said a dozen times to every member of his
household?--imagined joys of another, a dual life--
"Yes," I said to myself, giving rein to pleasing fantasy, "a dual life
in one--our lives, his and mine, one and inseparable; why not, Marcia
Farrell? Why should n't I grasp with both hands outstretched at all
life may have to give me? Why not hold it fast even if it have thorns?"
Imagination was carrying me out of myself. I called a halt to all this
frenzy, as it at once appeared to me by the cold light of the moon, and
brought myself down to earth and common sense with a jolt. I moved
uneasily.
"Are you cold?" Mr. Ewart asked, evidently noticing the movement.
"No; but too much aurora, I 'm afraid."
"Did you feel that too? I thought I would n't mention it, but
something affected me powerfully for the moment, and there has been an
aftermath of sensation since. If this display is wholly electrical, it
may easily be that some human machines are tuned like the wireless to
catch certain vibrations at certain times."
I sat down hard, metaphorically, on eight feet of frozen earth upon
hearing this explanation. "You little fool," I said to myself, but
aloud:
"Whatever it was, it was effectual; I have never experienced anything
like it."
"Never?"
"No; have you?"
The answer seemed long in coming.
"Yes, many years ago; and it was here in this northern country too.
Sometime I would like to tell you about it.--Cale," he spoke quickly,
abruptly, "I hear the train. Keep the horses in the open roadway
behind the station, then if they bolt at the headlight you can have
free rein and a clear road. They 've never seen that light. We 'll
get out here," he said, throwing off the robes as Cale drew rein at the
edge of the platform, "and you can welcome the Doctor for me if I miss
him."
He whisked me out of the pung, giving me both hands as aid, and
replaced the robes.
"Keep the horses head on, and don't let the dogs run," were his last
words to Cale.
The Quebec express whistled at the curve an eighth of a mile distant
from the junction; the sound fell strangely flat in the intense cold.
Cale braced himself to handling the horses. I followed Mr. Ewart to
the front of the platform.
The engine was thundering past us, and the train drawing to a stop of
fifteen seconds.
"Take off your mitten," he said abruptly; I pulled it off with a jerk.
He held out his ungloved hand, and I laid mine within it. The two
palms, warm, throbbing with coursing life, met--
"Goodby till Monday--and thank you for coming. There he is!"
He had just time to see the Doctor appear on the platform at the other
end of the car. Mr. Ewart called to him as he swung himself on to the
already moving train:
"John, look out for Miss Farrell--"
The dazed Doctor failed to grasp the situation. Mr. Ewart waved his
hand as he passed him; "Till Monday--Miss Farrell will explain."
"Miss Farrell, eh?" The Doctor turned to me who was at his side by
means of an awkward skip and a jump, cumbered as I was with the long
coat. "Br-r-rre! Is this the weather you give me as a greeting?"
"Why don't you say rather: 'Is this the weather you brave to meet me
in?' Would n't that sound more to the point? Come on to the pung; the
soapstones are fine."
"Ah--that sounds more like Canadian hospitality. Come on yourself,
Marcia Farrell; where's the pung?"
"Behind the station, that is, if the horses have n't bolted with Cale
and the four dogs. Here he is."
Four canine noses were visible above the robes; eight delicate nostrils
were flaring after the departing train. At the sound of the Doctor's
voice a concerted howl arose from among the robes on the front seat--a
howl expressive of disappointment, of betrayal by their master: "He is
gone, we are left behind."
"Shut up," said Cale shortly, with a significant movement of his foot
beneath the robes.
"Oh, Cale!" I made protest, for at that moment I sympathized. I should
have felt the same had I been a dog; as it was--
I looked after the swiftly receding train, a bright beaded trailing
line of black in the white night. The Doctor was opening the robes.
"In with you, and then we can talk; there 's no wind to prevent."
As soon as he was seated beside me and the horses' heads turned
homewards, he began to chat in his cheery way, he asking, I answering
the many questions; he telling of Delia Beaseley and his delight to be
in Canada again, I inquiring, until we found ourselves passing through
Richelieu-en-Bas. And during all the time I was listening to his merry
chat and chaffing, to his kindly expressed interest in all that
pertained to my small doings at the manor, I was hearing the on-coming
thunder of the engine and those last words: "Take off your
mitten--Good-by till Monday--thank you for coming."
During that hour and a half of our homeward drive, I gave no heed to
the perfect Canadian night, its silver radiance, its snow gleam and
sparkle enhancing the violet shadows. I was seeing only that
long-stretching waste of white beyond the junction, that bright beaded
trailing line of black, narrowing and foreshortened as it receded
swiftly into the night.
And where was the sense of physical rest? Why had this unrest I was
experiencing taken its place? I was sitting beside as good a man, as
fine a man, one more than that other's equal in achievement, as the
world counts achievement. I was groping for a solution when the Doctor
exclaimed: "There's the manor!"
The white walls and snow-covered roof stood out boldly against the
black massed background of spruce, hemlock and pine. The yellow chintz
curtains were drawn apart, showing us both the gleam of lamplight and
the leaping firelight. At the windows in the living-room were Jamie
and his mother; at those of the dining-room both Angelique and Marie
were visible for a moment. The Pierres, father and son, were at the
steps to lend a helping hand.
"We are at home again, Marcia," the Doctor spoke significantly. I
responded, simulating joyousness:
"Yes, and does n't it give us a warm cheery welcome?"
But even as I replied, I was conscious that the old manor of Lamoral
without its master would never be home for me.
I went up the steps answering gayly to Jamie's "Is he here?" But by
the emptiness of heart, by the emptiness of the passageway, by the
empty sound of the various greetings, joyous and hearty as they in
truth were, I knew I needed no fourth sign to interpret myself to
myself.
My woman's hour had struck--and with no uncertain sound.