"Not sure--not sure." The mill-wheel was at work again. "Not
sure--not sure."
"Of course _not_." I spoke aloud. The sound of my own voice gave me
poise. The wheel turned slowly. In another moment my whole being was
in revolt. I spoke again:
"_It is not true_. Not until he tells me, will I believe. The Doctor
is mistaken; black and white can lie--even after twenty-seven years.
The man I love--and I cannot help loving him--is not the man who is
responsible for me in this world."
All my woman's nature cried out against this blasphemy of circumstances
against my love--my love for Gordon Ewart, that was so true, so pure;
pure in its depths of passion, true in its patience sanctified through
endurance.
"I will go to Cale. He will know. He will tell me. He will see it
cannot be true. This love Mr. Ewart feels for me is not, never has
been, a father's love. No two human beings could be so drawn the one
to the other, as we have been, with _that_ tie between them. It is
preposterous on the face of it. It is a monstrosity, born of
conflicting circumstances."
The energy of life was returning. I undressed. I bathed face and head
and arms. I dressed again in fresh garments. I opened the door; the
dog rose, wagging his tail. I slipped noiselessly down the back stairs
and found that Cale had been before me. The fire was made; the water
in the kettle boiling.
I made the coffee; worked over my bread; fried the bacon; broke the
eggs for the omelette; whisked up some "gems" and put them into the
oven. The mill-wheel no longer turned. When Cale came in, I sent him
upstairs with a pitcher of hot water for the Doctor.
"Seems like home ter see you round again, Marcia," he said, as he took
the pitcher.
"It seems good to be at home again." I tried to speak cheerfully.
Doctor Rugvie gave me one long searching look, when he took his place
at the breakfast table. Then he paid his attention to the omelette
which he ate with evident relish. We talked of this and that. I went
out into the hall with him.
"Goodby, Marcia." He put out his hand. "Wire me just a word from time
to time--I have left the California address on the library table."
"Goodby--I shall not forget."
That was all. But I drew a long breath of relief when I could no
longer see the carriage. I feel sure he, too, drew another.
All the forenoon I was busy packing, helping Mrs. Macleod and Jamie. I
gave myself not a moment's rest; I dared not. Only once, just after
dinner, and three hours before they were to leave for Montreal, I went
up to my room to be alone for a minute or two; to gain strength to go
through the rest of the time, before parting with my friends.