"To all appearance it was chiefly by Accident, and the grace of
Nature."--CARLYLE.
It was still September; for great sorrows come, graves are made and
turfed over, and yet the month is not out. Anne had written her letter
immediately, accepting her grandaunt's offer, and Père Michaux gave her
approval and praise; but the others did not, could not, and she suffered
from their silence. It made, however, no change in her purpose; she went
about her tasks steadily, toiling all day over the children's clothes,
for she had used part of the money in her hands to make them
comfortable, and part was to be given to Miss Lois. Her own garments
troubled her little; two strong, plain black gowns she considered amply
sufficient. Into the midst of all this swift sewing suddenly one day
came Rast.
"Why did I do it?" he said, in answer to everybody. "Do you suppose I
was going to let Annet go away for a whole long year without saying even
good-by? Of course not."
"It is very kind," said Anne, her tired eyes resting on his handsome
face gratefully, her sewing for the moment cast aside. Her friends had
not been overkind to her lately, and she was deeply touched by this
proof of attachment from her old playmate and companion. Rast expressed
his affection, as usual, in his own way. He did not say that he had come
back to the island because he wished to see her, but because he knew
that she wished to see him. And Anne willingly agreed. Dr. Gaston, as
guardian of this runaway collegian, gave him a long lecture on his
escapade and its consequences, his interrupted studies, a long train of
disasters to follow being pictured with stern distinctness. Rast
listened to the sermon, or rather sat through it, without impatience: he
had a fine sunny temper, and few things troubled him. He seldom gave
any attention to subtleties of meaning, or under-currents, but took the
surface impression, and answered it promptly, often putting to rout by
his directness trains of reasoning much deeper than his own. So now all
he said was, "I could not help coming, sir, because Annet is going away;
I wanted to see her." And the old man was silenced in spite of himself.
As he was there, and it could not be helped, Rast, by common consent of
the island, was allowed to spend several days unmolested among his old
haunts. Then they all began to grow restive, to ask questions, and to
speak of the different boats. For the public of small villages has
always a singular impatience as to anything like uncertainty in the date
of departure of its guests. Many a miniature community has been stirred
into heat because it could not find out the day and hour when Mrs. Blank
would terminate her visit at her friend's mansion, and with her trunk
and bag depart on her way to the railway station; and this not because
the community has any objection to Mrs. Blank, or any wish to have her
depart, but simply because if she is going, they wish to know _when_,
and have it settled. The few days over, Rast himself was not unwilling
to go. He had seen Anne, and Anne was pressed with work, and so
constantly threatened by grief that she had to hold it down with an iron
effort at almost every moment. If she kept her eyes free from tears and
her voice steady, she did all she could; she had no idea that Rast
expected more. Rast meanwhile had learned clearly that he was a
remarkably handsome, brilliant young fellow, and that the whole world
was before him where to choose. He was fond of Anne; the best feelings
of his nature and the associations of his whole boyhood's life were
twined round her; and yet he was conscious that he had always been very
kind to her, and this coming back to the island on purpose to see
her--that was remarkably kind. He was glad to do it, of course; but she
must appreciate it. He began now to feel that as he had seen her, and as
he could not in any case stay until she went, he might as well go. He
yielded, therefore, to the first suggestion of the higher powers,
saying, however, frankly, and with real feeling, that it was hard to bid
farewell for so long a time to his old playmate, and that he did not
know how he could endure the separation. As the last words were spoken
it was Rast who had tear-dimmed eyes; it was Rast's voice that faltered.
Anne was calm, and her calmness annoyed him. He would have liked a more
demonstrative sorrow. But as he went down the long path on his way to
the pier where the steamboat was waiting, the first whistle having
already sounded, he forgot everything save his affection for her and the
loneliness in store for him after her departure. While she was on their
island she seemed near, but New York was another world.
Down in the shadow of the great gate there was an ancient little
cherry-tree, low and gnarled, which thrust one crooked arm across the
path above the heads of the passers-by. As Rast approached he saw in the
dusky twilight a small figure perched upon this bough, and recognized
Tita.
"Is that you, child?" he said, pausing and looking up. She answered by
dropping into his arms like a kitten, and clinging to him mutely, with
her face hidden on his shoulder.
"What an affectionate little creature she is, after all!" he thought,
stroking her dark hair. Then, after saying good-by, and giving her a
kiss, he disengaged himself without much ceremony, and telling her to be
a good girl and mind Miss Lois during the winter, he hurried down to the
pier, the second whistle summoning all loiterers on board with shrill
harshness. Tita, left alone, looked at her arms, reddened by the force
with which she had resisted his efforts to unclasp them. They had been
pressed so closely against the rough woollen cloth of his coat that the
brown flesh showed the mark of the diagonal pattern.
[Illustration: "SHE SAT THERE HIGH IN THE AIR WHILE THE STEAMER BACKED
OUT FROM THE PIERS."]
"It is a hurt," she said, passionately--"it is a hurt." Her eyes
flashed, and she shook her small fist at the retreating figure. Then, as
the whistle sounded a third time, she climbed quickly to the top of the
great gates, and sat there high in the air while the steamer backed
out from the piers, turned round, and started westward through the
Straits, nothing now save a moving line of lights, the short Northern
twilight having faded into night.
When the long sad day of parting was at last over, and everything done
that her hands could find to do in that amount of time, Anne, in her own
room alone, let her feelings come forth; she was the only watcher in the
old house, every other eye was closed in sleep. These moments alone at
night, when she allowed herself to weep and think, were like breathing
times; then her sorrows came forth. According to her nature, she did not
fear or brood upon her own future so much as upon the future of the
children; the love in her heart made it seem to her a bitter fate to be
forced to leave them and the island. The prospect of the long journey,
the city school, the harsh aunt, did not dishearten her; they were but
parts of her duty, the duty of her life. It was after midnight; still
she sat there. The old shutters, which had been rattling for some time,
broke their fastenings, and came violently against the panes with a
sound like the report of a pistol.
"The wind is rising," she thought, vaguely, as she rose to fasten them,
opening one of the windows for the purpose. In rushed the blast, blowing
out the candle, driving books and papers across the floor, and whirling
the girl's long loosened hair over her face and round her arms like the
coils of a boa-constrictor. Blinded, breathless, she hastily let down
the sash again, and peered through the small wrinkled panes. A few stars
were visible between the light clouds which drove rapidly from north to
south in long regular lines like bars, giving a singular appearance to
the sky, which the girl recognized at once, and in the recognition came
back to present life. "The equinoctial," she said to herself; "and one
of the worst. Where can the _Huron_ be? Has she had time to reach the
shelter of the islands?"
The _Huron_ was the steamer which had carried Rast away at twilight. She
was a good boat and stanch. But Anne knew that craft as stanch had been
wrecked and driven ashore during these fierce autumn gales which sweep
over the chain of lakes suddenly, and strew their coasts with fragments
of vessels, and steamers also, from the head of Superior to the foot of
Ontario. If there was more sea-room, vessels might escape; if there were
better harbors, steamers might seek port; in a gale, an ocean captain
has twenty chances for his vessel where the lake captain has one. Anne
stood with her face pressed against the window for a long time; the
force of the wind increased. She took her candle and went across to a
side room whose windows commanded the western pass: she hoped that she
might see the lights of the steamer coming back, seeking the shelter of
the island before the worst came. But all was dark. She returned to her
room, and tried to sleep, but could not. Dawn found her at the window,
wakeful and anxious. There was to be no sun that day, only a yellow
white light. She knelt down and prayed; then she rose, and braided anew
her thick brown hair. When she entered the sitting-room the vivid rose
freshness which always came to her in the early morning was only
slightly paled by her vigil, and her face seemed as usual to the boys,
who were waiting for her. Before breakfast was ready, Miss Lois arrived,
tightly swathed in a shawl and veils, and carrying a large basket.
"There is fresh gingerbread in there," she said; "I thought the boys
might like some; and--it will be an excellent day to finish those
jackets, Anne. No danger of interruption."
She did not mention the gale or Rast; neither did Anne. They sat down to
breakfast with the boys, and talked about thread and buttons. But, while
they were eating, Louis exclaimed, "Why, there's Dr. Gaston!" and
looking up, they saw the chaplain struggling to keep his hat in place as
he came up the path sideways, fighting the wind.
"He should just have wrapped himself up, and scudded before it as I
did," said Miss Lois.
Anne ran to open the door, and the old clergyman came panting in.
"It is such a miserable day that I thought you would like to have that
dictionary, dear; so I brought it down to you," he said, laying the
heavy volume on the table.
"Thanks. Have you had breakfast?" said Anne.
"Well, no. I thought I would come without waiting for it this morning,
in order that you might have the book, you know. What! _you_ here, Miss
Lois?"
"Yes, sir. I came to help Anne. We are going to have a good long day at
these jackets," replied Miss Lois, briskly.
They all sat down at the table again, and Gabriel was going to the
kitchen for hot potatoes, when he spied another figure struggling
through the gate and driving up the long path. "Père Michaux!" he cried,
running to open the door.
In another moment the priest had entered, and was greeting them
cheerfully. "As I staid in town overnight, I thought, Anne, that I would
come up and look over those books. It is a good day for it; there will
be no interruption. I think I shall find a number of volumes which I may
wish to purchase."
"It is very kind; I shall like to think of my dear father's books in
your hands. But have you breakfasted?"
No, the priest acknowledged that he had not. In truth, he was not hungry
when he rose; but now that he saw the table spread, he thought he might
eat something after all.
So they sat down again, and Louis went out to help Gabriel bring in more
coffee, potatoes, and eggs. There was a good deal of noise with the
plates, a good deal of passing to and fro the milk, cream, butter, and
salt; a good deal of talking on rather a high key; a great many
questions and answers whose irrelevancy nobody noticed. Dr. Gaston told
a long story, and forgot the point; but Miss Lois laughed as heartily as
though it had been acutely present. Père Michaux then brought up the
venerable subject of the lost grave of Father Marquette; and the others
entered into it with the enthusiasm of resurrectionists, and as though
they had never heard of it before, Miss Lois and Dr. Gaston even seeming
to be pitted against each other in the amount of interest they showed
concerning the dead Jesuit. Anne said little; in truth, there was no
space left for her, the others keeping up so brisk a fire of phrases. It
was not until Tita, coming into the room, remarked, as she warmed her
hands, that breakfast was unusually early, that any stop was made, and
then all the talkers fell upon her directly, in lieu of Father
Marquette. Miss Lois could not imagine what she meant. It was sad,
indeed, to see such laziness in so young a child. Before long she would
be asking for breakfast in bed! Dr. Gaston scouted the idea that it was
early; he had often been down in the village an hour earlier. It was a
fine bracing morning for a walk.
All this time the high ceaseless whistle of the wind, the roar of the
water on the beach, the banging to and fro of the shutters here and
there on the wide rambling old mansion, the creaking of the near trees
that brushed its sides, and the hundred other noises of the gale, made
the room seem strange and uncomfortable; every now and then the solid
old frame-work vibrated as a new blast struck it, and through the floor
and patched carpet puffs of cold air came up into the room and swept
over their feet. All their voices were pitched high to overcome these
sounds.
Tita listened to the remarks addressed to her, noted the pretense of
bustle and hearty appetite, and then, turning to the window, she said,
during a momentary lull in the storm, "I do not wonder that you can not
eat, when poor Rast is somewhere on that black water."
Dr. Gaston pushed away his plate, Miss Lois sat staring at the wall with
her lips tightly compressed, while Anne covered her face with her hands
to keep back the tears. Père Michaux rose and began to walk up and down
the room; for a moment, besides his step, there was no sound save the
roar of the storm. Tita's words had ended all pretense, clothed their
fear in language, and set it up in their midst. From that moment,
through the long day, there was no more disguise; every cloud, every
great wave, was watched, every fresh fierce blast swept through four
anxious hearts. They were very silent now, and as the storm grew
wilder, even the boys became awed, and curled themselves together on the
broad window-seat, speaking in whispers. At noon a vessel drove by under
bare poles; she seemed to be unmanageable, and they could see the
signals of the sailors as they passed the island. But there was no
life-boat, and nothing else could live in that sea. At two o'clock a
large bark came into view, and ran ashore on the reef opposite; there
she lay, pounding to pieces for two hours. They saw the crew try to
launch the boats; one was broken into fragments in a moment, then
another. The third and last floated, filled with humanity, and in two
minutes she also was swamped, and dark objects that they knew were men
were sucked under. Then the hull of a schooner, with one mast standing,
drove aimlessly by, so near the shore that with the glass they could see
the features of the sailors lashed to the pole.
"Oh! if we could but save them!" said Anne. "How near they are!" But
even as she spoke the mast fell, and they saw the poor fellows drown
before their eyes.
At four the _Huron_ came into sight from the western pass, laboring
heavily, fighting her way along inch by inch, but advancing. "Thanks be
to the Lord for this!" said the chaplain, fervently. Père Michaux took
off his velvet cap, and reverently made the sign of the cross.
"'Twouldn't be any harm to sing a hymn, I guess," said Miss Lois, wiping
her eyes. Then Anne sang the "De Profundis." Amid the storm all the
voices rose together, the children and Miss Lois and the two priests
joining in the old psalm of King David, which belongs to all alike,
Romanist and Protestant, Jew and Christian, bond and free.
"I do feel better," said Miss Lois. "But the steamer is still far off."
"The danger will be when she attempts to turn," said Père Michaux.
They all stood at the windows watching the boat as she rolled and
pitched in the heavy sea, seeming half the time to make no headway at
all, but on the contrary to be beaten back, yet doggedly persisting. At
five o'clock she had reached the point where she must turn and run the
gauntlet in order to enter port, with the gale striking full upon her
side. Every front window in the village now held gazing faces, and along
the piers men were clustered under the lee of the warehouses with ropes
and hooks, waiting to see what they could do. The steamer seemed to
hesitate a moment, and was driven back. Then she turned sharply and
started in toward the piers with all steam on. The watchers at the
Agency held their breath. For a moment or two she advanced rapidly, then
the wind struck her, and she careened until her smoke-stacks seemed
almost to touch the water. The boys cried out; Miss Lois clasped her
hands. But the boat had righted herself again by changing her course,
and was now drifting back to her old station. Again and again she made
the attempt, now coming slowly, now with all the sudden speed she could
muster; but she never advanced far before the lurch came, throwing her
on her side, with one paddle-wheel in the air, and straining every
timber in her frame. After half an hour of this work she drew off, and
began to ply slowly up and down under the partial shelter of the little
island opposite, as if resting. But there was not a place where she
could cast anchor, nor any safety in flight; the gale would outlast the
night, and the village harbor was her best hope. The wind was
increasing, the afternoon sinking into night; every one on the island
and on board also knew that when darkness fell, the danger, already
great, would be trebled. Menacing and near on every side were long low
shore-lines, which looked harmless enough, yet held in their sands the
bones of many a drowned man, the ribs of many a vessel.
"Why doesn't she make another trial?" said Dr. Gaston, feverishly wiping
his eyeglasses. "There is no use in running up and down under that
island any longer."
"The captain is probably making everything ready for a final attempt,"
answered Père Michaux.
And so it seemed, for, after a few more minutes had passed, the steamer
left her shelter, and proceeded cautiously down to the end of the little
island, keeping as closely in shore as she could, climbing each wave
with her bows, and then pitching down into the depth on the other side,
until it seemed as if her hind-quarters must be broken off, being too
long to fit into the watery hollows under her. Having reached the end of
the islet, she paused, and slowly turned.
"Now for it," said Père Michaux.
It was sunset-time in pleasant parts of the land; here the raw, cold,
yellow light, which had not varied since early morning, giving a
peculiar distinctness to all objects near or far, grew more clear for a
few moments--the effect, perhaps, of the after-glow behind the clouds
which had covered the sky all day unmoved, fitting as closely as the
cover upon a dish. As the steamer started out into the channel, those on
shore could see that the passengers were gathered on the deck as if
prepared for the worst. They were all there, even the children. But now
no one thought any more, only watched; no one spoke, only breathed. The
steamer was full in the gale, and on her side. Yet she kept along,
righting herself a little now and then, and then careening anew. It
seemed as though she would not be able to make headway with her one
wheel, but she did. Then the islanders began to fear that she would be
driven by too far out; but the captain had allowed for that. In a few
seconds more it became evident that she would just brush the end of the
longest pier, with nothing to spare. Then the men on shore ran down, the
wind almost taking them off their feet, with ropes, chains,
grappling-irons, and whatever they could lay their hands on. The
steamer, now unmanageable, was drifting rapidly toward them on her side,
the passengers clinging to her hurricane-deck and to the railings. A
great wave washed over her when not twenty feet from the pier, bearing
off several persons, who struggled in the water a moment, and then
disappeared. Anne covered her eyes with her hands, and prayed that Rast
might not be among these. When she looked again, the boat was fastened
by two, by ten, by twenty, ropes and chains to the end of the pier, bows
on, and pulling at her halters like an unmanageable steed, while women
were throwing their children into the arms of those below, and men were
jumping madly over, at the risk of breaking their ankle-bones. Anything
to be on the blessed shore! In three minutes a hundred persons were on
the pier, and Rast among them. Anne, Dr. Gaston, Père Michaux, Miss
Lois, and the children all recognized his figure instantly, and the two
old men started down through the storm to meet him, in their excitement
running along like school-boys, hand in hand.
Rast was safe. They brought him home to the Agency in triumph, and
placed him in a chair before the fire. They all wanted to touch him, in
order to feel that he was really there, to be glad over him, to make
much of him; they all talked together. Anne came to his side with tender
affection. He was pale and moved. Instinctively and naturally as a child
turns to its mother he turned to her, and, before them all, laid his
head down upon her shoulder, and clung to her without speaking. The
elders drew away a little; the boys stopped their clamor. Only Tita kept
her place by the youth's side, and frowned darkly on the others.
Then they broke into a group again. Rast recovered himself, Dr. Gaston
began to make puns, and Père Michaux and Miss Lois revived the subject
of Father Marquette as a safe ladder by which they could all come down
to common life again. A visit to the kitchen was made, and a grand
repast, dinner and supper combined, was proposed and carried into effect
by Miss Lois, Père Michaux, and the Irish soldier's wife, the three boys
acting as volunteers. Even Dr. Gaston found his way to the distant
sanctuary through the series of empty rooms that preceded it, and
proffering his services, was set to toasting bread--a duty he
accomplished by attentively burning one side of every slice, and
forgetting the other, so that there was a wide latitude of choice, and
all tastes were suited. With his wig pushed back, and his cheery face
scarlet from the heat, he presented a fine contrast to Père Michaux,
who, quietly and deliberately as usual, was seasoning a stew with
scientific care, while Miss Lois, beating eggs, harried the Irish
soldier's wife until she ran to and fro, at her wits' end.
Tita kept guard in the sitting-room, where Anne had been decisively
ordered to remain and entertain Rast; the child sat in her corner,
watching them, her eyes narrowed under their partly closed lids. Rast
had now recovered his usual spirits, and talked gayly; Anne did not say
much, but leaned back in her chair listening, thankfully quiet and
happy. The evening was radiant with contentment; it was midnight when
they separated. The gale was then as wild as ever; but who cared now
whether the old house shook?
Rast was safe.
At the end of the following day at last the wind ceased: twenty-two
wrecks were counted in the Straits alone, with many lives lost. The dead
sailors were washed ashore on the island beaches and down the coast, and
buried in the sands where they were found. The friends of those who had
been washed overboard from the steamer came up and searched for their
bodies up and down the shores for miles; some found their lost, others,
after days of watching in vain, went away sorrowing, thinking, with a
new idea of its significance, of that time "when the sea shall give up
her dead."
After the storm came halcyon days. The trees now showed those brilliant
hues of the American autumn which as yet no native poet has so strongly
described, no native artist so vividly painted, that the older nations
across the ocean have fit idea of their splendor. Here, in the North,
the scarlet, orange, and crimson trees were mingled with pines, which
made the green of the background; indeed, the islets all round were like
gorgeous bouquets set in the deep blue of the water, and floating
quietly there.
Rast was to return to college in a few days. He was in such gay spirits
that Miss Lois was vexed, although she could hardly have told why. Père
Michaux, however, aided and encouraged all the pranks of the young
student. He was with him almost constantly, not returning to the
hermitage at all during the time of his stay; Miss Lois was surprised
to see how fond he was of the youth.
"No one can see Rast a moment alone now," she said, complainingly; "Père
Michaux is always with him."
"Why do you want to see him alone?" said Tita, from her corner, looking
up for a moment from her book.
"Don't you know that it is rude to ask questions?" said Miss Lois,
sharply. But although she gave no reasons, it was plain that for some
reason she was disappointed and angry.
The last day came, the last afternoon; the smoke of the coming steamer
could be seen beyond the blue line of the point. No danger now of storm;
the weather would be fair for many days. Père Michaux had proposed that
Anne, Rast, and himself should go up to the heights behind the house and
watch the sunset hues for the last time that year; they were to come
back to the Agency in time to meet Dr. Gaston and Miss Lois, and take
tea there all together, before the steamer's departure. Tita announced
that she wished to go to the heights also.
"Come along then, Puss," said Rast, giving her his hand.
They set out through the garden, and up the narrow winding path; but the
ascent was steep, and the priest climbed slowly, pausing now and then to
take breath. Rast staid with him, while Anne strolled forward; Tita
waited with Rast. They had been sitting on a crag for several minutes,
when suddenly Rast exclaimed: "Hallo! there's Spotty's dog! he has been
lost for three days, the scamp. I'll go up and catch him, and be back in
a moment." While still speaking he was already scaling the rocks above
them, not following the path by which Anne had ascended, but swinging
himself up, hand over hand, with the dexterity and strength of a
mountaineer; in a minute or two he was out of sight. Spotty's dog was a
favorite in the garrison, Spotty, a dilapidated old Irish soldier, being
his owner in name. Spotty said that the dog had "followed" him, when he
was passing through Detroit; if he did, he had never repeated the act,
but had persistently gone in the opposite direction ever since. But the
men always went out and hunted for him all over the island, sooner or
later finding him and bringing him back; for they liked to see him dance
on his mournful hind legs, go through the drill, and pretend to be
dead--feats which once formed parts of his répertoire as member of the
travelling canine troupe which he had deserted at Detroit. It was
considered quite an achievement to bring back this accomplished animal,
and Rast was not above the glory. But it was not to be so easy as he had
imagined: several minutes passed and he did not return, Spotty's dog
having shown his thin nose and one eye but an instant at the top of the
height, and then withdrawn them, leaving no trace behind.
"We will go up the path, and join Anne," said Père Michaux; "we will not
wait longer for Rast. He can find us there as well as here."
They started; but after a few steps the priest's foot slipped on a
rolling stone; he lost his balance, and half fell, half sank to the
ground, fortunately directly along the narrow path, and not beyond its
edge. When he attempted to rise, he found that his ankle was strained:
he was a large man, and he had fallen heavily. Tita bound up the place
as well as she could with his handkerchief and her own formed into a
bandage; but at best he could only hobble. He might manage to go down
the path to the house, but evidently he could not clamber further. Again
they waited for Rast, but he did not come. They called, but no one
answered. They were perched half way up the white cliff, where no one
could hear them. Tita's whole face had grown darkly red, as though the
blood would burst through; she looked copper-colored, and her expression
was full of repressed impatience. Père Michaux, himself more perturbed
and angry than so slight a hurt would seem to justify, happening to look
at her, was seized with an idea. "Run up, child," he said, "and join
Anne; do not leave her again. Tell her what has happened, and--mind what
I say exactly, Tita--do not leave her."
Tita was off up the path and out of sight in an instant. The old priest,
left to himself, hobbled slowly down the hill and across the garden to
the Agency, not without some difficulty and pain.
Anne had gone up to the heights, and seated herself in good faith to
wait for the others; Rast had gone after the dog in good faith, and not
to seek Anne. Yet they met, and the others did not find them.
The dog ran away, and Rast after him, down the north path for a mile,
and then straight into the fir wood, where nothing can be caught, man or
dog. So Rast came back, not by the path, but through the forest, and
found Anne sitting in a little nook among the arbor vitæ, where there
was an opening, like a green window, overlooking the harbor. He sat down
by her side, and fanned himself with his hat for a few moments, and then
he went down to find Père Michaux and bring him up thither. But by that
time the priest had reached the house, and he returned, saying that he
saw by the foot-marks that the old man had for some reason gone down the
hill again, leaving them to watch their last sunset alone. He threw
himself down by Anne's side, and together they looked through their
green casement.
"The steamer has turned the point," said Anne.
They both watched it in silence. They heard the evening gun from the
fort.
"I shall never forgive myself, Rast, for having let you go before so
carelessly. When the gale began that night, every blast seemed to go
through my heart."
"I thought you did not appear to care much," said Rast, in an aggrieved
tone.
"Did you notice it, then? It was only because I have to repress myself
every moment, dear, lest I should give way entirely. You know I too must
go far away--far away from all I love. I feel it very deeply."
[Illustration: "YOU KNOW I TOO MUST GO FAR AWAY."]
She turned toward him as she spoke, with her eyes full of tears. Her hat
was off, and her face, softened by emotion, looked for the first time to
his eyes womanly. For generally that frank brow, direct gaze, and
impersonal expression gave her the air of a child. Rast had never
thought that Anne was beautiful; he had never thought of himself as her
lover. He was very fond of her, of course; and she was very fond of
him; and he meant to be good to her always. But that was all. Now,
however, suddenly a new feeling came over him; he realized that her eyes
were very lovely, and that her lips trembled with emotion. True, even
then she did not turn from him, rather toward him; but he was too young
himself to understand these indications, and, carried away by her
sweetness, his own affection, and the impulse of the moment, he put his
arm round her, and drew her toward him, sure that he loved her, and
especially sure that she loved him. Poor Anne, who would soon have to
part with him--dear Anne, his old playmate and friend!
Half an hour later he came into the Agency sitting-room, where the
others were waiting, with a quick step and sparkling eyes, and, with the
tone and manner of a young conqueror, announced, "Dr. Gaston, and all of
you, I am going to marry Annet. We are engaged."