UNEXPECTED HAPPINESS
Elsie, lying half awake, raised herself on her pillow as she heard a
clock strike. The anxiety she had half forgotten returned to her with
double force. Although she had not been quite asleep, she had lost
count of the time, and it was now nearly three hours after low-water.
The danger that had threatened Andrew must be past, but she did not
know how long she must wait for news of him. Besides, some mischance
might have befallen Dick. He had looked ill when she sent him on an
errand that would severely try his strength.
After a long time she heard a sharp throbbing coming up the valley. It
sounded like a motorcycle and she jumped out of bed and began to
dress, wondering whether Dick had borrowed the machine at Annan and
was returning. The sound grew louder; the motorcycle had passed the
lodge and was nearing the house when Elsie quietly entered Madge's
room.
"I heard it," Madge said. "I haven't been asleep. Shall I get up?"
"No." Elsie touched her in warning as a door opened.
There were steps in the passage, and they waited until the sound died
away.
"Are you going down?" Madge asked.
"Yes; I feel that I must. But it might be better if you didn't come."
She heard the hall door open as she descended the stairs, but she kept
on and waited at the bottom. The machine had stopped and she thought
it significant that its driver had boldly ridden up to the house. If
Dick had done so, he would have come in; but nobody had entered and
Staffer had gone out. After a few minutes, she heard the sliding door
of the garage run back. Elsie knew the sound of the small wheels as
they grated upon the iron carrier.
The motorcycle sped away noisily down the drive, and soon afterward
Staffer came in carrying a lantern. He did not see Elsie as he put the
light on a table and locked a traveling bag. She thought it curious
that the bag was ready packed; and since he had taken no precautions
against being heard, it looked as if speed were more important than
secrecy. The message that had been brought him must deal with some
urgent matter. Still, Dick had not returned and she was horribly
anxious. She could not wait to learn what had happened at the wreck.
As she moved forward to speak to Staffer, he looked up. His expression
was tense, but she thought he was calm.
"So you have spied on me again!" he said.
"Where's Dick?"
"Dick?" repeated Staffer. "Ah! Now I begin to understand! You sent him
down the Firth!"
"Yes; I did. And where is he?"
"On board Andrew's yacht, I imagine."
Elsie was sensible of keen satisfaction; but only part of her fears
were set at rest.
"And Andrew? Is he on the yacht?"
Staffer looked hard at her. She was trembling with excitement and
cold, but she did not flinch, and he surprised her by a curious,
bitter laugh. It carried a hint of understanding that brought the
blood to her face.
"I don't know where he is, but there's reason to think he has come to
no harm. That ought to satisfy you."
Elsie was silent. Her relief was great, but now that Andrew was safe,
her mind could fix itself on other matters. Staffer had guessed her
secret and knew that she had spoiled his plans; but his manner was
more ironical than revengeful. For all that, it disturbed and
frightened her. She thought something that had hit him hard had
happened, and his cold-blooded calm was daunting.
"Well," he said, "there's a touch of grim humor in the situation. I
found you a home and gave you the advantages you enjoy; and now you
have baffled me and ruined the work of cleverer brains than mine. It's
humiliating to see one's schemes brought to nothing by a raw girl's
devotion to her stupid lover."
"I'm sorry the course of things made us enemies. It was unavoidable,"
she said quietly.
Staffer made an impatient sign.
"I'm going away and it's very doubtful if I'll ever return; but I'd
rather you didn't mention the matter until breakfast to-morrow. Then
you can say I've gone to Edinburgh. Perhaps you can promise me that?"
"Yes. Don't you want to see Mother before you go?"
"No," Staffer answered thoughtfully; "it might be better if I didn't."
He broke off as the car came throbbing to the door; and Elsie followed
him across the hall.
"If things had only been different," she said, "we might have been
friends--"
Staffer did not seem to hear, for he jumped into the car and it rolled
away. Elsie stood looking out into the darkness for a long time; then
she shut the door and went slowly upstairs. She felt limp and
bewildered now that the strain had gone; the one thing she realized
clearly was that Andrew was safe.
Madge turned to her eagerly as she entered her room; but Elsie did not
stop.
"They are all right, but I can't talk about it now," she said and
passed on into her room, closing the door.
While Staffer was leaving Appleyard, Andrew was picking his way toward
the burnfoot, across a boggy heath. He had landed about an hour
earlier and gone to a farm to ask for a horse and trap and had sent a
man to Annan for a doctor. Now he was returning as fast as possible,
because he felt anxious about Dick; but caution was needed, for many
deep drains crossed the heath. The mist had closed in again, and, as
he stopped at the last drain to look for a narrow spot, he heard the
languid splash of the surf and the wild cry of a black-backed gull.
For some reason, the harsh sound disturbed him; and, jumping the drain
where he stood, he went on as fast as he could. The splash of the sea
grew louder, and at last he saw an indistinct figure waiting near the
water's edge. Andrew was used to the sands at night, but the
motionless dark form seemed to strike a deeper note of desolation.
His steps slackened as he approached it.
"Is that you, Jim?" he called.
Whitney waited until he came up, and then put his hand on his arm.
"I'm afraid you must brace yourself against a shock," he said gently.
"Ah! You mean Dick's worse?"
Whitney pressed his arm sympathetically.
"He's dead."
There was silence for the next minute, except for the mournful murmur
of the sea.
"It wasn't long after you went ashore," Whitney added. "He looked up
and beckoned me to sit on the locker by his cot. 'Tell Andrew I'm glad
he'll have Appleyard,' he said."
Whitney paused for a moment.
"He lay still afterward, and I thought he'd gone to sleep. Then the
cabin seemed to grow strangely quiet, and when I got up to look at him
I saw that he was dead."
"The hurried trip down-channel killed him, and he made it for my
sake!" Andrew said, in a tense, hoarse voice.
"You mustn't take that for granted; but, if true, he certainly
wouldn't grudge the risk. He might have died at any time from some
trifling exertion."
Andrew indicated the dinghy, in which he had rowed off from the yacht
alone.
"How did you get ashore?"
"The bank's steep and I sheered her in until I could jump from the
bowsprit end. I didn't want you to come on board without knowing."
"Thanks," said Andrew. "I'm going off to her now. Try to get into
Marshall's hut and make a fire. We'll have to wait some time for the
doctor."
He launched the dinghy, and when he returned Whitney had lighted a few
sticks and peats in the fisherman's sod hut. Andrew's face was grave
as he sat down on an empty box.
"If you don't mind, I'd rather not talk," he said.
He let Whitney row the doctor off when he arrived; and day was
breaking when they reached Annan. An hour later, Andrew, feeling limp
and cold, got down from a trap at Appleyard and walked stiffly into
the hall. Elsie came to meet him with a glow in her eyes; but she
stopped abruptly when she saw his face.
"What's the matter?" she asked.
He looked at her compassionately and she gasped.
"Oh! Is Dick--?"
He put his arm around her and led her to an oak bench near the big
fireplace.
"Dick's dead," he said quietly. "On board the _Rowan_. Heart failure,
the doctor thinks."
"I sent him, when I knew he was ill!" she cried in distress.
"You didn't know it would do him much harm, dear."
"But I did!" Elsie moaned with a shiver, turning her head.
Andrew was puzzled, but he answered soothingly:
"I know what you feel, because I felt it too--Dick might have got
better and lived a long time if he hadn't gone down-channel to warn
me. In fact, I spoke to the doctor about it, but he didn't altogether
take this view."
"He didn't want you to blame yourself."
"No; I don't think that was it. But it's a blow to us both, and the
worst is I can do nothing to soften it for you."
"You loved him," she said with a look of pain. "You came home from
Canada and fought Williamson for his sake. I was often impatient with
him, and he always bore it well. He was generous and forgiving--and we
know he was brave. He must have known the risk he ran--but he didn't
hesitate. I knew it--and I sent him--"
Her voice trailed off and she broke into stormy sobbing, while Andrew,
with his arm around her, awkwardly tried to comfort her. His touch
seemed to have a soothing influence, for Elsie got calmer.
"You were always a help, Andrew; one turns to you in trouble," she
said. "But I mustn't give way like this."
She rose as she spoke, and when she left him Andrew went up to
Whitney's room.
"I expect Miss Woodhouse feels the thing keenly," Whitney said.
"Yes; in fact, she feels much as I do, in spite of what the doctor
said. If Dick hadn't gone to our rescue, he'd have been with us yet.
Still, I don't quite understand--"
"You don't see why she let him go, when she thought it might be
dangerous?"
"Yes; that's what bothers me," Andrew said with some hesitation.
Whitney gave him a keen glance. He saw that Andrew had no suspicion of
the truth; but it was not his business to enlighten him.
"Well, she may have thought there were two lives that could be saved
against one that must be risked. It would be desperately hard for a
young girl to face the responsibility of deciding right. Miss
Woodhouse probably feels the strain--and, no doubt she's rather
overcome by the consequences of the line she took. But when she gets
calmer she'll see that she can't blame herself. But you had better
change your clothes and get some breakfast."
It was a relief to Andrew to find his time occupied. At noon he was
surprised by a request for an interview with a man he did not know.
The stranger was shown into the library and gave Andrew a letter.
"My card may convey nothing to you, but here are my credentials."
The letter was from the Home Secretary's office and was countersigned
by an eminent military authority.
"I'm at your command," Andrew said. "What is it you want to know?"
"Perhaps I'd better state that my visit is made in a friendly spirit.
We recognize the patriotic line you and your cousin have taken. I met
him once, and, it's rather curious, he invited me to Appleyard."
"Ah!" exclaimed Andrew. "I never thought that Dick--"
"Shared your suspicions? I can't tell you how far his went, but he may
have known more than you imagine. He certainly once did us an
important service. But we'll let that go. Did Mr. Staffer offer any
explanation for leaving here early this morning?"
"He said he was going to Edinburgh; that was all."
"Well, he got to Hawick, where we lost trace of him, but I think it's
impossible that he went farther north. Have you any ground for
suspecting who brought him the warning?"
"None," said Andrew shortly.
"I'm glad I can take your word, Mr. Johnstone. Now I must ask you to
tell me about your recent adventures on the sands. You see, I'm in
touch with Lieutenant Rankine and the coastguards."
Andrew related what had happened, and his companion looked satisfied.
"You don't seem to know that Williamson's body was washed up on the
Colvend shore, a few hours ago."
"Oh!"
"The man who could have told us most has gone. Our hope now is to
catch Staffer."
"You'd better make Appleyard your headquarters while you're looking
into things," Andrew said. "We have nothing to hide."
"Thanks; I'll be glad to do so. It may be some satisfaction for you to
learn that no unnecessary publicity will be allowed to attend this
matter."
The next day, the officer told Andrew that Staffer's car had been
found on the roadside, near a small fishing village on the
Northumberland coast.
"He doubled back into England by Norham," he added. "When our men got
upon his track they found he'd covered the distances between the
points at which they heard of him extraordinarily fast. In
consequence, he had a number of hours' start when he left the car, and
as a fishing boat sailed soon afterward, I'm afraid he got away across
the North Sea."
"I can't say that I am sorry he escaped," Andrew replied; "but I won't
complain if his friends on the other side keep him there for good."
Dick was buried two days later, in a lonely kirkyard where many of his
race had been laid to rest. The kirk had long crumbled down except for
one tottering arch, but, as usual in the country, the funeral service
was held at Appleyard, and Andrew's heart stirred as he saw the long
stream of mourners coming up the drive. Dick had not died unlamented,
but even those who knew him best were astonished at the number of his
friends. None of his tenantry was missing, his neighbors had come from
far and near; but there were others--fishermen, shepherds, men who
lived by horse-couping and other devious means, and innkeepers from
Dumfries and Lockerbie. The respectability of some was doubtful, but
their grief was obvious, so far as the Scottish character allowed it
to be seen, and Andrew gave them all his thanks and hand. This was an
ancient custom and he was now the head of the family; but as he looked
at the rows of solemn faces, he wondered whether he could win the love
his predecessor had won.
That night, when the others had gone to bed, Andrew sat talking to
Rankine by the fire in the hall.
"Has the fellow we caught on the sands made any admissions?" he asked.
"I understand you have seen him."
"None so far. He declined to talk, and, if I'm a judge of character,
it's the line he'll stick to until the end. He sees that he has no
defense. I'm rather curious about his rank; but he's obviously a navy
man."
"He'll be court-martialed?"
"Yes. It will be kept quiet, for one or two reasons, and I don't think
you'll be wanted."
"That's a relief. What's your private opinion about the matter? Was
the plot confined to supplying the submarines?"
Rankine lighted a cigarette before he answered.
"On the whole, I don't think so. In fact, it's possible there was some
foundation for your theory about the Eskdale road."
"Then you know something?"
"Something," Rankine agreed with a smile. "Now that my business on the
coast is finished and I'm going to join a battleship, I may perhaps
tell you that my rank is not lieutenant."
"Well, now that you are here, I hope you can spare us a few days."
"Thanks; I'll be glad to. My new ship needs some refitting and they
don't want me at Portsmouth yet."
The next few months passed uneventfully at Appleyard. For the most
part, Andrew was kept occupied, investigating Dick's affairs and
making new arrangements for the improvement of the estate. It was a
relief to be busy; for his loss still weighed on him; and he had
another trouble. Every day he grew deeper in love with Elsie; and she
seemed to try purposely to avoid him. When they met she was friendly,
but he noticed a hint of reserve in her manner. At last he began to
think he would better go to Canada for a while when he had put
everything straight.
Then, one cold spring evening, when he came back from a visit to a
moorland farm, he found her sitting by the fire in the hall. The light
was getting dim but the glow from the logs fell on her, and he noted
her quick, nervous movement as she saw him.
"I'm afraid I startled you," he said, stopping beside her. "I've been
walking about a wet bog all afternoon, examining drains, and it looks
very cozy here. I won't disturb you if I sit down?"
"Of course not."
Andrew took a chair near her, and stretched his hands to the fire.
Neither spoke for a few minutes; and their silence seemed the deeper
because of the loud ticking of the grandfather clock in the corner.
"I've always loved Appleyard," Andrew said slowly, looking about the
big hall; "but somehow it doesn't seem homey to me now. There's
something wanting; it's too big, or I'm better used to a boat."
"You miss Dick," Elsie answered softly, with a touch of color in her
face. "Though he was often ill, it's wonderful how bright he was."
"Yes; I miss him all the time--but perhaps not as you do."
Andrew's voice was full of sympathy, and Elsie gave him a quick
glance.
"You must know the truth, Andrew," she said impulsively. "At first I
did feel miserably guilty for having sent Dick on a dangerous errand
when I knew he was ill--"
"Dick went because he wanted to go," Andrew interrupted. "He never
shirked a risk, and least of all when he could help his friends."
"But if I had loved Dick in the way you seem to think I loved
him--perhaps I would not have been brave enough to let him go--I can't
be sure."
"You didn't love him in that way?"
Elsie looked down at the book which lay in her lap. Her face was
flooded with color, but a smile played about her lips.
"I would never have married Dick," she said, in a voice so low that
Andrew had to lean toward her to catch her words.
"There was some one else?" he asked tensely.
She looked up at him then, and he gasped at the deepening glow in her
eyes.
"What a stupid thing you are, Andrew! You ought to--"
He waited.
"Elsie--"
His voice was a mingling of incredulity and joy; and she answered his
unspoken question with a shy smile.
"Of course--dear!"
THE END
Transcriber's Note: The following typographical errors present in the
original edition have been corrected.
In Chapter II, a missing quotation mark was added before "Attendez,
mais attendez".
In Chapter III, "expensive yatching cap" was changed to "expensive
yachting cap", and "the Isle of Man, rose" was changed to "the Isle of
Man rose".
In Chapter VII, "is if the man had meant to jump across" was changed
to "as if the man had meant to jump across".
In Chapter XVI, "single-cyclinder engine" was changed to
"single-cylinder engine".
In Chapter XXVI, "his heavy boots sanks" was changed to "his heavy
boots sank".
End of Project Gutenberg's Johnstone of the Border, by Harold Bindloss