There are times in life, especially when one is young, that high peaks
are the only landmarks in sight. Priscilla Glenn felt that henceforth her
Road was to be a highway constructed in such a fashion that airy bridges
would connect the lofty altitudes, and all below would exist merely as
views.
Her first thought, on the day following her interview with Margaret
Moffatt, was to get to John Boswell, and, as she laughingly put it, pay
off her debts!
Two hundred dollars and a full month's money from St. Albans! Gordon
Moffatt certainly could not feel richer than she. And then the months
ahead! Well--one could get dizzy on one's own heights. So Priscilla
calmed herself by a day of strenuous shopping and looked forward to the
evening with Boswell.
A dim drizzle set in late in the afternoon, and there was a chill in the
air that penetrated sharply. The mist transformed everything, and, to
tired, overexcited nerves, the real had a touch of the unreal. The park
glistened: the tender new green on tree, bush, and grass looked as if it
had just been polished, and the early flowers stood crisply on their
young stalks.
At the point where once she had met poor Jerry-Jo McAlpin, Priscilla
paused and was taken into control by memory and the long-ago Past. Quite
unaccountably, she longed to have her mother, even her father, know of
her wellbeing. Surely they would forgive everything if they knew just how
things had turned out for her! She almost wished she had decided to go
back to the In-Place before she started on her trip abroad. She could
have made them understand about her and poor Jerry-Jo. Was old Jerry
waiting and waiting? Something clutched Priscilla sharply. The loneliness
and silence of the Place Beyond the Winds enfolded her like a compelling
dream. How they could patiently wait, those home folks of hers! And how
dear they suddenly became, now that she was going into the new life that
promised her her Heart's Desire!
Then she decided: since she could not go to them she must write to Master
Farwell, he had never answered her last letter, and beg him to tell them
all about it. He would go, she felt sure, and, by some subtle magic, she
seemed to see him passing along the red-rock road, his long-caped coat
flapping in the soft wind, his hair blowing across his face, the dogs
following sociably. He'd go first to old Jerry's, and then afterward, an
hour, maybe, for it would be hard for Jerry McAlpin--he would go to
Lonely Farm by way of the wood path that led by the shrine in the open
place--was the skull still there with the long-dead grasses in its ears?
It would be night, perhaps, when the master reached the farm; maybe the
star would be shining over the hemlock----
At this point Priscilla paused and caught her breath sharply. She had
come out of the park by the gateway opposite Boswell's apartment, and
just ahead of her, across the street, was a thin, stooping figure with
caped coat flapping in the rising wind, and hair blowing across a bent
face.
"I--I am dreaming!" The words came brokenly. "I am bewitched!"
But with characteristic quickness of thought and action she put her doubt
to the test. Running across the space between her and that slow-stepping
figure she panted huskily:
"Master Farwell! Master Farwell!"
He turned and fixed his deep, haunting eyes upon her.
"It's Priscilla Glenn!" he whispered, as if to reassure himself; "little
Priscilla of the In-Place."
By some trick of over-stimulated imagination Priscilla tried to adjust
the gentle, kindly man she knew and loved to the strange creature into
which he had evolved since last she met him, but she could not! To her he
would always be the friend and helper, the understanding guide of her
stormy girlhood. The rest was but shadows that came and went, cast by
happenings with which she had nothing to do.
They were holding each other's hands under the window from which Boswell
was, perhaps, at that very moment watching and waiting.
"Oh! my Master Farwell!" The tears rolled from the glad eyes. "I did not
know how far and how sadly I had gone until this minute!"
"But you have not forgotten to be little Priscilla Glenn. My dear! My
dear! how glad and thankful I am to see you. You have grown--yes; you
have grown into the woman I knew you would. Your eyes are--faithful; your
lips still smile. Oh! Priscilla, the world has not"--he paused and his
old, quivering laugh rang out cautiously--"the world has not--doshed
you!"
And then Priscilla caught him by the arm.
"You have not seen--him?" she looked upward.
"No. I was getting up my courage. The bird just freed from its cage--is
timid."
"Come! A minute will not matter. I must know about my home people."
They walked on together. Then, because her heart was beating fast and the
tears lying near, she drew close to her deepest interest by a circuitous
way.
"Tell me of--of Mrs. McAdam and Jerry McAlpin?"
"Mrs. McAdam is famous and rich. The White Fish Lodge has a waiting list
every summer. The--the body of Sandy drifted into the Channel a month
after you left. Bounder found it. You remember how he used to know the
sound of Sandy's engine? The day the body was washed up he--seemed to
know. One grave is filled, and Mary McAdam has put a monument between the
two graves with the names of both boys. Jerry McAlpin has grown old
and--and respectable. He has a fancy that Jerry-Jo will come back a fine
gentleman. All these years he has been preparing for the prodigal. The
young devil has never sent a line to his father. A bad lot was Jerry-Jo."
And then Priscilla told her story with many a catch in her voice.
"You see--he did it for me, Master Farwell. He was not all bad. Who is,
I wonder? He lies in a quiet spot Mr. Boswell and I found far out in the
country. There's a hemlock nearby and a glimpse of water. I--I think I
will not let old Jerry know. While he waits, he is happy. While he is
getting ready, life will mean something to him. And oh! Master Farwell,
when--when Jerry-Jo went, he thought he was going through the Secret
Portage to the Big Bay. I believe he will--welcome his father in the open
some day. I will not send word back to the In-Place."
Farwell frowned.
"Boswell has touched you with his fanciful methods," he muttered; "is
it--for the best?"
"I am sure it is. And--my--my people, Master Farwell, my mother?"
At this Farwell started and stepped back. The light from an electric lamp
fell full on the girl's quivering, brilliant face. He had told Boswell of
the mother's death.
"You--you did not know?" he asked. "She died----"
"Died? Master Farwell, my mother dead!"
"You see--how it hurts when Boswell plays with you?"
A note of bitterness crept into the voice.
"When the day of reckoning comes--it hurts, it hurts like--hell!"
He had forgotten the girl, the white, frantic face.
"Tell me, tell me when she, my poor mother, died?"
The words brought him back sharply, and with wonderful tenderness he told
her.
"Long Jean was with her. She would have her and no other, because she
said Jean had helped you into the world and only she should help her out.
It is a beautiful story they tell in Kenmore of your mother's passing.
She thought she was going to you. She seemed quite happy once she found
the way!
"'I have found her!' she cried just at the last, 'and
she--understands!'"
"And I did, I did!" sobbed Priscilla.
A passerby noticed the sound and paused to look at the two sharply.
"Come, come," Farwell implored her; "we will arouse suspicion. Let us get
back to--to Boswell. I haven't much time, you see. I have promised Pine
to be back in ten days. Ten days!"
"You promised--Pine?"
"And you never knew?" Farwell gave an ugly laugh. "Well, I carried the
ball and chain without a whimper, I can say that for myself. Pine is my
ball and chain. Because he isn't all devil, because he knows I am not, he
went off to play on Wyland Island. You know they kill the devil there the
second week in June. Have you forgotten? Well, Pine has gone to take a
stab at satan, and I'm free--for ten days. Free!"
"And then?"
"And then I'm going back voluntarily, and--assume the ball and chain!"
"Master Farwell!"
"Do not pity me! It doesn't matter now. I only wanted to--settle with
Boswell. I've been in town--three days."
They were nearing the big apartment house; lights from the windows were
showing cheerily through the misty fog. A chill fear shook Priscilla as
she began to comprehend the meaning of Farwell's words. In her life
Boswell, and this man beside her, stood for friendship in its truest,
highest sense, and she felt that she must hold them together in spite of
everything. She stood still and gripped Farwell's arm.
"You--you shall not go to him," she whispered, "until you tell me--how
you are to pay him--for what he has done!"
Farwell's white, grim face confronted her.
"How does one pay another for lying to him, cheating him, and--and
playing with him as though he were an idiot or a child?"
"Why did he do it, Master Farwell, why did he do it?"
"Because----" But for very shame Farwell hesitated. "It makes no
difference," he muttered. "I'm no fool and Boswell shall find it out."
"He has told me--the story." Priscilla still stayed the straining figure.
"All his life he has given and given to you all that was in his power to
give. He is the noblest man I ever knew, the gentlest and kindest, and I
never knew a man could love another as he has loved you. What have you
given to him--really? The smiles and jokes of the days long ago that were
heavenly to him--what did they cost you? He gave, and gave his heart's
best; he lied and cheated you, that you might have--some sort of peace
in--in Kenmore. Oh! if you only knew how he has hated it all, how he has
struggled to keep up the play even when he was so weary that the soul of
him almost gave out! And now you come to--to pay him with hate and
revenge when you have the only thing he wants in all the world at your
command--to give him!"
The impassioned words fell into silence; the uplifted face with its
shining eyes, mist-wet and indignant, aroused Farwell at last.
"And that is?" he asked.
"Yourself! your faith! See, that is his light. He is waiting--for me,
because, since you sent me to him, he has been kind, heavenly kind to me,
for your sake! Everything is, has always been, for your sake. Go to him,
Master Farwell--go alone. I will come by and by; not now. Pay him for all
he has done for you--all these lonely years!"
Farwell no longer struggled. He took Priscilla's hands in a long, close
clasp.
"What a woman you have become, Priscilla Glenn! Thank you."
Without a word more they parted: Farwell to go to the reckoning;
Priscilla to walk in the mist for a bit longer.
All that occurred in Boswell's library Priscilla was never to know.
There had been a moment of shock when Boswell, raising his eyes to greet
Priscilla, saw Farwell Maxwell standing in the doorway.
"You have come!" Boswell gasped, with every sacred thing at stake.
"I--have come."
"For--what--Max?"
"To--to thank you, if I can. To--to tell you
my story."
* * * * *
In the outer room Toky artistically held the dinner back. The honourable
master and his strange but equally honourable friend must not be
disturbed. Something was happening; but after a time Boswell laughed as
Toky had never heard him laugh; so it was well, and the dinner could bide
its time.
Then Priscilla came, wet and white-faced, but with the "shine-look" in
her eyes that Toky, despite his prejudices and profession, had noted and
respected.
"We will have the dinner now, Mees?" as if Toky ever considered her to
that extent!
"I will--see Mr. Boswell."
"He has--honourable friend."
"My friend, Toky. The honourable friend is mine, also! And, oh! the
flowers, Toky! There are no roses like the June roses. How wonderfully
you have arranged them! A rose should never be crowded."
Toky grinned helplessly.
"Tree hours I take to make--look beautifully. One hour for each--rosy.
That why it look beautifully."
"Yes, that is why it looks--beautifully. Three hours and--you, Toky!"
Boswell and Farwell were sitting in front of the grate, upon which the
wood lay ready to light. Their faces were pale and haggard, but their
eyes turned to Priscilla without shame or doubt.
"There is much--to talk about," said Boswell with his ready friendliness;
"Max--your Farwell and mine--has told me----"
"After dinner, dear friends. I am hungry, bitterly hungry and--cold!"
"Cold?"
"Yes; see, I am going to set the wood to burning. By the time we come
back the room will be ready for us."
"To be sure!" Boswell sidled from his deep chair, the pinched look on his
face relaxing.
"A fire, to be sure. Now, Max, no one but a woman would have thought of a
fire in June."
"No one but Priscilla!" Farwell added.
They talked before the fire until late that evening. Priscilla's plans
were discussed and considered. So full was she of excitement and joy that
she did not notice the shock of surprise that Farwell showed when the
names of Ledyard and Travers passed her lips. Seeing that she either did
not connect the men with her past, or had reasons for not referring to
it, Farwell held his peace. It was long afterward that he confided his
knowledge to Boswell, and that wise friend bade him keep his secret.
"It's her life, and she's treading her Road," he said; "she has an odd
fancy that her Heart's Desire lies just ahead. I cannot see that either
you or I have the right to awaken her to realities while she lives so
magically in her dreams."
After Priscilla's own plans were gone over and over again, Boswell said
quietly:
"I'm going back to that blessed In-Place of yours, Butterfly. You
remember how I told you, the first day I met you, that I could not
understand any one choosing the dangerous Garden when he might have--the
Place Beyond the Winds?"
Priscilla leaned forward, her breath coming sharply.
"You mean--you are going to--to live in Kenmore?"
"Yes! _Live!_ That is a bright way of putting it. Live! live! The Beetle
is--going to live!"
Priscilla looked about at the rich comfort of the room, thought of what
it meant to the delicate cripple crouching toward the blaze, his deep
eyes flame-touched and wonderful. Then she looked at Master Farwell,
whose lips were trembling.
"He--he calls that--living!" he said slowly. "Tell him, Priscilla, of the
bareness and hardness of the life. I have tried to, but he will not
listen."
The tears, the ready, easy tears filled Priscilla's eyes, and her heart
throbbed until it hurt.
"He will love the hemlocks and the deep red rocks," she said, as if
speaking to herself; "he will love the Channel and the little islands, he
will love the woods--and the wind does not blow hard there--he will be
glad of that."
"But the ugly, wretched bareness of my hut, Priscilla! For heaven's sake,
make him see that!"
"But the--fireplace, Master Farwell!"
"And--the friend beside it!" Boswell broke in; "and no more loneliness. A
beetle that has crawled in the Garden so long will thank God for a real
place--of its own. 'Tis but a change of scene for the Property Man."
"I love the Garden!" murmured Priscilla, sitting between the two men,
her clasped hands outstretched toward the fire, which was smouldering
ruddily.
"That is because you have wings, Butterfly," Boswell whispered.
"And no fetter on your soul," Farwell said so softly that only Boswell
heard.
"I see," Priscilla childishly wandered on, "such a lovely trail leading,
leading--where?"
"Where, indeed?" Boswell was watching her curiously.
"That is the beauty of it! I cannot see beyond the next step. All my life
I have tried to keep my yearnings within bounds; now I--just follow. It's
very, very wonderful. Some day I am going back to the In-Place. I shall
find you both sitting by Master Farwell's beautiful fire, I am sure. It
will be the still morning time, I think, and you will be so glad to see
me, and I shall tell you--all about it!"
"Heaven keep you!"
Boswell's voice was solemn and deep.
"Life will keep her safe," Farwell said with a laugh. "Life will take no
liberties with her. She got her bearings, Jack, before the winds knocked
her. Let us both walk home with her. What sort of a night is it?"
Priscilla went to the window.
"It's rather black," she returned; "as black as the big city ever is. The
mist is clearing; it's a beautiful night."