VANE PROVES OBDURATE.
Vane spent two or three weeks very pleasantly in Vancouver, for Evelyn,
of whom he saw a good deal, was gracious to him. The embarrassment both
had felt on their first meeting in the Western city had speedily
vanished; they had resumed their acquaintance on what was ostensibly a
purely friendly footing, and, since both avoided any reference to what
had taken place in England, it had ripened into a mutual confidence.
This would have been less probable in the older country, where they
would have been continually reminded of what the Chisholm family had
expected of them; but the past seldom counts for much in the new and
changeful West, whose inhabitants look forward to the future. Indeed,
there is something in its atmosphere which banishes regret and
retrospection; and when Evelyn looked back at all, she felt inclined to
wonder why she had once been so troubled by the man's satisfaction with
her company. She decided that this could not have been the result of any
aversion from him, and that it was merely an instinctive revolt against
the part her parents had wished to force upon her. Chisholm and his wife
had blundered as such people often do, for it is possible that had they
adopted a perfectly neutral attitude everything would have gone as they
desired.
Their mistake was nevertheless a natural one. Somewhat exaggerated
reports of Vane's prosperity had reached them; but while they coveted
the advantages his wealth might offer their daughter, in their secret
hearts they looked upon him as something of a barbarian, which idea the
opinions he occasionally expressed in their hearing did not dispel. Both
feared that Evelyn regarded him in the same light, and it accordingly
became evident that a little pressure might be required. In spite of
their prejudices, they did not shrink from applying it.
In the meanwhile, several people in Vancouver watched the increase of
friendliness between the girl and Vane. Mrs. Nairn and her husband did
so with benevolent interest, and it was by the former's adroit
management, which Evelyn did not often suspect, that they were thrown
more and more into each other's company. Jessie Horsfield, however,
looked on with bitterness. She was a strong-willed young woman who had
hitherto generally contrived to obtain what she had set her heart upon,
and she had set it upon this man. Indeed, she had fancied that he
returned the feeling, but disillusionment had come on the evening when
he had unexpectedly met Evelyn. Her resentment against the girl grew
steadily stronger, until it threatened to prove dangerous on
opportunity.
There were, however, days when Vane was disturbed in mind. Winter was
coming on, and although it is rarely severe on the southern seaboard, it
is by no means the season one would choose for an adventure among the
ranges of the northern wilderness. Unless he made his search for the
spruce very shortly, he might be compelled to postpone it until the
spring, at the risk of being forestalled; but there were two reasons
which detained him. He thought he was gaining ground in Evelyn's esteem,
and he feared the effect of absence; while there was no doubt that the
new issue of the Clermont shares was in very slack demand. To leave the
city might cost him a good deal, but he had pledged himself to go.
The latter fact was uppermost in his mind one evening when he set off to
call upon Celia Hartley, and, as it happened, Evelyn and Mrs. Nairn were
driving past as he turned off from a busy street towards the quarter in
which she lived. It had been dark some little time, but Evelyn had no
difficulty in recognising him. Indeed, she watched him for a few moments
while he passed on into a more shadowy region, where the gloom and
dilapidation of the first small frame houses were noticeable, and she
wondered what kind of people inhabited it. She did not think Mrs. Nairn
had noticed Vane.
"You have never taken me into the district on our left," she said.
"I'm no likely to," was the answer. "We're no proud of it."
"I suppose the Chinese and other aliens live there," Evelyn suggested.
"They do," said Mrs. Nairn with some dryness. "I'm no sure, however,
that they're the worst."
"But one understands that you haven't a criminal population."
"We have folks who're on the fringe of it, only we see they live all
together. People who would be respectable live somewhere else, except, a
few who have to consider cheapness, but it's no a recommendation to be
seen going into yon quarter after dark."
This left Evelyn thoughtful, since she had undoubtedly seen Vane going
there. She considered herself a judge of character and generally trusted
her intuitions, and she believed the man's visit to the neighbourhood in
question admitted of some satisfactory explanation. On the other hand,
she felt that her friends should be beyond suspicion. Taking it all
round, she was rather vexed with Vane, and it cost her some trouble to
drive the matter out of her mind, though she succeeded in doing so.
She did not see Vane next day, but the latter called upon Nairn at his
office during the afternoon.
"Have you had any more applications for the new stock?" he asked.
"I have not," said Nairn. "Neither Bendle nor Howiston has paid up yet."
"Investors are shy; that's a fact," Vane confessed. "It's unfortunate.
I've already put off my trip north as long as possible; I wanted to see
things on a satisfactory basis before I went."
"A prudent wish. I would advise ye to carry it out."
"What do you mean by that?"
"Something like this: If the money's no forthcoming, we may be compelled
to fall back upon a different plan, and, unless ye're to the fore, the
decision of a shareholders' meeting might not suit ye. Considering the
position and the stock ye hold, any views ye might express would carry
mair weight than mine could do in your absence."
Vane drummed with his fingers on the table. "I suppose that's the case;
but I've got to make the journey. With moderately good fortune it
shouldn't take me long."
"Ye would be running some risk if anything delayed ye and we had to call
a meeting before ye got back."
"I see that, but it can't be helped. I expect to be back before I'm
wanted. Anyway, I could leave you authority to act on my behalf."
After a further attempt to dissuade him, Nairn spread out one hand
resignedly. "He who will to Cupar maun be left to gang," he said.
"Whiles, I have wondered why any one should be so keen on getting there,
but doubtless a douce Scottish town has mair attractions for a sensible
person than the rugged North-West in winter time."
Vane, who smiled at this, went out and left him; and when he reached
home Nairn briefly recounted the interview to his wife over his evening
meal. Evelyn, who was with them, listened attentively.
"Yon man will no hear reason," Nairn concluded. "He's thrawn."
Evelyn had already noticed that her host, for whom she had a strong
liking, spoke broader Scots when he was either amused or angry, and she
supposed that Vane's determination disturbed him.
"But why should he persist in leaving the city, when it's to his
disadvantage to do so, as you lead one to believe it is?" she asked.
"If the latter's no absolutely certain, it's very likely," Nairn
informed her.
"You have only answered half my question," Evelyn pointed out.
Mrs. Nairn smiled. "Alec," she said, "is reserved by nature, but if
ye're anxious for an answer I might tell ye."
"Anxious hardly describes it," Evelyn replied.
"Then we'll say curious. The fact is, Vane made a bargain with a sick
prospector, in which he undertook to locate some timber the man had
discovered away among the mountains. He was to pay the other a share of
its value when he got his Government licence."
"Is the timber very valuable?"
"No," broke in Nairn. "One might make a fair business profit out of
pulping it, though the thing's far from certain."
"Then why is Mr. Vane so keen on finding it?"
The question gave Mrs. Nairn a lead, but she decided to say no more than
was necessary. "The prospector died, but that bound the bargain tighter,
in Vane's opinion. The man died without a dollar, leaving a daughter
worn-out and ill with nursing him. According to the arrangement, his
share will go to the girl."
"Then," said Evelyn, "Mr. Vane is really undertaking the search in order
to keep his promise to a man who is dead; and he will not even postpone
it, because if he did so this penniless girl might, perhaps, lose her
share? Isn't that rather fine of him?"
"On the whole, ye understand the position," Nairn agreed, "If ye desire
my view of the matter, I would merely say that yon's the kind of man he
is."
Evelyn made no further comment, though the last common phrase struck her
as a most eloquent tribute. She had heard Vane confess that he did not
want to go north at present, and she now understood that to do so might
jeopardise his interests in the mine; but he was undoubtedly going. He
meant to keep his promise--this was what one would expect of him.
As it happened, he took her for a drive among the Stanley pines one mild
afternoon a few days later, and though she knew she would regret his
departure she was unusually friendly. Vane rejoiced at it, but he had
already decided that he must endeavour to proceed with caution and
content himself in the meanwhile with the part of trusted companion. For
this reason, he chatted lightly, which he felt was safer, during most of
the drive, but he once or twice responded without reserve when, by
chance or design, she asked a leading question.
"I wonder if you ever feel any regret at having left England for this
country," she said.
"I did so pretty often when I first came out," he answered. "In those
days, I had to work in icy water, and carry massive lumps of rock."
"I dare say regret was a very natural feeling then; but that wasn't
quite what I meant."
"So I supposed," Vane confessed. "Well, I'd better own that when I spent
a week or two in England--at the Dene--I began to think I missed a good
deal by not staying at home. It struck me that the life you led had a
singular charm. Everything went so smoothly there among the sheltering
hills. One felt that care and anxiety could not creep in. Somehow the
place reminded me of Avalon."
"The impression was by no means correct," said Evelyn. "But I don't
think you have finished. Won't you go on?"
"Then if I get out of my depth you mustn't blame me. By and by I
discovered that charm wasn't the right word--the place was permeated
with a narcotic spell."
"Narcotic?" said Evelyn. "Do you think the term's more appropriate?"
"I do," Vane declared, "Narcotics, one understands, are insidious
things. If you take them regularly, in small doses, they increase their
hold on you, until you become wrapped up in dreams and unrealities. If,
however, you get too big a dose at the beginning, it leads to a vigorous
revulsion. It's nature's warning and remedy."
"You're not flattering," said Evelyn. "But I almost fancy you are
right."
"We are told that man was made to struggle; to use all his powers. If he
rests too long beside the still backwaters of life in fairylike dales,
they're apt to atrophy, and he finds himself slack and nerveless when he
goes out to face the world again."
Evelyn nodded, for she had felt and striven against the insidious
influence he spoke of. She had now and then left the drowsy dale for a
while; but the life she had then caught glimpses of was equally
sheltered, one possible only to the favoured few. Even the echoes of the
real tense struggle seldom passed its boundaries.
"But you confessed not long ago that you loved the Western wilderness,"
she said. "You have spent a good deal of time in it; you expect to do so
again. After all, isn't that only exchanging one beautiful, tranquil
region for another? The bush must be even quieter than the English
dales."
"I expect I haven't made the point quite clear. When one goes up into
the bush it's not to lounge and dream there, but to make war upon it
with the axe and drill." He pulled up his team and pointed to a clump of
giant trees. "Look here. That's Nature's challenge to man in this
country."
Evelyn confessed that it was a very impressive one. The great trunks ran
up far aloft, tremendous columns, before their higher portions were lost
in the vaulted roof of sombre greenery. They dwarfed the rig and team;
she felt herself a pigmy by comparison.
"They're rather bigger than the average," her companion resumed. "Still,
that's the kind of thing you run up against when you buy land to make a
ranch of or clear the ground for a mine. Chopping, sawing up, splitting
those giants doesn't fill one with languorous dreams; the only ones our
axe-men indulge in materialise. It's a bracing struggle. There are
leagues and leagues of trees, shrouding the valleys in a shadow that has
lasted since the world was young; but you see the dawn of a wonderful
future breaking in as the long ranks go down."
Once more, without clearly intending it, he had stirred the girl. He had
not spoken in that rather fanciful style to impress her; she thought he
had, trusting in her comprehension, merely given his ideas free rein.
But in doing so he had somehow made her hear the clear trumpet-call to
action, which, for such men, rings through the roar of the river and the
song of the tall black pines.
"Ah!" she said, "I dare say it's a fine life in many ways, but it must
have its drawbacks. The flesh must shrink from them."
"The flesh?" he said and laughed. "In this land it takes second
place--except, perhaps, in the cities." Then he turned and looked at her
curiously. "Why should you talk of shrinking? The bush couldn't daunt
you; you have courage."
The girl's eyes sparkled, but it was not at the compliment. His words
rang with freedom, the freedom of the heights, where heroic effort was
the rule in place of luxury. She longed now, as she had often done, to
escape from bondage, to break away.
"Ah, well," she said, half-wistfully, "I expect it's fortunate that such
courage as I have may never be put to the test."
Though reticence was difficult, Vane made no comment. He had spoken
unguardedly already, and he had decided that caution was desirable. As
it happened, an automobile came up when he restarted his team, and he
looked round as he drove on again.
"It's curious that I never heard the thing," he said.
"I didn't either," said Evelyn, and added, as if any explanation were
needed: "I was too engrossed in the trees. But I think Miss Horsfield
was in it."
"Was she?" said Vane in a very casual manner, and Evelyn, for no reason
that she was willing to admit, was pleased.
She had not been mistaken. Jessie Horsfield was in the automobile, and
she had had a few moments in which to study Vane and his companion. The
man's look and the girl's expression had struck her as significant; and
her lips set ominously tight as the car sped on. She felt she almost
hated Vane, and there was no doubt that she entirely hated the girl at
his side.