CONVINCING TESTIMONY.
One afternoon three or four days after Carroll had sailed, Evelyn sat
alone in Mrs. Nairn's drawing-room, a prey to confused regrets and keen
anxiety. She had recovered from the first shock caused by Carroll's
news, but though she could face the situation more calmly, she could
find no comfort anywhere--Vane was lying helpless and famishing, in the
frost-bound wilderness. She knew she loved the man; indeed, she had
really known it for some time, and it was that which had made Jessie's
revelation so bitter. Now, fastidious in thought and feeling as she was,
she wondered if she had been too hard upon him; it was becoming more and
more difficult to believe that he could have justified her disgust and
anger, but this was not what troubled her most. She had sent him away
with cold disfavour; he was threatened by many dangers; it was horrible
to think of what might befall him before assistance arrived, and yet she
could not drive the haunting dread out of her mind.
She was in this mood when a maid announced that two visitors wished to
see her; and when they were shown in, she found it difficult to hide her
astonishment as she recognised in Kitty the very attractive girl she had
once seen in Vane's company. It was this which prompted her to assume a
chilling manner, though she asked her guests to be seated. Neither of
them appeared altogether at her ease, and there was, indeed, a rather
ominous sparkle in Kitty's blue eyes. The latter began the conversation.
"Mr. Carroll was in town not long ago," she said. "Have you had any news
of him since he sailed?"
Evelyn did not know what to make of the question, and she answered
coldly: "No; we do not expect any word for some time."
"I'm sorry," said Kitty. "We're anxious about Mr. Vane."
On the surface, the announcement appeared significant, but the girls'
boldness in coming to her for news was unexplainable to Evelyn. Puzzled
as she was, her attitude became more discouraging.
"You know him, then?" she said.
Something in her tone made Celia's cheeks burn and she drew herself up.
"Yes," she said; "we know him, both of us; I guess it's astonishing to
you; but I met him first when he was poor, and getting rich hasn't
spoiled Mr. Vane."
Evelyn was once more puzzled--the girl's manner savoured less of
assurance than of wholesome pride which had been injured. Kitty,
however, broke in:
"We had no cards to send in; but I'm Kathleen Blake, and this is Celia
Hartley--it was her father sent Mr. Vane off to look for the spruce."
"Ah!" said Evelyn, a little more gently, addressing Celia; "I understand
your father died."
Kitty flashed a commanding glance at Celia, who spoke: "Yes; that is
correct. He left me ill and worn out, without a dollar, and I don't know
what I should have done if Mr. Vane hadn't insisted on giving Drayton a
little money for me, on account, he said, because I was a partner in the
venture. Then Miss Horsfield got me some work to do at home among her
friends. Mr. Vane must have asked her to: it would be like him."
Evelyn sat silent for a few moments. Celia had given her a good deal of
information in answer to a very simple remark; but she was most
impressed by the statement that Jessie, who had prejudiced her against
Vane, had helped the girl at his request. It was difficult to believe
she would have done so had there been any foundation for her
insinuations. If Celia spoke the truth, and Evelyn somehow felt this was
the case, the whole thing was extraordinary.
"Now," said Celia, "it's no way surprising I'm grateful to Mr. Vane and
anxious to hear if Mr. Carroll has reached him." This was spoken with a
hint of defiance, but the girl's voice changed. "I am anxious. It's
horrible to think of a man like him freezing in the bush."
Her concern was so genuine and yet somehow so innocent that Evelyn's
heart softened.
"Yes," she said; "it's dreadful." Then she asked a question: "Who's the
Mr. Drayton you mentioned?"
Kitty blushed becomingly; this was her lead. "He's a kind of partner in
the lumber scheme; I'm going to marry him. He's as firm a friend of Mr.
Vane's as any one. There's a reason for that--I was in a very tight
place once, left without money in a desolate settlement where there was
nothing I could do, when Mr. Vane helped me. But, perhaps, that wouldn't
interest you."
For a moment her doubts still clung to their hold in Evelyn's mind; and
then she suddenly drove the last of them out, with a stinging sense of
humiliation. She could not distrust this girl; it was Jessie's
suggestion that was incredible.
"It would interest me very much," she said.
Kitty told her story effectively, but with caution, laying most stress
upon Vane's compassion for the child and her invalid mother. She was
rather impressed by Miss Chisholm, but she supposed the latter was
endowed with some of the failings common to human nature.
Evelyn listened to her with confused emotions and a softened face. She
was convinced of the truth of the simple tale, and the thought of Vane's
keeping his monied friends and directors waiting in Vancouver in order
that a tired child might rest and gather shells upon a sunny beach
stirred her deeply. It was so characteristic; exactly what she would
have expected him to do.
"Thank you," she said quietly when Kitty had finished; and then,
flinging off the last of her reserve, she asked a number of questions
about Drayton and Celia's affairs. Before her visitors left all three
were on friendly terms, but Evelyn was glad when they took their
departure.
She wanted to be alone to think, though, in spite of the relief she was
conscious of, her thoughts were far from pleasant, and foremost among
them figured a crushing sense of shame. She had wickedly misjudged a man
who had given her many proofs of the fineness of his character; the evil
she had imputed to him was born of her own perverted imagination. She
was no better than the narrow-minded, conventional Pharisees she
detested, who were swift to condemn out of the uncleanness of their
self-righteous hearts. Then, as she began to reason, it flashed upon her
that she was, perhaps, wronging herself. Her mind had been cunningly
poisoned by an utterly unscrupulous and wholly detestable woman, and she
flamed out into a fit of imperious anger against Jessie. She had a hazy
idea that this was not altogether reasonable, since she was to some
extent fastening the blame she deserved upon another person; but it did
not detract from the comfort the indulgence in her indignation brought
her.
When she had grown calmer, Mrs. Nairn came in, and Mrs. Nairn was a
discerning lady. It was not difficult to lead Evelyn on to speak of her
visitors, for the girl's pride was broken and she felt in urgent need of
sympathy; but when she had described the interview she felt impelled to
avoid any discussion of its more important issues.
"I was surprised at the girl's manner," she concluded. "It must have
been embarrassing to them; but they were really so delicate over it, and
they had so much courage."
Mrs. Nairn smiled. "Although one has travelled with third-rate strolling
companies and the other has waited in an hotel? Weel, maybe your
surprise was natural. Ye cannot all at once get rid of the ideas and
prejudices ye were brought up with."
"I suppose that was it," said Evelyn thoughtfully.
Her companion's eyes twinkled. "Then, if ye're to live among us happily,
ye'll have to try. In the way ye use the words, some of the leading men
in this country were no brought up at all."
"Do you imagine that I'm going to live here?"
Mrs. Nairn gathered up one or two articles she had brought into the room
with her and moved towards the door, but before she reached it she
looked back at the girl.
"It occurred to me that the thing was no altogether impossible," she
said.
An hour afterwards, Evelyn went down into the town with her, and in one
of the streets they came upon Jessie leaving a store. The latter was not
lacking in assurance and she moved forward to meet them, but Evelyn
gazed at her with a total disregard of her presence and walked quietly
on. There was neither anger nor disdain in her attitude; to have shown
either would have been a concession she could not make. The instincts of
generations of gently-reared Englishwomen were aroused, as well as the
revulsion of an untainted nature from something unclean.
Jessie's cheeks turned crimson and a malevolent light flashed into her
eyes as she crossed the street. Mrs. Nairn noticed her expression and
smiled at her companion.
"I'm thinking it's as weel ye met Jessie after she had got the boat for
Carroll," she said.
The remark was no doubt justified, but the fact that Jessie had been
able to offer valuable assistance failed to soften Evelyn towards her.
It was merely another offence.
In the meanwhile the tug had steamed northwards, towing the sloop which
would be required, and, after landing the rescue party at the inlet,
steamed away again. Before she had disappeared Carroll began his march,
and his companions long remembered it. Two of them were accustomed to
packing surveyors' stores through the seldom-trodden bush, and the
others had worked in logging camps and chopped new roads; but though
they did not spare themselves, they lacked their leader's stimulus.
Carroll, with all his love of ease, could rise to meet an emergency, and
he wore out his companions before the journey was half done. He scarcely
let them sleep; he fed them on canned stuff to save delay in lighting
fires, and he grew more feverishly impatient with every mile they made.
He showed it chiefly by the tight set of his lips and the tension in his
face, though now and then, when fallen branches or thickets barred the
way, he fell upon the obstacles with the axe in silent fury. For the
rest, he took the lead and kept it, and the others, following with
shoulders aching from the pack straps, and laboured breath, suppressed
their protests.
Like many another made in that country, it was an heroic journey, one in
which mind and body were taxed to the limit. Delay might prove fatal;
the loads were heavy. Fatigue seized the shrinking flesh, but the
unrelenting will, trained in such adventures, mercilessly spurred it on.
Toughened muscle is useful and in the trackless North can seldom be
dispensed with; but man's strength does not consist of that alone; there
are occasions when the stalwart fall behind and die.
In front of them, as they progressed, lay the unchanging forest,
tangled, choked with fallen wreckage, laced here and there with stabbing
thorns; appalling and almost impenetrable to the stranger. They must
cleave their passage, except where they could take to the creek for an
easier way and wade through stingingly cold water or flounder over
slippery fangs of rock and ice-encrusted stones. There was sharp frost
among the ranges and the brush they broke through was generally burdened
with clogging snow. They went on, however, and on the last day Carroll
drew away from those who followed him. It was dark when he discovered
that he had lost them, but that did not matter, for now and then faint
moonlight came filtering down and he was leaving a plain trail behind.
His shoulders were bleeding beneath the biting straps; he was on the
verge of exhaustion; but he struggled forward, panting heavily, and
rending his garments to rags as he smashed through the brakes in the
darkness.
The night--it seemed a very long one--was nearly over, when he
recognised the roar of a rapid that rang in louder and louder pulsations
across the snow-sprinkled bush. He was not far from the end now, and he
became conscious of an unnerving fear. The ground was ascending sharply
and when he reached the top of the slope the question he shrank from
would be answered for him; if there was no blink of light among the
serried trunks, he would have come too late.
He reached the summit and his heart jumped; then he clutched at a
drooping branch to support himself, shaken by a reaction that sprang
from relief. A flicker of uncertain radiance fell upon the trees ahead
and down the bitter wind there came the reek of pungent smoke. After
that, for the bush was slightly more open, Carroll believed he ran, and
presently came crashing and stumbling into the light of the fire. Then
he stopped, too stirred and out of breath to speak, for Vane lay where
the red glow fell upon his face, smiling up at him.
"Well," he said, "you've come. I've been expecting you, but on the whole
I got along not so badly."
Carroll flung off his pack and sat down beside the fire; then he fumbled
for his pipe and began to fill it hurriedly with trembling fingers.
"Sorry I couldn't get through sooner," he explained. "The stores on
board the sloop were spoiled; I had to go on to Vancouver. But there are
things to eat in my pack."
"Hand it across," said Vane. "I haven't been faring sumptuously the last
few days. No, sit still; I'm supple enough from the waist up."
He proved it by the way he leaned to and fro as he opened the pack and
distributed part of its contents among the cooking utensils, while
Carroll, who assisted now and then, did not care to speak. The sight of
the man's gaunt face and the eagerness in his eyes prompted him to an
outbreak of feeling which was rather foreign to his nature and which he
did not think Vane would appreciate. When the meal was ready, the latter
looked up at him.
"I've no doubt this journey cost you something, partner," he said.
Then they ate cheerfully, and Carroll, who watched his friend's efforts
with appreciation, told his story in broken sentences--sometimes with
his mouth rather full, for he had not troubled about much cooking since
he left the inlet. Afterwards, they lighted their pipes, but by and by
Carroll's fell from his relaxing grasp.
"I can't get over this sleepiness," he explained. "I believe I disgraced
myself in Vancouver by going off in the most unsuitable places."
"I dare say it was natural," said Vane with some dryness. "Anyway,
hadn't you better hitch yourself a little farther from the fire?"
Carroll did so and lay still afterwards, but Vane kept watch during the
rest of the night, until in the dawn the packers appeared.