LE’S DEPARTURE
One day Le spent in going around the neighborhood to see the old friends
and neighbors, whom he had not seen for more than three years. The next
day he stayed home at Mondreer, and spent nearly the whole of it in
company of Odalite.
At night the squire drove him to the railway station, accompanied by
Odalite, Wynnette and Elva, as once before. Also, Le was permitted to
sit on the back seat beside Odalite, and when there he held her hand in
his as on the previous occasion.
They reached the railway station in such good time that they had about
fifteen minutes to wait in the little sitting room; and there the last
adieus were made, when the train came in.
“It is not for a three years’ absence at sea this time, my dear! It is
scarcely for three weeks. Before the middle of May I shall be with you
again—please Heaven,” said Le, as he pressed Odalite to his heart in a
last embrace, before he jumped into the car to be whirled out of sight.
Mr. Force with his daughters waited until the sound of the rushing train
died away in the distance, and then took them back to the carriage and
drove homeward.
Again, as before, they reached home about ten o’clock, to find Mrs.
Force and the lady from the diggings waiting up for them—only on this
occasion they were not sitting over a blazing hickory wood fire, in the
dead of winter and night, with a jug of mulled wine steaming on the
hearth; but they were sitting on the front piazza, on a fine spring
evening, with a little table, on which was arranged a pitcher of iced
sherbet, with glasses and a plate of wafer cakes.
“Well, he went off gay and happy as a lark, and we have come home chirp
and merry as grigs!” said Wynnette, as she tore off and threw down her
straw hat and seated herself at the table.
“Oh, I hope he will have a pleasant journey and a good time altogether!
He can’t fail to get all the evidence he wants, ’cause it’s right there,
you know! And I give him a letter to Joe Mullins, at Wild Cats’, as one
of the witnesses to the marriage, though he wasn’t asked to sign the
register! How should he, when he couldn’t read? I hope he’ll have time
to run out to Wild Cats’ to see Joe! Though, come to think of it, I
don’t know as he’ll find anything there but dark shafts and empty
shanties. The leads was running out, and the boys was talking of leaving
when I came away. Ah! I hope he will find some of the poor, dear boys! I
should love to hear from them direct, once more.”
“How far is Wild Cats’ from St. Sebastian, Mrs. Anglesea?” rather
anxiously inquired Wynnette.
“Oh, only a step—le’s see, now; ’bout a hundred and seventy-seven miles,
I think they said it was.”
“Is there a railroad?”
“A what? A railroad? Oh, Lord! Why, child, when I was out there, which
was less than four years ago, there was not even a turnpike road within
a hundred miles of it. There’s a trail, though!”
“What do you mean by a trail?”
“Well, I mean a mule track.”
“Then I do not think that Le can go there. It must be a long and tedious
journey, and he will not have time.”
“Oh, yes he will! And opportunity also. There’ll be mule trains, you
know. He can pack on one of them. He can rough it! You bet! He’s every
inch a man, is Le Force!”
“He must not risk losing his passage on our steamer,” said Odalite.
“Do not be anxious, my dear; he will not run any risks of losing the
steamer. I think, also, that he will have time to do our friend’s
commission. There has been a road made over that section since Mrs.
Anglesea left it. And, now I think, we had better go indoors. The night
air is too cold to remain out longer.”
They went into the house and soon after retired to bed.
The days that followed Le’s departure were active, cheerful, full of
life.
The old friends and neighbors of the Forces received them back into
their midst with not only the earnest love of time-honored friendship,
but with the distinction due to illustrious visitors.
They called on them promptly.
They got up dinner and tea parties for their entertainment.
They would have nominated Mr. Force as their representative in Congress
for the ensuing year, but that he was going abroad with his family for a
year.
The Forces entered heartily into all the schemes of pleasure and
hospitality set on foot in the community.
They accepted all the invitations given to them, and in return they gave
dinner and tea parties until they had also entertained all their friends
and neighbors.
And so the last weeks of April passed and May was on hand.
Letters from Le came by every Californian mail.
He had reached St. Sebastian; he had found the Rev. Father Minitree; he
had searched the parish register; found the marriage between Angus
Anglesea and Ann Maria Wright duly recorded, signed and witnessed; he
had hunted out the living witnesses, and he had procured attested copies
of the marriage record, further indorsed by the written and sworn
statements of the officiating priest and of the surviving witnesses. And
so, with evidence as strong as evidence could be, he wrote that he was
ready to come home, only that he wished to oblige Mrs. Anglesea by going
out to Wild Cats’ Gulch to inquire after her boys. The journey there and
back, he thought, might occupy him four days. After that he should start
for home, which he hoped to reach about the fifteenth of May.
Letters also came from the Earl of Enderby in answer to Mrs. Force’s
missive that had announced the time of the family’s sailing for
Europe—letters saying that the very near prospect and the anticipation
of seeing his dear and only sister and her children had made him feel so
much better in spirits that his health had improved under it.
Among the most constant visitors at Mondreer was Mr. Sam Grandiere,
whose visits could not be mistaken as to their meaning, and whose
attentions to Wynnette on all occasions of their meetings in other
companies had attracted the observation of the whole neighborhood and
caused much talk.
“Mr. Force is such a practical sort of man that so long as he knows
young Grandiere comes of a good old Maryland family, and that his
character is beyond reproach, he will not mind his roughness of manner
or plainness of speech, or his want of a collegiate education, or refuse
him his daughter on that account,” said young Dr. Ingle to his wife one
evening when they were talking over the affair.
“No, perhaps not; but how could our brilliant Wynnette ever fancy such a
lout!” exclaimed Natalie, indignantly.
“Oh, indeed, you are too severe on the poor fellow! And you, coming from
the North, do not understand our Maryland ways. In your State it is the
farmers’ boys who are sent to school and college in preference to the
girls, if any are to go; but in Maryland it is always the farmers’ girls
who are put to boarding school in preference to the boys; as in your
State you find learned statesmen, lawyers and clergymen belonging to
families of very plainly educated women, so in our State you will find
refined and accomplished women in the same families with very plain,
simply schooled men. It is queer, but it is so. Our Maryland men will
make any sacrifice, even that of their own mental culture, in order to
educate their women, and I think in that they show the very spirit of
generosity.”
But among all the people who observed and criticized the growing
intimacy between Wynnette and young Grandiere, none was more interested
than quaint little Rosemary Hedge.
Rosemary was poetic, romantic and sentimental to a degree. She was
devoted to Wynnette and Elva Force; and she could not bear the idea of
Wynnette “throwing herself away” on such a rustic.
“He is my own dear cousin, Wynnette, and I love him dearly as a cousin;
but, indeed, I could not marry him to save my soul! And though he is a
good boy, I do not think he is a proper match for you,” said Rosemary,
one morning, when she had come to spend the day at Mondreer, and the two
girls were _tête-à-tête_ in Wynnette’s room, where she had taken her
visitor to lay off her bonnet.
“Why not?” curtly demanded Wynnette, who did not like these criticisms
upon her lover.
But worse was to come.
“Why not?” echoed Rosemary. “Why, because dear Sam is so rough and
ungainly. He has red hair and a freckled face——”
“So has the Duke of Argyll and all the princely Campbells!”
“And he has a club nose!”
“So have I. ‘Pot can’t call kettle black.’”
“And such big hands and feet——”
“So much the better for useful work.”
“But, oh! Wynnette, he—he——”
“What now?”
“He has no education to speak of—nothing but a common-school education!”
“Like any number of our great men who have risen to high rank, wealth
and fame in the army, navy, civil service, or learned professions.”
“Yes, but he’ll never rise above his station. He hasn’t intellect
enough.”
“Neither had any of the grand, brave, simple heroes and warriors of old
whose deeds stir our hearts, even now.”
“But, Wynnette, Sam Grandiere is nothing like that! He would not even
understand you if you were to talk to him as you do to me. His thoughts
run all on crops and cattle and——”
“Whatever is really useful and beneficial to his folks.”
“In meeting their material wants only, Wynnette. But it is vain to argue
with you. If you are determined to throw yourself away on Sam
Grandiere——”
“Now, Rosemary, stow that, or the fat will be in the fire!” exclaimed
the girl, flushing with a blaze of short-lived anger. “I mean I cannot
bear to hear you depreciate the excellence of Samuel Grandiere. He is
honest, true, and tender. He is as brave as a lion, and as magnanimous
as a king—ought to be!”
“Yes, I know, but——”
“And where would you find such a lineage in the State as his?”
vehemently interrupted Wynnette. “His pedigree can be traced back, step
by step, to the Sieur Louis de Grandiere, who came over to England in
the year 1420, in the suit of Katherine of Valois, queen of Henry the
Fifth; though, of course, that tells but little. He was probably a
gentleman in waiting, though he might have been a horse boy!”
“He was a gentleman in waiting on the queen. He was a nobleman of
Provence,” replied quaint little Rosemary, craning her neck in defense
of her ancestor.
“Oh, he was! Well, I always thought so! But that is more than can be
said of Mr. Roland Bayard!” said Wynnette, maliciously.
Rosemary flushed to the edges of her curly black hair.
“I do not know what he has to do with the question,” she murmured.
“Only this, my love: that while we are taking sweet counsel together,
and you are giving me the benefit of your wisdom in regard to Mr. Samuel
Elk Grandiere, I might reciprocate by giving you a friendly warning in
respect to Mr. Roland Bayard!”
“Oh, Wynnette!” cried Rosemary, deprecatingly, while the color deepened
all over her face and neck.
“Nobody knows who he is! He was washed ashore from the wreck of the
_Carrier Pigeon_, the only one saved. He was adopted by Miss Sibby, good
soul, and he was educated at the expense of Mr. Force, generous man!
Why, he was not only homeless, friendless and penniless, but he was
nameless until the name of Roland Bayard was given him by Mr. Force and
Miss Sibby, who were his sponsors in baptism!”
“Oh! oh! Wynnette! No one can look at Roland Bayard without seeing that
he must be of princely lineage! He is very handsome, and graceful and
accomplished! He is refined, cultured, intellectual!” pleaded Rosemary.
“Don’t see it! He has been through college and he has plenty of modest
assurance, which prevents him from being bashful and awkward, as some of
his betters are. But all the same, he is nobody’s son!”
“Oh, Wynnette! that is not generous of you! Can dear—can Roland help his
misfortune? Is he to blame for being wrecked on our shore in his
infancy, and losing everything, even his name? Oh, Wynnette!” said
Rosemary, with tears in her eyes.
“No! I am not generous! I am a little catamount, and worse than that! It
is not true, either, what I said about him! Roland is a fine fellow. And
of course he must have been somebody’s son! Don’t cry, Rosie. I didn’t
mean it, dear! Only the devil does get in me sometimes!” said the
generous girl, stooping and kissing her quaint little friend.
Rosemary smiled through her tears; and then they went downstairs
together.
And as this was the first, so it was the last time that the subject in
dispute was mentioned between the two girls.