In the cool of the evening, while the chanting of vespers in the church
close by was faintly audible, I went downstairs into the _salon_. All
the household were gone to the service; but I saw Tardif sitting outside
in my own favorite seat under the sycamore-tree. I sent Minima to call
him to me, bidding her stay out-of-doors herself; and he came in
hurriedly, with a glad light in his deep, honest eyes.
"Thank God, mam'zelle, thank God!" he said.
"Yes," I answered, "I am well again now. I have not been really ill, I
know, but I felt weary and sick at heart. My good Tardif, how much I owe
you!"
"You owe me, nothing, mam'zelle," he said, dropping my hand, and
carrying the curé's high-backed chair to the open window, for me to sit
in it, and have all the freshness there was in the air. "Dear
mam'zelle," he added, "if you only think of me as your friend, that is
enough."
"You are my truest friend," I replied.
"No, no. You have another as true," he answered, "and you have this good
Monsieur le Curé into the bargain. If the curés were all like him I
should be thinking of becoming a good Catholic myself, and you know how
far I am from being that."
"No one can say a word too much in his praise," I said.
"Except," continued Tardif, "that he desires to keep our little mam'zelle
in his village. 'Why must she leave me?' he says; 'never do I say a word
contrary to her religion, or that of the _mignonne_. Let them stay in
Ville-en-bois.' But Dr. Martin, says: 'No, she must not remain here. The
air is not good for her; the village is not drained, and it is
unhealthy. There will always be fever here.' Dr. Martin was almost angry
with Monsieur le Curé."
"Dr. Martin?" I said, in a tone of wonder and inquiry.
"Dr. Martin, mam'zelle. I sent a message to him by telegraph. It was
altered somehow in the offices, and he did not know who was dead. He
started off at once, travelled without stopping, and reached this place
two nights ago."
"Is he here now?" I asked, while a troubled feeling stirred the
tranquillity which had but just returned to me. I shrank from seeing him
just then.
"No, mam'zelle. He went away this morning, as soon as he was sure you
would recover without his help. He said that to see him might do you
more harm, trouble you more, than he could do you good by his medicines.
He and Monsieur le Curé parted good friends, though they were not of the
same mind about you. 'Let her stay here,' says Monsieur le Curé. 'She
must return to England,' says Dr. Martin. 'Mam'zelle must be free to
choose for herself,' I said. They both smiled, and said yes, I was
right. You must be free."
"Why did no one tell me he was here? Why did Minima keep it a secret?" I
asked.
"He forbade us to tell you. He did not wish to disquiet you. He said to
me: 'If she ever wishes to see me, I would come gladly from London to
Ville-en-bois', only to hear her say, 'Good-morning, Dr. Martin.' 'But I
will not see her now, unless she is seriously ill.' I felt that he was
right, Dr. Martin is always right."
I did not speak when Tardif paused, as if to hear what I had to say. I
heard him sigh as softly as a woman sighs.
"If you could only come back to my poor little house!" he said; "but
that is impossible. My poor mother died in the spring, and I am living
alone. It is desolate, but I am not unhappy. I have my boat and the sea,
where I am never solitary. But why should I talk of myself? We were
speaking of what you are to do."
"I don't know what to do," I said, despondently; "you see Tardif, I have
not a single friend I could go to in England. I shall have to stay here
in Ville-en-bois."
"No," he answered; "Dr. Martin has some plan for you, I know, though he
did not tell me what it is. He said you would have a home offered to
you, such as you would accept gladly. I think it is in Guernsey."
"With his mother, perhaps," I suggested.
"His mother, mam'zelle!" he repeated; "alas! no. His mother is dead; she
died only a few weeks after you left Sark."
I felt as if I had lost an old friend whom I had known for a long time,
though I had only seen her once. In my greatest difficulty I had thought
of making my way to her, and telling her all my history. I did not know
what other home could open for me, if she were dead.
"Dr. Dobrée married a second wife only three months after," pursued
Tardif, "and Dr. Martin left Guernsey altogether, and went to London,
to be a partner with his friend, Dr. Senior."
"Dr. John Senior?" I said.
"Yes, mam'zelle," he answered.
"Why! I know him," I exclaimed; "I recollect his face well. He is
handsomer than Dr. Martin. But whom did Dr. Dobrée marry?"
"I do not know whether he is handsomer than Dr. Martin," said Tardif, in
a grieved tone. "Who did Dr. Dobrée marry? Oh! a foreigner. No Guernsey
lady would have married him so soon after Mrs. Dobrée's death. She was a
great friend of Miss Julia Dobrée. Her name was Daltrey."
"Kate Daltrey!" I ejaculated. My brain seemed to whirl with the
recollections, the associations, the rapid mingling and odd readjustment
of ideas forced upon me by Tardif's words. What would have become of me
if I had found my way to Guernsey, seeking Mrs. Dobrée, and discovered
in her Kate Daltrey? I had not time to realize this before Tardif went
on in his narration.
"Dr. Martin was heart-broken," he said; "we had lost you, and his mother
was dead. He had no one to turn to for comfort. His cousin Julia, who
was to have been his wife, was married to Captain Carey three weeks ago.
You recollect Captain Carey, mam'zelle?"
Here was more news, and a fresh rearranging of the persons who peopled
my world. Kate Daltrey become Dr. Dobrée's second wife; Julia Dobrée
married to Captain Carey; and Dr. Martin living in London, the partner
of Dr. Senior! How could I put them all into their places in a moment?
Tardif, too, was dwelling alone, now, solitarily, in a very solitary
place.
"I am very sorry for you," I said, in a low tone.
"Why, mam'zelle?" he asked.
"Because you have lost your mother," I answered.
"Yes, mam'zelle," he said, simply; "she was a great loss to me, though
she was always fretting about my inheriting the land. That is the law of
the island, and no one can set it aside. The eldest son inherits the
land, and I was not her own son, though I did my best to be like a real
son to her. She died happier in thinking that her son, or grandson,
would follow me when I am gone, and I was glad she had that to comfort
her, poor woman."
"But you may marry again some day, my good Tardif," I said; "how I wish
you would!"
"No, mam'zelle, no," he answered, with a strange quivering tone in his
voice; "my mother knew why before she died, and it was a great comfort
to her. Do not think I am not happy alone. There are some memories that
are better company than most folks. Yes, there are some things I can
think of that are more and better than any wife could be to me."
Why we were both silent after that I scarcely knew. Both of us had many
things to think about, no doubt, and the ideas were tumbling over one
another in my poor brain till I wished I could cease to think for a few
hours.
Vespers ended, and the villagers began to disperse stealthily. Not a
wooden _sabot_ clattered on the stones. Mademoiselle and Monsieur
Laurentie came in, with a tread as soft as if they were afraid of waking
a child out of a light slumber.
"Mademoiselle," I cried, "monsieur, behold me; I am here."
My voice and my greeting seemed to transport them with delight.
Mademoiselle embraced me, and kissed me on both cheeks. Monsieur le Curé
blessed me, in a tremulously joyous accent, and insisted upon my keeping
his arm-chair. We sat down to supper together, by the light of a
brilliant little lamp, and Pierre, who was passing the uncurtained
window, saw me there, and carried the news into the village.
The next day Tardif bade me farewell, and Monsieur Laurentie drove him
to Granville on his way home to Sark.