Winter changed into spring slowly yet surely, and the almanac declared that
summer was nigh long before people were prepared to accept the assurance.
To Elsie Gurney the spring had been particularly trying, and her mother
began to feel anxious as day after day found her lying on a couch, listless
and weary. The doctor advised change of scene as the best means to recover
health and spirits, and Mrs. Gurney decided at last to accept the kind and
repeated invitation of a dear friend living in Charlottetown, and send
Elsie thither under Lancy's escort. Mrs. Gurney wrote to her friend
explaining Elsie's condition, and the kind letter that came in reply caused
preparations to be made at once for the visit.
"My guest chambers are all vacant," wrote Mrs. Fremont, "and my girls are
delighted with the prospect of having someone new to the place to show
around and gossip with. But, with your houseful, surely you can spare more
than two of your family. Remember, I have not seen any of you since we came
to Charlottetown, so be generous. Launcelot must not think of returning for
some weeks, and he must come prepared to see a deal of service, for my
girls have already planned drives and picnics that he must lead to success,
for Huburt has not yet returned from abroad, and an elder brother is sadly
missed in these little pleasure-parties. Elsie shall have the best of care,
and I feel safe in promising that when she returns home all trace of her
illness will be dispelled."
But Elsie shrank from this visit and begged to be allowed to stay at home.
She was naturally shy and reserved, and to go among new faces, and into
strange places, and be expected to take part in the pleasures that were
being prepared, oh! this was worse than being ill at home, for then her own
dear ones would be near her.
But the visit, like the big doses of medicine that the doctor ordered, had
to be taken, whether she liked it or not, and the preparations went on,
though it grieved her mother to see how Elsie shrank from the visit.
One day when Elsie was crying about her "banishment from home," Dexie
Sherwood came into the room, and learning the cause of Elsie's tears she
frankly stated her mind as follows:
"Well, if you are not a baby, then I never saw one! The idea of you lying
there crying until your eyes are red and swollen because you are going off
on a fine cruise! I declare! if I thought I should be treated half so well,
I'd fall sick this very day, and you may be sure I would select some
complaint that required a change of scene to restore me," and, assuming an
expression of extreme woe, she added:
"Your kind friend in Charlottetown didn't say that any sick neighbor might
join you, I suppose? for, ah me! I am beginning to feel awfully bad
already. Where, oh! where can I go to regain my shattered health?"
Elsie's tears of grief changed to tears of laughter, and she replied,
"Well, I suppose it does look silly for me to be fretting because I have to
go away, but I hate to go among strange people. If Cora could come with me
I would not mind it at all."
"But Lancy is going with you," said Dexie, "so you cannot come to any great
harm. The people over there are quite civilized, I'm told, so they won't
likely eat you; not till you get a little more flesh on your bones,
anyway."
Mrs. Gurney, who was in the room, lifted her eyes to Dexie's animated face,
and said in her gentle, motherly tone,
"Dexie, my dear, why couldn't _you_ go with Elsie? I was stupid not to have
thought of it before."
"For my health, do you mean, Mother Gurney? But I am afraid I have
recovered it already. I have made Elsie laugh, and the unusual sound has
cured me like a charm."
"Well, not exactly for _your_ health, my dear, but for Elsie's," she
replied, as she looked into the laughing face before her. "When I think of
the double benefit your companionship would be to her, I wonder that the
thought did not occur to me before."
"Oh! Mrs. Gurney, I feel so ashamed," and Dexie covered her hot cheeks for
a moment with her hands. "I never intended to suggest such a thing when I
made such a thoughtless remark. Oh! what can you think of me! Indeed I only
said it to make Elsie laugh."
"There, there; of course I understood your bit of fun," and Mrs. Gurney
patted the blushing girl on her shoulder, "but when a suggestion made in
sport brings such a change in Elsie's looks, how much good would result if
the jest were turned to earnest."
"But imagine me going to Mrs. Fremont's when she is not aware of my
existence! I couldn't pass myself off as Cora, for I am too unlike any of
the family. Indeed, I fear my wickedness would soon betray me," her
embarrassment giving place to a mischievous air.
"If I write and introduce you, you can feel as sure of as hearty a welcome
as if you were one of my family. But we must not make plans till we consult
your parents," said Mrs. Gurney, turning to leave the room.
"Oh! Dexie, if you only _would_ come with me, it would make all the
difference in the world," said Elsie. "A weight seems lifted off my heart
at the thought."
"Yes, but look at all the nice dresses you are getting made. You would find
me a very shabby companion, for I never dare ask mamma for a new dress
unless Gussie is in need of one also; but now that papa is home I might
manage that difficulty, and I am quite sure of Aunt Jennie's help."
Mrs. Gurney was soon discussing the matter with the parents next door,
making much of the great favor it would be to herself if they would spare
Dexie to accompany Elsie to Charlottetown. Consent was readily granted,
though Mrs. Sherwood could not refrain from expressing a fear that the
necessary preparations would be rather troublesome, as she did not feel
able to make any extra exertion herself.
Mrs. Sherwood was quite an invalid, or at least she thought she was, which
amounted to about the same thing. Necessity did not compel her to bestir
herself very much, so she began to think she _could_ not, and she was
generally found lying on a sofa with a book as companion.
Dexie's absence from home would be rather a pleasant relief than otherwise,
as she had an unpleasant way of finding unfinished work and laying it in a
work-basket by her mother's side for completion. Dexie's brisk ways and
ceaseless activity were extremely annoying, as it seemed a continual
reproach to Mrs. Sherwood, who preferred the easy, languid movements of her
twin sister.
No one raised any objections to Mrs. Gurney's plans except Gussie, and her
objections were many and loudly expressed.
It was shameful of Dexie to thrust herself into the Gurney family as she
was doing. Anyone could see that it was more on Lancy's account than
Elsie's that Dexie was so delighted to accompany them. Why didn't she go
and live with them at once? She might as well, seeing that so much of her
sewing was being prepared in Mrs. Gurney's sewing-room.
This, and pages more, was reiterated daily, till Dexie would snatch up her
work and run to her aunt's room, and she was heartily glad when the time
came to leave Gussie and her unkind words behind her.
Yet it was not only on Gussie's account that she felt so glad to be off,
for, when Hugh McNeil heard of her intended departure, he added his
persecutions also. At first, when he learned that Lancy was to accompany
Elsie, his heart beat high with hope. Dexie would be free from Lancy's
influence, and he hoped much from a few weeks of uninterrupted intercourse.
His passion for Dexie had grown as the weeks went by, and when the one
obstacle, Lancy, was removed, all would be well. His visits to the
Sherwoods were more frequent than ever, and he openly showed his preference
for Dexie's society.
But Gussie had no other admirer just then, and she accepted the attentions
meant for her sister as if they were her own just due. This was so
exasperating to Hugh that, when Dexie turned away from him, he would take
his hat and leave abruptly. This strange behavior Gussie set down to
everything except the true cause, for she did not dream that Hugh's
affections had been transferred to her sister, for Dexie openly snubbed
him.
But, when Hugh learned that Dexie was preparing to accompany the others, he
was almost beside himself with rage. He refused at first to believe it--the
idea was too preposterous! Well it was that the announcement was not made
to him before the assembled household, for his face revealed the fierce
conflict within, and he had quite as many objections to make as Gussie,
though they were not so openly and freely expressed. Chancing to meet Dexie
in the hall, after repeated efforts to catch her alone, his bitter
disappointment was so touchingly expressed that, for the first time, Dexie
felt a sort of pity for the man, though she could not understand the
intense feeling that seemed to possess him.
"Promise me five minutes alone! only five minutes!" he begged, as Dexie
tried to pass him. "You will surely grant me that small favor before you
go! I must speak to you, Dexie, even if you refuse me a private interview."
"I have no right to grant even 'five minutes' interview' to my sister's
lover," was the cool reply. "You can have nothing to say to me that might
not be said before the whole family."
"Am I your sister's lover? You know better, Dexie! I have been blinded by
her pretty face, but my eyesight has returned to me. I want something more
than beauty in my future wife," and he tried to catch her hand.
But Dexie was too quick for this movement, and she hotly replied:
"And I hope you may get it! May she be blessed with a temper hot enough to
make even a Frenchman tire of dancing to the music of her tongue!" and with
this retort she flew past him, and the door slammed behind her.
Hugh stood for a moment and gazed after her; then, turning on his heel,
pulled the ends of his long moustache into his mouth as he muttered to
himself:
"Not so bad, my little girl! The hot temper is there fast enough, but it
won't make me dance, unless it will be for joy at getting the owner of it."
This happened just the day before they started on their journey, and,
through the hours of that busy day, Dexie kept wondering what Hugh wished
to tell her. Should she see him and be done with it? No; for his earnest
looks and half-spoken words told all too plainly the nature of the
interview. Dexie never could explain, even to herself, why she disliked
Hugh so much; but his very presence seemed to raise up all the opposition
there was within her. To a stranger, he would have seemed more attractive
than Lancy Gurney. His figure had attained to manly proportions, and his
manner had a charm that was quite pleasing. His dark, handsome face and
brilliant black eyes seemed to tell of southern birth; and the heavy,
upward-curling moustache added much to his attractions. Dexie had looked
upon him with favorable eyes when she first came to Halifax. He had formed
a striking contrast to Gussie's fair beauty, but the memory of his handsome
face was far from pleasant as Dexie thought of the words he had spoken to
her in the hall.
Yet Hugh succeeded after all, and the five minutes he asked for thrice
repeated themselves before Dexie could escape from his presence.
The back of the house, or ell, which formed the kitchen, was a story less
in height than the main building, and its flat roof was often utilized by
both families as a drying-ground for small articles of clothing, and Dexie
had stepped out of the window that overlooked this roof to bring in some
forgotten articles that hung on the line.
It had been very warm all day, and as Dexie stood a minute, enjoying the
cool breeze that blew in from the harbor, her figure was distinctly
outlined to observers from the rear of the house; but her presence might
have escaped notice, had she not been softly whistling some little song.
Hugh had just returned from the depot, where he had taken the luggage which
was to accompany the young travellers in the morning, and his heart was
full of bitter feelings as he thought of his master's son filling the place
he coveted so dearly.
As he passed into the yard, Dexie's soft whistle reached his ears. He was
too well acquainted with the sound not to recognize the source of it, and,
glancing up, he saw her there in the twilight, the breeze gently lifting
her wavy hair and fluttering the ribbons around her neck, as if
endeavoring to attract his attention. One glance was enough, and before
Dexie knew he had returned from the depot, she was startled by his
appearance beside her.
She turned to enter the house, but Hugh had not gained this opportunity
merely to let it slip by, so he boldly stepped before her and shut the
window, and his exultant face was a strong contrast to the expression
depicted on Dexie's.
They stood thus face to face for several moments, silently regarding each
other--Hugh flushed with triumph, his eyes glowing with a feeling of
victory; Dexie, her heart beating fast in her anger, white and defiant as
she regarded her audacious companion.
It was Dexie who broke the silence. In a tone of the utmost contempt she
said, as she waved him aside:
"Stand back out of my way and let me pass," and she moved towards the
window.
"Not yet, Dexie, just hear me for a moment. I want to speak to you."
"Not a word, sir, let me pass at once! How dare you keep me here against my
will!"
His tone of entreaty changed to command.
"Because it is my will that you shall hear me," and his face grew paler as
he spoke. "For once you shall listen to what I have to say. I can be silent
no longer."
"Well, if you must unburden your mind, talk to the chimney there; it will
care quite as much for what you have to say as I. It is quite in keeping
with the estimate I had formed for you, to keep me here a prisoner on the
house-top. Stand aside at once and let me enter the house."
"Dexie," he said more firmly, "I am not going to let you pass until I tell
you what I came here to say. Is it not enough that I am to lose the sight
of your bright face for such long, weary weeks, that I must be refused
these few moments--moments that I must perforce steal from you if I am to
get them at all? Do I need to tell you what a blank my life will be while
you are away; and not only a blank, but a fearful dream of blasted hopes
and weary longing? Oh, Dexie, take away some of the bitterness that your
absence will cause, by giving me, at least, the promise that you will not
forget me while you are away."
"Not forget you, indeed!" she said in a rising voice. "I may forgive you
this insult, but you may be sure that I will do my best to forget you, just
as quickly as I can. I am not given to remembering unpleasant things."
"Dexie, do not talk so bitterly; you do not mean it; say you do not,
Dexie?" he said, entreatingly. "You are vexed at being kept here against
your will; come, then, let us go inside and talk it over quietly," he
added, persuasively, and he reached for her hand.
"But I _do_ mean every word of it," and she stepped back out of his reach,
"and if you do not wish to hear me express myself more plainly, I'd advise
you to open the window at once."
"Hear me a moment, Dexie. I know you are prejudiced against me on account
of Gussie; but give me time to prove that I am in earnest when I say that
it is you that I love," and her hands were instantly imprisoned in his
strong clasp, "and I love you, Dexie, with the intense love that a strong
man feels for the one woman who is all the world to him, a love that is not
to be compared with the boyish feeling that Lancy Gurney has for you. Give
me some hope, Dexie, that sometime in the future, when you have rightly
considered the matter, you will look on me with a more kindly feeling in
your heart than you are willing to own to to-night."
Dexie freed her hands by a great effort. His words had flowed like a
torrent from his lips, and she took a step back from him, as she replied,
"Mr. McNeil, I will _never_ regard you in the light you are thinking of, so
all this talk is worse than folly."
"Have I spoken too late?" he almost hissed.
His eyes seemed to burn as he looked into her face.
"Have you already promised yourself to Lancy? Tell me!"
"I will not!" came the defiant answer. "You have no right to ask such a
question, and I will not answer it!"
Her defiant air and scornful words angered him. He had buoyed himself up
with the hope that if he once declared his love she would be touched with
the declaration, and, if she did refuse him, would do it in a kindly way
that would bid him hope for better luck by and by; but to have his love
flung back in his teeth, as it were, was more than his passionate nature
could bear.
"Oh! so you love him, do you, and spurn me. Tell me, is it so?"
Again she stepped back from him as he was speaking, and was unaware how
very near she was to the edge of the roof; but Hugh observed it, and
thinking he could force a confession from her lips through fear, if by no
other means, he quickly grasped her arm, saying in a voice trembling with
passion:
"Do you love him? Tell me, or I'll throw you over!"
Dexie turned her head, and for one awful moment, as she realized her peril,
her face blanched to her very lips; but instead of the answer Hugh
expected, she raised her eyes to his, and he quailed beneath their terrible
glance, as she cried:
"Throw me over then, you coward, for I'll never tell you!"
An instant they stood thus face to face, on the very edge of the roof, when
Hugh's better nature asserted itself, and he quickly drew her back to
safety, exclaiming hoarsely:
"Forgive me, Dexie, I never meant to do it, indeed I did not; I would not
harm a hair of your dear head for a thousand worlds!"
He felt weak and small before the girl whom he had thought to bend to his
will, and made no effort now to keep her from entering the house, but
stepped to the window beside her and raised it, endeavoring all the while
to get a word of forgiveness from her close-shut lips. She never even
turned her head in his direction, but entered the house and into her own
room, and Hugh was obliged to descend with a more uncomfortable feeling in
his breast than he had felt there when he sought Dexie's presence on the
roof. "Baffled, after all," was his silent comment; "a coward, she called
me; yes, it was a cowardly thing to do, and I might have known she would
resent it. But how handsome she looked as she defied me on the very edge of
the roof! I believe she would not have opened her lips and answered that
question, even to save her life, after she had once refused to speak! But
I'll win her yet, and she will be doubly dear when conquered at last, my
brave Dexie!" and with feelings that were only intensified by this
interview, he returned to the yard to prepare the carriage for the drive to
the depot next morning.
It was some satisfaction to be able to see that everything possible was
done for the comfort of his darling, though it was bitterness itself to
think of her going away under the escort of Lancy Gurney.
When he re-entered the house, his unusual pallor was quickly noticed by
Mrs. Gurney, and she kindly asked:
"Are you very tired, Hugh?"
Without lifting his eyes, he replied:
"No, not tired, but heart-sick."
"What is it, Hugh? What is the trouble?" she asked, in her kind, motherly
tone.
"Do not ask me, please! it is nothing that can be remedied, believe me,"
and he raised his eyes a moment and met her inquiring gaze.
"Well, my boy, you, like the rest of us, I suppose, have just so much pain
and trouble to bear in this world. Do not let it bear too heavily on your
young heart; all is for the best in the end, you know," and her hand was
laid on his shoulder with a sympathetic pressure, as she passed on.
All for the best! when in all the hasty preparations that are of necessity
left till the last few hours before a journey, no one even thought of the
fierce heart-struggle that was his, or would have cared about it had they
known it! There seemed to be no kind word of remembrance for him, amidst
the bustle and confusion that reigned around him. He felt as if he stood
apart from those who, up to this time, seemed as near to him as kith and
kin.