DISILLUSION.
The long train was speeding smoothly across the vast white levels of
Assiniboia, when Agatha, who sat by a window, looked up as the
conductor strode through the car. Mrs. Hastings asked him a question,
and he stopped a moment.
"Yes," he said, "we'll be in Clermont inside half an hour."
Then he went on, and Mrs. Hastings smiled at Agatha.
"We're a little late, and Gregory will be waiting for us in the depôt
now," she said. "No doubt he's got the waggon fixed up right, but I'd
like to feel sure of it. There's a long drive before us, and I want to
reach the homestead before it's dark."
Agatha said nothing, but a faint tinge of colour crept into her cheeks,
and her companion was glad to see it, for she had noticed that the girl
was looking rather pale and haggard. This was partly due to the fact
that the strain of the last few months she had spent in England was
commencing to tell on her. She had borne it courageously, but a
reaction had afterwards set in, and, as it happened, the _Scarrowmania_
had plunged along bows under against fresh north-westerly gales most of
the way across the Atlantic. There is very little comfort on board a
small, deeply-loaded steamer when she rolls her rails in, and lurches
with thudding screw swung clear over big, steep-sided combers. In
addition to this, Agatha had scarcely slept during the few days and
nights she had spent in the train. It takes some time to become
accustomed to the atmosphere of a stove-heated sleeper car, and since
she had landed she had been in a state of not altogether unnatural
nervous tension.
Indeed, she had found it a little difficult to preserve an outward
serenity the previous day, and when at length the great train ran into
the depôt at Winnipeg, where Gregory had arranged to meet them, it was
with a thrill of expectancy and relief that she stood upon the car
platform. There was, however, no sign of him, and though Wyllard
handed her a telegram from him a few minutes later the fact that he had
not arrived had a depressing effect on her. Quiet as she usually was,
the girl was highly strung. It appeared that something had gone wrong
with Hawtrey's waggon while he was driving in to the railroad, and as
the result of it he had missed the Atlantic train. She could not blame
him for this, but for all that his absence had been an unpleasant shock.
Feeling that her companion's eyes were upon her, she turned, and
looking out of the window found no encouragement in what she saw. The
snow had gone, and a vast expanse of grass ran back to the horizon; but
it was a dingy, greyish-white, and not green as it had been in England.
The sky was low and grey, too, and the only thing that broke the dreary
monotony of lifeless colour was when the formless, darker smear of a
birch bluff rose out of the empty levels. Her heart throbbed
unpleasantly fast as the few remaining minutes slipped away, and at
length she started when a dingy mass of something that looked like
buildings lifted itself above the prairie.
"The Clermont elevators," said Mrs. Hastings. "We'll be in directly."
The mass separated itself into two or three tall component blocks. A
huddle of little wooden houses grew into shape beneath them, and a
shrill whistle came ringing back above the slowing cars. Then a willow
bluff, half filled with old cans and garbage, flitted by, a big bell
commenced tolling, and Agatha rose when Mrs. Hastings took up her furs
from a seat close by. After that, she found herself standing on the
platform of the car, though she did not quite know how she got there,
for she was sensible only of the fact that in another moment or two she
would greet the lover she had last seen four years ago.
In the meanwhile, though she paid them no great attention, the
surroundings had a depressing effect on her. There was, however, very
little to see; the mass of the great elevators that cut against a
lowering sky, the little cluster of houses, and the sea of churned-up
mire between them and the track. There also appeared to be no station
except a big water tank and a rather unsightly shed, about which stood
a group of blurred and shapeless figures. It seemed very cold, and
Agatha shivered as she felt the raw wind strike through her.
Then one of the figures detached itself from the rest and grew clearer.
The man wore an old skin coat spattered with flakes of mire, and his
long boots were covered with clots of the same material. His fur cap
looked greasy, and the fur had been rubbed off it in patches; but while
she noticed these things it was his face that struck her most, and she
became conscious of an astonishment which was mixed with vague
misgivings as she gazed at it, for it had subtly changed since she had
last seen it. The joyous sparkle she remembered had gone out of the
eyes. They were harder, bolder, than they used to be. The mouth was
slack--it almost looked sensual--and the man's whole personality seemed
to have grown coarser. Then as she thrust the disconcerting fancies
from her the car stopped.
In another moment Hawtrey sprang up on the platform, and she felt his
arms about her. That brought the blood to her face, but she felt none
of the thrill she had expected. Indeed, she was subconsciously
sensible of a certain shrinking from his embrace. Then, and she
fancied he must have lifted her bodily down, she stood beside the track
with Mrs. Hastings, a man whom she supposed to be the latter's husband,
Winifred, and Wyllard about her. Another man was also standing close
by, apparently waiting until they noticed him. He was flecked with
mire all over, his skin coat was very dilapidated, and Agatha fancied
that his boots had never been cleaned. His hair, which had evidently
been very badly cut, straggled out from under his old fur cap.
[Illustration: "In another moment Hawtrey sprang up on the platform,
and she felt his arms about her."]
In the meanwhile, Gregory was apparently explaining something to Mrs.
Hastings. "No," he said, "I'm sorry it can't be for another week.
Horribly unfortunate. It seems they've sent the Methodist on down the
line, and we'll have to wait for the Episcopalian. He'll be at
Lander's for a few days."
Then Agatha's cheeks flamed, for she recognised that it was her wedding
they were speaking of; but it brought her a curious relief to hear that
it had been deferred. A moment or two later Gregory turned to her with
questions about her throat, and his people in England, and Winifred
separated herself from the group. She was standing near her baggage,
which had been flung out beside the track, a little, lonely figure,
while the train went on, when Wyllard strode up to her.
"Feeling rather out of it? I do, any way," he said. "Since we appear
superfluous, we may as well make the most of the opportunity,
especially as it will probably save you a long drive. There's a man
here who wants to see you."
Winifred had felt very forlorn a few moments earlier, but the
announcement Wyllard had just made was reassuring, and she pulled
herself together as he signed to a man standing a little further along
the track. The latter wore rather neat store clothes, and his manner
was brisk and wholly business-like. It was a certain relief to the
girl to see that he evidently regarded her less as a personality than
as a piece of commercial machinery, which he had apparently been asked
to make use of. She had found it easier to get on with men who
confined themselves to that point of view.
"Mr. Hamilton, in charge of the elevator yonder," said Wyllard,
pointing to one of the huge buildings. "This is Miss Rawlinson."
The elevator man made her the curtest of inclinations, and proceeded to
arrange matters with a rapidity which almost took her breath away.
"Typist and stenographer?" he said. "Know anything about
account-keeping?"
Winifred admitted that she possessed these abilities, and Hamilton
appeared to reflect for a moment or two.
"Well," he said, "in a fortnight we'll give you a show. You can start
at--" and he mentioned terms which rather astonished Winifred. "If you
can keep things straight we may raise you later."
"Won't you want to see any testimonials?" she asked.
"No," said Hamilton. "I've seen a good many, and I'm inclined to fancy
some of the folks who showed them me must have bought them." He waved
his hand. "Mr. Wyllard assures me that you'll do, and in the meanwhile
that's quite enough for me."
It struck Winifred as curious that, while Agatha had written to Hawtrey
on her behalf, it was Wyllard who had secured her the opportunity she
had longed for; but she thanked the elevator man before she turned to
him.
"There's another matter," she said hesitatingly. "I'll have to live
here?"
Wyllard smiled. "I've seen to that, though if you don't like my
arrangements you can alter them afterwards. Mrs. Sandberg will take
you in, and even if she isn't particularly amiable you'll be in safe
hands."
Hamilton laughed. "Oh, yes," he said. "She's Scotch--old type
Calvinist at that. No frivolity about that woman. Married a
Scandinavian, and was just breaking him in when he was killed back East
along the track."
"We'll consider it as fixed, but in the meanwhile you're to stay with
Mrs. Hastings for the fortnight," said Wyllard. "Sproatly"--and he
signed to the man in the skin coat--"will you get Miss Rawlinson's
baggage into your waggon?"
The man took off his fur cap. "If Miss Rawlinson would like to see
Mrs. Sandberg, I'll drive her round," he suggested. "We'll catch you
up in a league or so. Gregory has a bit of patching to do on his
off-side trace."
"He might have had things straight for once," said Wyllard half-aloud.
Winifred permitted Sproatly to help her into his waggon--a high,
narrow-bodied vehicle, mounted on tall, spidery wheels, but she had to
hold fast to it while they jolted across the track and through a sea of
mire into the unpaved street of the little town. She liked her
companion's voice and manner, though she was far from prepossessed by
his appearance. Two or three minutes later he drew up before a little
wooden house, where they were received by a tall, hard-faced woman, who
frowned at Sproatly.
"Ye'll tak' your patent medicines somewhere else. I'm wanting none,"
she said.
Sproatly grinned. "You needn't be afraid of them. They couldn't hurt
you. I was talking to a Winnipeg doctor who'd a notion of coming out a
day or two ago. I told him if he did he'd have to bring an axe along."
Then he explained that Wyllard had sent Winifred there, and the woman
favoured her with a glance of careful scrutiny.
"Weel," she said, "ye look quiet, anyway." Then she added, as though
further satisfied, "I'll make ye a cup of tea if ye can wait."
Sproatly assured her that this was not the case, and in a few more
minutes the girl, who went into the house, got into the waggon again,
with relief in her face.
"I think I owe Mr. Wyllard a good deal," she said.
Sproatly laughed. "You're not exactly singular in that respect, but
you had better hold tight. These beasts are rather less than half
broken."
He flicked them with the whip, and they went across the track at a
gallop, hurling great clods of mud left and right, while the group of
loungers who still stood about the station raised a shout.
"Got any little pictures with nice motters on them?" asked one, and
another flung a piece of information after the jolting waggon.
"There's a Swede down at Branker's wants a bottle that will supple up a
wooden leg," he said.
Sproatly grinned, and waved his hand to them before he turned to his
companion.
"We have to get through before dark, if possible, or I'd stop and sell
them something sure," he said. "Parts of the trail further on are
simply horrible."
It occurred to Winifred that it was far from excellent as it was, for
spouts of mud flew up beneath the sinking hoofs and wheels, and she was
already getting unpleasantly spattered.
"You think you would have succeeded?" she asked.
"Oh, yes," said Sproatly. "If I couldn't plant something on to them
when they'd given me a lead like that, I'd be no use in this business.
At present, my command of Western phraseology is my fortune."
"You sell things, then?"
Sproatly pointed to a couple of big boxes in the bottom of the waggon.
"Anything from cough cure to hair restorer, besides a general purpose
elixir that's specially prepared for me. It's adaptable to any
complaint and season. All you have to do"--and he lowered his voice
confidentially--"is to put on a different label."
Winifred, who had not felt like it a little earlier, laughed when she
met his eyes.
"What happens to the people who buy it?" she asked.
"Most of them are bachelors, and tough. They've stood their own
cooking so long that they ought to be, and if anybody's really sick I
hold off and tell him to wait until he can get a doctor. A sensitive
conscience," he added reflectively, "is quite a handicap in this
business."
"You have always been in it?" asked Winifred, who was amused at him.
"No," said Sproatly, "although you mightn't believe it, I was raised
with the idea that I should have my choice between the Church and the
Bar. The idea, however, proved--impracticable--which, in some
respects, is rather a pity. It has seemed to me that a man who can
work off cough cures and cosmetics on to healthy folks with a hide like
leather, and talk a scoffer off the field, ought to have made his mark
in either calling."
He looked at her as if for confirmation of this view, but Winifred, who
laughed again, glanced at the two waggons that moved on, perhaps, two
miles away across the grey-white sweep of prairie.
"Will we overtake them?" she asked.
"We'll probably come up with Gregory. I'm not sure about Wyllard."
"He drives faster horses?"
"That's not quite the reason. Gregory has patched up one trace with a
bit of string, and odd bolts are rather addicted to coming out of his
waggon. Sometimes it makes trouble. I've known the team leave him
sitting on the prairie, thinking of endearing names for them, and come
home with the pole."
"Does he generally let things fall into that state?"
Sproatly, however, was evidently on his guard.
"Well," he said, "it's certainly that kind of waggon."
Then he flicked the team again, and the jolting rendered it difficult
for Winifred to ask any more questions. The prairie sod was soft with
the thaw, and big lumps of it stuck to the wheels, which every now and
then plunged into ruts other vehicles had made.
In the meanwhile, Agatha and Hawtrey found it almost as impossible to
sustain a conversation, which was, on the whole, a relief to the girl.
The string-patched trace still held, and the waggon pole was a new one,
but where they were just then the white grass was tussocky and long,
and the trail they occasionally plunged into to avoid it had been
churned into a quagmire. Hawtrey had packed the thick driving robe
high about his companion, and slipped one arm about her waist beneath
it; but she was conscious that she rather suffered this than derived
any satisfaction from it. She strove to assure herself that she was
jaded with the journey, which was, in fact, the case, and that the
lowering sky, and the cheerless waste they were crossing, had
occasioned the dejection she felt, which was also possible. There was
not a tree upon the vast sweep of bleached grass which ran all round
her to the horizon. It was inexpressibly lonely, a lifeless
desolation, with only the ploughed-up trail to show that man had ever
traversed it; and the raw wind which swept it set her shivering.
She was, however, forced to admit that her weariness and the dreary
surroundings did not quite explain everything. Even her lover's first
embrace had brought her no thrill, and now the close pressure of his
arm left her quite unmoved. This was almost disconcertingly curious;
but while she would admit no definite reason for it, there was creeping
upon her a vague consciousness that the man was not the one she had so
often thought of in England. He seemed different--almost, in fact, a
stranger--though she could not exactly tell where the change in him
began. His laughter jarred upon her. Some of the things he said
appeared almost inane, and others were tinged with a self-confidence
that did not become him. It almost seemed to her that he was shallow,
lacking in comprehension, and once she found herself comparing him with
another man. She, however, broke off that train of thought abruptly,
and once more endeavoured to find the explanation in herself.
Weariness had induced this captious, hypercritical fit, and by and bye
she would become used to him, she said.
Hawtrey was, at least, not effusive, for which she was thankful, but
when they reached a somewhat smoother surface he commenced to talk of
England.
"I suppose you saw a good deal of my folks when you were at the
Grange?" he said.
"No," said Agatha, "I saw them once or twice."
"Ah!" said the man, with a trace of sharpness, "then they were not
particularly agreeable?"
It seemed to Agatha that he was tactless in suggesting anything of the
kind, but she answered candidly.
"One could hardly go quite so far as that," she said. "Still, I
couldn't help a feeling that it was rather an effort for them to be
gracious to me."
"They did what they could to make things pleasant when they were first
told of our engagement."
Agatha was too worn-out to be altogether on her guard, which was partly
why she had admitted as much as she had done, though his relatives'
attitude had wounded her, and she answered without reflection.
"I have fancied that was because they never quite believed it would
lead to anything."
She knew this was the truth now, though it was the first time the
explanation had occurred to her. Gregory's folks, who were naturally
acquainted with his character, had, it seemed, not expected him to
carry his promise out. She, however, felt that she had been
injudicious when she heard his little harsh laugh.
"I'm afraid they never had a very great opinion of me," he said.
"Then," said Agatha, looking up at him, "it will be our business to
prove them wrong; but I can't help feeling that you have undertaken a
big responsibility, Gregory. There must be so much that I ought to do,
and I know so little about your work in this country." She turned, and
glanced with a shiver at the dim, white prairie. "It looks so
forbidding and unyielding. It must be very hard to turn it into wheat
fields--to break it in."
It was merely a hint of what she felt, and it was rather a pity that
Hawtrey, who lacked imagination, usually contented himself with the
most obvious meaning of the spoken word. Things might have gone
differently had he responded with comprehending sympathy.
"Oh," he said, with a laugh that changed her mood, "you'll learn, and I
don't suppose it will matter a great deal if you don't do it quickly.
Somehow or other one worries through."
She felt that this was insufficient, though she remembered that his
haphazard carelessness had once appealed to her. Now, however, she
realised that to undertake a thing light-heartedly was a very different
matter from carrying it out successfully. Then it once more occurred
to her that she was becoming absurdly hypercritical, and she strove to
talk of other things.
She did not find it easy, nor, though he made the effort, did Hawtrey.
There was a restraint that he chafed at upon him, for he had when he
first saw her been struck by the change in the girl. She was graver
than he remembered her, and, it seemed, very much more reserved. He
had tried and failed, as he thought of it, to strike a spark out of
her. She did not respond, and he became uneasily conscious that he
could not talk to her as he could, for instance, to Sally Creighton.
There was something wanting in him or her, but he could not at the
moment tell what it was. Still, he said, things would be different
next day, for the girl was evidently very weary.
In the meanwhile, the creeping dusk settled down upon the wilderness.
The horizon narrowed in, and the stretch of grass before them grew dim.
The trail they now drove into seemed to grow rapidly rougher, and it
was quite dark when they came to the brink of a declivity still at
least a league from the Hastings's homestead. It was one of the steep
ravines that seam the prairie every here and there, with a birch bluff
on the sides of it, and a little creek flowing through the hollow.
Hawtrey swung the whip when they reached the top, and the team plunged
furiously down the slope. He straightened himself in his seat with
both hands on the reins, and Agatha held her breath when she felt the
light vehicle tilt as the wheels on one side sank deep in a rut. Then
something seemed to crack, and she saw the off-side horse stumble and
plunge. The other beast flung its head up, Hawtrey shouted something,
and there was a great smashing and snapping of undergrowth and fallen
branches as they drove in among the birches. Then the team stopped,
and Hawtrey, who sprang down, floundered noisily among the undergrowth,
while another thud of hoofs and rattle of wheels grew louder behind
them up the trail. In a minute or two he came back and lifted Agatha
down.
[Illustration: "Then something seemed to crack, and she saw the
off-side horse stumble and plunge."]
"It's the trace broken. I had to make the holes with my knife, and the
string's torn through," he said. "Voltigeur got it round his feet,
and, as usual, tried to bolt. Anyway, we'll make the others pull up
and take you in."
They went back to the trail together, and reached it just as Hastings
reined in his team. He got down and walked back with Hawtrey to the
latter's waggon. It was a minute or two before they reappeared again,
and Mrs. Hastings, who had got down in the meanwhile, drew Hawtrey
aside.
"I almost think it would be better if you didn't come any further
to-night," she said.
"Why?" the man asked sharply.
"I can't help thinking that Agatha would prefer it. For one thing,
she's rather jaded, and wants quietness."
"You feel sure of that?"
There was something in the man's voice which suggested that he was not
quite satisfied, and his companion was silent a moment.
"It's good advice, Gregory," she said. "She'll be better able to face
the situation after a night's rest."
"Does it require much facing?" Hawtrey asked drily.
Mrs. Hastings turned from him with a sign of impatience. "Of course it
does. Anyway, if you're wise you'll do what I suggest, and ask no more
questions."
Then she got into the waggon, and Hawtrey stood still beside the trail,
feeling unusually thoughtful when they drove away.