GLADWYNE RECEIVES A SHOCK
It was about nine o'clock in the evening, and Gladwyne's somewhat noisy
guests were scattered about his house and the terrace in front of it.
Several of them had gathered in the hall, and Bella Crestwick, Lisle's
companion on the moors, stood, cigarette in hand, with one foot on the
old-fashioned hearth-irons, frankly discussing him. A few birch logs
glowed behind the bars, for on those high uplands the autumn nights were
chilly, but the wide door stood open, revealing a pale green band of
light behind the black hills, and allowing the sweet, cool air of the
moors to flow in.
The girl had gained something by the change from her outdoor attire to
the clinging evening dress, but it was with characteristic unconcern that
she disregarded the fact that the thin skirt fell well away from one
shapely ankle effectively displayed by a stocking of the finest texture.
"The man," she said, "is a bit of a Puritan. They still live over there,
don't they? His idea of English women is evidently derived from what his
father told him, or from early-Victorian literature. I'm inclined to
believe I shocked him."
"It's highly probable," laughed a man lounging near. "Still, I believe
the descendants of the folks you mention live three thousand miles from
his country, in the neighborhood of the Atlantic shore. One wouldn't
fancy that you'd like Puritans."
There was nothing offensive in the words, but his glance was a little too
bold and too familiar, and Bella looked at him with a gleam of malice in
her eyes.
"Extremes meet; it's the middle--the medium mediocrity--that's
irreconcilable with either end," she retorted. "For instance, I led a
life of severe asceticism all last Lent." There were incredulous smiles,
though the statement was perfectly correct. "It's a course I could
confidently recommend to you," she proceeded, unheeding; "of late you
have been putting on flesh with an alarming rapidity."
The man made no response and Bella resumed:
"Besides, the Puritans have their good points; they're so refreshingly
sure of themselves and their views, while the rest of us don't believe in
anything. You can't be a fanatic without being thorough, and in
renouncing the world and the flesh you may gain more than a passable
figure. Among other things, the ascetic life means straight shooting,
steady hands, and an eye you can depend upon. The overcivilized man who
does nothing to counterbalance his luxuriousness is generally a rotter."
"But what has all this to do with Nasmyth's Canadian?" somebody asked.
Bella waved her cigarette.
"Try to walk a steep moor with him and you'll see. If that's not
sufficient, take the same butt with him when the grouse are coming over."
Suddenly she straightened herself, dropping her foot from the iron and
flinging the cigarette into the fire, as a gray-haired lady entered the
hall. She had been a beauty years ago and now her fragility emphasized
the fineness of her features and the clear pallor of her skin. She was
dressed in a thin black fabric, and her beautifully shaped hands gleamed
unusually white against its somber folds.
"Where's Clarence?" she asked the group collectively, in a voice that was
singularly clear and penetrative. "I haven't seen him for the last
half-hour."
One of the men immediately went in search of him, and the lady crossed
the hall to where Millicent Gladwyne was sitting, for the time being
alone. Millicent had noticed Bella's sudden change of demeanor upon her
hostess's entrance, with something between amusement and faint disgust.
Mrs. Gladwyne was what Bella would have called early-Victorian in her
views, and she would occasionally have been disturbed by the conversation
of some of her son's guests, had she not been a little deaf.
"Sitting quiet?" she said to Millicent, who was a favorite of hers; and
her voice carried farther than she was aware of as she continued: "I
heard the laughter and it brought me down, though I want to tell Clarence
something. I like to see bright faces; but the times have changed since I
was young. We were a little more reserved and not so noisy then."
"A dear old thing! It's a pity she's quite so antediluvian," Bella
remarked to a man at her side.
"Isn't that the natural penalty of being a dear old thing?" laughed her
companion. "There's no doubt we have progressed pretty rapidly of late."
Clarence appeared shortly after this and was gently chidden by his mother
for going out without his hat, because the autumn nights were getting
chilly. A few minutes later, footsteps became audible outside the open
door and Nasmyth entered the hall with Lisle. It was spacious and
indifferently lighted; the others, standing near the hostess, concealed
her, and Lisle stopped for a word with Bella. Then Nasmyth noticed Mrs.
Gladwyne and called to his companion.
"This way, Vernon."
Clarence swung round with a start and cast a swift glance at the
stranger, and Millicent wondered why his face set hard; but the next
moment Nasmyth led up the Canadian and presented him. Mrs. Gladwyne had
risen and Lisle made a little respectful inclination over the delicate
hand she held out. Age had but slightly spoiled her beauty; she had still
a striking presence, and a manner in which a trace of stateliness was
counterbalanced by gentle good-humor. Lisle was strongly impressed, but,
as Millicent noticed, he betrayed no awkwardness.
"I seem to have heard your name before in connection with Canada," said
Mrs. Gladwyne, confusing it with his surname. "Ah, yes! Of course; it was
George's guide I was thinking of." She turned to Millicent, adding in an
audible aside: "I've a bad habit of forgetting. Forgive me, my dear."
Everything considered, it was, perhaps, the most awkward thing she could
have said; but Lisle's bronzed face was imperturbable, and Gladwyne had
promptly recovered his composure as he realized the mistake. Still, for a
moment, he had been badly startled. Nobody noticed Nasmyth, which was
fortunate, because his unnatural immobility would have betrayed him.
"I'd been expecting you both earlier; told you to come to dinner," said
his host.
Then he addressed Lisle.
"As my mother mentioned, I had once something to do with a man called
Vernon, in Canada."
Knowing what he did, Lisle fancied that Gladwyne's indifferent tone had
cost him an effort.
"It's only my Christian name, as you have heard," he explained.
"You were up in the bush with Nasmyth, were you not?"
"Yes," answered Lisle. "I met him quite by chance in a Victoria hotel
when I happened to have a few weeks at my disposal which I thought of
spending in the wilds. When he heard that I intended making a trip
through the northern part of the country and suggested that we should go
together I was glad to consent."
"Then you belong to Victoria?"
"I was located there when I met Nasmyth. Before that I was up in the
Yukon district for some time. Since leaving him I've lived in the city."
He thought Gladwyne was relieved at his answer, for the latter smiled
genially.
"Well," he said, "we must try to make your visit to this country
pleasant."
Shortly after this, the group broke up and Gladwyne, escaping from his
guests, slipped out on to the terrace and walked up and down. Nasmyth had
merely mentioned that he had a Canadian friend staying with him; somehow
a formal introduction had been omitted during the day on the moors, and
Gladwyne had been badly disconcerted when he heard the man addressed as
Vernon. The name vividly recalled a Canadian episode that he greatly
desired to forget, and he had, indeed, to some extent succeeded in doing
so. That unfortunate affair was done with, he had assured himself; for
two years it had scarcely been mentioned in his hearing, but for a
horrible moment which had taxed his courage to the utmost he had almost
fancied that it was about to be brought to light again. Lisle's answer
and manner had, however, reassured him. Nasmyth had met the man
accidentally and it was merely as the result of this that they had made
the journey through the bush together. It was evident that he had been
needlessly alarmed.
For all that, he was troubled. Living for his own pleasure, as he did, he
was nevertheless a man who valued other people's good opinion and prided
himself upon doing the correct and most graceful thing. There was no
doubt that he had once badly failed in this, but it was in a moment of
physical weakness, when he was exhausted and famishing. After all, it was
most probable that his cousin had died before he could have reached him,
and there were, he thought, few men who, if similarly situated, would
have faced the risk of the return journey. Still, the truth would have
had an ugly sound had it come out. This was why he had spread the story
of the guide's defection, which he now regretted. It might not have been
strictly necessary, but he had reached the trappers' camp on the verge of
a collapse, too far gone to reason out the matter calmly. A man in that
condition could hardly be held accountable for his action. Besides, it
was incredible that the guide's statement that he had made the journey
without replenishing his provisions could be correct.
His reflections were interrupted by Mrs. Gladwyne, who came out, wrapped
in a shawl.
"Why are you here alone?" she asked. "You look disturbed. Has anything
gone wrong?"
Gladwyne was sorry that she had joined him where the light from a window
fell on his face, but he smiled.
"No," he answered quietly, for he was always gentle with her. "I only
felt that I'd rather avoid the chatter of the others for a few minutes. I
suppose it was the man's name, together with your reference to George,
that upset me."
Mrs. Gladwyne laid her hand on his arm. She was inordinately fond and
proud of the son whom she had spoiled.
"I sometimes think you are too sensitive on that point, Clarence," she
said. "Of course, it was very tragic and we both owe George a great deal,
but you did all that anybody could have done."
The man winced, and it was fortunate that they had now left the light
behind and his mother could not see his face.
"I could have stayed and died with him," he broke out with unaffected
bitterness. "There were times at the beginning when I was sorry I let him
send me away."
Mrs. Gladwyne shook her head reproachfully. She was gracious and quietly
dignified and refined in thought, but for all that she was not one to
appreciate such a sacrifice as he had indicated.
"I'm afraid that was an undue exaggeration of a natural feeling," she
remonstrated. "How could your staying have helped him, when by going in
search of help you increased his only chance of safety? I have always
been glad you were clear-headed enough to realize it, instead of yielding
to mistaken emotional inclinations."
Gladwyne felt hot with shame. His mother had an unshaken confidence in
his honor, which was the less surprising because her perceptions had
never been very keen and she had always shrunk from the contemplation of
unpleasant things. It was an amiable weakness of hers to idealize those
she loved, and by resolutely shutting her eyes on occasions she succeeded
in accomplishing it more or less successfully. Clarence was, of course,
aware of this, and it hurt to remember that in deserting his cousin he
had been prompted chiefly by craven fear. His mother, however, quite
unconscious of what she was doing, further humiliated him.
"Of course," she continued, "if you had found the cache of provisions, it
would have been your duty to return to George at any hazard, and I have
no doubt whatever that you would have gone."
The damp stood beaded on the man's forehead. He realized that even his
lenient and indulgent mother would shrink from him if she knew that he
had abandoned his dying benefactor like a treacherous coward. He said
nothing and they had strolled to the end of the terrace before she spoke
again.
"I think it would be better to go back to the others and drive away these
morbid ideas," she advised. "It's a duty to look at the brightest side of
everything."
He made no answer, but he strove with some degree of success to recover
his usual tranquillity as they turned toward the entrance of the hall.
In the meanwhile, Lisle had been talking to Millicent. She had already
made a marked impression on him, for in the wilds the man had acquired a
swift and true insight into character. One has time to think in the
lonely places where, since life itself often depends upon their accuracy,
a man's perceptions grow keen, and though some of the minor complexities
and subtleties of modern civilization might have puzzled him he was
seldom mistaken in essentials.
He liked her direct and calmly searching gaze; he liked her voice which,
while soft and pleasant, had a trace of gravity in it. He knew that her
fine carriage was a sign of physical vigor and he recognized how it had
been gained by the clear, warm tinting of her slightly sun-darkened skin.
But, apart from this and her comeliness, which was marked, there was that
in her personality which spoke of evenness and depth of character. She
was steadfast, not lightly to be swayed from a resolve, he thought.
"Nasmyth has often spoken about you," she told him. "I understand it was
chiefly by your help that he succeeded in reaching the scene of my
brother's death. I want to thank you for that."
Her voice was quiet, but it did not betoken indifference; he knew that
she was not one to forget. He could not think of any apposite answer, but
she saw the sympathy in his eyes and it pleased her more than words would
have done.
"It was a relief to me that Nasmyth made that journey," she went on. "I
wanted to learn everything that could be known--instead of shrinking from
it. You see, I had a great faith in my brother."
"He deserved it," Lisle declared warmly. "I have gathered enough to
convince me of that!"
"Thank you! Clarence was not in a condition to notice anything very
clearly during his journey, and I think what he suffered blunted his
recollection. Besides, the subject is a distressing one to him, and it is
seldom he can be induced to speak about it. Perhaps that is a pity; I
find it does not always save one trouble in the end to avoid a little
immediate pain."
Lisle was gratified. She had spoken so unrestrainedly, though he imagined
that it was a somewhat unusual thing for her to take a stranger into her
confidence.
"Yes," he replied; "I think that's very true. It's better to face it and
get it over. The wound sooner heals."
She smiled rather wistfully and changed the subject.
"I told Nasmyth that you taught him to see."
"I suppose I did," acknowledged Lisle. "Still, it was only as far as it
concerned the things that I'm acquainted with. I'm not sure that my
meaning's very clear?"
"I understand. You knew what to expect; that carries one a long way. Were
you disappointed in finding it?"
He was a little surprised at her keenness, and rather confused. This was
a question that could not be directly answered.
"What I was more particularly referring to was the meaning of such things
as a broken branch, a gap in a thicket, or a few displaced stones," he
explained. "I taught him what to infer from those."
"Yes," she said; "I understand that you discovered nothing new--I mean
nothing that could throw any further light upon what befell my brother
after the others left him."
He was glad that he could answer her candidly.
"No; we can only suppose that the conclusions the rescue party came to
were correct. But all that we found relating to the week or two before
the separation spoke of the courageous struggle that your brother made
and his generosity in sending the others away."
She bent her head.
"That," she said quietly, "is only what one would have expected. He left
a diary; you must come over and see it."
"I should like to, if it wouldn't be painful to you."
"No," she replied; "I shall be glad to show it to you."
She left him shortly after this and strolled out on to the terrace,
thinking about him. The little she had seen of him had pleased her; he
had earnest eyes and a resolute air, and she liked the men who lived in
the open. He was direct, and perhaps a little rudimentary without being
awkward, which was in his favor, for subtlety of any kind was distasteful
to her. Still, in one respect, she was disappointed--he had in no way
amplified Nasmyth's story, and she had expected to hear a little more of
the expedition from him.