PAUL had succeeded in keeping Cicely tranquil by a system of telegraphic
despatches and letters, one or the other arriving daily; each morning
Ferdie's wife received a few lines from Romney, written either by Miss
Sabrina or the nurse; after she had read her note, she let herself be
borne along indifferently on the current of another Port aux Pins day.
The Port aux Pins days were, in themselves, harder for the judge than
for Cicely. For Cicely remained passive; but the old judge could not be
passive to things he hated so intensely. At last, by good-fortune,
Hollis found something that placated him a little; this was fishing,
fishing for trout; not the great rich creature of the lakes, which
passes under that name, but that exquisite morsel, the brook-trout. The
judge had gone off contentedly, even happily, in search of this delicate
prey; he and Hollis had explored the trout-streams of the two
neighboring rivers. A third river, at a greater distance, was reported
richer than any other; one morning they reached it, not only the two
fishermen, but Cicely also, and Eve and Paul. They had crossed by
steamer to a village on the north shore, an old fur-trading post; here
they had engaged canoes and two Indians, and had spent a long day afloat
on the clear wild stream. Its shores were rocky, deeply covered to the
water's edge with a dark forest of spruce-trees; the branchlet
trout-brooks, therefore, had been hard to find under the low-sweeping
foliage. But in this search, Hollis was an expert; with his silk hat
tipped more than ever towards the back of his head, he kept watch, and
he and the judge were put ashore several times in the course of the day,
returning smiling and amiable whether they brought trout or not, with
the serene contentment of fishermen. The others remained in the canoes,
those light birch-bark craft of the American red-men, which, for grace
and beauty, have never been surpassed. Two red-men were paddling one of
them at present; they were civilized red-men, they called themselves
Bill and Jim. But, under their straw hats, hung down their long straight
Indian hair, and the eagle profiles seemed out of place above the
ready-made coats and trousers. On their slender feet they wore beaded
moccasins. Paul Tennant and Hollis also wore moccasins, and the judge
had put on his thinnest shoes; for the birch-bark canoe has a delicate
floor.
The boat paddled by the Indians carried Cicely, Porley and Jack, and the
judge; the second held only three persons--Eve, Hollis, and Paul
Tennant. Paul was propelling it alone, his paddle touching the water now
on one side, now on the other, lifted across as occasion required as
lightly as though it had been a feather. Cicely was listless, Paul
good-natured, but indifferent also--so it seemed to Eve; and Eve
herself, though she remained quiet (as the judge had described her), Eve
was at heart excited. These thick dark woods without a path, without a
sound, the wild river, the high Northern air which was like an
intoxicant--all these seemed to her wonderful. She breathed rapidly; she
glanced at the others in astonishment. "Why don't they admire it? Why
doesn't he admire it?" she thought, looking at Paul.
Once the idea came suddenly that Paul was laughing at her, and the blood
sprang to her face; she kept her gaze down until the stuff of her dress
expanded into two large circles in which everything swam, so that she
was obliged to close her eyes dizzily.
And then, when at last she did look up, her anger and her dizziness had
alike been unnecessary, for Paul was gazing at the wooded shore behind
her; it was evident that he had not thought of her, and was not thinking
of her now.
This was late in the day, on their way back. A few minutes afterwards,
as they entered the lake, she saw a distant flash, and asked what it
was.
"Jupiter Light," said Paul. "It's a flash-light, and a good one."
"There's a Jupiter Light on Abercrombie Island, too," Eve remarked.
"It's a common enough name," Paul answered; "the best-known one is off
the coast of Florida."
The Indians passed them, paddling with rushing, rapid strokes.
"They're right; we shall be late for the steamer if we don't look out,"
said Paul. "You can help now if you like, Kit."
He and Hollis took off their coats, and the canoe flew down the lake
under their feathery paddles; the water was as calm as a floor. Eve was
sitting at the bow, facing Paul. No one spoke, though Hollis now and
then crooned, or rather chewed, a fragment of his favorite song:
_"'At the battle of the Nile I was there all the while--'"_
The little voyage lasted half an hour.
They reached the village in time for the steamer, and soon afterwards
not only Jack and Porley, but Cicely, the judge, and Hollis, tired after
their long day afloat, had gone to bed. When Cicely sought her berth Eve
also sought hers, the tiny cells being side by side. Since their arrival
at Port aux Pins, Cicely had become more lenient to Eve; she was not so
cold, sometimes she even spoke affectionately. But she was very
changeable.
To-night, after a while, Eve tapped at Cicely's door. "Are you really
going to bed so early?"
"I am in bed already."
"Do you want anything? Isn't there something I can bring you?"
"No."
Eve went slowly back to her own cell. But the dimness, the warm air,
oppressed her; she sat down on a stool behind her closed door, the
excitement of the day still remaining with her. "Is it possible that I
am becoming nervous?--I, who have always despised nervousness?" She kept
saying to herself, "I will go to bed in a few minutes." But the idea of
lying there on that narrow shelf, staring at the light from the grating,
repelled her. "At any rate I will _not_ go on deck."
Ten minutes later she opened her door and went out.
The swinging lamp in the saloon was turned down, the place was empty;
she crossed the short half-circle which led to the stern-deck, and
stepped outside. There was no moon, but a magnificent aurora borealis
was quivering across the sky, now an even band, now sending out long
flakes of light which waved to and fro. Before she looked at the
splendid heavens, however, she had scanned the deck. There was no one
there. She sat down on one of the benches.
Presently she heard a step, some one was approaching. There was a gleam
of a cigar; a man's figure; Paul.
"Is that you? I thought there would be no one here," she said.
"We are the only passengers," Paul answered. "But, as there are six of
us, you cannot quite control us all."
"I control no one." ("Not even myself!" she thought.)
"You will have your wish, though you ought not to; despots shouldn't be
humored. You will have the place to yourself in a few moments, because I
shall turn in soon--the time to finish this cigar--if you don't mind the
smoke?"
"No, I don't mind," she answered, a chill of disappointment creeping
slowly over her.
"Hasn't it been jolly?" Paul said, after a moment: he had seated himself
on a stool near her bench. "I do love to be out like this, away from all
bother."
"Do you? I thought you didn't."
The words were no sooner out than she feared he would say, "Why?" And
then her answer (for of course she must say something; she could not let
him believe that she had had no idea)--her answer would show that she
had been thinking about him.
But apparently Paul was not curious, he did not ask. "It's very good for
Cicely too; I wish I could take her oftener," he went on. "Her promise
to stay on here weighs upon her heavily. I don't know whether she would
have kept her word with me or not; but you know, of course, that Ferdie
himself has written, telling her that she must stay?"
"No."
"She didn't tell you?"
"She tells me nothing!" replied Eve. "If she would only allow it, I
would go down there to-morrow. I could be the nurse; I could be the
housekeeper; anything."
"You're not needed down there, they have plenty of people; we want you
here, to see to her."
"One or the other of them;--I hope they will always permit it. I can be
of use, perhaps, about Jack."
"You are too humble, Miss Bruce; sometimes you seem to be almost on your
knees to Cicely, as though you had done her some great wrong. The truth
is the other way; she ought to be on her knees to you. You brought her
off when she hadn't the force to come herself, poor little woman! And
you did it boldly and quickly, just as a man would have done it. Now
that I know you, I can imagine the whole thing."
"Never speak of that time; never," murmured Eve.
"Well, I won't, then, if you don't like it. But you will let me say how
glad I am that you intend to remain with her, at least for a while. You
will see from this that I don't believe a word of her story about your
dislike for my brother."
"There is nothing I would not do for him!"
"Yes, you like to do things; to be active. They tell me that you are
fond of having your own way; but that is the very sort of person they
need--a woman like you, strong and cool. After a while you would really
like Ferdie, you couldn't help it. And he would like you."
"It is impossible that he should like me." She rose quickly.
"You're going in? Well, fifteen hours in the open air _are_ an opiate.
Should you care to go forward first for a moment? I can show you a place
where you can look down below; there are two hundred emigrants on board;
Norwegians."
She hesitated, drawing her shawl about her.
"Take my arm; I can guide you better so. It's dark, and I know the ins
and outs."
She put her hand upon his arm.