CHAPTER II. A WILL, A WAY AND A WOMAN
"One day, over a hundred years ago, Ursula Townley was waiting forKenneth MacNair in a great beechwood, where brown nuts were fallingand an October wind was making the leaves dance on the ground likepixy-people."
"What are pixy-people?" demanded Peter, forgetting the Story Girl'sdislike of interruptions.
"Hush," whispered Cecily. "That is only one of the Awkward Man'spoetical touches, I guess."
"There were cultivated fields between the grove and the dark blue gulf;but far behind and on each side were woods, for Prince Edward Island ahundred years ago was not what it is today. The settlements were few andscattered, and the population so scanty that old Hugh Townley boastedthat he knew every man, woman and child in it.
"Old Hugh was quite a noted man in his day. He was noted forseveral things--he was rich, he was hospitable, he was proud, he wasmasterful--and he had for daughter the handsomest young woman in PrinceEdward Island.
"Of course, the young men were not blind to her good looks, and she hadso many lovers that all the other girls hated her--"
"You bet!" said Dan, aside--
"But the only one who found favour in her eyes was the very last man sheshould have pitched her fancy on, at least if old Hugh were thejudge. Kenneth MacNair was a dark-eyed young sea-captain of the nextsettlement, and it was to meet him that Ursula stole to the beechwood onthat autumn day of crisp wind and ripe sunshine. Old Hugh had forbiddenhis house to the young man, making such a scene of fury about it thateven Ursula's high spirit quailed. Old Hugh had really nothing againstKenneth himself; but years before either Kenneth or Ursula was born,Kenneth's father had beaten Hugh Townley in a hotly contested election.Political feeling ran high in those days, and old Hugh had neverforgiven the MacNair his victory. The feud between the families datedfrom that tempest in the provincial teapot, and the surplus of voteson the wrong side was the reason why, thirty years after, Ursula had tomeet her lover by stealth if she met him at all."
"Was the MacNair a Conservative or a Grit?" asked Felicity.
"It doesn't make any difference what he was," said the Story Girlimpatiently. "Even a Tory would be romantic a hundred years ago. Well,Ursula couldn't see Kenneth very often, for Kenneth lived fifteen milesaway and was often absent from home in his vessel. On this particularday it was nearly three months since they had met.
"The Sunday before, young Sandy MacNair had been in Carlyle church. Hehad risen at dawn that morning, walked bare-footed for eight miles alongthe shore, carrying his shoes, hired a harbour fisherman to row him overthe channel, and then walked eight miles more to the church at Carlyle,less, it is to be feared, from a zeal for holy things than that he mightdo an errand for his adored brother, Kenneth. He carried a letter whichhe contrived to pass into Ursula's hand in the crowd as the people cameout. This letter asked Ursula to meet Kenneth in the beechwood thenext afternoon, and so she stole away there when suspicious father andwatchful stepmother thought she was spinning in the granary loft."
"It was very wrong of her to deceive her parents," said Felicity primly.
The Story Girl couldn't deny this, so she evaded the ethical side of thequestion skilfully.
"I am not telling you what Ursula Townley ought to have done," she saidloftily. "I am only telling you what she DID do. If you don't want tohear it you needn't listen, of course. There wouldn't be many stories totell if nobody ever did anything she shouldn't do.
"Well, when Kenneth came, the meeting was just what might have beenexpected between two lovers who had taken their last kiss three monthsbefore. So it was a good half-hour before Ursula said,
"'Oh, Kenneth, I cannot stay long--I shall be missed. You said in yourletter that you had something important to talk of. What is it?'
"'My news is this, Ursula. Next Saturday morning my vessel, The FairLady, with her captain on board, sails at dawn from Charlottetownharbour, bound for Buenos Ayres. At this season this means a safe andsure return--next May.'
"'Kenneth!' cried Ursula. She turned pale and burst into tears. 'How canyou think of leaving me? Oh, you are cruel!'
"'Why, no, sweetheart,' laughed Kenneth. 'The captain of The Fair Ladywill take his bride with him. We'll spend our honeymoon on the highseas, Ursula, and the cold Canadian winter under southern palms.'
"'You want me to run away with you, Kenneth?' exclaimed Ursula.
"'Indeed, dear girl, there's nothing else to do!'
"'Oh, I cannot!' she protested. 'My father would--'
"'We'll not consult him--until afterward. Come, Ursula, you know there'sno other way. We've always known it must come to this. YOUR father willnever forgive me for MY father. You won't fail me now. Think of thelong parting if you send me away alone on such a voyage. Pluck up yourcourage, and we'll let Townleys and MacNairs whistle their mouldy feudsdown the wind while we sail southward in The Fair Lady. I have a plan.'
"'Let me hear it,' said Ursula, beginning to get back her breath.
"'There is to be a dance at The Springs Friday night. Are you invited,Ursula?'
"'Yes.'
"'Good. I am not--but I shall be there--in the fir grove behind thehouse, with two horses. When the dancing is at its height you'll stealout to meet me. Then 'tis but a fifteen mile ride to Charlottetown,where a good minister, who is a friend of mine, will be ready to marryus. By the time the dancers have tired their heels you and I will be onour vessel, able to snap our fingers at fate.'
"'And what if I do not meet you in the fir grove?' said Ursula, a littleimpertinently.
"'If you do not, I'll sail for South America the next morning, and manya long year will pass ere Kenneth MacNair comes home again.'
"Perhaps Kenneth didn't mean that, but Ursula thought he did, and itdecided her. She agreed to run away with him. Yes, of course that waswrong, too, Felicity. She ought to have said, 'No, I shall be marriedrespectably from home, and have a wedding and a silk dress andbridesmaids and lots of presents.' But she didn't. She wasn't as prudentas Felicity King would have been."
"She was a shameless hussy," said Felicity, venting on the long-deadUrsula that anger she dare not visit on the Story Girl.
"Oh, no, Felicity dear, she was just a lass of spirit. I'd have done thesame. And when Friday night came she began to dress for the dance witha brave heart. She was to go to The Springs with her uncle and aunt,who were coming on horseback that afternoon, and would then go on to TheSprings in old Hugh's carriage, which was the only one in Carlyle then.They were to leave in time to reach The Springs before nightfall, forthe October nights were dark and the wooded roads rough for travelling.
"When Ursula was ready she looked at herself in the glass with a gooddeal of satisfaction. Yes, Felicity, she was a vain baggage, that sameUrsula, but that kind didn't all die out a hundred years ago. And shehad good reason for being vain. She wore the sea-green silk which hadbeen brought out from England a year before and worn but once--at theChristmas ball at Government House. A fine, stiff, rustling silk it was,and over it shone Ursula's crimson cheeks and gleaming eyes, and massesof nut brown hair.
"As she turned from the glass she heard her father's voice below, loudand angry. Growing very pale, she ran out into the hall. Her father wasalready half way upstairs, his face red with fury. In the hall belowUrsula saw her step-mother, looking troubled and vexed. At the doorstood Malcolm Ramsay, a homely neighbour youth who had been courtingUrsula in his clumsy way ever since she grew up. Ursula had always hatedhim.
"'Ursula!' shouted old Hugh, 'come here and tell this scoundrel he lies.He says that you met Kenneth MacNair in the beechgrove last Tuesday.Tell him he lies! Tell him he lies!'
"Ursula was no coward. She looked scornfully at poor Ramsay.
"'The creature is a spy and a tale-bearer,' she said, 'but in this hedoes not lie. I DID meet Kenneth MacNair last Tuesday.'
"'And you dare to tell me this to my face!' roared old Hugh. 'Back toyour room, girl! Back to your room and stay there! Take off that finery.You go to no
more dances. You shall stay in that room until I choose tolet you out. No, not a word! I'll put you there if you don't go. In withyou--ay, and take your knitting with you. Occupy yourself with that thisevening instead of kicking your heels at The Springs!'
"He snatched a roll of gray stocking from the hall table and flungit into Ursula's room. Ursula knew she would have to follow it, or bepicked up and carried in like a naughty child. So she gave the miserableRamsay a look that made him cringe, and swept into her room with herhead in the air. The next moment she heard the door locked behindher. Her first proceeding was to have a cry of anger and shame anddisappointment. That did no good, and then she took to marching up anddown her room. It did not calm her to hear the rumble of the carriageout of the gate as her uncle and aunt departed.
"'Oh, what's to be done?' she sobbed. 'Kenneth will be furious. He willthink I have failed him and he will go away hot with anger against me.If I could only send a word of explanation I know he would not leave me.But there seems to be no way at all--though I have heard that there'salways a way when there's a will. Oh, I shall go mad! If the windowwere not so high I would jump out of it. But to break my legs or my neckwould not mend the matter.'
"The afternoon passed on. At sunset Ursula heard hoof-beats and ran tothe window. Andrew Kinnear of The Springs was tying his horse at thedoor. He was a dashing young fellow, and a political crony of old Hugh.No doubt he would be at the dance that night. Oh, if she could getspeech for but a moment with him!
"When he had gone into the house, Ursula, turning impatiently from thewindow, tripped and almost fell over the big ball of homespun yarnher father had flung on the floor. For a moment she gazed at itresentfully--then, with a gay little laugh, she pounced on it. The nextmoment she was at her table, writing a brief note to Kenneth MacNair.When it was written, Ursula unwound the gray ball to a considerabledepth, pinned the note on it, and rewound the yarn over it. A grayball, the color of the twilight, might escape observation, where a whitemissive fluttering down from an upper window would surely be seen bysomeone. Then she softly opened her window and waited.
"It was dusk when Andrew went away. Fortunately old Hugh did not come tothe door with him. As Andrew untied his horse Ursula threw the ball withsuch good aim that it struck him, as she had meant it to do, squarely onthe head. Andrew looked up at her window. She leaned out, put her fingerwarningly on her lips, pointed to the ball, and nodded. Andrew, lookingsomewhat puzzled, picked up the ball, sprang to his saddle, and gallopedoff.
"So far, well, thought Ursula. But would Andrew understand? Would hehave wit enough to think of exploring the big, knobby ball for itsdelicate secret? And would he be at the dance after all?
"The evening dragged by. Time had never seemed so long to Ursula. Shecould not rest or sleep. It was midnight before she heard the patter ofa handful of gravel on her window-panes. In a trice she was leaning out.Below in the darkness stood Kenneth MacNair.
"'Oh, Kenneth, did you get my letter? And is it safe for you to behere?'
"'Safe enough. Your father is in bed. I've waited two hours down theroad for his light to go out, and an extra half-hour to put him tosleep. The horses are there. Slip down and out, Ursula. We'll makeCharlottetown by dawn yet.'
"'That's easier said than done, lad. I'm locked in. But do you go outbehind the new barn and bring the ladder you will find there.'
"Five minutes later, Miss Ursula, hooded and cloaked, scrambledsoundlessly down the ladder, and in five more minutes she and Kennethwere riding along the road.
"'There's a stiff gallop before us, Ursula,' said Kenneth.
"'I would ride to the world's end with you, Kenneth MacNair,' saidUrsula. Oh, of course she shouldn't have said anything of the sort,Felicity. But you see people had no etiquette departments in those days.And when the red sunlight of a fair October dawn was shining over thegray sea The Fair Lady sailed out of Charlottetown harbour. On her deckstood Kenneth and Ursula MacNair, and in her hand, as a most precioustreasure, the bride carried a ball of gray homespun yarn."
"Well," said Dan, yawning, "I like that kind of a story. Nobody goes anddies in it, that's one good thing."
"Did old Hugh forgive Ursula?" I asked.
"The story stopped there in the brown book," said the Story Girl, "butthe Awkward Man says he did, after awhile."
"It must be rather romantic to be run away with," remarked Cecily,wistfully.
"Don't you get such silly notions in your head, Cecily King," saidFelicity, severely.