CHAPTER X. A TROUBLING OF THE WATERS
One evening in late June Mrs. Williamson was sitting by her kitchenwindow. Her knitting lay unheeded in her lap, and Timothy, though henestled ingratiatingly against her foot as he lay on the rug and purredhis loudest, was unregarded. She rested her face on her hand and lookedout of the window, across the distant harbour, with troubled eyes.
"I guess I must speak," she thought wistfully. "I hate to do it. Ialways did hate meddling. My mother always used to say that ninety-ninetimes out of a hundred the last state of a meddler and them shemeddled with was worse than the first. But I guess it's my duty. I wasMargaret's friend, and it is my duty to protect her child any way I can.If the Master does go back across there to meet her I must tell him whatI think about it."
Overhead in his room, Eric was walking about whistling. Presently hecame downstairs, thinking of the orchard, and the girl who would bewaiting for him there.
As he crossed the little front entry he heard Mrs. Williamson's voicecalling to him.
"Mr. Marshall, will you please come here a moment?"
He went out to the kitchen. Mrs. Williamson looked at him deprecatingly.There was a flush on her faded cheek and her voice trembled.
"Mr. Marshall, I want to ask you a question. Perhaps you will think itisn't any of my business. But it isn't because I want to meddle. No, no.It is only because I think I ought to speak. I have thought it over fora long time, and it seems to me that I ought to speak. I hope you won'tbe angry, but even if you are I must say what I have to say. Are yougoing back to the old Connors orchard to meet Kilmeny Gordon?"
For a moment an angry flush burned in Eric's face. It was more Mrs.Williamson's tone than her words which startled and annoyed him.
"Yes, I am, Mrs. Williamson," he said coldly. "What of it?"
"Then, sir," said Mrs. Williamson with more firmness, "I have got totell you that I don't think you are doing right. I have been suspectingall along that that was where you went every evening, but I haven't saida word to any one about it. Even my husband doesn't know. But tell methis, Master. Do Kilmeny's uncle and aunt know that you are meeting herthere?"
"Why," said Eric, in some confusion, "I--I do not know whether they door not. But Mrs. Williamson, surely you do not suspect me of meaning anyharm or wrong to Kilmeny Gordon?"
"No, I don't, Master. I might think it of some men, but never of you. Idon't for a minute think that you would do her or any woman any wilfulwrong. But you may do her great harm for all that. I want you to stopand think about it. I guess you haven't thought. Kilmeny can't knowanything about the world or about men, and she may get to thinking toomuch of you. That might break her heart, because you couldn't ever marrya dumb girl like her. So I don't think you ought to be meeting her sooften in this fashion. It isn't right, Master. Don't go to the orchardagain."
Without a word Eric turned away, and went upstairs to his room. Mrs.Williamson picked up her knitting with a sigh.
"That's done, Timothy, and I'm real thankful," she said. "I guessthere'll be no need of saying anything more. Mr. Marshall is a fineyoung man, only a little thoughtless. Now that he's got his eyes openedI'm sure he'll do what is right. I don't want Margaret's child madeunhappy."
Her husband came to the kitchen door and sat down on the steps to enjoyhis evening smoke, talking between whiffs to his wife of Elder Tracy'schurch row, and Mary Alice Martin's beau, the price Jake Crosby wasgiving for eggs, the quantity of hay yielded by the hill meadow, thetrouble he was having with old Molly's calf, and the respective meritsof Plymouth Rock and Brahma roosters. Mrs. Williamson answered atrandom, and heard not one word in ten.
"What's got the Master, Mother?" inquired old Robert, presently. "I hearhim striding up and down in his room 'sif he was caged. Sure you didn'tlock him in by mistake?"
"Maybe he's worried over the way Seth Tracy's acting in school,"suggested Mrs. Williamson, who did not choose that her gossipy husbandshould suspect the truth about Eric and Kilmeny Gordon.
"Shucks, he needn't worry a morsel over that. Seth'll quiet down as soonas he finds he can't run the Master. He's a rare good teacher--better'nMr. West was even, and that's saying something. The trustees are hopinghe'll stay for another term. They're going to ask him at the schoolmeeting to-morrow, and offer him a raise of supplement."
Upstairs, in his little room under the eaves, Eric Marshall was inthe grip of the most intense and overwhelming emotion he had everexperienced.
Up and down, to and fro, he walked, with set lips and clenched hands.When he was wearied out he flung himself on a chair by the window andwrestled with the flood of feeling.
Mrs. Williamson's words had torn away the delusive veil with which hehad bound his eyes. He was face to face with the knowledge that he lovedKilmeny Gordon with the love that comes but once, and is for all time.He wondered how he could have been so long blind to it. He knew that hemust have loved her ever since their first meeting that May evening inthe old orchard.
And he knew that he must choose between two alternatives--either he mustnever go to the orchard again, or he must go as an avowed lover to woohim a wife.
Worldly prudence, his inheritance from a long line of thrifty,cool-headed ancestors, was strong in Eric, and he did not yield easilyor speedily to the dictates of his passion. All night he struggledagainst the new emotions that threatened to sweep away the "commonsense" which David Baker had bade him take with him when he wenta-wooing. Would not a marriage with Kilmeny Gordon be an unwise thingfrom any standpoint?
Then something stronger and greater and more vital than wisdom orunwisdom rose up in him and mastered him. Kilmeny, beautiful, dumbKilmeny was, as he had once involuntarily thought, "the one maid" forhim. Nothing should part them. The mere idea of never seeing her againwas so unbearable that he laughed at himself for having counted it apossible alternative.
"If I can win Kilmeny's love I shall ask her to be my wife," he said,looking out of the window to the dark, southwestern hill beyond whichlay his orchard.
The velvet sky over it was still starry; but the water of the harbourwas beginning to grow silvery in the reflection of the dawn that wasbreaking in the east.
"Her misfortune will only make her dearer to me. I cannot realize that amonth ago I did not know her. It seems to me that she has been a part ofmy life for ever. I wonder if she was grieved that I did not go to theorchard last night--if she waited for me. If she does, she does not knowit herself yet. It will be my sweet task to teach her what love means,and no man has ever had a lovelier, purer, pupil."
At the annual school meeting, the next afternoon, the trustees askedEric to take the Lindsay school for the following year. He consentedunhesitatingly.
That evening he went to Mrs. Williamson, as she washed her tea dishes inthe kitchen.
"Mrs. Williamson, I am going back to the old Connors orchard to seeKilmeny again to-night."
She looked at him reproachfully.
"Well, Master, I have no more to say. I suppose it wouldn't be of anyuse if I had. But you know what I think of it."
"I intend to marry Kilmeny Gordon if I can win her."
An expression of amazement came into the good woman's face. She lookedscrutinizingly at the firm mouth and steady gray eyes for a moment. Thenshe said in a troubled voice,
"Do you think that is wise, Master? I suppose Kilmeny is pretty; the eggpeddler told me she was; and no doubt she is a good, nice girl. But shewouldn't be a suitable wife for you--a girl that can't speak."
"That doesn't make any difference to me."
"But what will your people say?"
"I have no 'people' except my father. When he sees Kilmeny he willunderstand. She is all the world to me, Mrs. Williamson."
"As long as you believe that there is nothing more to be said," wasthe quiet answer, "I'd be a little bit afraid if I was you, though. Butyoung people never think of those things."
"My only fear is that she won't care for me," said Eric soberly.
Mrs. Williamson
surveyed the handsome, broad-shouldered young manshrewdly.
"I don't think there are many women would say you 'no', Master. I wishyou well in your wooing, though I can't help thinking you're doinga daft-like thing. I hope you won't have any trouble with Thomas andJanet. They are so different from other folks there is no knowing. Buttake my advice, Master, and go and see them about it right off. Don't goon meeting Kilmeny unbeknownst to them."
"I shall certainly take your advice," said Eric, gravely. "I should havegone to them before. It was merely thoughtlessness on my part. Possiblythey do know already. Kilmeny may have told them."
Mrs. Williamson shook her head decidedly.
"No, no, Master, she hasn't. They'd never have let her go on meetingyou there if they had known. I know them too well to think of that for amoment. Go you straight to them and say to them just what you have saidto me. That is your best plan, Master. And take care of Neil. People sayhe has a notion of Kilmeny himself. He'll do you a bad turn if he can,I've no doubt. Them foreigners can't be trusted--and he's just as mucha foreigner as his parents before him--though he HAS been brought up onoatmeal and the shorter catechism, as the old saying has it. I feel thatsomehow--I always feel it when I look at him singing in the choir."
"Oh, I am not afraid of Neil," said Eric carelessly. "He couldn't helploving Kilmeny--nobody could."
"I suppose every young man thinks that about his girl--if he's the rightsort of young man," said Mrs. Williamson with a little sigh.
She watched Eric out of sight anxiously.
"I hope it'll all come out right," she thought. "I hope he ain't makingan awful mistake--but--I'm afraid. Kilmeny must be very pretty to havebewitched him so. Well, I suppose there is no use in my worrying overit. But I do wish he had never gone back to that old orchard and seenher."