CHAPTER XII. A PRISONER OF LOVE
When Eric betook himself to the orchard the next evening he had toadmit that he felt rather nervous. He did not know how the Gordons wouldreceive him and certainly the reports he had heard of them were notencouraging, to say the least of it. Even Mrs. Williamson, when he hadtold her where he was going, seemed to look upon him as one bent onbearding a lion in his den.
"I do hope they won't be very uncivil to you, Master," was the best shecould say.
He expected Kilmeny to be in the orchard before him, for he had beendelayed by a call from one of the trustees; but she was nowhere to beseen. He walked across it to the wild cherry lane; but at its entrancehe stopped short in sudden dismay.
Neil Gordon had stepped from behind the trees and stood confronting him,with blazing eyes, and lips which writhed in emotion so great that atfirst it prevented him from speaking.
With a thrill of dismay Eric instantly understood what must have takenplace. Neil had discovered that he and Kilmeny had been meeting in theorchard, and beyond doubt had carried that tale to Janet and ThomasGordon. He realized how unfortunate it was that this should havehappened before he had had time to make his own explanation. It wouldprobably prejudice Kilmeny's guardians still further against him. Atthis point in his thoughts Neil's pent up passion suddenly found vent ina burst of wild words.
"So you've come to meet her again. But she isn't here--you'll never seeher again! I hate you--I hate you--I hate you!"
His voice rose to a shrill scream. He took a furious step nearer Ericas if he would attack him. Eric looked steadily in his eyes with a calmdefiance, before which his wild passion broke like foam on a rock.
"So you have been making trouble for Kilmeny, Neil, have you?" said Ericcontemptuously. "I suppose you have been playing the spy. And I supposethat you have told her uncle and aunt that she has been meeting me here.Well, you have saved me the trouble of doing it, that is all. I wasgoing to tell them myself, tonight. I don't know what your motive indoing this has been. Was it jealousy of me? Or have you done it out ofmalice to Kilmeny?"
His contempt cowed Neil more effectually than any display of anger couldhave done.
"Never you mind why I did it," he muttered sullenly. "What I did orwhy I did it is no business of yours. And you have no business to comesneaking around here either. Kilmeny won't meet you here again."
"She will meet me in her own home then," said Eric sternly. "Neil, inbehaving as you have done you have shown yourself to be a very foolish,undisciplined boy. I am going straightway to Kilmeny's uncle and aunt toexplain everything."
Neil sprang forward in his path.
"No--no--go away," he implored wildly. "Oh, sir--oh, Mr. Marshall,please go away. I'll do anything for you if you will. I love Kilmeny.I've loved her all my life. I'd give my life for her. I can't have youcoming here to steal her from me. If you do--I'll kill you! I wanted tokill you last night when I saw you kiss her. Oh, yes, I saw you. I waswatching--spying, if you like. I don't care what you call it. I hadfollowed her--I suspected something. She was so different--so changed.She never would wear the flowers I picked for her any more. She seemedto forget I was there. I knew something had come between us. And it wasyou, curse you! Oh, I'll make you sorry for it."
He was working himself up into a fury again--the untamed fury of theItalian peasant thwarted in his heart's desire. It overrode all therestraint of his training and environment. Eric, amid all his anger andannoyance, felt a thrill of pity for him. Neil Gordon was only a boystill; and he was miserable and beside himself.
"Neil, listen to me," he said quietly. "You are talking very foolishly.It is not for you to say who shall or shall not be Kilmeny's friend.Now, you may just as well control yourself and go home like a decentfellow. I am not at all frightened by your threats, and I shall know howto deal with you if you persist in interfering with me or persecutingKilmeny. I am not the sort of person to put up with that, my lad."
The restrained power in his tone and look cowed Neil. The latter turnedsullenly away, with another muttered curse, and plunged into the shadowof the firs.
Eric, not a little ruffled under all his external composure by thismost unexpected and unpleasant encounter, pursued his way along the lanewhich wound on by the belt of woodland in twist and curve to the Gordonhomestead. His heart beat as he thought of Kilmeny. What might she notbe suffering? Doubtless Neil had given a very exaggerated and distortedaccount of what he had seen, and probably her dour relations were veryangry with her, poor child. Anxious to avert their wrath as soon asmight be, he hurried on, almost forgetting his meeting with Neil. Thethreats of the latter did not trouble him at all. He thought the angryoutburst of a jealous boy mattered but little. What did matter was thatKilmeny was in trouble which his heedlessness had brought upon her.
Presently he found himself before the Gordon house. It was an oldbuilding with sharp eaves and dormer windows, its shingles stained adark gray by long exposure to wind and weather. Faded green shuttershung on the windows of the lower story. Behind it grew a thick woodof spruces. The little yard in front of it was grassy and prim andflowerless; but over the low front door a luxuriant early-floweringrose vine clambered, in a riot of blood-red blossom which contrastedstrangely with the general bareness of its surroundings. It seemed tofling itself over the grim old house as if intent on bombarding it withan alien life and joyousness.
Eric knocked at the door, wondering if it might be possible that Kilmenyshould come to it. But a moment later it was opened by an elderlywoman--a woman of rigid lines from the hem of her lank, dark print dressto the crown of her head, covered with black hair which, despite its fewgray threads, was still thick and luxuriant. She had a long, pale facesomewhat worn and wrinkled, but possessing a certain harsh comelinessof feature which neither age nor wrinkles had quite destroyed; andher deep-set, light gray eyes were not devoid of suggested kindliness,although they now surveyed Eric with an unconcealed hostility. Herfigure, in its merciless dress, was very angular; yet there was abouther a dignity of carriage and manner which Eric liked. In any case, hepreferred her unsmiling dourness to vulgar garrulity.
He lifted his hat.
"Have I the honour of speaking to Miss Gordon?" he asked.
"I am Janet Gordon," said the woman stiffly.
"Then I wish to talk with you and your brother."
"Come in."
She stepped aside and motioned him to a low brown door opening on theright.
"Go in and sit down. I'll call Thomas," she said coldly, as she walkedout through the hall.
Eric walked into the parlour and sat down as bidden. He found himselfin the most old-fashioned room he had ever seen. The solidly made chairsand tables, of some wood grown dark and polished with age, made evenMrs. Williamson's "parlour set" of horsehair seem extravagantly modernby contrast. The painted floor was covered with round braided rugs.On the centre table was a lamp, a Bible and some theological volumescontemporary with the square-runged furniture. The walls,wainscoted half way up in wood and covered for the rest with a dark,diamond-patterned paper, were hung with faded engravings, mostly ofclerical-looking, bewigged personages in gowns and bands.
But over the high, undecorated black mantel-piece, in a ruddy glow ofsunset light striking through the window, hung one which caught andheld Eric's attention to the exclusion of everything else. It was theenlarged "crayon" photograph of a young girl, and, in spite of thecrudity of execution, it was easily the center of interest in the room.
Eric at once guessed that this must be the picture of Margaret Gordon,for, although quite unlike Kilmeny's sensitive, spirited face ingeneral, there was a subtle, unmistakable resemblance about brow andchin.
The pictured face was a very handsome one, suggestive of velvety darkeyes and vivid colouring; but it was its expression rather than itsbeauty which fascinated Eric. Never had he seen a countenance indicativeof more intense and stubborn will power. Margaret Gordon was deadand buried; the picture was a cheap and inartistic production
in animpossible frame of gilt and plush; yet the vitality in that facedominated its surroundings still. What then must have been the power ofsuch a personality in life?
Eric realized that this woman could and would have done whatsoever shewilled, unflinchingly and unrelentingly. She could stamp her desire oneverything and everybody about her, moulding them to her wish and will,in their own despite and in defiance of all the resistance they mightmake. Many things in Kilmeny's upbringing and temperament became clearto him.
"If that woman had told me I was ugly I should have believed her," hethought. "Ay, even though I had a mirror to contradict her. I shouldnever have dreamed of disputing or questioning anything she might havesaid. The strange power in her face is almost uncanny, peering out as itdoes from a mask of beauty and youthful curves. Pride and stubbornnessare its salient characteristics. Well, Kilmeny does not at all resembleher mother in expression and only very slightly in feature."
His reflections were interrupted by the entrance of Thomas and JanetGordon. The former had evidently been called from his work. He noddedwithout speaking, and the two sat gravely down before Eric.
"I have come to see you with regard to your niece, Mr. Gordon," he saidabruptly, realizing that there would be small use in beating about thebush with this grim pair. "I met your--I met Neil Gordon in the Connorsorchard, and I found that he has told you that I have been meetingKilmeny there."
He paused. Thomas Gordon nodded again; but he did not speak, and hedid not remove his steady, piercing eyes from the young man's flushedcountenance. Janet still sat in a sort of expectant immovability.
"I fear that you have formed an unfavourable opinion of me on thisaccount, Mr. Gordon," Eric went on. "But I hardly think I deserve it.I can explain the matter if you will allow me. I met your nieceaccidentally in the orchard three weeks ago and heard her play. Ithought her music very wonderful and I fell into the habit of coming tothe orchard in the evenings to hear it. I had no thought of harming herin any way, Mr. Gordon. I thought of her as a mere child, and a childwho was doubly sacred because of her affliction. But recently I--I--itoccurred to me that I was not behaving quite honourably in encouragingher to meet me thus. Yesterday evening I asked her to bring me here andintroduce me to you and her aunt. We would have come then if you hadbeen at home. As you were not we arranged to come tonight."
"I hope you will not refuse me the privilege of seeing your niece, Mr.Gordon," said Eric eagerly. "I ask you to allow me to visit her here.But I do not ask you to receive me as a friend on my own recommendationsonly. I will give you references--men of standing in Charlottetown andQueenslea. If you refer to them--"
"I don't need to do that," said Thomas Gordon, quietly. "I know more ofyou than you think, Master. I know your father well by reputation andI have seen him. I know you are a rich man's son, whatever your whim inteaching a country school may be. Since you have kept your own counselabout your affairs I supposed you didn't want your true positiongenerally known, and so I have held my tongue about you. I know noill of you, Master, and I think none, now that I believe you were notbeguiling Kilmeny to meet you unknown to her friends of set purpose. Butall this doesn't make you a suitable friend for her, sir--it makes youall the more unsuitable. The less she sees of you the better."
Eric almost started to his feet in an indignant protest; but he swiftlyremembered that his only hope of winning Kilmeny lay in bringing ThomasGordon to another way of thinking. He had got on better than he hadexpected so far; he must not now jeopardize what he had gained byrashness or impatience.
"Why do you think so, Mr. Gordon?" he asked, regaining his self-controlwith an effort.
"Well, plain speaking is best, Master. If you were to come here andsee Kilmeny often she'd most likely come to think too much of you. Imistrust there's some mischief done in that direction already. Then whenyou went away she might break her heart--for she is one of those whofeel things deeply. She has been happy enough. I know folks condemn usfor the way she has been brought up, but they don't know everything. Itwas the best way for her, all things considered. And we don't want hermade unhappy, Master."
"But I love your niece and I want to marry her if I can win her love,"said Eric steadily.
He surprised them out of their self possession at last. Both started,and looked at him as if they could not believe the evidence of theirears.
"Marry her! Marry Kilmeny!" exclaimed Thomas Gordon incredulously. "Youcan't mean it, sir. Why, she is dumb--Kilmeny is dumb."
"That makes no difference in my love for her, although I deeply regretit for her own sake," answered Eric. "I can only repeat what I havealready said, Mr. Gordon. I want Kilmeny for my wife."
The older man leaned forward and looked at the floor in a troubledfashion, drawing his bushy eyebrows down and tapping the callousedtips of his fingers together uneasily. He was evidently puzzled by thisunexpected turn of the conversation, and in grave doubt what to say.
"What would your father say to all this, Master?" he queried at last.
"I have often heard my father say that a man must marry to pleasehimself," said Eric, with a smile. "If he felt tempted to go back onthat opinion I think the sight of Kilmeny would convert him. But, afterall, it is what I say that matters in this case, isn't it, Mr. Gordon?I am well educated and not afraid of work. I can make a home for Kilmenyin a few years even if I have to depend entirely on my own resources.Only give me the chance to win her--that is all I ask."
"I don't think it would do, Master," said Thomas Gordon, shaking hishead. "Of course, I dare say you--you"--he tried to say "love," butScotch reserve balked stubbornly at the terrible word--"you think youlike Kilmeny now, but you are only a lad--and lads' fancies change."
"Mine will not," Eric broke in vehemently. "It is not a fancy, Mr.Gordon. It is the love that comes once in a lifetime and once only. Imay be but a lad, but I know that Kilmeny is the one woman in the worldfor me. There can never be any other. Oh, I'm not speaking rashly orinconsiderately. I have weighed the matter well and looked at it fromevery aspect. And it all comes to this--I love Kilmeny and I want whatany decent man who loves a woman truly has the right to have--the chanceto win her love in return."
"Well!" Thomas Gordon drew a long breath that was almost a sigh."Maybe--if you feel like that, Master--I don't know--there are somethings it isn't right to cross. Perhaps we oughtn't--Janet, woman, whatshall we say to him?"
Janet Gordon had hitherto spoken no word. She had sat rigidly uprighton one of the old chairs under Margaret Gordon's insistent picture, withher knotted, toil-worn hands grasping the carved arms tightly, and hereyes fastened on Eric's face. At first their expression had been guardedand hostile, but as the conversation proceeded they lost this graduallyand became almost kindly. Now, when her brother appealed to her, sheleaned forward and said eagerly,
"Do you know that there is a stain on Kilmeny's birth, Master?"
"I know that her mother was the innocent victim of a very sad mistake,Miss Gordon. I admit no real stain where there was no conscious wrongdoing. Though, for that matter, even if there were, it would be nofault of Kilmeny's and would make no difference to me as far as she isconcerned."
A sudden change swept over Janet Gordon's face, quite marvelous inthe transformation it wrought. Her grim mouth softened and a flood ofrepressed tenderness glorified her cold gray eyes.
"Well, then." she said almost triumphantly, "since neither that norher dumbness seems to be any drawback in your eyes I don't see why youshould not have the chance you want. Perhaps your world will say she isnot good enough for you, but she is--she is"--this half defiantly."She is a sweet and innocent and true-hearted lassie. She is bright andclever and she is not ill looking. Thomas, I say let the young man havehis will."
Thomas Gordon stood up, as if he considered the responsibility off hisshoulders and the interview at an end.
"Very well, Janet, woman, since you think it is wise. And may God dealwith him as he deals with her. Good evening, Master. I'll see you again,and you are fr
ee to come and go as suits you. But I must go to my worknow. I left my horses standing in the field."
"I will go up and send Kilmeny down," said Janet quietly.
She lighted the lamp on the table and left the room. A few minutes laterKilmeny came down. Eric rose and went to meet her eagerly, but she onlyput out her right hand with a pretty dignity and, while she looked intohis face, she did not look into his eyes.
"You see I was right after all, Kilmeny," he said, smiling. "Your uncleand aunt haven't driven me away. On the contrary they have been verykind to me, and they say I may see you whenever and wherever I like."
She smiled, and went over to the table to write on her slate.
"But they were very angry last night, and said dreadful things to me.I felt very frightened and unhappy. They seemed to think I had donesomething terribly wrong. Uncle Thomas said he would never trust me outof his sight again. I could hardly believe it when Aunt Janet came upand told me you were here and that I might come down. She looked at mevery strangely as she spoke, but I could see that all the anger had goneout of her face. She seemed pleased and yet sad. But I am glad they haveforgiven us."
She did not tell him how glad she was, and how unhappy she had been overthe thought that she was never to see him again. Yesterday she wouldhave told him all frankly and fully; but for her yesterday was alifetime away--a lifetime in which she had come into her heritage ofwomanly dignity and reserve. The kiss which Eric had left on her lips,the words her uncle and aunt had said to her, the tears she had shed forthe first time on a sleepless pillow--all had conspired to reveal her toherself. She did not yet dream that she loved Eric Marshall, or that heloved her. But she was no longer the child to be made a dear comradeof. She was, though quite unconsciously, the woman to be wooed and won,exacting, with sweet, innate pride, her dues of allegiance.