CHAPTER XIII. A SWEETER WOMAN NE'ER DREW BREATH
Thenceforward Eric Marshall was a constant visitor at the Gordonhomestead. He soon became a favourite with Thomas and Janet, especiallythe latter. He liked them both, discovering under all their outwardpeculiarities sterling worth and fitness of character. Thomas Gordon wassurprisingly well read and could floor Eric any time in argument, oncehe became sufficiently warmed up to attain fluency of words. Eric hardlyrecognized him the first time he saw him thus animated. His bent formstraightened, his sunken eyes flashed, his face flushed, his voicerang like a trumpet, and he poured out a flood of eloquence which sweptEric's smart, up-to-date arguments away like straws in the rush of amountain torrent. Eric enjoyed his own defeat enormously, but ThomasGordon was ashamed of being thus drawn out of himself, and for a weekafterwards confined his remarks to "Yes" and "No," or, at the outside,to a brief statement that a change in the weather was brewing.
Janet never talked on matters of church and state; such she plainlyconsidered to be far beyond a woman's province. But she listened withlurking interest in her eyes while Thomas and Eric pelted on each otherwith facts and statistics and opinions, and on the rare occasions whenEric scored a point she permitted herself a sly little smile at herbrother's expense.
Of Neil, Eric saw but little. The Italian boy avoided him, or if theychanced to meet passed him by with sullen, downcast eyes. Eric did nottrouble himself greatly about Neil; but Thomas Gordon, understanding themotive which had led Neil to betray his discovery of the orchard trysts,bluntly told Kilmeny that she must not make such an equal of Neil as shehad done.
"You have been too kind to the lad, lassie, and he's got presumptuous.He must be taught his place. I mistrust we have all made more of himthan we should."
But most of the idyllic hours of Eric's wooing were spent in the oldorchard; the garden end of it was now a wilderness of roses--roses redas the heart of a sunset, roses pink as the early flush of dawn, roseswhite as the snows on mountain peaks, roses full blown, and roses inbuds that were sweeter than anything on earth except Kilmeny's face.Their petals fell in silken heaps along the old paths or clung to thelush grasses among which Eric lay and dreamed, while Kilmeny played tohim on her violin.
Eric promised himself that when she was his wife her wonderful giftfor music should be cultivated to the utmost. Her powers of expressionseemed to deepen and develop every day, growing as her soul grew, takingon new colour and richness from her ripening heart.
To Eric, the days were all pages in an inspired idyl. He had neverdreamed that love could be so mighty or the world so beautiful. Hewondered if the universe were big enough to hold his joy or eternitylong enough to live it out. His whole existence was, for the timebeing, bounded by that orchard where he wooed his sweetheart. All otherambitions and plans and hopes were set aside in the pursuit of this oneaim, the attainment of which would enhance all others a thousand-fold,the loss of which would rob all others of their reason for existence.His own world seemed very far away and the things of that worldforgotten.
His father, on hearing that he had taken the Lindsay school for a year,had written him a testy, amazed letter, asking him if he were demented.
"Or is there a girl in the case?" he wrote. "There must be, to tie youdown to a place like Lindsay for a year. Take care, master Eric; you'vebeen too sensible all your life. A man is bound to make a fool ofhimself at least once, and when you didn't get through with that in yourteens it may be attacking you now."
David also wrote, expostulating more gravely; but he did not express thesuspicions Eric knew he must entertain.
"Good old David! He is quaking with fear that I am up to something hecan't approve of, but he won't say a word by way of attempting to forcemy confidence."
It could not long remain a secret in Lindsay that "the Master" was goingto the Gordon place on courting thoughts intent. Mrs. Williamson kepther own and Eric's counsel; the Gordons said nothing; but the secretleaked out and great was the surprise and gossip and wonder. One ortwo incautious people ventured to express their opinion of the Master'swisdom to the Master himself; but they never repeated the experiment.Curiosity was rife. A hundred stories were circulated about Kilmeny, allgreatly exaggerated in the circulation. Wise heads were shaken and themajority opined that it was a great pity. The Master was a likely youngfellow; he could have his pick of almost anybody, you might think; itwas too bad that he should go and take up with that queer, dumb niece ofthe Gordons who had been brought up in such a heathenish way. But thenyou never could guess what way a man's fancy would jump when he set outto pick him a wife. They guessed Neil Gordon didn't like it much. Heseemed to have got dreadful moody and sulky of late and wouldn't sing inthe choir any more. Thus the buzz of comment and gossip ran.
To those two in the old orchard it mattered not a whit. Kilmeny knewnothing of gossip. To her, Lindsay was as much of an unknown world asthe city of Eric's home. Her thoughts strayed far and wide in the realmof her fancy, but they never wandered out to the little realities thathedged her strange life around. In that life she had blossomed out, afair, unique thing. There were times when Eric almost regretted that oneday he must take her out of her white solitude to a world that, in thelast analysis, was only Lindsay on a larger scale, with just the samepettiness of thought and feeling and opinion at the bottom of it. Hewished he might keep her to himself for ever, in that old, spruce-hiddenorchard where the roses fell.
One day he indulged himself in the fulfillment of the whim he had formedwhen Kilmeny had told him she thought herself ugly. He went to Janet andasked her permission to bring a mirror to the house that he mighthave the privilege of being the first to reveal Kilmeny to herselfexteriorly. Janet was somewhat dubious at first.
"There hasn't been such a thing in the house for sixteen years, Master.There never was but three--one in the spare room, and a little one inthe kitchen, and Margaret's own. She broke them all the day it firststruck her that Kilmeny was going to be bonny. I might have got oneafter she died maybe. But I didn't think of it; and there's no need oflasses to be always prinking at their looking glasses."
But Eric pleaded and argued skilfully, and finally Janet said,
"Well, well, have your own way. You'd have it anyway I think, lad. Youare one of those men who always get their own way. But that is differentfrom the men who TAKE their own way--and that's a mercy," she addedunder her breath.
Eric went to town the next Saturday and picked out a mirror that pleasedhim. He had it shipped to Radnor and Thomas Gordon brought it home, notknowing what it was, for Janet had thought it just as well he should notknow.
"It's a present the Master is making Kilmeny," she told him.
She sent Kilmeny off to the orchard after tea, and Eric slipped aroundto the house by way of the main road and lane. He and Janet togetherunpacked the mirror and hung it on the parlour wall.
"I never saw such a big one, Master," said Janet rather doubtfully,as if, after all, she distrusted its gleaming, pearly depth and richlyornamented frame. "I hope it won't make her vain. She is very bonny, butit may not do her any good to know it."
"It won't harm her," said Eric confidently. "When a belief in herugliness hasn't spoiled a girl a belief in her beauty won't."
But Janet did not understand epigrams. She carefully removed a littledust from the polished surface, and frowned meditatively at the by nomeans beautiful reflection she saw therein.
"I cannot think what made Kilmeny suppose she was ugly, Master."
"Her mother told her she was," said Eric, rather bitterly.
"Ah!" Janet shot a quick glance at the picture of her sister. "Was thatit? Margaret was a strange woman, Master. I suppose she thought her ownbeauty had been a snare to her. She WAS bonny. That picture doesn't doher justice. I never liked it. It was taken before she was--before shemet Ronald Fraser. We none of us thought it very like her at the time.But, Master, three years later it was like her--oh, it was like herthen! That very look came in her face."
"Kilmeny doesn't resemble her mother," remarked Eric, glancing at thepicture with the same feeling of mingled fascination and distaste withwhich he always regarded it. "Does she look like her father?"
"No, not a great deal, though some of her ways are very like his. Shelooks like her grandmother--Margaret's mother, Master. Her name wasKilmeny too, and she was a handsome, sweet woman. I was very fond of mystepmother, Master. When she died she gave her baby to me, and asked meto be a mother to it. Ah well, I tried; but I couldn't fence the sorrowout of Margaret's life, and it sometimes comes to my mind that maybeI'll not be able to fence it out of Kilmeny's either."
"That will be my task," said Eric.
"You'll do your best, I do not doubt. But maybe it will be through youthat sorrow will come to her after all."
"Not through any fault of mine, Aunt Janet."
"No, no, I'm not saying it will be your fault. But my heart misgives meat times. Oh, I dare say I am only a foolish old woman, Master. Go yourways and bring your lass here to look at your plaything when you like.I'll not make or meddle with it."
Janet betook herself to the kitchen and Eric went to look for Kilmeny.She was not in the orchard and it was not until he had searched for sometime that he found her. She was standing under a beech tree in a fieldbeyond the orchard, leaning on the longer fence, with her hands claspedagainst her cheek. In them she held a white Mary-lily from the orchard.She did not run to meet him while he was crossing the pasture, as shewould once have done. She waited motionless until he was close to her.Eric began, half laughingly, half tenderly, to quote some lines from hernamesake ballad:
"'Kilmeny, Kilmeny, where have you been? Long hae we sought baith holt and den,-- By linn, by ford, and greenwood tree! Yet you are halesome and fair to see. Where got you that joup o' the lily sheen? That bonny snood o' the birk sae green, And those roses, the fairest that ever was seen? Kilmeny, Kilmeny, where have you been?'
"Only it's a lily and not a rose you are carrying. I might go on andquote the next couplet too--
"'Kilmeny looked up with a lovely grace, But there was nae smile on Kilmeny's face.'
"Why are you looking so sober?"
Kilmeny did not have her slate with her and could not answer; but Ericguessed from something in her eyes that she was bitterly contrasting thebeauty of the ballad's heroine with her own supposed ugliness.
"Come down to the house, Kilmeny. I have something there to showyou--something lovelier than you have ever seen before," he said, withboyish pleasure shining in his eyes. "I want you to go and put on thatmuslin dress you wore last Sunday evening, and pin up your hair the sameway you did then. Run along--don't wait for me. But you are not to gointo the parlour until I come. I want to pick some of those Mary-liliesup in the orchard."
When Eric returned to the house with an armful of the long stemmed,white Madonna lilies that bloomed in the orchard Kilmeny was just comingdown the steep, narrow staircase with its striped carpeting of homespundrugget. Her marvelous loveliness was brought out into brilliant reliefby the dark wood work and shadows of the dim old hall.
She wore a trailing, clinging dress of some creamy tinted fabric thathad been her mother's. It had not been altered in any respect, forfashion held no sway at the Gordon homestead, and Kilmeny thoughtthat the dress left nothing to be desired. Its quaint style suitedher admirably; the neck was slightly cut away to show the round whitethroat, and the sleeves were long, full "bishops," out of which herbeautiful, slender hands slipped like flowers from their sheaths. Shehad crossed her long braids at the back and pinned them about her headlike a coronet; a late white rose was fastened low down on the leftside.
"'A man had given all other bliss And all his worldly wealth for this-- To waste his whole heart in one kiss Upon her perfect lips,'"
quoted Eric in a whisper as he watched her descend. Aloud he said,
"Take these lilies on your arm, letting their bloom fall against yourshoulder--so. Now, give me your hand and shut your eyes. Don't open themuntil I say you may."
He led her into the parlour and up to the mirror.
"Look," he cried, gaily.
Kilmeny opened her eyes and looked straight into the mirror where, likea lovely picture in a golden frame, she saw herself reflected. For amoment she was bewildered. Then she realized what it meant. The liliesfell from her arm to the floor and she turned pale. With a little low,involuntary cry she put her hands over her face.
Eric pulled them boyishly away.
"Kilmeny, do you think you are ugly now? This is a truer mirror thanAunt Janet's silver sugar bowl! Look--look--look! Did you ever imagineanything fairer than yourself, dainty Kilmeny?"
She was blushing now, and stealing shy radiant glances at the mirror.With a smile she took her slate and wrote naively,
"I think I am pleasant to look upon. I cannot tell you how glad I am.It is so dreadful to believe one is ugly. You can get used to everythingelse, but you never get used to that. It hurts just the same every timeyou remember it. But why did mother tell me I was ugly? Could she reallyhave thought so? Perhaps I have become better looking since I grew up."
"I think perhaps your mother had found that beauty is not alwaysa blessing, Kilmeny, and thought it wiser not to let you know youpossessed it. Come, let us go back to the orchard now. We mustn't wastethis rare evening in the house. There is going to be a sunset that weshall remember all our lives. The mirror will hang here. It is yours.Don't look into it too often, though, or Aunt Janet will disapprove. Sheis afraid it will make you vain."
Kilmeny gave one of her rare, musical laughs, which Eric never heardwithout a recurrence of the old wonder that she could laugh so when shecould not speak. She blew an airy little kiss at her mirrored face andturned from it, smiling happily.
On their way to the orchard they met Neil. He went by them with anaverted face, but Kilmeny shivered and involuntarily drew nearer toEric.
"I don't understand Neil at all now," she wrote nervously. "He is notnice, as he used to be, and sometimes he will not answer when I speakto him. And he looks so strangely at me, too. Besides, he is surly andimpertinent to Uncle and Aunt."
"Don't mind Neil," said Eric lightly. "He is probably sulky because ofsome things I said to him when I found he had spied on us."
That night before she went up stairs Kilmeny stole into the parlour foranother glimpse of herself in that wonderful mirror by the light of adim little candle she carried. She was still lingering there dreamilywhen Aunt Janet's grim face appeared in the shadows of the doorway.
"Are you thinking about your own good looks, lassie? Ay, butremember that handsome is as handsome does," she said, with grudgingadmiration--for the girl with her flushed cheeks and shining eyes wassomething that even dour Janet Gordon could not look upon unmoved.
Kilmeny smiled softly.
"I'll try to remember," she wrote, "but oh, Aunt Janet, I am so glad Iam not ugly. It is not wrong to be glad of that, is it?"
The older woman's face softened.
"No, I don't suppose it is, lassie," she conceded. "A comely face issomething to be thankful for--as none know better than those who havenever possessed it. I remember well when I was a girl--but that isneither here nor there. The Master thinks you are wonderful bonny,Kilmeny," she added, looking keenly at the girl.
Kilmeny started and a scarlet blush scorched her face. That, and theexpression that flashed into her eyes, told Janet Gordon all she wishedto know. With a stifled sigh she bade her niece good night and wentaway.
Kilmeny ran fleetly up the stairs to her dim little room, that lookedout into the spruces, and flung herself on her bed, burying her burningface in the pillow. Her aunt's words had revealed to her the hiddensecret of her heart. She knew that she loved Eric Marshall--and theknowledge brought with it a strange anguish. For was she not dumb? Allnight she lay staring wide-eyed through the darkness till the dawn.