CHAPTER XV. AN OLD, UNHAPPY, FAR-OFF THING
The next day Eric sought Kilmeny again and renewed his pleadings, butagain in vain. Nothing he could say, no argument which he could advance,was of any avail against her sad determination. When he was finallycompelled to realize that her resolution was not to be shaken, he wentin his despair to Janet Gordon. Janet listened to his story with concernand disappointment plainly visible on her face. When he had finished sheshook her head.
"I'm sorry, Master. I can't tell you how sorry I am. I had hoped forsomething very different. HOPED! I have PRAYED for it. Thomas and I aregetting old and it has weighed on my mind for years--what was to becomeof Kilmeny when we would be gone. Since you came I had hoped she wouldhave a protector in you. But if Kilmeny says she will not marry you I amafraid she'll stick to it."
"But she loves me," cried the young man, "and if you and her uncle speakto her--urge her--perhaps you can influence her--"
"No, Master, it wouldn't be any use. Oh, we will, of course, but it willnot be any use. Kilmeny is as determined as her mother when once shemakes up her mind. She has always been good and obedient for the mostpart, but once or twice we have found out that there is no moving her ifshe does resolve upon anything. When her mother died Thomas and I wantedto take her to church. We could not prevail on her to go. We did notknow why then, but now I suppose it was because she believed she wasso very ugly. It is because she thinks so much of you that she will notmarry you. She is afraid you would come to repent having married a dumbgirl. Maybe she is right--maybe she is right."
"I cannot give her up," said Eric stubbornly. "Something must be done.Perhaps her defect can be remedied even yet. Have you ever thought ofthat? You have never had her examined by a doctor qualified to pronounceon her case, have you?"
"No, Master, we never took her to anyone. When we first began tofear that she was never going to talk Thomas wanted to take her toCharlottetown and have her looked to. He thought so much of the childand he felt terrible about it. But her mother wouldn't hear of it beingdone. There was no use trying to argue with her. She said that it wouldbe no use--that it was her sin that was visited on her child and itcould never be taken away."
"And did you give in meekly to a morbid whim like that?" asked Ericimpatiently.
"Master, you didn't know my sister. We HAD to give in--nobody could holdout against her. She was a strange woman--and a terrible woman in manyways--after her trouble. We were afraid to cross her for fear she wouldgo out of her mind."
"But, could you not have taken Kilmeny to a doctor unknown to hermother?"
"No, that was not possible. Margaret never let her out of her sight,not even when she was grown up. Besides, to tell you the whole truth,Master, we didn't think ourselves that it would be much use to try tocure Kilmeny. It WAS a sin that made her as she is."
"Aunt Janet, how can you talk such nonsense? Where was there any sin?Your sister thought herself a lawful wife. If Ronald Fraser thoughtotherwise--and there is no proof that he did--HE committed a sin, butyou surely do not believe that it was visited in this fashion on hisinnocent child!"
"No, I am not meaning that, Master. That wasn't where Margaret didwrong; and though I never liked Ronald Fraser over much, I must say thisin his defence--I believe he thought himself a free man when he marriedMargaret. No, it's something else--something far worse. It gives me ashiver whenever I think of it. Oh, Master, the Good Book is right whenit says the sins of the parents are visited on the children. There isn'ta truer word in it than that from cover to cover."
"What, in heaven's name, is the meaning of all this?" exclaimed Eric."Tell me what it is. I must know the whole truth about Kilmeny. Do nottorment me."
"I am going to tell you the story, Master, though it will be likeopening an old wound. No living person knows it but Thomas and me. Whenyou hear it you will understand why Kilmeny can't speak, and why itisn't likely that there can ever be anything done for her. She doesn'tknow the truth and you must never tell her. It isn't a fit story for herears, especially when it is about her mother. Promise me that you willnever tell her, no matter what may happen."
"I promise. Go on--go on," said the young man feverishly.
Janet Gordon locked her hands together in her lap, like a woman whonerves herself to some hateful task. She looked very old; the lines onher face seemed doubly deep and harsh.
"My sister Margaret was a very proud, high-spirited girl, Master. But Iwould not have you think she was unlovable. No, no, that would be doinga great injustice to her memory. She had her faults as we all have; butshe was bright and merry and warm-hearted. We all loved her. She was thelight and life of this house. Yes, Master, before the trouble that cameon her Margaret was a winsome lass, singing like a lark from morningtill night. Maybe we spoiled her a little--maybe we gave her too much ofher own way.
"Well, Master, you have heard the story of her marriage to Ronald Fraserand what came after, so I need not go into that. I know, or used to knowElizabeth Williamson well, and I know that whatever she told you wouldbe the truth and nothing more or less than the truth.
"Our father was a very proud man. Oh, Master, if Margaret was too proudshe got it from no stranger. And her misfortune cut him to the heart. Henever spoke a word to us here for more than three days after he heard ofit. He sat in the corner there with bowed head and would not touch biteor sup. He had not been very willing for her to marry Ronald Fraser; andwhen she came home in disgrace she had not set foot over the thresholdbefore he broke out railing at her. Oh, I can see her there at the doorthis very minute, Master, pale and trembling, clinging to Thomas's arm,her great eyes changing from sorrow and shame to wrath. It was just atsunset and a red ray came in at the window and fell right across herbreast like a stain of blood.
"Father called her a hard name, Master. Oh, he was too hard--even thoughhe was my father I must say he was too hard on her, broken-hearted asshe was, and guilty of nothing more after all than a little willfulnessin the matter of her marriage.
"And father was sorry for it--Oh, Master, the word wasn't out of hismouth before he was sorry for it. But the mischief was done. Oh, I'llnever forget Margaret's face, Master! It haunts me yet in the blackof the night. It was full of anger and rebellion and defiance. But shenever answered him back. She clenched her hands and went up to her oldroom without saying a word, all those mad feelings surging in hersoul, and being held back from speech by her sheer, stubborn will. And,Master, never a word did Margaret say from that day until after Kilmenywas born--not one word, Master. Nothing we could do for her softenedher. And we were kind to her, Master, and gentle with her, and neverreproached her by so much as a look. But she would not speak to anyone.She just sat in her room most of the time and stared at the wall withsuch awful eyes. Father implored her to speak and forgive him, but shenever gave any sign that she heard him.
"I haven't come to the worst yet, Master. Father sickened and took tohis bed. Margaret would not go in to see him. Then one night Thomasand I were watching by him; it was about eleven o'clock. All at once hesaid,
"'Janet, go up and tell the lass'--he always called Margaret that--itwas a kind of pet name he had for her--'that I'm deein' and ask her tocome down and speak to me afore I'm gone.'
"Master, I went. Margaret was sitting in her room all alone in the coldand dark, staring at the wall. I told her what our father had said. Shenever let on she heard me. I pleaded and wept, Master. I did what I hadnever done to any human creature--I kneeled to her and begged her, asshe hoped for mercy herself, to come down and see our dying father.Master, she wouldn't! She never moved or looked at me. I had to get upand go downstairs and tell that old man she would not come."
Janet Gordon lifted her hands and struck them together in her agony ofremembrance.
"When I told father he only said, oh, so gently,
"'Poor lass, I was too hard on her. She isna to blame. But I canna goto meet her mother till our little lass has forgie'n me for the name Icalled her. Thomas, help me up. Since sh
e winna come to me I must e'engo to her.'
"There was no crossing him--we saw that. He got up from his deathbed andThomas helped him out into the hall and up the stair. I walked behindwith the candle. Oh, Master, I'll never forget it--the awful shadows andthe storm wind wailing outside, and father's gasping breath. But wegot him to Margaret's room and he stood before her, trembling, with hiswhite hairs falling about his sunken face. And he prayed Margaret toforgive him--to forgive him and speak just one word to him beforehe went to meet her mother. Master"--Janet's voice rose almost toa shriek--"she would not--she would not! And yet she WANTED tospeak--afterwards she confessed to me that she wanted to speak. Buther stubbornness wouldn't let her. It was like some evil power thathad gripped hold of her and wouldn't let go. Father might as well havepleaded with a graven image. Oh, it was hard and dreadful! She saw herfather die and she never spoke the word he prayed for to him. THAT washer sin, Master,--and for that sin the curse fell on her unborn child.When father understood that she would not speak he closed his eyes andwas like to have fallen if Thomas had not caught him.
"'Oh, lass, you're a hard woman,' was all he said. And they were hislast words. Thomas and I carried him back to his room, but the breathwas gone from him before we ever got him there.
"Well, Master, Kilmeny was born a month afterwards, and when Margaretfelt her baby at her breast the evil thing that had held her soul in itsbondage lost its power. She spoke and wept and was herself again. Oh,how she wept! She implored us to forgive her and we did freely andfully. But the one against whom she had sinned most grievously was gone,and no word of forgiveness could come to her from the grave. My poorsister never knew peace of conscience again, Master. But she was gentleand kind and humble until--until she began to fear that Kilmeny wasnever going to speak. We thought then that she would go out of her mind.Indeed, Master, she never was quite right again.
"But that is the story and it's a thankful woman I am that the tellingof it is done. Kilmeny can't speak because her mother wouldn't."
Eric had listened with a gray horror on his face to the gruesome tale.The black tragedy of it appalled him--the tragedy of that merciless law,the most cruel and mysterious thing in God's universe, which ordainsthat the sin of the guilty shall be visited on the innocent. Fightagainst it as he would, the miserable conviction stole into his heartthat Kilmeny's case was indeed beyond the reach of any human skill.
"It is a dreadful tale," he said moodily, getting up and walkingrestlessly to and fro in the dim spruce-shadowed old kitchen wherethey were. "And if it is true that her mother's willful silence causedKilmeny's dumbness, I fear, as you say, that we cannot help her. Butyou may be mistaken. It may have been nothing more than a strangecoincidence. Possibly something may be done for her. At all events, wemust try. I have a friend in Queenslea who is a physician. His name isDavid Baker, and he is a very skilful specialist in regard to the throatand voice. I shall have him come here and see Kilmeny."
"Have your way," assented Janet in the hopeless tone which she mighthave used in giving him permission to attempt any impossible thing.
"It will be necessary to tell Dr. Baker why Kilmeny cannot speak--or whyyou think she cannot."
Janet's face twitched.
"Must that be, Master? Oh, it's a bitter tale to tell a stranger."
"Don't be afraid. I shall tell him nothing that is not strictlynecessary to his proper understanding of the case. It will be quiteenough to say that Kilmeny may be dumb because for several months beforeher birth her mother's mind was in a very morbid condition, and shepreserved a stubborn and unbroken silence because of a certain bitterpersonal resentment."
"Well, do as you think best, Master."
Janet plainly had no faith in the possibility of anything being done forKilmeny. But a rosy glow of hope flashed over Kilmeny's face when Erictold her what he meant to do.
"Oh, do you think he can make me speak?" she wrote eagerly.
"I don't know, Kilmeny. I hope that he can, and I know he will do allthat mortal skill can do. If he can remove your defect will you promiseto marry me, dearest?"
She nodded. The grave little motion had the solemnity of a sacredpromise.
"Yes," she wrote, "when I can speak like other women I will marry you."