CHAPTER XXI
I WILL REMEMBER
The Albert was by all odds the exclusive club in the capital city ofupper Canada, for men were loath to drop the old name. Its membersbelonged to the best families, and moved in the highest circles, and theentre was guarded by a committee of exceeding vigilance. They had a veryreal appreciation of the rights and privileges of their order, and theycherished for all who assayed to enter the most lofty ideal. Not wealthalone could purchase entrance within those sacred precincts unless,indeed, it were of sufficient magnitude and distributed with judiciousand unvulgar generosity. A tinge of blue in the common red blood ofhumanity commanded the most favorable consideration, but when there wasneither cerulean tinge of blood nor gilding of station the candidate formembership in the Albert was deemed unutterable in his presumption, andrejection absolute and final was inevitable. A single black ball shuthim out. So it came as a surprise to most outsiders, though not toRanald himself, when that young gentleman's name appeared in the list ofaccepted members in the Albert. He had been put up by both Raymond andSt. Clair, but not even the powerful influence of these sponsors wouldhave availed with the members had it not come to be known that youngMacdonald was a friend of Captain De Lacy's of Quebec, don't youknow! and a sport, begad, of the first water; for the Alberts favoredathletics, and loved a true sport almost as much as they loved a lord.They never regretted their generous concession in this instance, forduring the three years of his membership, it was the Glengarry Macdonaldthat had brought glory to their club more than any half dozen of theirother champions. In their finals with the Montrealers two years ago,it was he, the prince of all Canadian half-backs, as every oneacknowledged, who had snatched victory from the exultant enemy in thelast quarter of an hour. Then, too, they had never ceased to be gratefulfor the way in which he had delivered the name of their club fromthe reproach cast upon it by the challenge long flaunted before theiraristocratic noses by the cads of the Athletic, when he knocked out ina bout with the gloves, the chosen representative of that ill-favoredclub--a professional, too, by Jove, as it leaked out later.
True, there were those who thought him too particular, and undoubtedlyhe had peculiar ideas. He never drank, never played for money, and henever had occasion to use words in the presence of men that would beimpossible before their mothers and sisters; and there was a quaint,old-time chivalry about him that made him a friend of the weak andhelpless, and the champion of women, not only of those whose shelteredlives had kept them fair and pure, but of those others as well, sad-eyedand soul-stained, the cruel sport of lustful men. For his open scorn oftheir callous lust some hated him, but all with true men's hearts lovedhim.
The club-rooms were filling up; the various games were in full swing.
"Hello, little Merrill!" Young Merrill looked up from his billiards.
"Glengarry, by all the gods!" throwing down his cue, and rushing atRanald. "Where in this lonely universe have you been these many months,and how are you, old chap?" Merrill was excited.
"All right, Merrill?" inquired the deep voice.
"Right, so help me--" exclaimed Merrill, solemnly, lifting up his hand."He's inquiring after my morals," he explained to the men who werecrowding about; "and I don't give a blank blank who knows it," continuedlittle Merrill, warmly, "my present magnificent manhood," smitinghimself on the breast, "I owe to that same dear old solemnity there,"pointing to Ranald.
"Shut up, Merrill, or I'll spank you," said Ranald.
"You will, eh?" cried Merrill, looking at him. "Look at him vaunting hisbeastly fitness over the frail and weak. I say, men, did you ever beholdsuch condition! See that clear eye, that velvety skin, that--Oh, I say!pax! pax! peccavi!"
"There," said Ranald, putting him down from the billiard-table, "perhapsyou will learn when to be seen."
"Brute," murmured little Merrill, rubbing the sore place; "but ain't hefit?" he added, delightedly. And fit he looked. Four years of hard workand clean living had done for him everything that it lies in years todo. They had made of the lank, raw, shanty lad a man, and such a man asa sculptor would have loved to behold. Straight as a column he stood twoinches over six feet, but of such proportions that seeing him alone, onewould never have guessed his height. His head and neck rose above hissquare shoulders with perfect symmetry and poise. His dark face, tannednow to a bronze, with features clear-cut and strong, was lit by a pairof dark brown eyes, honest, fearless, and glowing with a slumbering firethat men would hesitate to stir to flame. The lines of his mouth toldof self-control, and the cut of his chin proclaimed a will of iron, andaltogether, he bore himself with an air of such quiet strength and coolself-confidence that men never feared to follow where he led. Yet therewas a reserve about him that set him a little apart from men, and a kindof shyness that saved him from any suspicion of self-assertion. In vainhe tried to escape from the crowd that gathered about him, and moreespecially from the foot-ball men, who utterly adored him.
"You can't do anything for a fellow that doesn't drink," complainedStarry Hamilton, the big captain of the foot-ball team.
"Drink! a nice captain you are, Starry," said Ranald, "and Thanksgivingso near."
"We haven't quite shut down yet," explained the captain.
"Then I suppose a cigar is permitted," replied Ranald, ordering thesteward to bring his best. In a few minutes he called for his mail, andexcusing himself, slipped into one of the private rooms. The manager ofthe Raymond & St. Clair Company and prominent clubman, much sought afterin social circles, he was bound to find letters of importance awaitinghim, but hastily shuffling the bundle, he selected three, and put therest in his pocket.
"So she's back," he said to himself, lifting up one in a squareenvelope, addressed in large, angular writing. He turned it over in hishand, feasting his eyes upon it, as a boy holds a peach, prolonging theblissful anticipation. Then he opened it slowly and read:
MY DEAR RANALD: All the way home I was hoping that on my return, freshfrom the "stately homes of England," and from association with lords anddukes and things, you would be here to receive your share of the lusterand aroma my presence would shed (that's a little mixed, I fear); butwith a most horrible indifference to your privileges you are away at theearth's end, no one knows where. Father said you were to be home to-day,so though you don't in the least deserve it, I am writing you a note offorgiveness; and will you be sure to come to my special party to-morrownight? I put it off till to-morrow solely on your account, and in spiteof Aunt Frank, and let me tell you that though I have seen such heaps ofnice men, and all properly dear and devoted, still I want to see you, soyou must come. Everything else will keep. Yours,
MAIMIE.
Over and over again he read the letter, till the fire in his eyes beganto gleam and his face became radiant with a tender glow.
"'Yours, Maimie,' eh? I wonder now what she means," he mused. "Sevenyears and for my life I don't know yet, but to-morrow night--yes,to-morrow night, I will know!" He placed the letter in its envelope andput it carefully in his inside pocket. "Now for Kate, dear old girl, nobetter anywhere." He opened his letter and read:
DEAR RANALD: What a lot of people will be delighted to see you back!First, dear old Dr. Marshall, who is in despair over the Institute,of which he declares only a melancholy ruin will be left if you do notspeedily return. Indeed, it is pretty bad. The boys are quite terrible,and even my "angels" are becoming infected. Your special pet, Coley,after reducing poor Mr. Locke to the verge of nervous prostration, has"quit," and though I have sought him in his haunts, and used my verychoicest blandishments, he remains obdurate. To my remonstrances, hefinally deigned to reply: "Naw, they ain't none of 'em any good no more;them ducks is too pious for me." I don't know whether you will considerthat a compliment or not. So the Institute and all its people willwelcome you with acclaims of delight and sighs of relief. And some oneelse whom you adore, and who adores you, will rejoice to see you. I havebegged her from Maimie for a few precious days. But that's a secret, andlast of all and le
ast of all, there is
Your friend,
KATE.
P. S.--Of course you will be at the party to-morrow night. Maimie lookslovelier than ever, and she will be so glad to see you.
K.
"What a trump she is," murmured Ranald; "unselfish, honest to the core,and steady as a rock. 'Some one else whom you adore.' Who can that be?By Jove, is it possible? I will go right up to-night."
His last letter was from Mr. St. Clair, who was the chief executive ofthe firm. He glanced over it hurriedly, then with a curious blendingof surprise, perplexity, and dismay on his face, he read it again withcareful deliberation:
MY DEAR RANALD: Welcome home! We shall all be delighted to see you.Your letter from North Bay, which reached me two days ago, containedinformation that places us in rather an awkward position. Last May, justafter you left for the north, Colonel Thorp, of the British-AmericanCoal and Lumber Company, operating in British Columbia and Michigan,called to see me, and made an offer of $75,000 for our Bass Riverlimits. Of course you know we are rather anxious to unload, and at firstI regarded his offer with favor. Soon afterwards I received your firstreport, sent apparently on your way up. I thereupon refused ColonelThorp's offer. Then evidently upon the strength of your report, which Ishowed him, Colonel Thorp, who by the way is a very fine fellow, but avery shrewd business man, raised his offer to an even hundred thousand.This offer I feel inclined to accept. To tell you the truth, we havemore standing timber than we can handle, and as you know, we are reallybadly crippled for ready money. It is a little unfortunate that yourlast report should be so much less favorable in regard to the east halfof the limits. However, I don't suppose there is any need of mentioningthat to Colonel Thorp, especially as his company are getting a goodbargain as it is, and one which of themselves, they could not possiblysecure from the government. I write you this note in case you should runacross Colonel Thorp in town to-morrow, and inadvertently say somethingthat might complicate matters. I have no doubt that we shall be able toclose the deal in a few days.
Now I want to say again how delighted we all are to have you back. Wenever realized how much we were dependent upon you. Mr. Raymond and Ihave been talking matters over, and we have agreed that some changesought to be made, which I venture to say will not be altogetherdisagreeable to you. I shall see you first thing in the morning aboutthe matter of the limits.
Maimie has got home, and is, I believe, expecting you at her partyto-morrow night. Indeed, I understand she was determined that it shouldnot come off until you had returned, which shows she shares the opinionof the firm concerning you.
I am yours sincerely,
EUGENE ST. CLAIR.
Ranald sat staring at the letter for a long time. He saw with perfectclearness Mr. St. Clair's meaning, and a sense of keen humiliationpossessed him as he realized what it was that he was expected to do.But it took some time for the full significance of the situation to dawnupon him. None knew better than he how important it was to the firm thatthis sale should be effected. The truth was if the money market shouldbecome at all close the firm would undoubtedly find themselves inserious difficulty. Ruin to the company meant not only the blasting ofhis own prospects, but misery to her whom he loved better than life; andafter all, what he was asked to do was nothing more than might be doneany day in the world of business. Every buyer is supposed to know thevalue of the thing he buys, and certainly Colonel Thorp should notcommit his company to a deal involving such a large sum of money withoutthoroughly informing himself in regard to the value of the limits inquestion, and when he, as an employee of the Raymond and St. ClairLumber Company, gave in his report, surely his responsibility ceased. Hewas not asked to present any incorrect report; he could easily makeit convenient to be absent until the deal was closed. Furthermore, thechances were that the British-American Coal and Lumber Company wouldstill have good value for their money, for the west half of the limitswas exceptionally good; and besides, what right had he to besmirch thehonor of his employer, and to set his judgment above that of a manof much greater experience? Ranald understood also Mr. St. Clair'sreference to the changes in the firm, and it gave him no smallsatisfaction to think that in four years he had risen from the positionof lumber checker to that of manager, with an offer of a partnership;nor could he mistake the suggestion in Mr. St. Clair's closing words.Every interest he had in life would be furthered by the consummationof the deal, and would be imperiled by his refusing to adopt Mr. St.Clair's suggestion. Still, argue as he might, Ranald never had anydoubt as to what, as a man of honor, he ought to do. Colonel Thorp wasentitled to the information that he and Mr. St. Clair alone possessed.Between his interests and his conscience the conflict raged.
"I wish I knew what I ought to do," he groaned, all the time battlingagainst the conviction that the information he possessed should byrights be given to Colonel Thorp. Finally, in despair of coming toa decision, he seized his hat, saying, "I will go and see Kate," andslipping out of a side door, he set off for the Raymond home. "I willjust look up Coley on the way," he said to himself, and diving down analley, he entered a low saloon with a billiard hall attached. There, ashe had expected, acting as marker, he found Coley.
Mike Cole, or Coley, as his devoted followers called him, was king ofSt. Joseph's ward. Everywhere in the ward his word ran as law. Abouttwo years ago Coley had deigned to favor the Institute with a visit, hisgang following him. They were welcomed with demonstrations of joy, andregaled with cakes and tea, all of which Coley accepted with lordlycondescension. After consideration, Coley decided that the night classesmight afford a not unpleasant alternative on cold nights, to alley-waysand saloons, and he allowed the gang to join. Thenceforth the successfulconduct of the classes depended upon the ability of the superintendentto anticipate Coley's varying moods and inclinations, for that young manclaimed and exercised the privilege of introducing features agreeable tothe gang, though not necessarily upon the regular curriculum of study.Some time after Ranald's appearance in the Institute as an assistant, ithappened one night that a sudden illness of the superintendent laid uponhis shoulders the responsibility of government. The same night italso happened that Coley saw fit to introduce the enlivening but quiteimpromptu feature of a song and dance. To this Ranald objected, and wasinvited to put the gang out if he was man enough. After the ladieshad withdrawn beyond the reach of missiles, Ranald adopted the unusualtactics of preventing exit by locking the doors, and then immediatelybecame involved in a discussion with Coley and his followers. It costthe Institute something for furniture and windows, but thenceforth inRanald's time there was peace. Coley ruled as before, but his sphere ofinfluence was limited, and the day arrived when it became the ambitionof Coley's life to bring the ward and its denizens into subjection tohis own over-lord, whom he was prepared to follow to the death. But likeany other work worth doing, this took days and weeks and months.
"Hello, Coley!" said Ranald, as his eyes fell upon his sometime ally andslave. "If you are not too busy I would like you to go along with me."
Coley looked around as if seeking escape.
"Come along," said Ranald, quietly, and Coley, knowing that anything butobedience was impossible, dropped his marking and followed Ranald out ofthe saloon.
"Well, Coley, I have had a great summer," began Ranald, "and I wish verymuch you could have been with me. It would have built you up and made aman of you. Just feel that," and he held out his arm, which Coleyfelt with admiring reverence. "That's what the canoe did," and then heproceeded to give a graphic account of his varied adventures by land andwater during the last six months. As they neared Mr. Raymond's house,Ranald turned to Coley and said: "Now I want you to cut back to theInstitute and tell Mr. Locke, if he is there, that I would like him tocall around at my office to-morrow. And furthermore, Coley, there's noneed of your going back into that saloon. I was a little ashamed to seeone of my friends in a place like that. Now, good night, and be a man,and a clean man."
Coley stood with his head hung in abject self
-abasement, and thenventured to say, "I couldn't stand them ducks nohow!"
"Who do you mean?" said Ranald.
"Oh, them fellers that runs the Institute now, and so I cut."
"Now look here, Coley," said Ranald, "I wouldn't go throwing stones atbetter men than yourself, and especially at men who are trying to dosomething to help other people and are not so beastly mean as to thinkonly of their own pleasure. I didn't expect that of you, Coley. Now quitit and start again," and Ranald turned away.
Coley stood looking after him for a few moments in silence, and thensaid to himself, in a voice full of emphasis: "Well, there's just oneof his kind and there ain't any other." Then he set out at a run for theInstitute.
It was Kate herself who came to answer Ranald's ring.
"I knew it was you," she cried, with her hand eagerly outstretched andher face alight with joy. "Come in, we are all waiting for you, andprepare to be surprised." When they came to the drawing-room she flungopen the door and with great ceremony announced "The man from Glengarry,as Harry would say."
"Hello, old chap!" cried Harry, springing to his feet, but Ranaldignored him. He greeted Kate's mother warmly for she had shown him amother's kindness ever since he had come to the city, and they weregreat friends, and then he turned to Mrs. Murray, who was standingwaiting for him, and gave her both his hands.
"I knew from Kate's letter," he said, "that it would be you, and Icannot tell you how glad I am." His voice grew a little unsteady and hecould say no more. Mrs. Murray stood holding his hands and looking intohis face.
"It cannot be possible," she said, "that this is Ranald Macdonald! Howchanged you are!" She pushed him a little back from her. "Let me look atyou; why, I must say it, you are really handsome!"
"Now, auntie," cried Harry, reprovingly, "don't flatter him. He isutterly ruined now by every one, including both Kate and her mother."
"But really, Harry," continued Mrs. Murray, in a voice of delightedsurprise, "it is certainly wonderful; and I am so glad! And I have beenhearing about your work with the boys at the Institute, and I cannottell you the joy it gave me."
"Oh, it is not much that I have done," said Ranald, deprecatingly.
"Indeed, it is a noble work and worthy of any man," said Mrs. Murray,earnestly, "and I thank God for you."
"Then," said Ranald, firmly, "I owe it all to yourself, for it is youthat set me on this way."
"Listen to them admiring each other! It is quite shameless," said Harry.
Then they began talking about Glengarry, of the old familiar places, ofthe woods and the fields, of the boys and girls now growing into men andwomen, and of the old people, some of whom were passed away. Before longthey were talking of the church and all the varied interests centeringin it, but soon they went back to the theme that Glengarry peopleeverywhere are never long together without discussing--the greatrevival. Harry had heard a good deal about it before, but to Kateand her mother the story was mostly new, and they listened with eagerinterest as Mrs. Murray and Ranald recalled those great days. With eyesshining, and in tones of humble, grateful wonder they reminded eachother of the various incidents, the terrors, the struggles, the joyfulsurprises, the mysterious powers with which they were so familiar duringthose eighteen months. Then Mrs. Murray told of the permanent results;how over three counties the influence of the movement was still felt,and how whole congregations had been built up under its wonderful power.
"And did you hear," she said to Ranald, "that Donald Stewart wasordained last May?"
"No," replied Ranald; "that makes seven, doesn't it?"
"Seven what?" said Kate.
"Seven men preaching the Gospel to-day out of our own congregation,"replied Mrs. Murray.
"But, auntie," cried Harry, "I have always thought that all that musthave been awfully hard work."
"It was," said Ranald, emphatically; and he went on to sketch Mrs.Murray's round of duties in her various classes and meetings connectedwith the congregation.
"Besides what she has to do in the manse!" exclaimed Harry; "but it's amere trifle, of course, to look after her troop of boys."
"How can you do it?" said Kate, gazing at her in admiring wonder.
"It isn't so terrible as Harry thinks. That's my work, you see," saidMrs. Murray; "what else would I do? And when it goes well it is worthwhile."
"But, auntie, don't you feel sometimes like getting away and having alittle fun? Own up, now."
"Fun?" laughed Mrs. Murray.
"Well, not fun exactly, but a good time with things you enjoy so much,music, literature, and that sort of thing. Do you remember, Kate, thefirst time you met auntie, when we took her to Hamlet?"
Kate nodded.
"She wasn't quite sure about it, but I declare till I die I will neverforget the wonder and the delight in her face. I tell you I wept thatnight, but not at the play. And how she criticised the actors; evenBooth himself didn't escape," continued Harry; "and so I say it's abeastly shame that you should spend your whole life in the backwoodsthere and have so little of the other sort of thing. Why you are madefor it!"
"Harry," answered Mrs. Murray, in surprise, "that was my work, givenme to do. Could I refuse it? And besides after all, fun, as you say,passes; music stops; books get done with; but those other things, thethings that Ranald and I have seen, will go on long after my poor bodyis laid away."
"But still you must get tired," persisted Harry.
"Yes, I get tired," she replied, quietly. At the little touch ofweariness in the voice, Kate, who was looking at the beautiful face, sospiritual, and getting, oh, so frail, felt a sudden rush of tears inher eyes. But there was no self-pity in that heroic soul. "Yes, I gettired," she repeated, "but, Harry, what does that matter? We do our workand then we will rest. But oh, Harry, my boy, when I come to your cityand see all there is to do, I wish I were a girl again, and I wonder atpeople thinking life is just for fun."
Harry, like other young men, hated to be lectured, but from his aunt henever took anything amiss. He admired her for her brilliant qualities,and loved her with a love near to worship.
"I say, auntie," he said, with a little uncertain laugh, "it's likegoing to church to hear you, only it's a deal more pleasant."
"But, Harry, am I not right?" she replied, earnestly. "Do you think thatyou will get the best out of your life by just having fun? Oh, do youknow when I went with Kate to the Institute the other night and sawthose boys my heart ached. I thought of my own boys, and--" The voiceceased in a pathetic little catch, the sensitive lips trembled, thebeautiful gray-brown eyes filled with sudden tears. For a few momentsthere was silence; then, with a wavering smile, and a gentle, apologeticair, she said: "But I must not make Harry think he is in church."
"Dear Aunt Murray," cried Harry, "do lecture me. I'd enjoy it, and youcan't make it too strong. You are just an angel." He left his seat, andgoing over to her chair, knelt down and put his arms about her.
"Don't you all wish she was your aunt?" he said, kissing her.
"She IS mine," cried Kate, smiling at her through shining tears.
"She's more," said Ranald, and his voice was husky with emotion.
But with the bright, joyous little laugh Ranald knew so well, shesmoothed back Harry's hair, and kissing him on the forehead, said: "I amsure you will do good work some day. But I shall be quite spoiled here;I must really get home."
As Ranald left the Raymond house he knew well what he should say to Mr.St. Clair next morning. He wondered at himself that he had ever been indoubt. He had been for an hour in another world where the atmosphere waspure and the light clear. Never till that night had he realized thefull value of that life of patient self-sacrifice, so unconscious of itsheroism. He understood then, as never before, the mysterious influenceof that gentle, sweet-faced lady over every one who came to know her,from the simple, uncultured girls of the Indian Lands to the young menabout town of Harry's type. Hers was the power of one who sees with openeyes the unseen, and who loves to the forgetting of self those for
whomthe Infinite love poured Itself out in death.
"Going home, Harry?" inquired Ranald.
"Yes, right home; don't want to go anywhere else to-night. I say, oldchap, you're a better and cleaner man than I am, but it ain't yourfault. That woman ought to make a saint out of any man."
"Man, you would say so if you knew her," said Ranald, with a touch ofimpatience; "but then no one does know her. They certainly don't down inthe Indian Lands, for they don't know what she's given up."
"That's the beauty of it," replied Harry; "she doesn't feel it that way.Given up? not she! She thinks she's got everything that's good!"
"Well," said Ranald, thoughtfully, after a pause, "she knows, and she'sright."
When they came to Harry's door Ranald lingered just a moment. "Come in aminute," said Harry.
"I don't know; I'm coming in to-morrow."
"Oh, come along just now. Aunt Frank is in bed, but Maimie will be up,"said Harry, dragging him along to the door.
"No, I think not to-night." While they were talking the door opened andMaimie appeared.
"Ranald," she cried, in an eager voice, "I knew you would be at Kate's,and I was pretty sure you would come home with Harry. Aren't you comingin?"
"Where's Aunt Frank?" asked Harry.
"She's upstairs," said Maimie.
"Thank the Lord, eh?" added Harry, pushing in past her.
"Go away in and talk to her," said Maimie. Then turning to Ranald andlooking into his devouring eyes, she said, "Well? You might say you'reglad to see me." She stood where the full light of the doorway revealedthe perfect beauty of her face and figure.
"Glad to see you! There is no need of saying that," replied Ranald,still gazing at her.
"How beautiful you are, Maimie," he added, bluntly.
"Thank you, and you are really quite passable."
"And I AM glad to see you."
"That's why you won't come in."
"I am coming to-morrow night."
"Everybody will be here to-morrow night."
"Yes, that's certainly a drawback."
"And I shall be very busy looking after my guests. Still," she added,noticing the disappointment in his face, "it's quite possible--"
"Exactly," his face lighting up again.
"Have you seen father's study?" asked Maimie, innocently.
"No," replied Ranald, wonderingly. "Is it so beautiful?"
"No, but it's upstairs, and--quiet."
"Well?" said Ranald.
"And perhaps you might like to see it to-morrow night."
"How stupid I am. Will you show it to me?"
"I will be busy, but perhaps Harry--"
"Will you?" said Ranald, coming close to her, with the old imperative inhis voice.
Maimie drew back a little.
"Do you know what you make me think of?" she asked, lowering her voice.
"Yes, I do. I have thought of it every night since."
"You were very rude, I remember."
"You didn't think so then," said Ranald, boldly.
"I ought to have been very angry," replied Maimie, severely.
"But you weren't, you know you weren't; and do you remember what yousaid?"
"What I said? How awful of you; don't you dare! How can I remember?"
"Yes, you do remember, and then do you remember what _I_ said?"
"What YOU said indeed! Such assurance!"
"I have kept my word," said Ranald, "and I am coming to-morrow night.Oh, Maimie, it has been a long, long time." He came close to her andcaught her hand, the slumbering fire in his eyes blazing now in flame.
"Don't, don't, I'm sure there's Aunt Frank. No, no," she pleaded, interror, "not to-night, Ranald!"
"Then will you show me the study to-morrow night?"
"Oh, you are very mean. Let me go!"
"Will you?" he demanded, still holding her hand.
"Yes, yes, you ought to be ashamed of yourself. My hand is quite sore.There, now, good night. No, I won't shake hands! Well, then, if you musthave it, good night."