The Span o' Life: A Tale of Louisbourg & Quebec

  CHAPTER IV

  IN WHICH I MAKE ACQUAINTANCE WITH ONE NEAR TO ME

  I stretched myself out at length, with my cloak over me, and dozeduneasily until awakened by a soft knocking at the door, which wasslowly pushed open, and a brown head made its appearance in theroom.

  "Come in!" I cried, and there entered to me as handsome a boy ofsix as ever delighted a man's eyes.

  I would have given the world to take him to my heart, but I was onparole. So we stared at each other, and I can only hope he was aswell satisfied with his inspection as I was with mine.

  "Does your mother know of your coming?" I asked, for I was determinedto take no unfair advantage.

  "She told me I could come," he answered, without any backwardness,yet with modesty.

  "Good. Well, what do you think?"

  "Why do you sleep in your clothes?"

  "Why do you sleep in your clothes?"]

  "Oh, a soldier often sleeps in his clothes."

  "But I don't think you're a soldier."

  "Why?"

  "Where is your sword?"

  "I'll get that by-and-by."

  "If I was a soldier I'd sleep with my sword."

  "Well, you'd find it a mighty uncomfortable bedfellow," I answered,laughing. At which he laughed too, and we were fast becoming friends.

  "Will you be a soldier?" I went on.

  "I don't know. What's your name?"

  "One moment, my young diplomat. Do you never answer a question butby asking another? Surely you're not a Scotchman?"

  "I don't know."

  "Well, what do you think you are?"

  "I think I'm a Methodist."

  "So you are. But that may be much the same thing, for aught I know.My name's Captain Geraldine. Now tell me yours."

  "Christopher. Can you sing?"

  "I can sing, my boy, like a mavis, like a bird-of-paradise. Wouldyou like to taste my quality?" and without more ado I sang to him.

  "The span o' Life's nae lang eneugh, Nor deep eneugh the sea, Nor braid eneugh this weary warld To part my Love frae me."

  "I like that," he said, gravely, when I had made an end. "You singwell."

  "So I have been informed, sir; and I am most sensible of yourconfirmation of the favourable verdict, which is flattering beyondmy poor deserts."

  But he did not find this at all to his taste, and I was sorry tosee my untimely nonsense caused him to shrink somewhat from me,which hurt me to a degree I could not have believed possible.

  But my embarrassment was relieved by his mother's voice calling usfrom the foot of the stairs, and hand in hand we went down together.

  I looked at my hostess with much curiosity, and found her quietand serene, though the traces of the anxiety of overnight werevisible in her pale face and tired eyes.

  "Good-morning, Mistress Routh."

  "Good-morning, Captain Geraldine. I see my boy has taken to you;it is a good sign."

  The words were like balm to me, and I looked at her searchingly tosee expected signs of relenting, but I recognised only too clearlyit was the kindly civility of an entire stranger, and I felt morestrongly than at any moment before that the door of the past wasirrevocably closed between us.

  I sate down at the table, but she remained standing, and foldingher hands, repeated a long grace. It was so utterly strange, soutterly foreign to all I had ever known of her, that it deepenedthe impression tenfold that I belonged to a world apart from hers.In a sense it shocked my feeling of what was proper. Her Protestantismhad never been any barrier in our life together, for I have knowntoo many different ways to happiness not to believe there may bemore than one to heaven. I have known too many devout Protestantsto have a shadow of doubt as to their sincerity; but I have alwaysbeen a believer in the established order of things, and for a womanto take any part in matters religious, beyond teaching her childrentheir hymns and prayers, was foreign to my experience.

  We ate our breakfast to the accompaniment of the boy's chatter,and if there were any embarrassment, I am free to confess it wason my side alone. I could perfectly understand her courage andresolution of the night before, but this wonderful acting was simplymarvellous; it was, as far as I knew, no more possible to the LucyI had known than talking Castilian; but, upon my soul, I neveradmired her more in my life. This, however, I took good care notto shew in word or gesture: if she had so utterly renounced allvanities and pomps, why should she have the incense of admiration?She would probably consider it an offering to idols.

  "Mistress Routh, if my presence will not discommode you, I purposeto lie quiet for a day or two, until I can get such clothes as mayserve both as a change of character and a more fitting appearancefor myself. Do you happen to know of so rare a bird as a periwig-makerwho can keep his counsel? If I could have such an one attend mehere, I could at least do away with this lanky hair and fit myselfto a decent wig; then I could venture out under cover of a cloak,and find a tailor to complete the transformation. But I take ityou may know but little of these manlike fripperies."

  "I do know a man who may be trusted, who, though a member of ourSociety, is forced to gain his living by like vanities," shereturned.

  "Madam," said I, "you evidently do not estimate the quality ofvanity at its proper value. Now I hold it in reality to be theeighth of the Cardinal Virtues. I have known it to keep men frombeing slovenly through their regard for the outward respect ofothers, and cleanliness comes very near to godliness. I have knownit to keep men out of low company through their desire to catch areflected glory from their superiors, and company is an informantof character. I have even known it to make men open-handed througha dislike to appear niggardly in public, and--" But I saw a lookof such evident distress on the face before me that I checked myflight in very pity. A man with any sensibility will find himselfconstantly curbed by his regard for the feelings of others.

  When Mistress Routh's assistant appeared I took the opportunity ofsending a note to Lady Jane, telling of my whereabouts, and thatI would present myself in a day or two when I had effected sufficientchange in my appearance.

  This I was enabled to do by the help of the wig-maker--who wasclever enough with what he put outside other men's heads, thoughI could not think so highly of what he had got into his own--andby a liberal supply of gold pieces to my tailor.

  I was now dressed with some approach to my ideas of what was fitting,and my own satisfaction was only equalled by that of littleChristopher.

  "Ah, Kit, my boy," I admonished him, for I felt it incumbent on meto contribute somewhat to the general morality of such a household,"I am no more Captain Geraldine in these fine feathers than I wasin the scurvy black of the lawyer's clerk."

  "But you feel more like Captain Geraldine," the boy said, pertinentlyenough.

  "I do, my boy, I do, for I am still subject to the vanities of theflesh."

  "Don't say that!" the boy cried, half angrily--"that is like theytalk at meeting," and I felt ashamed I should have let slip anythingbefore the child that could hurt his sense of my bearing towardswhat his mother respected, though I was puzzled to rightly estimatehis own expression.

  "I won't, my lad, but listen!" and I gave my sword a flourish andbegan the rattling air,

  "Dans les gardes francaises J'avais un amoureux--"

  and then I suddenly reflected I had no right to sing these ribaldsongs before the boy, even though he might not understand a word,and again I was ashamed, so fell a-story-telling, and I told himtales that made even his favourites of Agag and Sisera seem pale,and the singing was forgotten.

  Though these constant talks with Kit, who would scarce be kept amoment from my side, were entertaining enough, and my heart warmedmore and more to him as I saw his strong young feeling blossom out,I could not help the time dragging most wearisomely. The eveningswere intolerable, and I felt the atmosphere absolutely suffocatingat times. Mistress Routh was so completely Mistress Routh I soonrealised that the Lucy in her was of a truth not only dead butburied out of my sight foreve
r. Now if I have a failing, it is oftoo keen an enjoyment of the present, rather than an indulgence inunavailing regrets for the past, so that in a little I began tospeculate if the Hugh Maxwell who was the Hugh Maxwell of thisburied Lucy had not vanished also. Certainly I was not the HughMaxwell she knew. She said so herself; she showed only too plainlyI had neither plot nor lot in her present life; and, after all,the life that is lived is the life that is dead. So I accepted whatI had done my best to refuse, and turned again to the only lifethat was open before me--I went to Lady Jane's that very evening.