The Mountain Girl

  CHAPTER XXVI

  IN WHICH DAVID THRYNG ADJUSTS HIS LIFE TO NEW CONDITIONS

  David stood where his mother had left him, dazed, hurt, sad. He wasdesperately minded to leave all and flee back to the hills--back to thelife he had left in Canada. He saw the clear, true look of Cassandra'seyes meeting his. His heart called for her; his soul cried out withinhim. He felt like one launched on an irresistible current which wassweeping him ever nearer to a maelstrom wherein he was inevitably to beswallowed up.

  He perceived that to his mother the established order of things there inher little island was sacred--an arrangement to be still further upheldand solidified. She had suddenly become a part of a great system,intrusted with a care for its maintenance and stability, as one of itsguardians. Before, it had mattered little to her, for she was not of it.Now it was very different.

  Slowly David followed Clark to his own apartments. He had been giventhose of the old lord, his uncle. Everything about him was dark,massive, and rich, but without grace. His bags and boxes had beenunpacked and his dinner suit laid in readiness, and Clark stood stifflyawaiting orders.

  "Will you have a shave, my lord?"

  The man's manner jarred on him. It was obsequious, and he hated it. Yetit was only the custom. Clark was simple-hearted and kindly, filling hislittle place in the upholding of the system of which he was a part; hadhis manner been different, a shade more familiar, David would haveresented it and ordered him out,--but of this David was not conscious.In spite of his scruples, he was born and bred an aristocrat.

  "No--a--I'll shave myself." Still the man waited, and, taking up David'scoat, flicked a particle of dust from the collar. "I don't wantanything. You may go."

  "Thank you." Clark melted quietly out of the apartment.

  "Thanks me for being rude to him," thought David, irritably; "I shalltake pleasure in being rude to him. My God! What a farce life is overhere! The whole thing is a farce."

  He shaved himself and cut his chin, and when he appeared later with apatch of court-plaster thereon, Clark commented to himself on "hislordship's" inability to do the shaving properly.

  As David thought over his mother's words--her outlook on life--hissister's idle aims--the companionships she must have and the kind oftalk to which she must listen--he grew more and more annoyed. Hecontrasted it all with the past. His mother, who had been so noble andfine, seemed to have lost individuality, to have become only a segmentof a circle which it was henceforth to be her highest care to keepintact. Laura must become a part of the same sacred ring, and he, too,must join hands with those who formed it and make it his duty to keepothers out.

  There were also other circles guarded and protected by this one--circleswithin circles--each smaller and more exclusive than the last. Theobject of the huge game of life over here seemed to be to keep the greatmass of those whom they regarded as commonalty out of any one of thecircles, while striving individually each to climb into the one nextabove, and more contracted. The most maddening thing of all was to findhis grave, dignified mother drawn in and made a partaker in thismeaningless strife.

  Still essentially an outsider, David could look with larger vision--thefar-seeing vision of the western land, the hilltops and the dividingsea,--and to him now the circles seemed verily the concentric rings ofthe maelstrom into which events were hurrying him. Would he be able torise from the swirling flotsam and ride free?

  The deeper philosophy underlying it all he as yet but vaguelyunderstood; that the highest good for all could only be maintained bystability in the commonwealth; as the tremendous rock foundations of theearth are a support for the growth thereon of all perfection, all graceand beauty; that the concentric rings, when rightly understood, shouldbecome a means of purification--of reward for true worth--of power fornoblest service, and not for personal ambition and the unmolestedgratification of vicious tastes.

  David did not as yet know that his clear-seeing wife could help him tothe attainment of his greatest possibilities, right here where he fearedto bring her--the wife of whom he dare not tell his mother. Blinded bythe world's estimates which he still had sense enough to despise, he didnot know that the key to its deepest secrets lay in her heart, nor thatof the two, her heritage of the large spirit and the inward-seeing eyedirect to the Creator's meanings was the greater heritage.

  Lady Thryng found it possible to have a few words with the lawyer beforeDavid appeared, and impressed upon him the necessity of interesting herson in this new field by showing him avenues for power and work.

  "I don't quite understand the boy," she said. "After seeing the worldand going his own way, I really thought he would outgrow that sort ofmoody sentimentalism, but it seems to be returning. He is quixoticenough to turn away from everything here and go back to Canada, unlessyou can awaken his interest."

  "I see, I see," said the lawyer.

  "Mere personal ambition will not satisfy him," added his mother,proudly. "He must see opportunities for service. He must understand thathe is needed."

  "I see. I understand. He must be dealt with along the line of his noblerimpulses--ahem--ahem--" and David appeared.

  His mother rose and took his arm to walk out to dinner, while Laura, whoshould have gone with Mr. Stretton, did not see his proffered arm, but,provokingly indifferent, strolled out by herself.

  David, absorbed in his own thoughts, did not notice his sister'scareless mien, but the mother observed the independent and boyish swingof her daughter's shoulders, and resented it with a slightly reprovingglance after they were seated.

  Laura lifted her eyebrows and one shoulder with an irritating halfshrug. "What is it, mamma?" she asked, but Lady Thryng allowed thequestion to go unheeded, and turned her attention to the two gentlemenduring the rest of the meal.

  All through dinner David was haunted by Cassandra's talk with him, thenight he dreamed she was being swept out of his arms forever by a swift,cold current which, from a little purling stream high up on a mountaintop, had become a dark, relentless flood, overwhelming them utterly.What was she doing now? Did she know she was in that terrible flood? Wasshe really being swept from him? Ah, never, never! He would not allowit, if he must break all hearts but hers.

  The meal progressed sombrely and heavily, with much ceremony, althoughthey were so few. Was his mother practising for the future that she keptsuch rigid state? He suspected as much, and that Laura was being trainedto the right way of carrying herself, but that and the real sorrow ofthe family over their bereavement made a most oppressive atmosphere.Might this be the shadow Cassandra had seen lying across their future?Only a passing cloud--a vapor; it must be only that.

  Laura and her mother withdrew early, leaving David and the lawyertogether, when Mr. Stretton immediately launched into talk of David'sprospects and resources. In spite of himself, the gloom of the dinnerhour slipped from him, and soon he was taking the liveliest interest inwhat might be possible for him here and now.

  Although not one to be easily turned from a chosen path by outsideinfluence, David yet had that almost fatal gift of the imaginative mindof seeing things from many sides, until at times they took on akaleidoscopic reversibility. Now this unlooked-for development of hislife opened to him a vista--new--and yet old, old as England herself.

  While digging deep into the causes of his former discontent, he had cometo strike his spade upon the rock foundations whereon all thiscomplicated superstructure of English society and national life wasbuilded. He saw that every nobleman inherited with his title and hislands a responsibility for the welfare of the whole people, from thepoorest laborer in the ditch or the coal mine, to the head wearing thecrown; and that it was the blindness of individuals like himself or hisuncle before him, their misuse or unscrupulous indifference to and abuseof power, which had brought about those conditions under which themasses were writhing, and against which they were crying out. He sawthat it was only by the earnest efforts of the few who didunderstand--the few who were not indifferent--that the stability ofEnglish governmen
t was still her glory.

  At last he rose and lifted his arms high above his head, then droppedthem to his side. "I see." He held up his head and looked off as he haddone when he stood on the prow of the steamship, with the salt breezetossing his hair. "A little of this came to me as I crossed the ocean,when I saw the green slopes of England again. I knew I loved her, andthe old feeling of impotence that hounded me in the past, when I coulddo nothing but rebel, slipped from me. I felt what it might be to havepower--to become effective instead of being obliged to chafe under theyoke of an imposed submission to things which are wrong--things whichthose who are in power might set right if they would. I believe, for amoment, Mr. Stretton, I felt it all."

  He paused and bowed his head. All at once in the midst of hisexaltation, he saw Cassandra standing white and still, as he had seenher on the hilltop before their little cabin, looking after him when hebade her good-by; and just as he then turned and went swiftly back toher, so now in his soul he turned to her yearningly and took her to hisbreast. Still penetrating the sweet, white halo of this vision, he heardthe voice of Mr. Stretton deferentially droning on.

  "And with your resources--the wealth which, with a little care andthought just now at this crucial moment, will be yours--"

  Still David stood with bowed head.

  "It is as if you were predestined, my lord, to step in at a criticaltime of your country's need--with brains, education, conscience, andwealth--with every obstacle swept away."

  Still before him stood Cassandra, white and silent; he could see onlyher.

  "Every obstacle swept away," repeated the lawyer.

  "And Cassandra, God help her and me." David slowly turned, lifted aglass of wine from the table, and drank it. "Well, so be it, so be it,"he said aloud. "We'll join mother and Laura." At the door he paused,"You spoke of education--the learning of a physician is but little inthe line of statesmanship. How soon will I be expected to take my seat?"

  "If you ask my advice, my lord, I would say better wait a year. It willbe advisable for you to go yourself to South Africa and look into youruncle's investments there--as a private individual, of course, not as apublic servant. Two-thirds of the receipts have fallen off since thewar; learn what may be saved from the wreckage, or if there be awreckage. I'm inclined to think not all, for the investments werevaried. Your uncle may have been a silent member, but he was certainly aman of good business judgment--" Mr. Stretton paused and coughed alittle apologetically before adding: "Not an inherited talent,only--ah--cultivated--cultivated--you know. Good business judgment isnot a trait inherent in our peerage, as a rule."

  David was amused and entered the drawing-room with a smile on his face.His mother was pleased and rose instantly, coming forward with bothhands extended to take his. He understood it as a welcome back to thefamily circle, the quiet talks and the evening lamp, less formal thanthe oppressive dinner had been. He held her hands thus offered andkissed the little anxious line on her brow, then playfully smoothed itwith his finger.

  "We mustn't let it become permanent, you know, mother."

  "No, David. It will go now you are at home."

  He did not know that his mother and Laura had been having a livelydiscussion apropos of the silent tilt at the dinner-table, his sisterpleading for a return to the old ways, and a release from such state andceremony. "At least while we are by ourselves, mamma. Anyway, I knowDavid will just hate it, and I don't see what good a title is if we mustbecome perfect slaves to it."

  David crossed the room and sat down before the piano. "How strange thisold place seems without the others--Bob, and the cousins, and unclehimself! We weren't admitted often--but--"

  "Sh--sh--" said Laura, who had followed him and stood at his ride."Don't remind mamma. She remembers too much--all the time. Play the'King's Hunting Jig,' David. Remember how you used to play it for meevery evening after dinner, when I was a girl?"

  "Do I remember? Rather! I have done nothing with the piano sincethen--when you were a girl. I'll play it for you now, while you are agirl."

  "But I really am grown up now, David. It's quite absurd for me to goabout like this. It's only because mamma chooses to have it so. She evenkeeps a governess for me still."

  "To her you are a child, and to me you are still a girl, and a mightyfine one."

  "It's so good to have you back, David! You haven't forgotten the Jig!Where's your flute? Get it, and I'll accompany you. I can drum a littlenow--after a fashion. We'll let them talk."

  So they amused themselves for the rest of the evening with music, andLady Thryng's face lost the strained and harassed expression it had wornall during dinner, and took on a look of contentment. After this thedays were spent by David in going over his uncle's large mass of papersand correspondence, with the aid of Mr. Stretton and a secretary. Acolossal task it proved to be.

  No one, even his lawyer, who had his confidence more than any one else,knew in what the old Lord Thryng's wealth really consisted, although Mr.Stretton surmised much of his surplus income of late years had beenplaced in Africa. As his papers had not been set in order or tabulatedfor years, every note, land loan, mortgage, and rental had to beunearthed slowly and laboriously from among a mass of written matter andfigures, more or less worthless; for the old lord had a habit of savingevery scrap of paper--the backs of notes and letters--for summing upaccounts and jotting down memoranda and dates.

  Certain hours of each day David devoted to this labor, collecting hispapers in a small room opening off from the law chambers of Mr.Stretton, where for years his uncle had kept a private safe.Conscientiously he toiled at the monotonous task, until weeks, thenmonths, slipped by, hardly noticed, ignoring all social life. When hismother or Laura broached the subject, he would say: "'Sufficient untothe day is the evil thereof,' and this must be done first."

  He was not unmindful of his wife during this interval, but wrotefrequently, and, to guard against any danger of her being left withoutresources should something unforeseen befall him, he placed in BishopTowers's hands the residue of money remaining to him in Canada, forCassandra. He wrote her to use it as occasion required, and not to spareit, that it was hers without restriction. He sent her the names of bookshe wished she would read--that she should write the publishers for them.He begged her to do no more weaving for money--but only for her ownamusement, and above all to trust and be happy, not to be sorrowful forthis long delay, which he would cut as short as he could.

  Much of his occupation he could not explain to her, and ofttimes it washard to find matter for his letters; then he would revert toreminiscence. These were the letters she loved best and sometimes weptover, and these were the letters that often left him dreamy and sad, andsometimes made him distraught when his mother and Laura talked overtheir affairs, so utterly alien to his thoughts and longings.

  Cassandra's replies were for the most part short, but they were sentwith unfailing regularity, and always they seemed to bring with them abreath from her own mountain top--naive--tender--absolutelytrusting--often quaintly worded, and telling of the simple, innocentthings of her life. He could see that she held herself in reserve, evenas her nature was; a psychologic something was held back. He could notdream what it might be, but reasoned with himself that it was only thatshe found it harder to unveil her thoughts by means of the pen than inspeech.

  One day, as he rode alone in the park, he noticed that the leaf budswere swelling. What! Was spring upon them? A white fog was lifting, andevery twig and stem held its tiny pearl of wetness. All the earthglistened and was clean and looked as if greenness was returning. Heregarded the artificial effects around him, the long lines of trees andset clumps of shrubbery, and was seized with a desire well-nighirresistible for the wild roads and rugged steeps--the wanderingstreams and sound of falling waters.

  He saw it all again, the blossoming spring where Cassandra sat waitingfor him, and he resolved to start without delay--to go to her and bringher back with him. All this sordid calculation of the amount of hisfortune--his mother's a
nd sister's shares--the annuities of poordependents--stocks to be bought--interest to be invested--thegovernment, and his future part therein, pah! It must wait! He wouldhave his own. His heritage should not be his curse.

  He returned in haste that day, only to learn that certain facts had beenunearthed which necessitated a journey into Wales, where interests ofthe former Lady Thryng's estates were concerned. His uncle had inheritedall from her with the exception of certain bequests to relatives withwhich he had been intrusted. Some of the records had been lost, andwhether the beneficiaries were dead or not, none knew, but now and thenletters came pleading for a continuance of former favors, and recallingobligations.

  Mr. Stretton had been ill for a week, and now that the records werefound, David must go, and go at once. The lawyer had many subjects forinvestigation to deliver to David. There was the death-bed request of anold nurse of his aunt, who had an annuity, that it be extended to hercrippled granddaughter. She lived among the Cornish hills. Would he huntthe family up and learn if they were worthy or impostors? His uncle hadbeen endlessly plagued with such importunities--and so on--and so on.

  Yes, certainly David would go. He made a mental reservation that hewould sail, without returning to London, and then make a clean breast ofhis affairs by letter to his mother. She had improved in health duringthe winter, and he thought his information would be received by her withmore equanimity than it would have been earlier. Moreover, she hadbroached the subject of marriage to him more than once, but always inone of her most worldly moods, when he shrank from hearing Cassandraspoken of as he knew she would be--when he could not hear her discussed,nor reply with calmness to such questions as he knew must ensue.

  David had little time to brood over his peculiar difficulty, as hisshort journey was full of business interest and new experiences. Yet theCornish hills awoke in him a still greater eagerness for the mountainsof his dreams, and, after securing his passage, he went to his hotel toprepare the letter to his mother.

  It is marvellous what trivial events alter destinies. In this instanceit was the yapping of a small dog which changed David's plans, andfinally sent him to South Africa instead of America. While paying hisbill at the hotel, a telegram was handed him, which he tore open as theclerk was counting out his change. He still held in his hand the letterto his mother which he was on the point of dropping in the letter-box athis elbow. Instead, he thrust it in his pocket, along with the crushedtelegram, and, taking a cab, hastened to the steamship offices to cancelhis date for sailing.

  The message read: "Return with all speed to London. Mr. Stretton lyingin the hospital with a fractured skull." Thus it was that LadyTredwell's pet spaniel, old and vicious, yapping at the heels of Mr.Stretton's restive horse, while my lady's maid--who should have beenleading him out for an airing--was absorbed in listening to thecompliments of one of the park guards, played so dire a part in theaffairs of David Thryng.