An Algonquin Maiden: A Romance of the Early Days of Upper Canada

  CHAPTER XII.

  A KISS AND ITS CONSEQUENCES.

  It was late afternoon in a Canadian midwinter day. Cold and still,with a coldness so intense that the blinding brightness of the sunmade no discernable impression on the densely packed snow, and with astillness absolutely undisturbed by any slightest breath of blusteringwind. Before the early twilight came, Rose Macleod, wrapped in fursfrom dainty head to well-booted feet, ran lightly down stairs, tappingsoftly at the library door on the way.

  "I am all ready, Papa," she said, illumining the room for a momentwith a pair of dark blue eyes and crimson cheeks. "Don't you think itwill be a beautiful night?"

  "Very beautiful, and cold enough to kill an Esquimaux. I confess itwould be a pleasure to know that in a few hours you would be safeunder the blankets instead of junketing over at Madame DeBerczy's."

  "I shall be just as safe under the buffalo robes, just as warm, and agreat deal happier."

  "Very well; be off then. By the way, how many are in your party?"

  "Oh, nearly a dozen at least."

  "Then there is a possibility that you will not all perish. Tell thesurvivors to report themselves here as early tomorrow morning aspossible."

  There was a sound of bells and a mingling of merry voices as asleigh-load of young people drove up to the door, and waited for Roseto join them. "Delays are dangerous," observed Edward, as his sister,after opening the door, was suddenly stung by the reflection that shehad not taken a last comprehensive view of herself in the glass, andturned to the hall mirror to rectify the omission.

  "Particularly, when it is below zero," said another.

  "What is she doing now?" patiently inquired a third.

  "Airing the hall," responded a girlish voice. "Oh, no, she is reallycoming! Rose," she called, "come and sit by me."

  "No, there is more room here," said another voice; while still anotherexclaimed, "I have been keeping such a cosy little corner here foryou."

  She stood in smiling hesitancy a moment, when her hand, from which shehad removed the glove in order to adjust an unruly hair-pin, was takenby another hand, firm and warm and gloveless, and she was drawn almostunconsciously to the side of its owner. It was Allan Dunlop who hadthus taken summary possession of her, and incurred a little of herdignified displeasure.

  "You left me no room for choice," she said in a slightly offendedtone.

  "I beg your pardon, I was thinking only of leaving you room for aseat."

  She was silent. It was very difficult to keep this young man at adistance, when there was such a very little distance between them, andyet she must be true to the promise tacitly given to her father. Shemust be cool, indifferent, uninterested. "It isn't a matter of anyimportance," she said absently.

  "I'm afraid it is to me," he continued in a lower tone, "I knowscarcely a soul here, and declined Edward's invitation to join you onthat account."

  "Oh, it is very easy to become acquainted with a sleighing-party." Shegreeted the two young ladies on the other side of him, and introducedhim to them. They were refined, attractive-looking girls, but they hada fatal defect. They absorbed social heat and light instead ofradiating them. It seemed as though they might be saying: "There, now,you got us into an unpleasant situation by inviting us here, and it'syour duty to make us happy; but we're not having a good time at all,and we'd like to know what you're going to do about it." Allan did thebest he could, not half-heartedly, for he was accustomed to dothoroughly whatever he attempted, and his success was marked. Thosegrave girls, who, heretofore, had always seemed to be haunted by somereal or fancied neglect, were in a gale of semi-repressed merriment.The mirth was infectious, and as the horses flew over the frozen road,the gay jingle of bells mingled happily with the joyous laughter ofyoung voices. Poor Rose, whose natural love for society and capacityfor fun-making had induced her to set very pleasant hopes upon thissleigh-ride, found herself, much to her surprise, the only silent oneof the company. With Allan's gracefully unconcerned personality on oneside, a middle-aged lady of rather severe aspect--the matron of theparty--on the other, and just opposite a pair who were very agreeablyand entirely engaged _with_ as well as _to_ each other, all means ofcommunication seemed to be hopelessly cut off. It was really veryunreasonable for Allan to act in this way. He was saving her thetrouble of treating him badly and keeping him at a distance; but,strange to say, there are some disagreeable duties of which one doesnot wish to be relieved. If it were possible to be overwhelminglydignified when one is buried shoulder deep in bear and buffaloskins--but that was out of the question.

  The clear crystalline day began to be softly shadowed by twilight.Behind them lay the town, its roofs and spires robed in swan's-down,while on all sides the fallen logs and deep underbrush, the levelstubbles and broad irregular hollows, and all the vast sweep of darkevergreen forest, melting away in immeasurable distance, was adazzling white waste of snow. In the bright moonshine it sparkled asthough studded with innumerable stars. Above them was a marvellouslybrilliant sky.

  Suddenly, under a group of trees that stretched their ghostly armsacross the roadway, the cavalcade came to a full stop; and Edward, whowas driving, looked round with a face of gloomy foreboding at themerrymakers.

  "What is the matter?" demanded half-a-dozen voices.

  "We shall have to go back," announced the young man, with a look offorced resignation.

  "Go back!" echoed the same voices an octave higher, "why, what hashappened?"

  "Nothing, except that Rose ought to take another look at herself inthe hall mirror. There is something fatally wrong with her appearance."

  "About which part of my appearance?" demanded the young lady, who wastoo well acquainted with her brother to be at all surprised ordisturbed by anything he could say.

  "I don't know, I'm sure. Perhaps its the _tout ensemble_. Yes, that'sjust what it is."

  "Do drive on, Edward, and don't be ridiculous. It's too cold todiscuss even so important a subject as that."

  "I am sure you must be suffering from the cold." It was Allan whospoke, turning round to her in a tone of quick, low tenderness.

  "Not in the least!" Every small emphatic word was keen and hard as apiece of ice. Then, in the white moonlight, she confronted somethingthat made her heart sink, it was the unmistakable look of mentalsuffering, a look that showed her that he at any rate was sufferingfrom the cold--the sharp stinging cold of a winter whose beginning waspressing bitterly upon them, whose end, so far as they could see, wasdeath.

  The mansion of Madame DeBerczy sent out broad shafts of light throughits many windows to welcome the latest addition to the brilliantthrong already assembled in its ample interior. Madame herself wassuperb in a regal-looking gown that became her aristocratic oldcountenance as a rich setting becomes an antique cameo. Her statelyrooms were aglow with immense fire-places, each holding a smallcart-load of hissing and crackling wood, the reflected light gleamingbrightly from the shining fire-irons, while a number of brasssconces--the picturesque chandeliers of the past--polished to thesimilitude of gold, were softly shimmering overhead. The beautifulEnglish furniture of the last century, artistic yet home-like; the oldworld cabinets, covered with surface carving, solid yet graceful inappearance; tiles, grave and cheerful in design, set into oakenmantel-pieces; peacock coloured screens, and ample crimson curtains,edged with heavy silken borders of gold, all lent their aid tobrighten and enrich the rooms that to-night were graced by some of thebest society from Upper Canada's; most ambitious little town of York.Mademoiselle Helene, beautiful in a blush rose gown, with a fewstar-shaped flowers of the same shade in her silky hair, was themagical living synthesis of this small world of warmth and colour inthe eyes of her lover. These eyes were more than usually brilliantfrom his long ride in the keen air, and the yellow locks upon thesmooth white brow were several noticeable inches above the heads ofthose around him. As he walked down the crowded rooms, in enviableproximity to the blushing dress, his handsome face and half careless,half military air drew the attention
of more than one bright pair ofeyes.

  "Rather a pretty boy," commented a pompous-looking gentleman,patronizingly.

  "But entirely too fair," was the disapproving response of the criticalyoung lady beside him, whose own complexion and opinion were certainlyfree from the undesirable quality she referred to. "Of course, a pinkface is attractive--in a doll."

  "Then the daughter of our hostess escapes the imputation of beingdoll-like."

  "Oh, she is quite too overgrown for that. It's a pity she has thatpeculiar complexion through which the blood never shows."

  In another group, an enthusiastic young creature whispered to hermother: "Mamma, do notice Miss DeBerczy's face; white as a cherryblossom, and her lips the cherries themselves. Isn't she just likea picture?"

  "Yes, dear," drawled mamma, adjusting her eye-glass with an air ofrendering impartial justice, "like a very ill-painted picture. Whydon't she lay on her colours a little more artistically?"

  "Oh, she doesn't lay them on, they're natural."

  "Well, Lena, you should not be so quick to notice and comment uponnatural defects. Not one of us is free from them, and it isuncharitable and unkind to make them the subject of remark."

  Thus silenced and put in the wrong the young lady ventured nothingfurther.

  "Edward," said Helene, later in the evening, "really you ought todance with somebody else. There are dozens of charming girls here."

  "Which dozen did you wish me to dance with?"

  "Don't be nonsensical, please. Haven't you any preference?"

  "Oh, decidedly, yes." He glanced at a _petite_ maiden, whose figureand movements were light and fairy-like. "But I'm afraid she wouldrefuse me."

  "I don't think she would."

  "That isn't sufficient. My vanity is painfully sensitive to thesmallest danger of slight."

  The fairy-like person had unconsciously assumed an appreciative, notto say sympathetic, expression. Helene smiled. "Your fears are verybecoming to your youth and modesty, but I think I may go so far as tosay I am sure she will not refuse."

  "That is joyful news." Another set was forming, and he rose with handextended to Helene. "You said you were sure she would not refuse," heresponded to her look of blank amaze; and then, as she yielded to theirresistible entreaty in his eyes, he murmured softly, "How could youimagine I had any other preference but you?"

  "One imagines a great many strange things," she replied. "Once Ifancied that you preferred an Indian girl."

  "_How could you_!" he repeated with intense emphasis. All that part ofhis life seemed vague and far away as though he had dreamed it in someprehistoric period of his existence. It refused to take the hues andproportion of reality. Yes, that was nothing but a wild fantasticdream--the sort of dream from which one wakes with a wretchedly badtaste in the mouth. This rare girl, with the flower-like curves andcolours, was the only reality. And yet, was she reality? Her dress,wreathed flame-like from warm white shoulders to satin shod feet, layin rich glowing lengths upon the waxed and polished floor. Herbeautiful head, too heavily weighted with braids and coils of ravenblackness, swayed slumberously upon the dainty white neck, and hecould not tell whether he better liked to see the dark lashes lyingupon her cheeks or uplifted to reveal the magical eyes beneath. He wasvery much in love. The soft intoxicating strains of music went to hishead like wine. He was powerless to struggle against the thrillingillusion of the hour. When the others returned to their seats orpromenaded the brilliant rooms they escaped alone and unobserved intothe conservatory. Here they beheld the greatest possible contrast tothe desolate wintry waste without. The air was heavy and languorouswith the odour of tropic flowers. The music, almost oppressive in thecrowded parlours, melted deliciously upon the ear as they wanderedaway. Helene, when she noticed that they were quite alone, suffered avague alarm. She told herself in one moment that it was not possiblethat Edward would choose this opportunity for a formal declaration ofhis love, and the next moment she reminded herself that impossiblethings are the ones that frequently come to pass. The idea, like anill-shaped burden, pressed uncomfortably upon her.

  A maiden's heart, like a summer night, knows and loves its own secret.All through the mysterious deep hours of sleep it holds the secretclosely wrapped in darkness, pure as the dew on the grass, innocent asthe little leaves in the forest, glorious as the countless stars ofheaven. Some time, and soon enough, the dawn will come. Then the starswill pale before a glory more intense, the countless little leaves,like delicate human emotions, will wake and stir, and the white mistsof maidenliness will be warmed with heavenly radiance. But aftersunrise comes the day--the long prosaic day of duty and denial, ofwork and its rewards, of sober, plain realities. Why should the nightof mystery and beauty hasten towards the common light? Her beingthrilled under the first faint approaches of the dawn, and yet--yet alittle longer, oh, ardent, impetuous, all-conquering Sun! It seemed asthough the girl's very soul were pleading. The rich-hued,fragrance-laden flowers in the sweet dim place bent their heads tolisten, but her impassioned lover paid no heed to the unspoken prayer.The sense of her beauty--of her unsurpassable charm, mingled with thevoluptuous music--pierced his heart with insupportable pain. Could shenot feel his unuttered love? Her lily-like face was cool and pale, butin that warm-coloured robe it seemed as though her very body blushed.In leaning over to reach a peculiar flower that attracted herattention, a little wave of her gown rested upon his knee, and itseemed to his infatuated vision that the insensate fabric throbbed aswell as glowed from the momentary contact. Helene kept up a continualflow of small talk, of which he heard not a syllable. Rising hurriedly,her long train caught in a low branch that stretched across the walk,and he bent to extricate it.

  "How is it that you dare to touch the hem of my garment?" she demandedlaughingly.

  "Oh, I can dare more than that," he cried. The conviction that sheloved him, as indeed she did, gave him a sort of desperate courage. Hetook her in his arms and held her close, kissing her passionately onlips and eyes and soft white shoulders. She neither moved nor spoke,but stood, when he released her, confronting him with a sort offrigid, fascinated stare. "Oh, what have I done? Helene," he exclaimedtremblingly. "I thought you loved me."

  "_I_?" she questioned with haughty disdain, "_love_?" she demandedwith incredulous contempt, "_you_?"

  The concentrated fires of her wrath and scorn were heaped upon thisfinal monosyllable. Every word was a fierce insulting interrogation.Surely the traditional "three sweet words" had never before beenuttered with such tragic effect. She stood before him a living statueof outraged pride, clothed in a fiery robe of righteous indignation;then she turned and passed out of his sight, leaving the young man tohis reflections.

  They were bitter enough in all truth. He still cared for Helene, heloved her as he loved himself. But it is only fair to add that he heldhimself in the very smallest estimation. He had acted like a drunkenfool. How would he like any man alive to treat his little Rose in thatstyle? But then she might have behaved reasonably about it. She hadtrampled on his heart, and left it sore and bruised and bleeding. Verywell, he was not a child to cry out when he was hurt. He went back tothe gay throng, and saw, as in a cruel dream, the girl who despisedhim scattering profuse smiles upon others. No matter! Nothing couldpossibly be of any importance now. Rose was making her way with somedifficulty towards him. How wan and tired she looked. Was it possiblethat any one besides himself was suffering? The idea was absurd.

  "Isn't it time for us to go, Edward?" she said. "Madame DeBerczy hasinvited our party to remain over to-morrow, but I promised papa not todesert him any longer than was strictly necessary." Edward found theproposition a most welcome one. They could not leave Oak Ridges toosoon, nor remain away from it too long.

  His sister's drooping little figure attracted the attention of Helene."Do you talk of going?" Helene asked. "Well, so you shall go--to bed;and the very first bed we come to." She bent caressingly over thelittle golden head of her friend. Their beautiful arms wereinterlinked. Rose glanced
irresolutely at her brother.

  "You will need to put on the extra wraps you brought," he said, "as itis particularly cold at this hour of the morning." Helene was ignoredutterly. He did not seem to know that she was present. The proud girlwas wounded to the quick. She was not visible at their leave-takings.When every one was gone she went away upstairs, telling herself atevery step that she hated, hated, Edward Macleod; that he was in allthings and in every way detestable. She did not weep nor bewail. Thetears showed as seldom in her eyes as the blood in her cheeks, and herpride was of the inflexible sort that scorns to relax when itspossessor is alone. She dropped into a heavy troubled sleep, anddreamed that she was solitary in a frozen land, whose only sunshinewas the golden head of her lover. In the strange fantastic manner ofdreams he seemed to be a very little child, whose light warm weightlay along her arms, close to the heart above which he had pressedthose burning kisses. It was bitter cold; but the whole scene was likea picture of winter. She could not feel it--she could feel nothing butthe aching of her own heart, the warm breath growing ever warmer, andthe clinging hands, clinging ever closer, of the child she loved. Thesense of delicious languor changed to a feeling of heaviness--almostsuffocation. Every golden hair of the head upon her breast pierced herlike a ray of brightest sunshine. Hastily putting him from her shefled away with the wintry winds, herself as wild and swift andsoulless as they. But presently coming to look for the child, andunable to find him, she realized that he was lost, and then she woke,trembling with deep, tearless sobs.

  "What is it, my dearest?" called Madame DeBerczy from the next room.

  "Nothing, mother, dear, but a troubled dream."

  "Ah, it is the excitement of these late hours. Try to sleep again."

  But Helene could sleep no more. A few days later she heard that EdwardMacleod, with a party of friends, had gone on a shooting expedition tothe Muskoka country.