CHAPTER XIII.
RIVAL ATTRACTIONS.
The current of a strong human affection, when it is thrown back uponitself, must find vent in another direction. The weakest stream ofpassion, when its chosen course is impeded by an immovable obstacle,does not sink by gentle degrees into the earth, and thus, lost tosight, become merely a thing of memory. There is disturbance anddisorder; banks are overflowed; and fields, once made fruitful andbeautiful by the softly-flowing river, lie sodden and unwholesome,flooded by the dangerous waves. For days and nights Edward's brain wassurging with the sound of rushing waters. The tumultuous feelings sostrongly excited, so completely overthrown that evening in theconservatory with Helene, would not subside. They beat upon hisdesolate heart in great waves of rage, remorse, despair, and love,like the beating of lonely waters upon a shipwrecked shore.
Hence it was that he welcomed the idea conveyed in a letter from afriend in Barrie that they, with another boon companion, should gohunting in Muskoka. Edward wrote an immediate agreement to theproposition, mentioning Pine Towers as the place most convenient forthem to meet and lay plans for future action. He at once madepreparations to depart, for the idea of delay was intolerable to him.The very atmosphere of the town was poisonous--the demands of societynot to be tolerated. He told his family that his old longing for thewilds had come upon him, the sort of _ennui_ that nothing but theodour of the woods could cure. The close of the day following foundhim on the frozen shores of Kempenfeldt Bay, now clasped in the icyarms of winter. The wind was wild among the leafless trees along theavenue, but the desolation of his home was a visible response to thesorer desolation of his heart.
The two or three old servants remaining in the lonely house weredelighted to see the young master home again. Olympia, the colouredcook, whose high-sounding cognomen was usually reduced to Olly, gavehim a welcome equal to what might be expected from a whole plantationof darkies. Her eyes and teeth shone in perpetual smiles, her gailyturbaned head and dusky hands gesticulated in perfect time to theexclamations poured out upon him.
"Well, my soul!" she cried; "well, my soul! Marse Ed., its good to seeyou home again. Come in, chile, come right in! How mis'able you dolook to be sure. Just like a ghost, so cold and white. Shan't I mixyou a little something warm?"
"Oh, no, Olly, I'm all right; just a little tired after my longjourney, that's all."
She recognized the lifelessness in his tone, the jaded look and air ofone who is fighting a hard battle in the face of sure defeat. "You'ssick, honey," she exclaimed, with the ready sympathy of her race, "andyou's come back to old Olly to take care ob you. Dat's right, chile,I'll just mix you a little warm--"
"Oh, dear, no, Olly, thank you; its comfort enough just to be quietand to be at home."
She left him in the parlour, but he pushed on after her into the greatfire-lit kitchen, partly because he detested the society of his ownthoughts, partly because it suited his present mood to be made much ofby the kindly old woman, to whom his mother all her life had been a"chile." It was almost like being a boy again to sit in the chimneycorner and tell old Olly the story of his journey in all its details.But before the recital was half-finished, something stirred in thesemi-darkness, on the other side of the fire-place.
"Why, bress my heart," said Olly, "I t'ought you was a dog, Wanda, yousat dat quiet. What's de matter wid you, gal? Whar's your manners?"
The graceful shrinking figure would gladly have escaped out of sight,but at the sound of her name Edward came forward to greet the Indiangirl. Olly, with many muttered protestations against the rudenessshown to her young mahs'r, lifted the trap-door, and vanished downcellar. The pale life-weary young man was alone with the sweet womanlysavage.
He held the little hand she offered him very closely and kindly.
"Are you glad to see me, Wanda?" he asked.
That was the keynote of his mental state. He was not glad to seeanyone or anything, but he was still interested to know that someonecared for him. In his present mood it was certainly more pleasant tofeel that others were kindly disposed towards him than that they wereindifferent. The Algonquin maiden, on her side, was filled with a softdelicious emotion. In the summer, when this daring young man pursuedher, she repulsed him; but in the winter, when he left her, shethought of him. The natural result of her meditations upon sofascinating a subject it is not difficult to conjecture. She began tobelieve in the reality of his regard for her, and to fancy that he hadleft her because of her harshness, of which he had frequentlycomplained. Now, could it be possible that his coming had anything todo with the thought of her? Yes, she replied, she was glad to see him;her blushing beautiful face gave eloquent testimony to the fact. Hereleased her then, and followed Olly into the dining-room, where asmall but sumptuous repast was laid, for nothing in the house abovenor in the cellar beneath was considered too good for young mahs'r."You'd be sprised, Marse Ed.," confided the old woman, "de improvementmade by dat chile since I took her in han'. It jus' went agin mystomach to see her runnin' wild, widout a frien' in de worl', ceptdose heathen Injuns. She t'ought a heap ob yer mudder, an' I could'nttell her 'nough about her. Dat gave me a holt on her, you see, anddars no denyin' she's changed a lot since las' summer."
"Tell her to come in here," said Edward, "and I'll judge for myself."
So in a few moments she came in, though with obvious reluctance, andtook the chair that Edward placed for her at the table. It was a novelexperience to the young man to find his wishes so implicitly obeyed bythis hitherto almost unapproachable girl. He felt disposed to exercisethis wonderful newly-acquired authority. "You must eat something,Wanda," he observed; "I dislike to eat alone."
This was the sharpest test that could have been applied to theimprovement he wished to discover, but the girl's incomparable nativegrace never failed her. It was impossible that she should eitherlounge in her chair or sit stiffly erect in it. Her use of knife andfork was marked, not by awkwardness but by extreme deliberation, andcareful observation of the manner in which Edward wielded his own. Shewore a dark grey dress, which he dimly remembered to have seen on hissister Rose, and which that young lady had altered to fit theAlgonquin girl. The entire absence of colour in the dress intensifiedby contrast the rich hues of cheek and lip, and the deep blackness ofeyes and hair. The only detail of her appearance which displeased histaste was the strings of cheap glass beads wound about neck and waist.Was there a vein of cheapness and vulgarity in her character tocorrespond with this outward manifestation? He believed not. It was soeasy to believe everything that was good of this shy sweet personage.He examined her narrowly and critically in the new and remarkable_role_ she was compelled to play as the guest and equal of himself.There was a surprising almost ludicrous similarity between the nativeunconsciousness and dignity of the Indian and that of certainhigh-bred dames whereof he knew, and yet there was about her theunmistakable something that proved her wholly unversed in the ways ofsociety. Her dainty hands were very brown; her manner without beingconstrained was certainly not easy; and her expression was that of abird, one moment resigned to imprisonment, the next panting forliberty. In one word she was untamed. But was she untamable? His heartbeat faster at the thought. When the tea things were removed he threwhimself upon the couch; while the girl, sitting before the blazinghearth, took between her hands and drew upon her knees the slenderhead of his favourite hound. They made a striking picture, and theblue, beauty-loving eyes of the spectator looked longingly upon it.The dark lovely face bent forward seemed more childish in its softcurves since the capacity to love and suffer had wakened in herbreast. Her sweet lips trembled with repressed feeling.
"Wanda," said Edward, "don't waste caresses on that unthankful brute.He doesn't need them."
She looked at him with wide startled eyes. "Come to _me_," he breathedin resistless accents. "Ah, Wanda, you pitied me once when I had ascratch on my hand. Can not you pity me now when I have a sword in myheart?"
It was not love that called her; it was the despairing cry of one
whowas perishing to be loved. She rose after a moment, steadying herselfby a hand on the chair-back, for her beautiful frame was swayed byirresolution, love, shame and pride. Slowly, very slowly, with thesweet uncertain footsteps of a baby that fears to tread the littledistance between itself and the waiting irresistible arms of love, shecame towards him. It seemed at every moment that she must break awayand fly, as she had flown from him in the woods of summer. When shereached his side her proud head fell, then the drooping shoulders bentlower and lower till the uncertain knees at last failed her, and shesank trembling on the cushion at his side with her arms about hisface. It was the attitude of protection, not that of a weak cravingfor it. The fierce pain for which he asked her pity could arise fromnothing else but his love for her. This was the reasoning of thesimple savage--a reasoning that reached the hitherto unsounded depthsof passion and pathos in her nature. The young man, who bore in hisheart a bitter recollection of the scornful repulse offered by onebeautiful girl, could not resist the matchless tenderness so freelygiven by another. He laid his face wearily against her arm, and shebent over him murmuring words of uncontrollable love and pity.
Afterwards he asked himself what in the name of all the powers of evilhe meant by it; but this was some days afterwards. A long trampthrough the frozen woods in search of game had brought him a singlewild animal and a great many sober thoughts. In the rough log house inwhich he and his companions were camping for a week, there was neitherroom nor opportunity for private meditation; but the conviction cameto him with the luminous abruptness of lightning that he had used thisignorant girl merely as a salve for his wounded vanity, and cruellydeceived her by so doing. Not that his early passion for the Indiangirl had died a natural death. On the contrary it had been fanned intofresh flame by the novel charm of her sweet approachableness. None theless, but rather all the more clearly, he saw the detestableselfishness of his own course. But, unfortunately, his tenderness forher kept pace with his self-contempt. His feelings toward Helene andWanda at the present moment were just such as a man might entertaintoward the enemy who had conquered him, and the woman who, in hisgreatest need, had succoured and saved him. For the one a bitternessthat could not rise to the crowning revenge of forgiveness, for theother a passion of gratitude that would last a life-time.
"It appears to me," said Ridout, who was the most outspoken of theparty, "that we have a precious dull time of it in the evenings.Macleod, here, is about as talkative as the deer he has slain."
The trio had been smoking in silence before a huge fire, but thisreference to Edward's great exploit of the day roused them toconversation.
"It is no unusual thing for Macleod to distinguish himself in thatdirection," said Boulton, the elder of the two. "He has long beenknown as the champion _dear_-killer."
This wretched attempt at a pun was loftily ignored by the subject ofit.
"Alas, 'tis too true!" mourned the other. "Come, Ned, try to beentertaining for once; tell us about the pretty Indian girl you weremooning with."
"What did you say?" demanded Edward, freezingly.
"You heard perfectly well what I said."
"What do you mean by it?"
"Oh, I _mean_ the pretty squaw you were _spooning_ with, if that suitsyou better."
"Gently, Tom," interposed Boulton parenthetically, "don't mention_all_ the meanness you mean."
"I would like to inquire what right you have to mention any of it,"exclaimed Edward wrathfully.
"Oh, none--none, whatever. Only it was town talk in Barrie last Fallthat you had become infatuated with the sweet little squaw to such anextent that your charming sister, with commendable prudence andforesight, had you put out of harm's way as speedily as possible.There's no accounting for such reports."
"I don't understand it at all," said Edward, with mingled anger andhumiliation. "How can people be so silly?"
"Exactly what your slanderers inquired of each other. Impossible totell what they meant." The young man laughed rather disagreeably as hewent off to bed.
"Look here, Ned," said Boulton, bringing a sympathetic hand down uponhis friend's shoulder, "don't you take any notice of what Tom Ridoutor any of his set may say. Of course every young fellow makes a foolof himself _some time_, in _some_ direction; it's natural and proper,and just what is expected of him. All is he shouldn't make a completefool of himself, and nobody believes that of you."
"Ugh!" said Edward, and relapsed into gloomy silence, from which heawoke to find himself alone, with the candle sputtering in its socket.He took off his boots, and threw one of them viciously, but withunerring aim, at the expiring light, and so went despondently to bed.
"Our fair friend appears to be quite as susceptible to the remarksmade upon his wild-wood acquaintance as to the wild-wood acquaintanceherself." This was the observation of Ridout, as he and Boulton wentthe following morning to investigate the trap they had set.
"Don't be a fool, Tom," said Boulton, with a perfectly unruffled faceand tone, "that is, any more of one than you can help. Of course everyyoung cub like you is expected to be one to a certain extent, but whatI mean is don't be a _big_ one."
It was impossible to be angry with words so placidly spoken. "I don'tknow what can make you so wondrous kind to Macleod," said Ridout,"unless it is a fellow-feeling, and I wouldn't have thought that ofyou, Boulton. But look here," surveying the empty trap with boyishdisgust, "nothing taken in but ourselves! Well, we'll have to make itunpleasant for Tommy. That's the only comfort left us."
Tommy was the coloured boy, who was cook, housekeeper and generalfactotum for the three. When ill-luck overtook them it was felt to besome slight compensation to be at liberty to make it unpleasant forTommy. But one day, towards the end of their self-imposed exile, itstormed so heavily and incessantly that they were compelled to remainwithin doors, and here Tommy's unfailing good-nature deprived theabuse with which he was heaped of all its power to charm and console.On the principle which governs the selection of a victim by theshipwrecked and storm-beaten remnant of a crew at sea, there wasnothing more natural than that Edward Macleod should fall a prey tothe general famishing desire for amusement. Boulton had been idlyhumming the air of an Indian love-song, in which Ridout joined aloud,substituting the name of Wanda for that of the ideal heroine. As thesentiment of the song was of the most languorous and 'die-away' sortit was impossible that the two men should abstain from mingling theirsmiles. The conclusion of the singing was followed by a few remarksfrom Ridout, one of which provoked a shout of uproarious laughter. Fora moment Edward's face was alive with intense suffering; the next ithad paled and hardened into marble-like rigidity.
"I wonder if either of you are aware," he said, with cold distinctnessof utterance, "that the subject of your conversation is to be my wife."
Tom Ridout stared a moment in unbelieving amazement, and then blushedto the eyes. "I beg your pardon," he stammered, "I never thought--Ididn't dream--" He broke down completely, unable to grasp thestatement that shed such a different light upon their idle talk.Boulton was not subject to fluctuation of emotion, and there was novisible manifestation of a change in his feelings. The match he struckwhile Edward was speaking went out. He reached for another; it alsowent out.
"It seems to me," he said mildly, taking his unlighted pipe from hislips, "that these are the worst matches I ever saw."
Ridout had recovered some of his usual self-assurance. "It seems to_me_," he declared boldly, "that it's the worst match I ever heardof."
"Worst or best," said Edward, with dogged resolution, "it will benecessary for you to speak of it with respect--in my presence."
This seemed to be the end of the matter; but Boulton, who had at lastgot his pipe agoing, could not forbear offering a few final words onthe subject.
"It's all right, Ned," he remarked, in his gentlest and kindest tones,"perfectly right and natural that a young fellow should make a foolof himself. That's exactly what's expected of him. But it isn'tnecessary that he should make an _everlasting_ fool of himsel
f.Not--strictly--necessary."
Edward rose and left the room.
To leave the room in a region upon which unpicturesque prosperity hasnot yet descended is equivalent to leaving the house, and that isexactly what the young man did. Of course there was a loft above thatwas reached by a perilously steep pair of stairs; but he was not a curto creep away into a kennel. He went out and battled with the pitilessstorm, a fiercer storm beating within his breast than that which ragedwithout. The crazy words he had just uttered were not spoken simply tostop the idle talk of his companions; they were the ultimateexpression of the thoughts over which he had brooded for days past.Helene was dead to him, and her mocking ghost haunted the desolatechambers of his heart, filling them with scornful laughter. But nowupon the door of this wretched habitation had timidly knocked anotherguest--a guest of blooming and throbbing flesh and blood. Should hedeny her admittance? Unlearned was she as one of the shy birds of theforest, but then she was eminently teachable. If his love for hercould not be called a liberal education was it not something better?Was it not a liberal and lasting joy? After all, what did women know,any way? A few miserable half-learned accomplishments, the aggregateof which did not amount to so much as the eagle's feather on the proudlittle head of his darling. Yes, he dared to say it--his darling! Hepictured her in winter as sitting by his side, before the fire, thedelicate head of his pet dog encircled by her arm; in summer theywould roam in blest content together through the endless forests ofthis beautiful new world.
And so with all his doubts triumphantly set aside he returned to thehouse, and during the remainder of their stay his continued flow ofexuberant good spirits seemed to confirm the rightfulness of hisconclusions. On his way back to York he stopped a few hours at his oldhome, for the sake of a brief stolen interview with Wanda. She met himwith little low murmurs of tenderness and joy, and parted from him asa girl parts from the man in whose love she has absolute confidence,for whose sake she would willingly die.
When he reached home, his appearance of high health and persistentoverflow of liveliness were ascribed by his family to continuousout-door exercise, nor did they dream that the sweet fever anddelirium of love was upon him. Rose gave him an anxious glance or two,but poor Rose had trouble enough of her own. That cold night at theOak Ridges, which had completely killed Edward's hopes with regard toHelene, had cast a light but lasting frost over her own. It had beenpainful enough to avoid Allan, but it was no less painful to bedeprived of that privilege. The truth was he had given her very fewopportunities to put into practice the course of treatment recommendedby her father. Had she been the heroine of a novel there wouldinevitably have been misunderstandings of the most serious andcomplicated character. But she was mortal, and withal a verytender-hearted little maiden, and the secret of her cold tones andwistful glances, though for a while it sorely puzzled Allan, was atlast divined by the sure intuition of love. They met frequently atvarious social gatherings, but it was as though a solid sheet of glassintervened between them. Through this apparently impalpable mediumthey could see, and smile, and speak, but no tender touch of palm, orbreath of love, or thrill of quickened heart-beat could be feltbetween. How many times had Allan Dunlop been tempted to outstretchhis hand and shatter this glassy surface! It were easily done but atthe price of possible sharp pain and aching wounds, and the greaterhorror of seeing the sweet grieving face on the other side shrink awayfrom him, startled by the shock. No, he would bide his time. And so,while his eyes grew hollow, his close shut lips remained veryresolute. Love _can_ wait (though waiting is the hardest task everassigned it), but only on condition that it is given the food it needs.
Allan kept his love alive on glimpses of sunny hair, and sad littlesmiles, and fragments of talk, that, light and conventional as theymight seem to chance listeners, were to him clothed with lovely hiddenmeanings. Sometimes when the eyes met by chance the small warm handsplucked nervously at the flowers she carried, or there was a restlessconsciousness in step and glance, or a scarcely perceptible quiver ofthe curved lip, or a piteous droop of the regal little head. Veryslight things were these, yet out of them Memory and Imagination madea sumptuous feast, at which Love, like a starveling prince in exile,sat down with never sated appetite.