"No," said I. ""Tell her not that," said he," I went on. ""Tell her that I loved her.""
"Not that!" she cried. ""Twas that he loves me--_not_ that he loved me!"
""Twas that he loved you."
"Oh, no!"
"I got it right."
"Ah, then," she cried, in despair, "he"ve no hope o" comin" back! Oh,"
she moaned, clasping her hands, "if only I had----"
But she sighed--and turned again to her womanly task; and I left her tenderly caring for my mother"s old room. And when, at midday, I came up from the wharf, I found the house restored to order and quiet: my sister sitting composed in my mother"s place, smiling a welcome across the table, as my mother used to do. And I kissed her--for I loved her!
It blew up bitter cold--the wind rising: the sea turned white with froth. "Twas a solemn day--like a sad Sunday, when a man lies dead in the harbour. No work was done--no voice was lifted boisterously--no child was out of doors: but all clung peevishly to their mothers"
skirts. The men on the wharf--speculating in low, anxious voices--with darkened eyes watched the tattered sky: the rushing, sombre clouds, still in a panic fleeing to the wilderness. They said the sloop would not outlive the gale. They said "twas a glorious death that the doctor and Skipper Thomas Lovejoy had died; thus to depart in the high endeavour to succour an enemy--but shed no tears: for "tis not the way of our folk to do it.... Rain turned to sleet--sleet to black fog. The smell of winter was in the air. There was a feeling of snow abroad....
Then came the snow--warning flakes, driving strangely through the mist, where no snow should have been. Our folk cowered--not knowing what they feared: but by instinct perceiving a sudden change of season, for which they were not ready; and were disquieted....
What a rush of feeling and things done--what rage and impulsive deeds--came then! The days are not remembered--but lie hid in a mist, as I write.... Timmie Lovejoy crawled into our harbour in the dusk of that day: having gone ash.o.r.e at Long Cove with the deck-litter of the _Trap and Seine_; which surprised us not at all, for we are used to such things. And when he gave us the message (having now, G.o.d knows! a tragic opportunity, but forgetting that)--when he sobbed that Jagger, being in sound health, would prove the doctor a coward or drown him--we determined to go forthwith by the coast rocks to Wayfarer"s Tickle to punish Jagger in some way for the thing he had done. And when I went up the path to tell my poor sister of the villany practiced upon the doctor, designed to compa.s.s his very death--ah! "tis dreadful to recall it--when I went up the path, my mother"s last prayer pleading in my soul, the whitening world was all turned red; and my wish was that, some day, I might take my enemy by the throat, whereat I would tear with my naked fingers, until my hands were warm with blood.... But it came on to snow; and for two days and nights snow fell, the wind blowing mightily: so that no man could well move from his own house. And when the wind went down, and the day dawned clear again, we put the dogs to my father"s komatik and set out for Wayfarer"s Tickle: whence Jagger had that morning fled, as Jonas Jutt told us.
"Gone!" cried Tom Tot.
"T" the s"uth"ard with the dogs. He"s bound t" the Straits Sh.o.r.e t" get the last coastal boat t" Bay o" Islands."
"Gone!" we repeated, blankly.
"Ay--but ten hours gone. In mad haste--alone--ill provisioned--fleein"
in terror.... He sat on the hills--sat there like an old crag--in the rain an" wind--waitin" for the doctor"s sloop. "There she is, Jutt!"
says he. "No," says I. "Thank G.o.d, Jagger, that"s a schooner, reefed down an" runnin" for harbour!" ... "There she is!" says he. "No," says I. "Thank G.o.d, that"s the same schooner, makin" heavy weather o" the gale!" ... "There she is, Jutt!" says he. "Ay," says I, "G.o.d help her, that"s the doctor"s sloop! They"ve wrecked the _Trap an" Seine_".... An"
there he sat, watchin", with his chin on his hand, "til the doctor"s sloop went over, an" the fog drifted over the sea where she had been....
An" then he went home; an" no man seed un agin "til he called for the dogs. An" he went away--in haste--alone--like a man gone mad...."
The lean-handed clerk broke in. He was blue about the lips--his eyes sunk in shadowy pits--and he was shivering.
""Timmons," says he to me," he chattered, ""I"m going home. I done wrong," says he. "They"ll kill me for this.""
"An" when he got the dogs in the traces," Jonas proceeded, "I seed he wasn"t ready for no long journey. "Good Lord, Jagger," says I, "you isn"t got no grub for the dogs!" "Dogs!" says he. "I"ll feed the dogs with me whip." "Jagger," says I, "don"t you try it. They won"t _eat_ a whip. They can"t _live_ on it." "Never you fear," says he. "I"ll feed them ugly brutes when they gets me t" Cape Charles Harbour." "Jagger,"
says I, "you better look out they don"t feed theirselves afore they gets you there. You got a ugly leader," says I, "in that red-eyed brute."
"Him?" says he. "Oh, I got _him_ broke!" But he _didn"t_ have----"
"And with that," said the clerk, "off he put."
"Men," cried Tom Tot, looking about upon our group, "we"ll cotch un yet!"
So we set out in pursuit of Jagger of Wayfarer"s Tickle, who had fled over the hills--I laugh to think of it--with an ugly, red-eyed leader, to be fed with a whip: which dog I knew.... No snow fell. The days were clear--the nights moonlit. Bitter cold continued. We followed a plain track--sleeping by night where the quarry had slept.... Day after day we pushed on: with no mercy on the complaining dogs--plunging through the drifts, whipping the team up the steeper hills, speeding when the going lay smooth before us.... By and by we drew near. Here and there the snow was significantly trampled. There were signs of confusion and cross purposes. The man was desperately fighting his dogs.... One night, the dogs were strangely restless--sniffing the air, sleepless, howling; nor could we beat them to their beds in the snow: they were like wolves.
And next day--being then two hours after dawn--we saw before us a b.l.o.o.d.y patch of snow: whereupon Tom Tot cried out in horror.
"Oh, dear G.o.d!" he muttered, turning with a gray face. "They"ve eat him up!"
Then--forgetting the old vow--he laughed.
... And this was true. They had eaten him up. The snow was all trampled and gory. They had eaten him up. Among the tatters of his garments, I found a hand; and I knew that hand for the hand of Jagger of Wayfarer"s Tickle.... They had turned wolves--they had eaten him up. From far off--the crest of a desolate hill--there came a long howl. I looked towards that place. A great dog appeared--and fled. I wondered if the dog I knew had had his day. I wondered if the first grip had been upon the throat....
When we came again to our harbour--came close again to the grief we had in rage and swift action forgot--when, from the inland hills, we caught sight of the basin of black water, and the cottages, snuggled by the white water-side--we were amazed to discover a schooner lying at anchor off my father"s wharf: the wreck of a craft, her topmast hanging, her cabin stove in, her jib-boom broke off short. But this amazement--this vast astonishment--was poor surprise as compared with the shock I got when I entered my father"s house. For, there--new groomed and placid--sat the doctor; and my dear sister was close to him--oh, so joyfully close to him--her hand in his, her sweet face upturned to him and smiling, glowing with such faith and love as men cannot deserve: a radiant, holy thing, come straight from the Heart of the dear G.o.d, who is the source of Love.
"Oh!" I e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed, stopping dead on the threshold.
"h.e.l.lo, Davy!" the doctor cried.
I fell into the handiest chair. "You got home," I observed, in a gasp.
"Didn"t you?"
He laughed.
"Sure," I began, vacantly, "an", ecod!" I exclaimed, with heat, "what craft picked _you_ up?"
"The _Happy Sally_."
"Oh!" said I. "Twas a queer situation. There seemed so little to say.
"Was you drove far?" I asked, politely seeking to fill an awkward gap.
"South o" Belle Isle."
"Ah!"
The doctor was much amused--my sister hardly less so. They watched me with laughing eyes. And they heartlessly abandoned me to my own conversational devices: which turned me desperate.
"Is you goin" t" get married?" I demanded.
My sister blushed--and gave me an arch glance from behind her long, dark lashes. But--
"We are not without hope," the doctor answered, calmly, "that the Bishop will be on our coast next summer."
"I"m glad," I observed, "that you"ve both come t" your senses."
"Oh!" cried my sister.
"Ecod!" the doctor mocked.
"Ay," said I, with a wag. "I is _that_!"
The doctor spoke. ""Twas your sister," said he, "found the way. She discovered a word," he continued, turning tenderly to her, his voice charged with new and solemn feeling, "that I"d forgot."