Ringfield

While the priest hesitated, Ringfield and Poussette appeared at the door, and the instant the latter heard of the expedition he also wished to go.

"I cannot see why!" cried Dr. Renaud angrily. "One _charrette_ will not hold us all; it is going to snow and I must get back before dark.

I"m calling here to leave an order for Gagnon about a coffin for old Telesph.o.r.e Tremblay who died yesterday, and I have promised to see his poor wife to-night."

"Then I shall take my own buggy and Mr. Ringfield can go with me. The _cure_ can go with you, sir."

"Well, if the whole village wishes to pay its respects to a crazy man all at the same time, let them come!" roared the irascible doctor.

"You didn"t care to go till you saw us going. But put your horse in, put him in; we will wait for you."

"_Bien_, M"sieu! I have three hams and a sack of potatoes; they shall go too."

This dialogue had been overheard by Pauline, sitting at cards with Miss Cordova in the front room, and with her natural impetuosity she jumped up, declaring that if Henry were well enough to see "these others," he was well enough to see her. Her impulsive movements sent the cards and counters flying up through the air, and one card hit Miss Cordova on the left eye directly over the pupil. As lightly as if flicked by a clever finger, but as unerringly as if deliberately and viciously aimed at her, one of the four sharp points of cardboard selected her dark eye for its target, and with a scream she too sprang up, overturning the table and seizing Pauline by the shoulder. The pain and distress were considerable, and Miss Clairville, opening the window, called for Dr.

Renaud, who came at once to look at the eye and recommended bathing, bandages and complete rest. The exquisite tenderness of the inflamed organ gave Miss Cordova so much annoyance that after ten minutes she retired to her room, and the doctor again proposed himself ready to start for Lac Calvaire. The weather, fine and mild for so long, was changing now with every hour, and it was becoming strangely dark overhead.

"Whoever comes with me must prepare for a storm," said he, glancing at the blackening sky, "only a few flurries of snow, perhaps, but one cannot tell--it may prove more."

"You are sure there can be no danger of infection?" asked Ringfield, with an anxious glance at Pauline, who had raced to her room, stuck imitation solitaires in her ears, donned a worn-out but well-fitting seal jacket and m.u.f.f and a dashing black and scarlet hat, and now stood in the village street--the embodiment of piquant French womanhood--quite conscious of her charms and insufferably weary of having no audience to show them off to! A certain disdain sprang into her treatment of Ringfield at this time, and it was a question with her, should he ever ask her to be his wife, whether she would not inevitably tire of the high aims and lofty ideals he no doubt would impose upon her.

"You don"t suppose I"d be going if there were, do you?" she remarked in English tartly, curving her arching black brows at him; "how many are we--five? That"s three too many, in my opinion. Father Rielle--I go with you in Mr. Poussette"s buggy; you others there, you three messieurs--you can go how you please."

The priest flushed, then a sudden glance pa.s.sed between him and Ringfield, and in that look each knew what the other wished and hated him for it! Still, Father Rielle followed Pauline instantly, and there was no opposition as she lightly leapt into Poussette"s buggy, and with a wave of her m.u.f.f, adorned by a bright scarlet bow, two of the five were soon out of sight.

CHAPTER XV

THE STORM

"Snow is at the door a.s.saulting and defending, and the wind, A sightless labourer, whistles at his work."

Dr. Renaud now called on the minister and Poussette to make haste; he had been delayed by the accident to Miss Cordova and already large flat flakes were falling.

"Just the size of half-dollars, eh? The idea is, Poussette, to bring madame home; that is to say, the _cure"s_ idea, but he"s gone off with another woman. I suppose you are jealous now, of this one I mean, not the other."

"Not me, much. Father Rielle, he"s no harm. He cannot marry mademoiselle nor any one else; besides, he has no money. Mlle.

Pauline--she is for the money."

"Ah--ha, I believe you. We used to read or sing, I forget which, at college, about "Les beaux yeux de sa Ca.s.sette". I do not know the origin of the quotation, but you understand, Mr. Ringfield, what it means, and our young lady in front there has learnt in a bitter school the value of money. _Ca.s.sette--ca.s.sette_--cash-box; you will see, if she ever settles down, it will be, as our friend Poussette says, for the money."

Ringfield"s throat was dry, he did not speak; his stern gaze, directed at the leafless landscape over which the first slow snows were falling, gave no indication of the tumult within; besides, the aspect of the road and condition of the elements were calculated to banish personal emotions, for even Poussette"s hilarity was silenced by the increasing velocity of the wind and the darkness dropping upon them. It was only five miles to the _metairie_, but at the end of the second mile the sky was absolutely blank and the snow so thick that heaps of it lay on the horse"s flanks and on their own laps and hands. It kept increasing at such magical rate that the roadway was obscured and twice Dr. Renaud found himself out on the rocky plateau at the left, instead of the middle path. The priest and Miss Clairville had vanished in front, but the three men could hear the sound of a horse on the slabs of rock behind them, coming very swiftly too, and in a few minutes a second buggy dashed madly by. The horse was running away, no doubt badly frightened by the violence of the storm, and Ringfield recognized Mr.

and Mrs. Abercorn in the agonized couple holding bravely on, while the excitable little mare dashed through the snow.

"My hands are freezing!" cried Dr. Renaud. "This is a big surprise--a regular blizzard. We"ll have to stop somewhere till it"s over. I never beheld such darkness--at three o"clock in the afternoon--nor such sudden heaps of snow. Lucky for us if it does not turn to hail." He had scarcely uttered the words when the snow flagged, ceased to fall, then the hail began. Colder and colder grew the air with a strange, unnatural feel in it as if in the proximity of icebergs, or of the hour closest on dawn, and the hail, at first small and round, pretty and harmless, came gently chattering about the horse"s ears and back, came faster and larger, came at last too fast and too large, came as stones come that are flung by enemies and rioting mobs of people anxious for vengeance. The doctor was afraid for his horse; one ear was cut and bleeding and the animal could no longer face the blinding streams of hail; he was covered and the men all got out, burying their heads in their coats; but Ringfield, the worst off, since he had come without gloves or m.u.f.fler, was for ever casting anxious glances ahead, which Poussette and the doctor understood.

"I _bette_ you!" cried the former; "Mr. Ringfield, sir, the _cure_--he don"t know what to do with Miss Clairville. He"ll never get her home, sure. He"s no good with a horse--my horse too--I guess we better go after him, eh?"

"Stay where you are!" shouted the doctor. "Farther along the forest begins again, and these hailstones are snapping off the branches as if they had been slashed with axes. I can hear. You may be killed.

Surely this cannot last long!"

But there seemed no diminution of the hail; it lay a foot deep in pieces the size of marbles or of small apples, and the autumnal gra.s.ses and bushes of juniper and sumach were beaten flat with the rocky ground from which they derived scant sustenance.

The three men were by this time suffering greatly from the sudden and unexpected cold, and as it was impossible to continue the drive to Calvaire in face of the biting hail, they were about to attempt to return to St. Ignace when the darkness partly lifted, the air grew gradually milder, and streams of steady rain came pouring down; overhead the clouds met, charged, and thunder raged at intervals.

Ringfield, now greatly alarmed and fancying he heard noises from the wood in front, even cries of distress, could no longer be detained, but bidding farewell to the others strode forward in the direction of the forest, slipping as he walked and already drenched to the skin, his clothes freezing upon him and clogging his difficult steps.

Fortunately, for one who did not know the locality well, the daylight had partly returned. He judged that by keeping to the road he ran no risk of losing his way, but when a turn revealed another road, he was naturally perplexed, as the face of the country had greatly changed since he had made his last visit to the Manor House. Afraid to stand long, for trees were thick about him and the lightning still flashing, he went on again up the new road, and after a few minutes running saw a deserted barn in a hollow and made for it. In this dell or glade the trees had been thinned out, either by forest fires or by the owner, but one tall pine remained beside the forlorn and ruined barn as if for companionship--a lonely sentinel.

Ringfield, wet and shivering, rushed up to the barn door, and finding it half-open had nearly flung himself through it when he was arrested by voices within, or rather a voice--that of a woman. He did not immediately think of Miss Clairville, for no horse nor conveyance were outside, but, had he listened more carefully, he would have recognized her educated accents; as it was, in a moment or two she herself came to the door, and upon seeing Ringfield started, but asked him to enter.

The barn contained some old boxes and rusty tools, a short ladder led to a loft above full of dry hay, and there Miss Clairville explained she had taken refuge when the hail first began.

"But Father Rielle----" said Ringfield looking vaguely around.

"Oh, you shall not meet with him here. He left me and said he would try to go on to Clairville, get a fresh horse--Poussette"s was badly cut--and come back for me. You have not met him?"

"No, then you are alone?"

"Of course, and neither wet nor frightened, while you appear to be both!" said she, gaily at first, but catching her breath as she observed his stern, anxious gaze.

Ringfield, drawing a deep sigh, suddenly lost his self-control.

"Oh, how you torture me!" he cried, extending his arms as if to enfold her, then dropping them as he recollected his condition.

"Torture you? You--Mr. Ringfield, so calm and self-contained, the Reverend Mr. Ringfield of St. Ignace! I torture YOU! Why what have I done to-day, then? Have I made the weather or caused the storm? Is it MY snow or MY rain, or MY hail, and _ecoutez bien_--MY thunder and MY lightning raging there?"

"No--no--but to run off like that, and with that poor priest--poor fellow--I saw how it was with him! You are sure he is not here now?"

Ringfield cast an eye up at the loft.

"Certainly not! Would he let you talk like that about him? But listen to this fearful storm! How can we think of anything else--and you--you so wet--wet and tired! It seems a little calmer now; perhaps you had better try again and walk on to Clairville. There you may fall in with the _cure_ or Dr. Renaud and then come back for me."

"I will not leave you in this desolate place for a moment! Yet I feel as if we were surrounded by people--why is it--I cannot understand why!

To whom were you talking while I was outside?"

"Ah, there, _tais-toi, mon ami_!"

Miss Clairville pushed him down on one of the boxes and tried to draw off his stiff and dripping coat, but he restrained her; their hands meeting sent him beside himself, and, seizing one, he pressed a warm, lingering kiss upon it. Adept in these matters, Pauline kept up a gay chatter, and as she drew her hand away seemed only uneasy--neither fluttered nor deeply moved.

"I a.s.sure you," she exclaimed brightly, "I am quite safe here. I am not in the least wet, my old coat has done me good service--_voyez_--my feet are dry, and all I would ask is a light to cheer me while you are absent, but that I cannot have and I must be content. Although that unnatural dark is over, the shades of the true night will soon be falling and it is lonely here. So the sooner you go the better."

"But where can I go? Will it not be better to remain here with you until Father Rielle returns?"

"I think not--he is slow--that priest! See--if you go now, you will surely overtake him. Keep to your right after regaining the road and you will soon find the lake."

"Well, then, I will go," said Ringfield rising. "But if I might speak to you now, might tell you all I hope and fear and think almost continually, if I might ask you, too, to think about it, and tell me--tell me--it is so difficult for me to say what I wish to--you seem so gay, so satisfied, so----" His voice broke off, for her face changed ominously, and the strongest argument he could have adduced, the folding of her to his heart, the silent embrace which should make her his, was still denied him. To the outsider there might have been a touch of humour in the situation, but not so to either person concerned. She echoed his last words.

"Satisfied! Me! You think I am that? My G.o.d, yes, I have to say it in English--it means more! I--satisfied! Happy--you will say next, I suppose. Me--happy and satisfied. I"m the most miserable woman on G.o.d"s earth! I have had ideals, aspirations--but how could I fulfil, achieve them, living in this place and with my temper, my heredity.

Look at Henry. I tell you he is mad--mad and worse! Think of having lived with him! Think of Clairville! You do not know half of what I have gone through!"