An unusual hauteur in the Frenchman"s demeanour did not escape the minister, who was not, however, disposed to ask any questions. The truth was--the unexpected turn in Crabbe"s fortunes had been partially explained to the host, but to no one else, and secrecy had been impressed upon him. The ex-guide had displayed a wealth of money, had received and dispatched letters and telegrams full of suggestive mysteries, and--most wonderful of all--had not called for drinks.
Poussette was so far keeping his own vow made to Ringfield and Miss Cordova, but at any moment an outbreak might occur, for excitement breeds thirst even in sober individuals.
Outside the lighted window walked Ringfield to and fro, waiting till the Englishman should emerge and go to his shack, but as the reader knows this did not happen. He saw the light carried about, then it entirely disappeared, and afterwards two lights appeared upstairs, but in opposite ends of the house; Crabbe had escorted Pauline to her door and then betaken himself to the small room at one side which coincided with that occupied by Miss Cordova at the other. It was not long before everything was dark and quiet, and Ringfield, extremely baffled and uneasy, turned to go home. But Alexis Gagnon, supposing the minister upstairs and asleep, had locked the door, and now the only mode of entrance possible was the undignified one of climbing the rude fence and scaling the well-remembered balcony which led to his room.
This brought him very close to Pauline"s chamber, looking on the familiar balcony, but he could detect nothing wrong or unusual; Poussette was wrapped in sleep and even Martin, the Indian guide and ch.o.r.eman, had evidently long gone his rounds and entered the house.
Ringfield could not be expected to understand the sudden change in Crabbe"s fortunes, and he spent the rest of that night in dreary and bitter speculations as to the probable causes which had led Pauline to desert him openly for the Englishman. Why had he not the power, the audacity, the social courage which the guide undoubtedly possessed, to seize her and bear her off bodily on these occasions? This--a relic of savagery--would alone overcome the ease with which Crabbe confronted him, and despite vices and faults usually carried off the palm. As one progressed the other retrograded; the Englishman, dreaming of a good name and character restored, lay peacefully beneath Poussette"s roof, not worrying about Pauline, for he knew that, short of the marriage ceremony, he had the strongest right and authority any man could have over her; while Ringfield, distrusting and suspecting every one around him, tossed and sighed all night, wondering what stability there was in her mind and what worth he might set upon her promises. Some deterioration, some loss of fine simplicity, some decrease in his healthy optimism, was already visible in his look and bearing; he in his turn was discovering the impotence of Nature to heal, sooth, or direct, and it might have been said of him that he began to go in and out without noting the objects so suggestive and inspiring--the sky, the thundering flood, the n.o.ble wood, the lonely river. As Crabbe had cried to him in utter desolation of soul--what had Nature to do with a man"s heart and self and life? Nature mocked him, pa.s.sed him by, viewed him coldly. Poetry--did not Crabbe quote poetry? The bitterness of Job, the pessimism of Solomon, began to colour his att.i.tude of mind, and thus by slow degrees his physical powers declined from their original high level. He did not get enough sleep, he did not eat enough food, he took long walks with his eyes on the ground, he found visiting a bore and preaching a stumblingblock. Nothing saps the strength like the rotting virus of jealousy; nothing so alters the face and vilifies the expression as living in a state of perpetual dislike and suspicion of any person or persons; as Crabbe"s countenance cleared, as his eye brightened and his complexion lost its dissipated blotchy hue, Ringfield suffered by comparison. He seemed to fail in some mysterious indefinable way; his thick hair looked thinner on his temples, his eyes were larger and the set of his mouth reminded one of Father Rielle in its slow, new writhing smile. If this were Love--how should any escape? But not only Love, but Hate, and Doubt, and Fear, were all warring in a good man"s breast.
CHAPTER XXI
THE NATURAL MAN
"Wretched at home, he gained no peace abroad; Asked comfort of the open air, and found No quiet in the darkness of the night, No pleasure in the beauty of the day."
Pauline, on retiring to her room, was naturally in a whirl of excited feelings; never had she dreamt of escape from her surroundings under such auspices as these. The new affection she had been nursing for several months speedily melted as she lived over again the extraordinary sensations of the past hour. Crabbe came in for some of the glory; she congratulated herself on partly belonging to him, and with characteristic quickness she amused herself, being too wide awake for bed just then, in turning out her drawers and boxes and in tying up the Grand d.u.c.h.ess costume and other accessories in a bundle which she intended to leave as a present for Sadie Cordova.
"I shall never require those again, thank Heaven!" said she to herself as she moved about the plain little room, "or these stage paints and other "fixings" as Sadie calls them."
The imitation earrings went into the bundle; her old sealskin coat and m.u.f.f and some photographs of herself and a.s.sociates in theatrical costume. It was a case of "on with the new life" carried out with that conviction and sincerity that distinguished all Miss Clairville"s actions. If she was to marry a rich Englishman, and go to England with him, travel and keep a maid, she would do it thoroughly; the stage as well as "Poussette"s," the Hotel Champlain as well as Henry and Angeel must be completely blotted out, else there could be no happiness for her. Yet at moments there survived, along with this directness of upward aims, a curious sense of caution, of dislike to part with certain relics of value, or anything that had figured in her theatrical life; the Clairville instinct was atavistically working against the new creature, Pauline; heredity a.s.serting itself in the midst of new and promising environment.
The next few days brought remarkable changes, veiled by great care and deliberation on Crabbe"s part. He gave up the shack to Martin and had a bonfire of his effects. He read the Montreal advertis.e.m.e.nts of clothing, and sent for a complete wardrobe and two large trunks, yet his manner to the few at Poussette"s was sufficiently repressed to discourage curiosity. Every hour Pauline expected him to leave her, be mysteriously lost, then reappear sullen and sodden, but nothing of the kind occurred. The news of his rehabilitation had spread, but the community was too small and the place too remote to understand it thoroughly; meanwhile, the virtuous aspect of both himself and Amable Poussette was almost enough to drive a man to drink, so depressing was the atmosphere of the bar--that place once so cheerful! The lemons grew dry and crinkled one by one; the lager gla.s.ses gradually came to require dusting; the spirit bottles were discreetly put behind almanacs and large advertis.e.m.e.nts of "Fall Fairs"; over all was settling a blight born of conversion and sobriety. Pitiful to relate--the person who should have been most pleased and interested in this moral spectacle was bitterly dubious; Ringfield would not, at this stage, consent to believe in Crabbe"s reformation, but winced and shied at reports of altered prospects. The subject was easily of first importance to all at Poussette"s, but the Englishman"s disdain of explanations and Pauline"s fine-lady air precluded much reference to the matter; the minister could only accept the position.
And what was the position? Had not Miss Clairville given him a certain soft and memorably tender answer, turning away all his jealous wrath; and filling his soul with "Comfort and Joy, Comfort and Joy"? Had not his lips pressed hers, his embrace enveloped her yielding form, her eyes, melting and languorous, drooped before his fiery ones? Were these things nothing to her, while to him they almost const.i.tuted a marriage? Even with daily evidence of the strongest, he could not bring himself to believe that she was anything but true.
Once they met in the wood, face to face, and there could be no excuse on her part, no elegant evasion of the relations between them, as with those chilling superior accents she persevered in ignoring the past.
Snow was again on the ground, every twig encased in a round tube of gla.s.sy ice through which showed the grey, brown, or black stem, for a wonderful glissade had followed the milder weather. The pendent branches were freighted with soft, white tufts and cushions, and just as Miss Clairville met Ringfield, under his heavier tread there broke a large arm of larch stretched across the path. Thus he was compelled to halt; the rebound and crash had sent snow flying all over her face and clothes, and naturally he began to brush it off. She kept her hands in her m.u.f.f--the old one after all, for Crabbe"s purchase had not yet arrived--and regarded him, with some abatement, it is true, of the aristocratic hauteur she wore so loftily at Poussette"s, but still with an air far removed from the intimate and sympathetic self she had revealed in their first meetings.
"I believe you would have pa.s.sed me!" said he bitterly, forcing that raw and unpleasant smile. "If it had been a street, I mean, with anyone about, or coming out of church! Surely nothing that has happened can justify you in avoiding me like this!"
"Avoiding you?" She opened her large eyes in haughty incredulity.
"Why, I have been waiting for an opportunity like this to meet you and talk it over! tell you something about myself, rather. What odd ideas you get, _bizarre, mon ami_! Have you heard about my friend, Mr.
Hawtree?"
Ringfield answered unintelligibly, looking away from her.
"Have you not? Oh--you have! I thought it very likely. Well, he has come into a little money; more than a little, indeed, but I am not to tell. How then--do you think I shall be able to keep the secret? I am the bad one at that, sure,--as Mr. Poussette would say."
By degrees her old racy manner returned, and looking over her m.u.f.f she permitted her eloquent mischief-making eyes to speak. "What else have you heard?"
"That--you are going to marry him."
"Ah--and that, of course, you do not believe!"
"For the matter of that, I never believe anything you say. How can I, how can anyone? You promised me--you know, what--and here you coolly talk to me about this other man, this wreck of a man, this sot, this Crabbe! And he is not the only one, I daresay Poussette gets his pay sometimes, and perhaps the priest as well!"
"Gets his--pay! _Mon Dieu_, but it is you, you, to insult a woman!
Yes, to insult me!"
"I am not intending it, I am not aiming insult, but I know whereof I speak. I impute no more than this; no man works for nothing. If Poussette harbours you, as he does, he must exact something, if only silly songs and smiles, the faculty of amusing him now that he has dropped drinking, and must feed his lower senses in some manner. I impute no more--no more than frivolity and waste of time, the abas.e.m.e.nt of impulses n.o.ble enough in themselves."
"Oh--what a creed, what a creed! I deny such a charge, such an imputation. I sing and act before Mr. Poussette as I would before you, and Miss Cordova too. We are artists--do you know what that means, Mr.
Ringfield? And suppose we do not pay--what is that? Mr. Poussette is agreeable to the arrangement, it is a plentiful house, and always more than enough in it to eat and drink. I am Ma"amselle de Clairville and Sadie Cordova is my friend. We take our holiday here--that is all.
_Ma foy_, but why must every one anger me? Why do you purposely misunderstand?"
She stamped her foot and trembled.
"I have only one thing to ask you. Do you intend to--my G.o.d, that I should have to ask it--to marry him?"
"_Certainement_." A return to her natural manner was characterized by more French than she customarily used. "I am considering it, thinking of it, as you did when coming to St. Ignace."
"Considering it! And when--when--is it likely to be?"
"Oh--that is for him, for Mr. Hawtree to decide, but I think it will be at Noel, Christmas time, and in Montreal. Next week I pay some visits; after that I go to the Hotel Champlain, in Jacques Cartier Square, to prepare myself for my new _role_, you see."
"Your new _role_? But are you not then leaving the theatre? Oh--I understand now, I see what you mean. And you think this is your duty, to end your life thus by consenting to marry this man?"
"To end my life? to begin it rather. Believe me--it is better for me so."
Great distress showed in Ringfield"s voice and bearing; he was in that state of mind when it became necessary to insist upon his sufferings, to rehea.r.s.e his wrongs, and thus an hour wore away in the petty strife which in his case was characterized by ceaseless strivings to win again that place in her heart filched from him by her old lover; on her part the quarrel and the cold weather acted equally in stimulating her to fresh coquetries. Farther and farther they withdrew into the heart of the snowy wood, till, when quite remote, they sat down on a fallen log, beautiful in summer with mosses, lichen and waving ferns, now converted to a long white cylinder, softly rounded at either end. Here Ringfield"s ardour and his conscientious feelings for her future broke out in a long and impa.s.sioned speech in which he implored her to change her mind while there was time and to remember her warm promises to himself. He did not embrace her, and throughout his discourse, for such it might aptly be termed, he was more the saviour of souls than the lover.
"And although I claim no reward for the fact," he concluded sternly, "it is due me, when I tell you that I know all about that poor child at Hawthorne, poor Angeel, and that I am going to take the whole matter on myself and remove her to a more suitable home and surroundings."
Miss Clairville flushed an angry red. "You--you know all?" she repeated. "But how--how did you find out? You have seen Henry, perhaps--oh! you have been talking to him, my poor brother!"
"No," returned Ringfield. "You forget that people talk to me, bring these stories to me, make me the recipient of confessions. I have seen and I have heard, therefore I know. But I will do as I have said. I shall write to the proper people to look after Angeel, and I shall see that she is removed before long from Hawthorne."
"Where to?"
"Perhaps to a hospital; that of the Incarnation at Lalurette."
"But that is a Catholic inst.i.tution!"
"So much the better."
"This is extremely kind, extremely generous of you!" said she, in her most English, and therefore haughtiest manner. "But I myself have had the same intention. We can work together, I suppose!"
"No, I prefer that you leave this to me."
To this she replied sneeringly, and a new cause of recrimination ensued.
Pauline rose abruptly from the snowy mound and walked to the road, Ringfield following her, and they did not know that never again on this earth and during this life would they meet thus--part thus--alone, with full opportunity to say what they thought, what they wished.
Sadness fell on both as they shortly went different ways, but whereas the lively nature of one was soon occupied gaily at Poussette"s with fresh purchases to look at and approve, in the other grief was succeeded by a gathering of all his forces, as he mentally resolved (swore, to rightly translate his indomitable mood) to prevent the marriage. For this was what he had arrived at; nothing more nor less, and how it might be done haunted him continually as he walked by night on the frozen road, or sat at meals within sound of Crabbe"s cynical and lettered humour, and within sight of Pauline"s white hands on which gleamed a couple of new and handsome rings.
She must not marry him! That became the burden of his thought, and the time-limit of three weeks, bringing it to Christmas Eve, was to him as the month before execution of the condemned criminal.