A Cry in the Wilderness Part 42

"The more I think of it, the more I am convinced that what Cale told us, and what Doctor Rugvie told us, are two acts in a long drama--tragedy, if you like."

"Well?"

"You _are_ cool, I must say!" He spoke with irritation. "Do you mean to tell me that life, presented in such a manner as those two men--opposite as the poles in standing--presented it, does n't interest you?"

"I have n't the imagination of genius, Jamie."

"Now you know perfectly well there is no imagination about it. It's life, just as Cale said; and it's my belief the Doctor will, in the end, get some track of that girl. If he does, it will be all up with the farm. Did you think of that?"

"No!" I spoke the truth. I was amazed. It never occurred to me to connect the farm project with anything Cale had said.

"I 'll wager he 'll compare notes with Cale on the way over to the station, and I 'm going to refer to the farm plan, if I have the chance after they get back, to see what he 'll say."

"He won't think you 're interfering, will he?"

"He can't." He spoke decidedly. "The farm project affects _me_, don't you see?"

"Not exactly; how?"

"Why, if--of course it's only an 'if'--the Doctor should find this girl, he would n't for a moment think of taking that money, which in justice if not in the law belongs to her, to further any of his plans.

He is n't that kind of a man."

"Of course not; but I don't see how--"

"That's where you are obtuse. Look here, Marcia, how long do you suppose I can stand it to vegetate here in Canada? It's healthy, I agree to that, and doing me no end of good; but I can't see myself living here--existing, yes; but living, no! I'm better, stronger; and even if I were n't, I would n't play the coward either in life or death. As it is, I want to live my life full in my own way, among my own. I want to be in the thick of the fray, even if by being there I should go under a little sooner. I want to mingle with the mult.i.tude of men--see into their lives, give them something of mine in reality and through the imagination, and get their point of view into my life.

I can't stay on indefinitely here in Canada; and if--if--"

"If what?"

"If the girl should be found, the farm project would amount to nothing.

The Doctor sees, just as you and I see, that Ewart is not enthusiastic about it, and he is n't going to settle on Ewart's land with an unwelcome philanthropic scheme. And then--"

"What?" I was becoming impatient.

"Why, then, if it should fall through,--and I 'm selfishly hoping it may,--I'm not in the least bound, don't you know, to stay on here as Ewart's guest. I can go home."

"Home!" I echoed. The thought of losing Jamie had never occurred to me. And if he went, then his mother, also, would go. If they both went, I should have necessarily to leave Lamoral, for I was merely an entail of their presence. Leave Lamoral! I sickened at the thought.

"Oh, no, no, Jamie!" I cried out, rebelling against the prospect of a new upheaval in my life. "I can't spare you--I can't live here without you--"

With every thought centered in Mr. Ewart at that moment, and comprehending as I did the logical result of Mrs. Macleod's leaving the manor and all that it would mean to me, I did not realize what impression my impulsive words might make on her son. In the silence that followed my protest, I had time to realize what I had said.

"I did n't for a moment suppose you felt like this, Marcia."

In a flash I understood the twist in his interpretation of my words and feeling.

"You don't understand--" I began vehemently, then found myself hesitating like a schoolgirl who does not know her lesson. I was ashamed of myself, for Jamie was on the wrong track and must be put right at all costs.

"I think I do." He spoke gently, almost pityingly as it seemed to me then. I boiled inwardly.

"No, you don't; but there 's no time to explain now--I hear the bells--"

"You have good ears; I don't."

"They 're coming! Where 's Mrs. Macleod?"

"Well, they 're not returning from an ocean voyage, even if they are coming; there is no need to run up the Union Jack-- Hold on a minute!"

He barred the door again with his long arms.

"Let me out--they 're at the door--"

"What if they are?"

I slipped quickly under his arm into the pa.s.sageway. The dogs were frantic with joy. I wanted to show mine as plainly, perhaps then Jamie might understand! I flung open the door, and, as it happened my voice was the only one to welcome them.

"You 're back so soon!"

"You may well say that," said the Doctor, running up the steps and seeming to bring the whole Arctic region of cold in with him; "I drove over and made good time, I thought; but Ewart took the reins on the way back, and we came home at a clip--nine miles in fifty-two minutes!

That's a record. Now, Ewart," he turned to speak to his friend who had stopped to give some order to Cale, "see how well I have heeded your injunction to 'look out' for Miss Farrell."

"And the horses did n't bolt," I said, as I put my hand into his outstretched one.

"Have you gotten over the effects of the aurora?"

The hearty gladness in his voice was reward enough for the restraint I put on myself. I wanted to give him both hands and tell him in so many words that, with his coming, I was "at home" again.

"No, and never shall," I responded joyfully.

"Nor I either.-- Where 's Jamie? Oh, Mrs. Macleod," he said, spying her on the upper landing, "I 've taken you unawares for the first time.--Down, comrades, down!--Jamie Macleod, is this the way you welcome a wanderer to his own hearth?"

Jamie's hand grasped his and pumped it well.

"It's queer, Gordon, but you seem to look at your three days of absence from the same point of view that Marcia does."

"How 's that?" he asked quickly, turning to me.

"Just Jamie's nonsense; it's only that I was on the lookout for you, and heard the bells when he failed to."

I knew I was growing reckless, but I did not care--why should I?--if he knew I was glad to see him at home again. I did not care if they all knew it--I must put Jamie right somehow. And what was there to hide?

Not my gladness, not my joy, the new elements in my new life--this something I had never before experienced. Somehow, all my resolutions to keep this joy "to myself" went to the winds.

Mr. Ewart made no reply, but I knew I added to his evident pleasure in his return, by my ready and frankly expressed acknowledgement that I was "on the lookout" for him.

That evening was one never to be forgotten. It was a time when the friendship of the four men, Mr. Ewart, Cale, Doctor Rugvie, and Jamie Macleod, towards me, found expression both in jest and earnest; a time when Mrs. Macleod's kindly, if always a little remote interest in me was doubly grateful, for sure of it and its protection I could let the new life, that shortly before had awakened in me, flood my whole being and expand heart, soul and mind with its vital flux. I felt that I made my own place in this household; that I pleased them all; that they liked my speech, whether merry or grave; that they liked my ways because mine, whether I was lighting cigars and pipes for them, or frying griddlecakes at ten o'clock at night on the top of the soapstone stove, in redemption of my promise made months past. The truth is I felt at home, wholly, completely; and they, recognizing it, were glad for me.

With Cale, that evening, I was tender, teasing, arrogant by turns; I had him at my mercy--and his lips were sealed! With Jamie I was absolutely nonsensical, as I dared to be in view of his twisted interpretation of my apparently sentimental, "I can't live without you here etc." I bothered and puzzled him, much to the others' amus.e.m.e.nt.

Into the Doctor's spirit of banter I entered with the enjoyment of a not very "old" girl. I caught him looking at me with the same perplexed expression that he wore when I first smiled at him three months before--and I kept on smiling, as I had cause, hoping the message, oft repeated, would carry in time to his consciousness the recognition that I was, indeed, the daughter of her whom he had befriended more than a quarter of a century ago. The emphatic statement made by Cale and Delia Beaseley that I was her "living image", encouraged me in this line of procedure. To the Master of Lamoral I gave willing service, frying for him delectable griddlecakes, turning them till a golden brown, flapping them over skilfully on his warm plate, and deluging them with incomparable maple syrup from his own sugar "bush". He received this service in the spirit in which I gave it, and the cakes with the appreciation of a man and connoisseur.

Mrs. Macleod seconded my efforts in this special line of cooking and enjoyed the fun as much as any one of us.