Betty Grier Part 5

Walking a little upstream, I came to an opening in the willow-hedge, and there, on a sand-knoll at the foot of the bank, sat a man--a clergyman, judging by his dress; while a little in front of him, and almost on the water's edge, was a tall young lady standing before an easel. I saw the man in profile--elderly and gray-bearded he was; but the lady's back was turned to me, and she was much engrossed with her canvas.

I must have walked very noiselessly, as neither of them seemed aware of my presence; and this I counted strange, since I had made no attempt at stealthiness, and they were so near me that I could almost have touched them. I stood for a minute silent and undecided whether or not to make my presence known.

Before I could make up my mind, the artist ceased work, and, stepping a few feet to her right, studied the effect from the altered standpoint.

This gave me the much-desired opportunity of seeing the picture, and I noted with peculiar pleasure that it was part of the view in which I had just been revelling. And the subject, difficult and ideal though it was, had been touched by no unworthy, amateurish hand. The old red-sandstone bridge, mellowed in a soft western light, was a centre round which much broad, skilful, loving work was evidenced. Oil was her medium--rather an unusual one, I thought, for a lady; and in the brief glance I got I noticed she had imparted to her canvas the true atmosphere, and that it contained in colour, drawing, and composition the essentials of really good work.

Her clergyman companion closed his book, relit his cigar, and consulted his watch. 'Much as I expect of this picture as a big draw at my bazaar, and anxious as I am to take it back with me to-morrow to Laurieston, I'm afraid I must call you to a halt. It's almost five o'clock.'

'Just one wee, wee minute,' the artist pleaded in a singularly sweet voice, which seemed to me far away, yet strangely familiar.

A few deft, bold touches, the while her small head critically swayed from one side to the other.

'Finis! finis!' she called at length; 'and I'm sorry to part with it, as I love this subject.'

With a face flushed with success, she turned to her companion. Then her eyes met mine, and I stood breathless and transfixed, for I had heard the voice, and was looking into the face, of my dream-lady!

The fact that I was in the presence of one who had mysteriously influenced me for the last ten years, one whom I had seen in my dreams but never met, thrilled me through and through, and I felt bewildered and benumbed. Had I been in normal health, doubtless I should have boldly faced a situation so psychologically strange and alluring; but in my present enfeebled condition I had no craving for the occult and romantic, and when I was freed from the spell of my dream-lady's eyes my first impulse was to retrace my steps and immediately regain the highroad.

I turned at once, in my haste struck my heel against one of my staffs, and fell heavily on the sloping pathway. My tweed hat fell from my head and rolled away down the bank, but I made no effort to recover it. With extreme difficulty I rose to my feet, and, gripping my two staffs in a strong grasp, started again to reach the crest of the wooded brow.

One of the peculiar effects of my accident is that I cannot raise my body on my toes. When going upstairs I have to turn sideways, and in an awkward, laboured fashion lift one foot over the other; and in negotiating this ascent, in which the same muscles were called into action, I had to take a zigzag course which demanded great caution and care, as there was no pathway, and the surface was treacherous and uneven.

I stood for a moment before I entered on my arduous undertaking, irresolute and hesitating, swayed by two conflicting impulses. Here was the fulfilment of my dream. Down there, a little beyond the hedge of willows, stood one the memory of whose sweet, pensive face had haunted me for years; whose living presence I had prayed for, yearned for; and whose influence, unconsciously exerted, had dominated my being and kept me unscathed in the midst of many temptations. It was the culmination of ten years' expectancy and waiting. A series of remarkable coincidences and strange providential workings had matured, and here was I spurning a friendly interposition of the Fates, and fleeing away as if I were a cowardly, shamefaced culprit. Why should I act so? Why should I not face the situation and await this flow in the tide of my affairs?

Then in thought I traversed the long, dreary road which during the past years I had walked alone. Hastily I reviewed the picture I had often conjured up of what our meeting would be, the contemplation of which had yielded me so much sacred, secret pleasure. Strange, I had always painted her as I had seen her a minute ago, even to the detail of pose and att.i.tude. She--well, she was just my dream-lady, faithful in every respect to my imaginings; and in this picture, in response to her inviting smile of recognition, I was by her side, strong in body, resolute of will, sure of having at last met my affinity.

Strong in body! Resolute of will! Was I? Ah, the humiliation of the truth! Why, as I stood there, I was tottering on my feet like an octogenarian, convulsively clutching two hazel staffs for support, and so irresolute that I could scarce form an idea of what my next move would be. What a metamorphosis! what a pitiful spectacle!--an object surely for sympathy, but not likely to inspire love or admiration. No, no, she must not see me thus; and, quickly disposing of all other considerations, I turned my back upon fate and commenced the ascent.

Painfully I dragged myself along. Never once did I look backward, for I soon found that I had essayed a task requiring all my concentrated attention. Urged on by a consuming desire to get away, I at first made wonderful progress. But as the minutes pa.s.sed, and the ascent became steeper, I felt my will-power diminishing, my strength gradually growing less, and my knack of happily negotiating ruts and obstacles deserting me at every step. Once I lost my balance and slipped down the slope; but I clutched the dried tufted gra.s.s with a frenzied hand, and crawled up on my knees to where my hazel had dropped. Again I started, and again I fell, this time losing grip of both my staffs and also any confidence in myself that was left. Flushed and breathless, I rose to my knees, and with feverish energy began to crawl uphill.

But my haste was my undoing, for with it my caution disappeared. Twice the wisps of gra.s.s by which I hauled myself broke in my hand, and I slipped down, each time losing any little headway I had made. Again I slipped. Then despair took hold of me, and, with limbs exhausted and relaxed, and eyes moistened by thoughts of weakness and acknowledged defeat, I sank to the ground.

For a few minutes I lay oblivious to everything around me. Then the sound of approaching footsteps and s.n.a.t.c.hes of faintly audible conversation recalled me; and wearily and painfully I raised myself to a half-reclining, half-sitting position, with my back turned to the direction whence the sounds proceeded.

'Yes, it's a very decent hat,' said a voice which I recognised as that of the clergyman; 'a very decent, serviceable hat indeed; and I dare say it may as well be restored to its owner, though the drunken scamp deserves little consideration.'

'Oh, surely he's not drunk, Mr Edmondstone?'

'Most a.s.suredly he is,' replied the cleric. 'While you were busy on your canvas he was doubtless lying somewhere hereabouts, sleeping off the effects. Believe me, no man would stagger about a braeface as he did unless he were under the influence of drink.'

'Dearie me, Mr Edmondstone! dearie me! are you not forgetting? Faith, Hope, Charity; and the greatest of these is Charity. Charity of judgment is beautiful, Mr Edmondstone. You are--or at least you should be--preaching that every Sunday. But in this case, whatever _you_ presume, I, at all events, will maintain it was no drunken look he gave me. I admit his movements were suspicious; but--well, we'll soon find out. Please hand me his hat.'

'What! You surely don't mean to tell me you are going to speak to him?'

'Certainly. Why shouldn't I? Either you or I shall have to give him his hat; and----Sh! sh! I'm afraid he's hearing all we are saying.'

My dream-lady was quite right. I hadn't missed a single word that had pa.s.sed; and--pa.s.sive, but with the hot blood mounting my neck and cheek--I had without protest allowed the charge of drunkenness to be made against me. I felt too weak and humiliated to make any defence.

What mattered it to me, after all, what they thought, so long as they kept at a distance from me and left me to my own resources? They might have pa.s.sed me, and I would have made no sign that I was aware of their presence; but when I heard my dream-lady's decision to be the bearer of my old tweed hat I started violently and looked keenly toward her. With my chin resting on my tired, lacerated hands, I watched her carefully picking her steps along the tangled incline. The fact that there was no escaping an interview was borne home to me so forcibly that it led to speedy resignation, which not only relieved my pent-up feelings, but also enabled me to observe her dispa.s.sionately, and study, without bias, her face and form. What my estimate was I cannot tell, or, rather, I will not tell; but when she reached me, with a flushed face, a half-frightened, half-defiant look in her eye, and my old tweed hat in her hand, I felt she had been aware of my critical scrutiny and resented it, although my opinion, favourable or otherwise, was to her of no consequence whatever.

'Thank you very much for bringing my hat to me,' I said awkwardly; 'and thank you still more for your belief in my sobriety.'

She looked at me for a minute, the while all evidence of fear or distrust vanished from her face. Then she smiled--smiled a true smile, with parted lips that disclosed two rows of pearly teeth, and soft fringed eyes that showed in their depths trust in humanity and joy of life.

'Oh, please don't thank me for either,' she said, in a low, sweet-toned voice. 'Your hat is too good to lose. It is no trouble to return it; and as for the other--eh--matter--well'--and she looked round about her on the russet woods, the peaceful fields, and away to the west where the faint sunset glow was suffused along the Glencairn hills--'I could not bring my mind to a.s.sociate such glories as these with any state so mean and degrading; and I'm glad--yes, I'm glad--that I was right.'

I bowed in silent grat.i.tude.

'I don't want to appear inquisitive,' she continued; 'but would you mind telling me why you acted so peculiarly in zigzagging up this incline instead of taking the path by the boundary beech-hedge? And, oh dear, dear! your hands are bleeding! Have you no handkerchief? See, here is one;' and she pleadingly held out a dainty piece of lace cambric which I could easily have put inside my watch-case.

Refusing her kind offer with thanks, I produced a sonsy specimen of Betty's laundry-work, which I rolled round my right-hand thumb. 'It is more than kind of you to interest yourself in a stranger,' I said without looking up. 'The fact is, I haven't been feeling very fit lately. The effects of a nasty accident have kept me too much indoors; but to-day, feeling a little stronger than usual, I extended my walk, and very foolishly determined to visit a particular spot here which, through boyish a.s.sociations, is very dear to me. As it happened, I found you occupying it; and not wishing to disturb you in your work, and eager to regain the highway, I over-exerted myself, lost my footing, my patience, courage, and my two sticks, and--and here I am! But I've got my second wind now. I'll rest here just a little longer, and everything will be all right.'

'Dearie me,' she said, and she caught a straying tress of dark hair and tucked it securely underneath her tam-o'-shanter, 'how very easily one may be deceived by appearances! Mr Edmondstone thought you were--well, you know; and I thought you had seen a ghost. I'm very sorry to know of your illness, and it is lucky, after all, that we were about. If you feel sufficiently rested, my friend and I will a.s.sist you up to the wicket.'

She offered her good services with such an ingratiating, confident air, antic.i.p.ating neither denial nor protest, that I was downright sorry to say her nay.

'No, no,' I said nervously, and I am afraid ungraciously; 'I shall manage all right by myself. Thank you all the same. But there is one kind action you might do on my behalf. Down there, below that little knoll, and somewhere in the long gra.s.s, are my two hazels. I--I lost grip of them somehow. They rolled down, and I couldn't very well reach them again. Once I have them in my hands I'll feel myself again. Would you mind getting them for me?'

'Certainly,' she said with alacrity; and, slip-sliding down the few yards of irregular turf, she soon returned with my hazels. 'Are you quite sure now that I can be of no further service to you?' she asked, as she handed them to me.

G.o.d knows there was much she could do for me, and I yearned to tell her so; but I felt her presence beginning to dominate me; and as I was strangely out of humour with myself, and utterly incapable of acting the part I had in my day-dreams antic.i.p.ated, I made haste to call up what remnant of will-power I had left.

'You have been exceedingly kind to me, a stranger,' I stammered.

'Believe me, I appreciate what you have done, and--good-afternoon.' And in confusion I raised my hat.

She looked inquiringly at me for a moment, and I saw speech trembling on her lip; but with a little effort she checked it. Then, with a smile and a slight inclination of her head, she walked slowly, and I imagined thoughtfully, toward her companion. I heard the wicket opening on its creaking hinges, and clicking as it closed in its iron fastening. Voices in animated conversation became fainter and fainter, rhythmic sounds of footsteps died away into silence, and I lay back on the bank among the brown wispy gra.s.s and the red autumn leaves with a joy and thankfulness in my heart I had never experienced before. And my joy was not born of the knowledge that my dream lady was a reality. Somehow, I had never doubted that. Rather was it that I had convinced myself that she possessed all the virtues and qualities with which I had vested her; and that, short as our interview had been, and commonplace as our conversation had proved, there was pervading it all the feeling, peculiar and indefinable, that what had taken place was merely a prelude to something more satisfying, a foretaste of greater happiness in store.

What mattered it that I didn't know her name or where she had gone?

Sufficient to me to know I was being guided aright, that the Fates were with me, and that by degrees the curtain would be drawn aside and my way made clear.

The birds trilled sweetly the last lingering notes of their lullaby, the Cundy stream crooned lovingly a song I had never heard before, and the glamour of the gloaming took possession of my soul.

CHAPTER VI.

For the past three days I have been confined to my bedroom, indeed I may say to my bed; for, with the exception of a short half-hour to-day--when Betty exchanged blankets for sheets--I have been reluctantly compelled to restrict my range of vision to the interior of my room, with my head on my pillow. The doctor has been to see me morning and night, and Betty has been in and out and out and in, and her anxiety regarding me has been too evident to be ignored.

This morning, when she had accompanied the doctor downstairs, I heard her ask what he thought of me. I didn't hear what he said in reply, because his voice is very low-pitched and his articulation not distinct; but Betty's rejoinder was, 'Imphm! I juist expected something o' the kind. Dod, doctor, was it no' a stupid ploy--sic thochtless stravaigin'--five oors oot o' the hoose in snell weather like this, an'

him as shaky on his legs as a footrule? A wean o' ten years auld wad ha'e haen mair sense.'

No reproaches have been made to my face, however, and of this I am glad, as I am sure I should be sorely exercised in mind to find a suitable excuse for my truancy.

I am not very clear about the details of my journey homeward from the Nithbank Wood. Betty and Nathan were both out when I returned, doubtless making search for me; and as I was too fatigued to walk upstairs, I sat down in Nathan's easy-chair in the kitchen and fell asleep. I have no recollection of what followed; and, considering the state of Betty's pent-up feelings, it would, I feel, be rather imprudent of me to ask.

I have been feeling rather low in spirits these last two days. I cannot blame the weather, for the October sun, though waning in strength, is showing his face for long-continued spells, the air is brisk and invigorating, and the sparrows are chirping and sporting in the eaves above my little window as if it were the merry month of May. I am loath to attribute this depression to physical weakness; yet were I to make such acknowledgment to Dr Grierson, I know he would frankly and at once confirm it. That I have received a set-back is evident, and when I call to mind my exertions in the plantation I need not be surprised. Still, everything considered, if I had that afternoon to live over again I should do just exactly as I did then. I am truly sorry if what Betty calls my 'thochtless stravaigin'' has undone the doctor's work, sorry if Betty's loving care has been lavished in vain. But Time, with healing in his wings, will surely make everything right again. And then I must not forget that but for this 'thochtless stravaigin'' I should not have met my dream-lady face to face. Ah! this is the one consoling fact, a rich reward, though the penalty I pay may be great. It is the only bright spot in a drab, dreary outlook, and I shall nurse this secret joy in my heart, and count myself favoured indeed.

Betty, who has a jealous eye where I am concerned, has noticed my depression. Yesterday and to-day she has given me much of her company, and in our cracks she has done her utmost to divert my mind into agreeable channels. She talked much of a younger brother of Nathan's--Joe, a member of the Hebron family I had not heard of before.