Joyce of the North Woods Part 52

"Because," Billy's mouth was full of that silken gown; "because you and me is so plum chuck-full of happiness we're nigh to busting."

"Oh! Billy, is that really it, really?"

Billy looked up from his shrine.

"Ain't we?" he said solemnly.

"Billy--I--believe--we--are."

Late that night, standing alone by his study window, Drew's tired eyes travelled over his parish. His people had gone. They were his people at last. G.o.d-given, as he had been G.o.d-sent. He would work with them and for them. He would live day by day, and not look to the eventide. He would--then he looked down the moonlighted road to the stretch on beyond the house, where the snow lay unbroken on the way up to Gaston's shack.

A tall, strong figure was striding into the emptiness. A man's form, swinging and full of purpose. It was--John Dale himself going up to meet his fate.

There was no light of welcome in the shack among the pines. All was dark and lifeless. Drew started back. Humanity seemed to urge him to follow that lonely figure and be within call should his help be needed. Second thought killed the desire.

The man plunging ahead in the night was a strong man. A man who through sorrow, sin and shame, had hewed his way to his own place. No one could help him in this hour that awaited him. He must go up to the Mount bearing his own cross--and accept the outcome according as his preparation for the ordeal had fitted him.

It was ten o'clock of the following day, when Drew was roused from his reading beside the study fire by a sharp knock on the door.

He was beginning, lately, to regard this room of his as a kind of Confessional, and every knock interested him.

"Come!" he called.

Gaston strode in. Whatever the night had meant to him, his face bore little trace of anything but stern purpose.

"Good morning, Drew," he said quietly. "Joyce Lauzoon has left my house.

Can you tell me anything about her?"

"Very little, Gaston." The onslaught, so direct and unerring, rather took Drew's breath, but he caught himself in time. "Lay off your coat,"

he said cordially, "and draw up to the fire. The cold seems to be increasing."

Gaston flung hat and coat from him, and pulled a chair nearer the blaze.

"It will continue to grow colder from now on until the break-up. Drew, I cannot waste time, nor have I any inclination to mince matters. I know that you have, in no small measure, influenced Joyce Lauzoon's thought.

I know she has spoken of the effect of your words upon her life and, finding her gone upon my return, I naturally come to you thinking that perhaps--and from the highest motives--you may have said something to her that has led her to take this step.

"Whatever has been said, has been said by some one who could affect her as one speaking, if you can understand, from my side of the question. No one else could have any power over her."

"Gaston, I have not seen, nor have I had any communication with Joyce Lauzoon, since you left this last time. While you were away before, she came to me, and I talked with her as I felt should, under the circ.u.mstances."

"I know all about that"; a sharp line formed on Gaston's forehead; "it was indirectly on account of that conversation between you that I left so abruptly again. Pardon me, Drew, but don't you think your aunt or your sister--might have followed up your line of argument by--their own?"

Drew flushed scarlet.

"I am quite sure they did not," he said emphatically.

"I've got to find her, Drew"; Gaston breathed hard; "none of you understand the situation in the least."

"Perhaps we do, Gaston." The minister-instinct rose within the weak man, and gave him the sudden dignity that had always impressed Jock Filmer.

For the life of him Gaston could not despise the young fellow. There was courage of purpose and conviction that enn.o.bled his frail body. It was no easy thing, Gaston felt sure, for him to place himself and his youth in this att.i.tude toward a man older than he. It was undeniable Drew lost sight of himself every time he accepted the demands of his profession,--and the renunciation won respect.

"See here Drew, I do not often give my confidence. It does not often appear necessary, and I think nine times out of ten it complicates matters instead of solving mysteries, but I'm going to speak quite openly to you--for Joyce's sake. It would not make any difference to others--they think she deserves punishment for appearing to deserve it, but I believe you will be able to comprehend the difference and perhaps help me to help her.

"Up to the night when she told me that she had seen you, and that your conversation had emphasized some doubts of her own--she had been to me, first a poor hounded creature, then, a striving, high-minded girl endeavouring to free herself from the bondage of evil that had been her inheritance. I'm not going to speak of myself in the matter, only so far as to say that my own life, under different environment, has been such--that I understood; I undertook the--task of helping her! Whatever of temptation cropped up now and then, was strangled for her sake always,--sometimes for my own, too--it died at last, and I was enabled to serve her with single purpose.

"What that task has meant to me--I cannot expect any living soul to understand. I was very lonely. I never looked for reward nor recompense.

It was--I thought it was--enough in itself. But something had been going on that was no part of my plan. Like a revelation it came to me, that last evening I spent at home--that she was a splendid woman; and I knew that I loved her!

"That was why I went away. I went to find Jude Lauzoon. I meant to free her, and marry her. Her love has always been mine. This may make no difference--perhaps you cannot believe it--but it's G.o.d's truth, and now you see why I must have her."

Drew had never shifted his gaze from the speaker's face. Conflicting emotions tore him--but there was no doubt in his heart, now, of Gaston.

"In your profession, Drew," Gaston saw that he had gained his point, "you do not want to condone sin, but you want to understand the sinner as well as possible; and, Drew, you may take my word for it--I'm not in an overwhelming minority."

For a moment Drew tried to speak and failed. Every expression of his true thought seemed inadequate and futile. Presently he stretched his hand across the little s.p.a.ce that divided him from his companion.

"Gaston," he said, "I thank you. It does make a difference. It makes--all the difference in the world."

His thin, blue-veined hand fell upon Gaston's strong, brown one, which lay spread upon the chairarm.

Gaston did not flinch under the touch. He did not seem to notice it.

"Drew," he continued after a long pause, "it will help me--to find her, perhaps, if you tell me the little that you know. I am not going to let her slip if I have to hunt every inch of the woods for her. You must see that there is danger in every moment's delay.

"Can you tell me if any one has seen her and talked with her who might influence her from an--outside point of view?"

Drew was sorely perplexed. He realized that Ruth's wild description of her encounter with Joyce had left many unexplained points. Evidently Joyce herself had, in some way, learned more of Gaston's past than Drew had at first supposed. Then, to tell Gaston, even in his trouble, that a guest of his, Drew's, had gone into the other's home and caused this calamity, was too cold-blooded a thing to do, without due consideration.

He knew, better than his companion did, that if Joyce had carried out her intention, there was no need of haste.

Gaston was looking keenly at him.

"You are keeping something from me, Drew," he said slowly, "and you have a reason for doing so?"

"Yes, Gaston, I am; and I have."

The further he became involved, the more hopeless the position became to Drew. Gaston was seeking to solve Joyce Lauzoon's problem and his own, without the test of Ruth Dale. Not only Ruth's confession as to Joyce, but Ruth herself must enter into Gaston's future plan of action.

"You know, Drew, who went to my house?"

"Yes; I know that Joyce had a visitor who might have influenced her to take this step; but I have reason to believe that Joyce did not act upon this other's initiative entirely. She had certain knowledge of her own that--urged the course she has taken."

"That is impossible!" Gaston's eyes flashed. Recalling that last scene with Joyce, he could not doubt her simple faithfulness--unless that faith of hers had been turned into a channel which she fondly believed was for his greater good. Nothing could change Joyce Lauzoon. Whatever had been the cause, Gaston knew, she had forgotten herself in her decision.

"I am--sure I am right, Gaston."

"And you refuse to tell me who has seen her?" A slow anger was mounting in Gaston.

Before Drew could reply, a merry call from the hall smote both men into dead silence.