'Smiles' Part 18

Suddenly the suggestion of a smile touched her colorless lips, and lighted her unnaturally heavy eyes. She sat up with a glad cry of surprise and welcome, "Why, it's my own Smiles! Wherever did you come from; are you going to make us a visit? Oh, I'm so glad."

"Yes, darling. I got so tired and grumpy up in the hot city that I just had to come down here to be cheered up. Will you help do it?"

"'Course I will. Why, just seeing you makes me want to cheer." She quickly swung her slender legs over the bedside. "Oh, now if dear Uncle Don were only safe home again it would be perfect. I've worried and worried about his getting hit by a bomb or being blown up by a submarine. I wish ..."

"And, presto! your wish is granted," laughed Donald, as he ran into the room and caught his small niece up in an old-time bear hug.

"Oh, oh, oh. It's better than a fairy tale. I'm so happy I could die, but instead I'm going to get well right off. I'm well now; where are my clothes?"

The little bare feet sought for bedroom slippers, and the light curls bobbed energetically as she enunciated, "Now that I've got you two I mean to keep you forever and ever. If you, Uncle Don, would only mar ..."

The man made haste to clap his hand over the offending mouth; but he was too late. Rose had heard, and, with glowing cheeks, replied quickly, "But you forget that Uncle Don adopted me as a little sister, long ago."

She slipped her hand through his arm and pressed it close to her for a moment, before laughing gayly, "Run along, man. Milady is about to dress and this is no place for you."

CHAPTER x.x.xI.

THE VALLEY OF INDECISION.

Early evening it was, several days later, evening of a sultry, stifling day, which had escaped the bounds of longitude and invaded even the North Sh.o.r.e. The open ocean, itself, seemed to have forgotten its habitual unrest and yielded to the general languor. From the Thayers' summer home--a glorified bungalow, broad of veranda and shingled silvery-olive, atop a long, terraced bank--it had the appearance of a limitless mirror, reflecting the unblemished blue infinity of the sky. Only the never-ceasing series of vague white lines which ever crept up the shelving beach, to vanish like half-formed dreams, showed that, although the mighty deep slept, its bosom rose and fell as it breathed.

The sky was a hazy horizon blue, unblemished save for a few vaporous clouds far in the west; the sun, well toward the end of its journey, was hazy, too, a thing of mystery; in the far eastern distance the broad Atlantic softened to a hazy violet-gray which, in turn, blended, almost without a line of demarcation, into the still more distant heavens.

Far out, above the waters, a solitary gull circled with slow, sweeping curves, and now and again planed to the surface of the sea and struck from it a faint white spark.

On the screened-in veranda, the members of the family, which now included Rose, sat or reclined, in att.i.tudes of indolence, the men in negligee shirts and white flannels, the women in light dresses. Rose--who had, the day before, officially declared herself "off" the case; but had stayed on, a guest, at the general solicitation--wore a white dimity faintly sprinkled with her favorite rosebuds.

Her ex-patient sat on a little stool close by her side, a book of fairy stories resting on her elevated bare knees. The companionship of her beloved Smiles had already brought the warm color of health back to her cheeks and banished the listless look from her eyes. Her mother and Mr. MacDonald, Senior, were reading. Rose, chin resting on her cupped palm, was gazing seaward with a dreamy, far-away expression in her eyes, as blue as the sea itself. Donald sat back of her, and scarcely turned his gaze from the even contour of her cheek and neck and the shimmering glory of her hair, as he pulled leisurely at his cigar.

Only little Don showed signs of activity; for, with the boundless energy of four-and-a-half years, he was skidding and rolling industriously from one end of the porch to the other on a kiddie-car--a relic of the year before, and now much too small for him. With more or less dexterity he was weaving his way in and out among the various obstacles, animate and otherwise.

After looking for many silent minutes at the girl he loved, Donald said, tritely, "A penny for your thoughts, Smiles."

"Sir, you value them too high. I was thinking about you," she laughed.

"A likely story! I know well enough that your mind was far away from the present spot--the far-off expression on your face is indication enough of that. Furthermore, I'll wager that I can guess pretty nearly where they were."

It was a random shot, but he was disquieted to observe that it brought a faint blush in her cheeks. The added color, soft and lovely in itself, was darkly reflected on his heart.

Jumping up, Smiles cried, with a mock pout, "I shan't stay here to be made the subject of a demonstration of clairvoyancy. My thoughts are my own, and I mean to keep them so, sir."

As she ran into the house Donald's eyes followed her, moodily. And if he had, indeed, possessed the power of divination which he had laid pretence to, the expression in them, and the shadow on his spirit, would have been justified.

Rose ran lightly upstairs, and, as she approached her room, drew from within her waist a letter. There was something both mysterious and childlike in the manner that she next opened one of the drawers of her dressing table and, taking out a box which held almost all of her modest treasures, started to place the letter with them.

Instead, however, she paused to lift out a neat little package containing a score or more of other epistles, tied together with a white ribbon. For a moment she hesitated, as though she were both mentally and physically weighing the objects held in either hand. A shadow of strange uncertainty came into her eyes, the outward expression of an inward uncertainty foreign to her nature. Slowly, she turned from her reflection in the mirror and dropped down on the edge of the daintily counterpaned bed. With hesitating fingers she untied the ribbon from the package and began to glance through the unbound letters, pausing at intervals to read stray paragraphs from them. Each one began and ended almost the same--"Dear little Smiles" and "Affectionately your friend, Donald."

There was the one which contained the allegory of the steep path--which now lay behind her; the one in which he told her of little Donald's advent into the world and of his own betrothal to Marion Treville, and as she read that sentence which held so much of import in the lives of both of them, she sighed, "Poor Don. He hasn't mentioned her; but her faithlessness must have struck deep, for he is, oh, so changed and more reserved." There were other letters filled with the spirit of camaraderie, and then the later ones, strong, simple, with their stories of others' sacrifice in the great cause of humanity.

When the last one was read and laid upon the others, she sat with them in her lap for a moment, musing. The suspicion of tears shone in her eyes as she finally shook her head, and, evening them carefully, retied them.

"No," she whispered, half aloud, "I mustn't be foolish. He's just my brother, that is the way he cares for me. It has always been like that. And I ... I mustn't be foolish."

Almost angrily she brushed away the single tear which had started its uncertain course down her cheek.

With a gesture of resolution, she stood up and placed the package in its box. The other letter was about to follow; but, as she started to lay it down, she changed her mind, and, with the flush again mounting her cheeks, took it from the envelope, which bore a special delivery stamp, postmarked in Boston that very morning.

Opening it, she read: "My dearest Smiles: Will you be the bearer of a message from me to your kind hostess? As you know, she has invited me down to Manchester-by-the-Sea for the week-end, as a surprise for Donald, and I have heretofore been unable to give a definite answer. Now I have banished everything else from my mind and shall arrive about seven-thirty.

You wonder, perhaps, why I haven't written this direct to her? In answering my own question I have a confession--yes, two confessions to make. A poor excuse is better than none, and I have sent the message to Ethel, through you, merely as an excuse for writing you.

To my own surprise I have discovered that I have suddenly become a moral coward, and am obliged to descend to subterfuges in order to bolster up my courage. This isn't a usual thing with me, I think, but neither is the occasion. I've been wanting and planning to tell you something, face to face, for a long time; but at the crucial moment my courage has failed each time. I could not nerve myself to bear the possibility of the wrong answer.

Now I cannot put it off any longer and I am forced to tell you that 'something' in this manner. It is a simple message, dear, but it has meant more than any other to the world through all ages, and it means more to me than all the world, now. I love you, Rose,--I want to marry you.

There is not anything more that need be said; you can imagine all the rest that I would say if I were with you in person, as I shall be with you in spirit as you read those words. I suspect that even they were not necessary. You must have guessed my love, which has grown steadily during these past three years, and have understood why I could not speak it before. It was not merely that the ethics of our relation forced me to keep silent; but I have felt, since you are situated as you are, and Donald is still morally, if not legally, your guardian and protector, I should speak to him first. I have done so. My love for you was almost the first thing that he heard about, on reaching home. And Smiles, dearest, he has gladly given his consent to my suit and wished me luck.

Now that I have written the fateful message, my courage is restored, in part at least, and I want to hear the answer from your own sweet lips. I can scarcely wait to hear it, for presumptuous as it is--I cannot help hoping that it will be the one I so desire. I cannot help believing that you do care for me.

Please don't run away, dear. I want to see you, alone, as soon as I reach Manchester.

With all my heart and soul I am Your lover, Philip."

Smiles slowly replaced the note, her first love letter, in its envelope, laid it in the box and locked this in the drawer. With her hands resting on the dresser she leaned forward and looked searchingly into her own eyes, as though trying to read her very heart. Her lips moved and formed the words, "He cannot help hoping that the answer will be the one he desires. He knows that I do care for him. Yes, he cannot help knowing it; I am too simple to hide my feelings, and he has been so sweet that I could not help ... but ... oh, I wish that I hadn't got to tell him ... to-night."

Meanwhile Donald had been sitting for many minutes in the silence born of laboring thoughts. He had guessed Smiles' secret in part, but not in its entirety, and the bitter unhappiness, which had had its inception in Philip's disclosure, lay over his soul like a pall.

His father was the first to speak, and his words caused Donald to start, for they seemed to be the result of telepathic communication.

"You told us, once, that she wasn't a witch, but, by Jove, there's both witchery and healing in that smile of hers, Don. Look at Muriel now. It's nothing less than a miracle what the very presence of Rose has done for her."

"I was wrong," answered Donald, shortly, whereupon Ethel laid aside her book and joined in the conversation in a low voice, so that the absorbed Muriel might not hear.

"You love her, Don, it's perfectly obvious. What are you waiting for? Now that Marion has behaved so shamefully, it is my dearest hope that you will marry Rose. I didn't mean to speak of it; but, really, you are changing, Donald, and I don't want to think of your becoming a self-centred old bachelor."

"Ethel's right," supplemented his father. "I'm only surprised that you haven't asked her before. You've been in the same house with her for a whole week. Don't let one ... er ... unfortunate experience discourage you."

Donald carefully knocked the ashes from his pipe, got up, walked to the railing, and stood with his back toward them.

Then he laughed, a trifle bitterly.

"Thanks for the advice. I won't pretend that I don't ... care for her; but I can't ask her to marry me, as you suggest--that is, not now."

"Why not, I should like to know?" demanded his sister, impatiently.

"I can't explain, either; but there is a reason. I am bound in honor. Please don't say anything more about it."

But Ethel was not to be silenced so easily.

"I don't know what you are talking about; but it's nonsense, anyway," she answered. "Why, she worships you. Any one can see that."

"Worships me!" echoed Donald, with sarcastic inflection. "What's the sense in exaggerating like that, Ethel? I suppose that she is fond of me in a way; the way you are, but ..."

"I never suspected you of lacking courage before," interrupted the other. "If you haven't the nerve to ask that child yourself, I will. I guess that I'm a better judge of feminine nature than you, Donald."

"You failed to prove it once before," he retorted, and instantly added, with a tone of unusual contrition, "I am sorry I said that. It was unnecessary and unworthy. But, really, I can't allow you to play Mrs. John Alden to my Miles Standish. There is a reason ..."

"Oh, you men. You're all alike, when you climb on some sort of a high horse and become mysterious. I don't know what you are talking about--perhaps you are deluding yourself with an absurdly chivalrous notion about being her guardian--but I tell you this. A normal girl, who is as full of life as Rose, can't be expected to be like the wishy-washy heroines of some murky novel, remain faithful unto death to her first unrequited love, and turn into a sweetly spiritual old maid, waiting for the hero to come and claim her. "Tain't accordin' ter huming nater,' as Captain Jim says. The mating call is too strong, and she is sure to respond to the love note of another sooner or later;--don't flatter yourself that you are the only man in Smiles' creation. She's as sweet and pure as any girl could be, but she's human, like the rest of us ... that's what makes me love her so, and, unless 'you speak for yourself, John' ..."

"I can't, Ethel, I ... s-s-sh."

The girl's light footsteps on the descending stairs caused him to break off with a low note of warning, and hardly had he resumed his seat before she was sitting on the arm of the chair and rumpling his wavy hair, as naturally as a child, or a sister.

Watching him closely, Ethel saw the veins begin to swell on the back of his muscular hand, as his fingers gripped the other arm of the chair. She sighed, and then a look of wondering distress came into her face as the thought flashed unbidden through her mind, "I wonder if it is possible that he made some unfortunate, entangling alliance in France, after he heard from Marion? It isn't impossible. Men are often caught on the rebound like that."

Donald was the first to make an effort to introduce a new subject into the thoughts of all, by saying, "Doesn't the Water Witch look pretty in this light?" as he pointed to a trim little eighteen-foot race-about, whose highly polished mahogany sides, free from paint, reflected the water which reflected them. "I don't know as I have properly thanked you for having her put in commission for me, Ethel."

"I thought that it would please you, and I had them overhaul and rig her as soon as I learned that you were coming home."

"Please me! Well, I should say 'vraiment.' Come, Smiles, let's run away from all the world beside, and I'll show you my skill as a skipper."

Ethel sent a meaning glance in the direction of her father, but he was laughing; "'Skill as a skipper,' indeed, on such an evening as this! He would be an amateur, for certain, who couldn't steer with one arm free. Whew, there isn't a breath."

"There is going to be, and not many minutes from now. Unless I miss my guess we'll have a thunderstorm, and a west wind which will make short work of this humidity. There, feel that breeze? Ouch, you little devil, get off my foot. It may be large but it wasn't built for a kiddie-car racetrack."

The obstacle had caused an upset, and baby Don, more angry than hurt, to be sure, set up a howl and ran to Smiles' arms for comfort.

"You'll spoil that baby," growled his uncle. "Well, what do you say, are you coming?"

He stood up, and stretched his powerful frame in antic.i.p.ation of the exercise that he loved.

"If you don't mind, Donald, I'd ... I'd rather not ... to-night," answered Rose.

"I'm afraid that you don't like the ocean; I rather thought that you wouldn't," he responded gently, for he had in mind the fact that both of her parents had met their death by drowning. The girl sat silently for a little while, with her eyes fixed upon the waters, here and there upon the surface of which had begun to appear shadowy streaks of varying tones, as though the Master Painter were deftly sweeping a mighty, invisible brush across the pictured surface. Interblending shades of soft green, gray and violet came and disappeared.

Without turning her head, she answered, pensively, "It is very, very beautiful and I love it--in a way. But I am afraid of it, too. Yes, I like the lordly mountains better, Don. To me there is always something sinister about the sea, even when it is in as peaceful a mood as this; storms come upon it so swiftly, and it has taken so many precious lives."

Donald laid an understanding hand upon her shoulder for a brief moment.

"I won't urge you," he said. "Let's go for a little walk, then."

"I ... I can't do that, either, Donald. It was meant to be a surprise, but ... Dr. Bentley is coming down from Boston to-night, and I promised ... that is, he has asked me to ... to go somewhere with him." Rose was blushing again.

"Oh, I see. I didn't know that Phil was coming, although, of course, he has a standing invitation, and knows that I'm always delighted to see him," answered Donald, in a tone which he made natural with an effort.

"I invited him especially," broke in Ethel. "And he accepted in a letter to Rose."

CHAPTER x.x.xII.

THE STORM AND THE SACRIFICE.

Baby Don put an end to the moment of strained silence which succeeded. He laid hold of two of Smiles' fingers and began to pull at her, while saying insistently, "Come down to the beach with me, Aunty Smiles, and hear the waves ro-er." This was a favorite pastime with him.

His grandfather smiled. "The waves are 'ro-ering' as gently as any sucking dove, to-night."

But the baby was not to be turned from his design, and tugged persistently until Rose was obliged to rise, laughing. Muriel also started up.

"I'll go down with you and try out the Water Witch alone--unless, that is, either of you want to come along," said Donald.

His father and Ethel refused, with a show of indignation over the begrudging form which the invitation had taken, and he was not sorry. Neither man nor girl could find anything to say as they walked side by side to the beach, and the former launched the dory tender. As he put off she waved him a cheery good-by, and sent her low voice across the broadening water: "Come back to us soon. And be careful. It is beginning to get rough already."

With a note in his voice which she did not understand, he called back, "Perhaps I'll sail straight over to France. You wouldn't care."

"Foolish man. You know that I would," she cried, and then turned to join the children in their game of skipping pebbles.

Donald sent the skiff through the choppy waves with vigorous strokes and shot her around at the last moment for a perfect landing. The mainsail and jib went up with rapid jerks while the rings rattled their protest. The strenuous physical exercise brought him temporary relief; but, when he had cast off, taken the tiller and after a few moments of idle jockeying back and forth in the light puffs, squared away for the run seaward before the rising wind, his gloomy thoughts returned, to settle like a flock of phantom harpies and feast on his brain.

Out of nothing grew a vision of Judd's chalky, troubled face, and he felt a sudden rush of sympathy for the crude mountaineer, who had likewise loved and lost. "Smiles wasn't to blame then. She isn't to blame now. She never led either of us on," he said aloud; but his clenched teeth cut through the end of his cigar, nevertheless. With only his moody thought to bear him company, Donald steered seaward.

Starting slowly, the racing craft was momentarily given new impetus by swelling wind and following wave; but the man paid no heed to the things which should have served him as a warning--the higher heaving of the waters, now as gray and as cloudy green as a dripping cliff, and touched with flecks of milky spume; and the uneven tugging of the sail. When he did become aware of the swift change which had taken place, hardly five minutes had pa.s.sed from the time he had started out, yet a quick glance behind him disclosed a new heaven and a new earth and sea; the old had pa.s.sed away.

Where else is nature's stupendous power so evident as in the sinister speed with which the armies of the tempest make their swift advance, company on company, regiment on regiment, division on division?

In the moments which had pa.s.sed unmarked by him in his absorption, the whole western sky had become overcast and blackened by the vaporous army of invasion, whose forecoursing streams of cavalry skirmishers were already high over his head. The earth had lost its laughing colors, and seemed to lie cowering, with its head covered with a dull mantle, and the sea had accepted the challenge of the storm clouds and was beginning to leap forward in swirling, gloomy waves.

With a strong steady pull on the tiller, Donald brought the little craft around in a sweeping curve and headed into the wind, which had suddenly become chill and moist. The boat tilted sharply, and a dash of spray leaped the bow and, changing back to water, ran down the leeward side of the c.o.c.kpit. A drop of rain splashed on his bared forearm, and then another and another. Through the dark, serried clouds came a dagger thrust of fire, to be followed by a distant detonation which bore his heart back to the shuddering fields of France.

The new picture was impressed on his mind as on the sensitized film of a camera, and simultaneously the action of distant figures were registered upon it. Toiling up the steep bank to the cottage was a marionette made recognizable as Muriel by a tiny dash of red at the waist and on the head. For an instant he wondered if Smiles and his little namesake had already reached the house. Then he caught sight of them, still on the beach. There was fully a quarter of a mile of water between him and the sh.o.r.e, but the distance was being cut down bravely by the race-about, whose specialty was going to windward in a blow. Steadied by her racing keel, she cut through the waves like a knife.

The child, a mere gray dot, was apparently fleeing as fast as his st.u.r.dy little legs could carry him from the pursuing girl.

In spite of his bitterness of soul, Donald's lips curved into a smile as they formed the words, "Ah, the battle is on, once more. Rose has insisted that they hurry up to the house and Don has said, 'I won't.' Jerusalem, look at him kite it!"