The Long Portage Part 11

"This way, Vernon."

Clarence swung round with a start and cast a swift glance at the stranger, and Millicent wondered why his face set hard; but the next moment Nasmyth led up the Canadian and presented him. Mrs. Gladwyne had risen and Lisle made a little respectful inclination over the delicate hand she held out. Age had but slightly spoiled her beauty; she had still a striking presence, and a manner in which a trace of stateliness was counterbalanced by gentle good-humor. Lisle was strongly impressed, but, as Millicent noticed, he betrayed no awkwardness.

"I seem to have heard your name before in connection with Canada," said Mrs. Gladwyne, confusing it with his surname. "Ah, yes! Of course; it was George's guide I was thinking of." She turned to Millicent, adding in an audible aside: "I've a bad habit of forgetting. Forgive me, my dear."

Everything considered, it was, perhaps, the most awkward thing she could have said; but Lisle's bronzed face was imperturbable, and Gladwyne had promptly recovered his composure as he realized the mistake. Still, for a moment, he had been badly startled. n.o.body noticed Nasmyth, which was fortunate, because his unnatural immobility would have betrayed him.

"I'd been expecting you both earlier; told you to come to dinner," said his host.

Then he addressed Lisle.

"As my mother mentioned, I had once something to do with a man called Vernon, in Canada."

Knowing what he did, Lisle fancied that Gladwyne's indifferent tone had cost him an effort.

"It's only my Christian name, as you have heard," he explained.

"You were up in the bush with Nasmyth, were you not?"

"Yes," answered Lisle. "I met him quite by chance in a Victoria hotel when I happened to have a few weeks at my disposal which I thought of spending in the wilds. When he heard that I intended making a trip through the northern part of the country and suggested that we should go together I was glad to consent."

"Then you belong to Victoria?"

"I was located there when I met Nasmyth. Before that I was up in the Yukon district for some time. Since leaving him I've lived in the city."

He thought Gladwyne was relieved at his answer, for the latter smiled genially.

"Well," he said, "we must try to make your visit to this country pleasant."

Shortly after this, the group broke up and Gladwyne, escaping from his guests, slipped out on to the terrace and walked up and down. Nasmyth had merely mentioned that he had a Canadian friend staying with him; somehow a formal introduction had been omitted during the day on the moors, and Gladwyne had been badly disconcerted when he heard the man addressed as Vernon. The name vividly recalled a Canadian episode that he greatly desired to forget, and he had, indeed, to some extent succeeded in doing so. That unfortunate affair was done with, he had a.s.sured himself; for two years it had scarcely been mentioned in his hearing, but for a horrible moment which had taxed his courage to the utmost he had almost fancied that it was about to be brought to light again. Lisle's answer and manner had, however, rea.s.sured him. Nasmyth had met the man accidentally and it was merely as the result of this that they had made the journey through the bush together. It was evident that he had been needlessly alarmed.

For all that, he was troubled. Living for his own pleasure, as he did, he was nevertheless a man who valued other people's good opinion and prided himself upon doing the correct and most graceful thing. There was no doubt that he had once badly failed in this, but it was in a moment of physical weakness, when he was exhausted and famishing. After all, it was most probable that his cousin had died before he could have reached him, and there were, he thought, few men who, if similarly situated, would have faced the risk of the return journey. Still, the truth would have had an ugly sound had it come out. This was why he had spread the story of the guide's defection, which he now regretted. It might not have been strictly necessary, but he had reached the trappers' camp on the verge of a collapse, too far gone to reason out the matter calmly. A man in that condition could hardly be held accountable for his action. Besides, it was incredible that the guide's statement that he had made the journey without replenishing his provisions could be correct.

His reflections were interrupted by Mrs. Gladwyne, who came out, wrapped in a shawl.

"Why are you here alone?" she asked. "You look disturbed. Has anything gone wrong?"

Gladwyne was sorry that she had joined him where the light from a window fell on his face, but he smiled.

"No," he answered quietly, for he was always gentle with her. "I only felt that I'd rather avoid the chatter of the others for a few minutes. I suppose it was the man's name, together with your reference to George, that upset me."

Mrs. Gladwyne laid her hand on his arm. She was inordinately fond and proud of the son whom she had spoiled.

"I sometimes think you are too sensitive on that point, Clarence," she said. "Of course, it was very tragic and we both owe George a great deal, but you did all that anybody could have done."

The man winced, and it was fortunate that they had now left the light behind and his mother could not see his face.

"I could have stayed and died with him," he broke out with unaffected bitterness. "There were times at the beginning when I was sorry I let him send me away."

Mrs. Gladwyne shook her head reproachfully. She was gracious and quietly dignified and refined in thought, but for all that she was not one to appreciate such a sacrifice as he had indicated.

"I'm afraid that was an undue exaggeration of a natural feeling," she remonstrated. "How could your staying have helped him, when by going in search of help you increased his only chance of safety? I have always been glad you were clear-headed enough to realize it, instead of yielding to mistaken emotional inclinations."

Gladwyne felt hot with shame. His mother had an unshaken confidence in his honor, which was the less surprising because her perceptions had never been very keen and she had always shrunk from the contemplation of unpleasant things. It was an amiable weakness of hers to idealize those she loved, and by resolutely shutting her eyes on occasions she succeeded in accomplishing it more or less successfully. Clarence was, of course, aware of this, and it hurt to remember that in deserting his cousin he had been prompted chiefly by craven fear. His mother, however, quite unconscious of what she was doing, further humiliated him.

"Of course," she continued, "if you had found the cache of provisions, it would have been your duty to return to George at any hazard, and I have no doubt whatever that you would have gone."

The damp stood beaded on the man's forehead. He realized that even his lenient and indulgent mother would shrink from him if she knew that he had abandoned his dying benefactor like a treacherous coward. He said nothing and they had strolled to the end of the terrace before she spoke again.

"I think it would be better to go back to the others and drive away these morbid ideas," she advised. "It's a duty to look at the brightest side of everything."

He made no answer, but he strove with some degree of success to recover his usual tranquillity as they turned toward the entrance of the hall.

In the meanwhile, Lisle had been talking to Millicent. She had already made a marked impression on him, for in the wilds the man had acquired a swift and true insight into character. One has time to think in the lonely places where, since life itself often depends upon their accuracy, a man's perceptions grow keen, and though some of the minor complexities and subtleties of modern civilization might have puzzled him he was seldom mistaken in essentials.

He liked her direct and calmly searching gaze; he liked her voice which, while soft and pleasant, had a trace of gravity in it. He knew that her fine carriage was a sign of physical vigor and he recognized how it had been gained by the clear, warm tinting of her slightly sun-darkened skin.

But, apart from this and her comeliness, which was marked, there was that in her personality which spoke of evenness and depth of character. She was steadfast, not lightly to be swayed from a resolve, he thought.

"Nasmyth has often spoken about you," she told him. "I understand it was chiefly by your help that he succeeded in reaching the scene of my brother's death. I want to thank you for that."

Her voice was quiet, but it did not betoken indifference; he knew that she was not one to forget. He could not think of any apposite answer, but she saw the sympathy in his eyes and it pleased her more than words would have done.

"It was a relief to me that Nasmyth made that journey," she went on. "I wanted to learn everything that could be known--instead of shrinking from it. You see, I had a great faith in my brother."

"He deserved it," Lisle declared warmly. "I have gathered enough to convince me of that!"

"Thank you! Clarence was not in a condition to notice anything very clearly during his journey, and I think what he suffered blunted his recollection. Besides, the subject is a distressing one to him, and it is seldom he can be induced to speak about it. Perhaps that is a pity; I find it does not always save one trouble in the end to avoid a little immediate pain."

Lisle was gratified. She had spoken so unrestrainedly, though he imagined that it was a somewhat unusual thing for her to take a stranger into her confidence.

"Yes," he replied; "I think that's very true. It's better to face it and get it over. The wound sooner heals."

She smiled rather wistfully and changed the subject.

"I told Nasmyth that you taught him to see."

"I suppose I did," acknowledged Lisle. "Still, it was only as far as it concerned the things that I'm acquainted with. I'm not sure that my meaning's very clear?"

"I understand. You knew what to expect; that carries one a long way. Were you disappointed in finding it?"

He was a little surprised at her keenness, and rather confused. This was a question that could not be directly answered.

"What I was more particularly referring to was the meaning of such things as a broken branch, a gap in a thicket, or a few displaced stones," he explained. "I taught him what to infer from those."

"Yes," she said; "I understand that you discovered nothing new--I mean nothing that could throw any further light upon what befell my brother after the others left him."

He was glad that he could answer her candidly.