The Pines of Lory Part 30

"Of course! I dreamed it," and sank wearily into her place upon the bench.

Furtively, but with pity in her face, the Princess regarded the drooping head and closed eyes; then she stood up and placed a hand affectionately upon Elinor's shoulder.

"I understand your feelings. Rest here until the boat goes."

Indicating, with a wave of her hand, the big trees towering high above, she added:

"Your last moments with these old friends shall be respected. I am going to the two graves over there, and will return before it is time to start."

She walked away, into the grove.

Again, among the shadows of these pines, came memories of her childhood, with the feeling of being alone in a vast cathedral. And the fragrance, how she loved it! And she loved this obscurity, always impressive and always solemn, yet filling her soul with a dreamy joy.

In her pa.s.sage between the columns of this shadowy temple she stopped and turned about for a parting glance at her friend. In the same position, her head upon her hand, Elinor still sat motionless, a picture of patient suffering. For a moment the Princess watched her in silence, then slowly turned about and started once again upon her way. Only a step, however, had she taken when the color fled from her cheeks and she halted with a gasp of terror. Gladly would she have concealed herself behind the nearest tree, but she dared not move.

In the gloom of the forest, scarcely a dozen yards away, a figure was moving silently across her path in the direction of the cottage. Such a figure she had seen in pictures, but never in the flesh. The North American savage she always dreaded as a child; and once, at a French fair, she had seen a wild man. This creature recalled them both. He was brown of color, with disorderly hair and stubby beard, and no covering to his body except strips of cloth, faded and in rags, suspended from one shoulder, held at the waist by a cord, and dangling in tatters about his legs. Bending slightly forward as he walked--or rather glided--among the pines, he was peering eagerly in the direction of the house. Had his gaze been less intent, he would have seen this other figure, the woman watching him in silent terror. Furtively she glanced about the grove to see if other creatures were stealing from tree to tree. But she failed to discover them.

Now the Princess, while fashionable and frivolous, and reprehensible in many ways, was not devoid of courage. And her conscience told her to give warning to her friends. This heroic decision was swiftly made. In making it, however, her cheeks grew paler.

But she was spared the sacrifice. As she drew in her breath for the perilous attempt, she saw the man himself stand still and straighten up.

Then, before she could utter the warning,--before her own little mouth was ready,--the shadowy silence of the wood was broken, not by the dreaded warwhoop, but by an imitation, startlingly perfect, of the notes of a quail.

That this was a signal to his followers she had no doubt. But suddenly, while these clear notes were yet in the air, the stillness of the pines was again disturbed by a cry--a cry of joy, intense and uncontrolled--from behind her, toward the river. She turned about. In astonishment she saw the grief-stricken maiden--a moment ago too weak to walk alone--already lifted from the rustic bench as by a heavenly hand, now flying in this direction over the brown carpet of the pines, swift and light of foot, with wings, it seemed. The savage, too, had heard the cry and already he was running toward the approaching figure. And he pa.s.sed so near the Princess that he would have seen her had he wished.

They met, the wild man and the girl. And the mystified spectator--mystified for a moment only--saw the maiden fling herself upon this denizen of the wood and twine her arms about his neck. And he, with a pa.s.sionate eagerness, embraced her, then held her at arms'

length, that again he might draw her to him, kissing her hair, mouth, forehead.

From the rapturous confusion of exclamations, of questions interrupted and unanswered, the Princess understood. For a moment she looked on in wonder, fascinated by this astounding miracle. But she soon recovered.

With a lump in her throat she began backing away, to escape un.o.bserved.

Elinor, through her tears, happened to see the movement and came forward, leading the savage by the hand. With a new light in her eyes, and her voice all a-quiver, she exclaimed:

"This is my Pats!"

The Princess courtesied.

"And, Pats, this is the Princess--the Princess de Champvalliers: our girl of the miniature."

Pats nodded--for he recognized the eyes with the drooping corners--and he smiled and bowed. And the Princess, as she looked into his face and forgot the wild hair and scrubby beard, the stains, the rags, and the nakedness, met a pair of unusually cheerful, honest eyes, and impulsively held out her hand.

[Ill.u.s.tration]

XVIII

A NUNNERY?

In very few words Pats told his story.

As Elinor had believed, he was forced beneath the water by the sliding earth and stones; but instead of lying at the bottom he had been carried by the under-current far out toward the middle of the river. On coming to the surface, more dead than alive, he found himself among the branches of an uprooted pine, also speeding toward the sea, at the mercy of the torrent.

Numb with cold from the icy water, he clung to this friend all one day and night, ever drifting toward the Gulf. At last, when rescued, he was barely conscious. And on recovering his wits he found himself aboard a Government coaster just starting on a two months' cruise.

"I insisted on being landed. They refused at first, but when I told them the situation--of the solitary girl I was leaving alone in the wilderness,--they not only put me ash.o.r.e, but gave me all the provisions I could carry."

"Bravo! A boat-load of lovers!" exclaimed the Princess. "And they did well!"

"Indeed they did!" said Pats, "for they were pressed for time, and it cost them several hours. So, in high spirits, I started westward along the coast, expecting to get here in three or four days."

Then, turning to Elinor: "Do you remember the wide marsh we noticed from the top of that farthest hill to the east, at the end of our journey last autumn?"

"Yes, I remember. We thought it the mouth of a river."

"Well, it _was_ the mouth of a river, with a vengeance. That marsh extends for miles on both sides of a river as impa.s.sable as ours. Ten days I tramped northward up the farther bank. And then, in swimming across, I lost nearly all my provisions, and most of my clothes."

With a slight bow to the Princess, he added, "I hope madam will pardon these intimate details: also certain deficiencies in my present toilet."

"Make no apologies, and tell everything," she answered, "I am one of the family."

Pats continued: "During nine days I travelled south, retracing my steps, but on this side of the river. The woods are different up there, with a maddening undergrowth, and it soon made an end of what clothes I had left. Yesterday morning I saw the sea again."

To every word of this narrative Elinor had listened, absorbed and self-forgetful. As for the Princess, she loved the unexpected, and here she found it. The more she studied Pats, the better she liked him and his cheerfulness,--a cheerfulness which seemed to rise triumphant above all human hardship. She took an interest in his unkempt hair and barbaric, four weeks' beard, in his scratched and sunburnt chest and arms. Even in the tattered remnants of his clothes she found a certain entertainment. And she noticed that while he stood talking in the presence of two ladies he appeared unembarra.s.sed by his semi-nakedness, perhaps from the habit of it. And, after all, what cause for embarra.s.sment? How many times, on the beach at Trouville, had she conversed with gentlemen who wore even less upon their persons?

Another surprise was given her when a brown setter, from somewhere in the forest, came flying toward them, and threw himself upon the long lost Pats. And the dog's delight at the meeting was similar to Elinor's.

He, in turn, was presented to the Princess, who patted his head.

"_Bon jour, Monsieur Solomon_. I am happy to meet you: and for your enthusiasm I have the profoundest regard."

Then, as they all started toward the cottage, Pats still answering Elinor's questions, there appeared among the pines a black figure which recalled pictures of Dante in the forest of Ravenna. This figure halted in surprise at sight of the half-naked savage approaching with an easy self-possession, a lady on either side. And evidently the savage was a welcome object--a thing of interest--of affection even, if outward signs were trustworthy. And his Grace, when presented to this uncouth object, made no effort at a.s.suming joy. Whether from an unfamiliarity with wild men, or from some other reason, this creature proved offensive to him.

The lately lamented lover appeared politely indifferent to the priest's opinion,--good or bad,--and this so augmented his Grace's irritation that his words of welcome displayed more dignity than warmth. After proper congratulations on the return of her friend, he said to Elinor, in impressive tones, with a fatherly benevolence:

"We always rejoice when a human life is saved, but it would prove a sad misfortune, indeed, should it cause you to falter in your high resolve and return to worldly affairs."

Elinor instinctively edged a little closer to Pats and slid a hand in one of his,--a movement observed by the Princess.

His Grace, with yet greater impressiveness in tone and manner, added:

"Yours is not a nature to forget or lightly ignore a pledge once given.

And please understand, my dear child, it is for your spiritual future that I remind you of your solemn words to our dear friend--to him who is no longer here to recall them to you, and whose beneficent influence is forever gone."

Into Elinor's face had come a look of pain, for these words to a conscience such as hers were as so many stabs. Pats frowned. Still clasping the fingers that had slid among his own, and with a slight upward movement of the chin, he took one step forward toward the prelate. But before he could speak the Princess acted quickly, to avert a scene. In a vivacious, off-hand manner, yet with a certain easy authority, she said, smiling pleasantly in turn upon her three listeners:

"You speak of a convent? Ah, your Grace forgets something! Religion is a mighty thing. We all know that. But there is one thing mightier--and here are two of its victims. 'T is the thing that makes the world go round. You know what it is. Oh, yes, you know! And it has made archbishops go round, too; even Popes--and many times! And when once it gets you--well! _il s'en moque de la religion et de touts les Saints_--for it has a heaven of its own. Moreover, we must not forget, your Grace and I, that this unconventional gentleman--"

Here she turned a mirthful glance upon Pats and his rags, and he smiled as his eyes met hers: