"'Ye groves that wave in Spring,And glorious forests sing,Alleluia.'"
"'Ye groves that wave in Spring,And glorious forests sing,Alleluia.'"
"You have a passion for trees, I see, and would surely like Dunkeld; 30,000,000 alone are said to have been planted by a Duke of Athol; we father on to the scenery a spice of romance running through us."
"Don't try to excuse it by fathering it on to other than your own nature; our age is too practical; but Emerson expresses my thoughts exactly when he says 'everything but cyphering is hustled out of sight; man asks for a novel, that is, asks leave for a few hours to be a poet.' But, perhaps, you don't agree with me?"
"I do, or I should have a larger account at my bankers; I fear I am not a canny Scotchman, for I have spent a good deal in giving my poor wife and self a glimpse of the poetry of other lands."
"That was right, and kind. Do you know I think the world would be a better place to live in if, after one had made a sufficiency, one was compelled to give place to others, and if no credit was given in any case."
"That, without doubt, would settle a good deal, and do away with communism," he said, laughingly; "for there would be no large fortunes to grab. As to no credit, I fear, until we reach Elysian fields, we shall have failures, duns, and other fruits of the credit system," he said, gravely.
"Do you intend remaining in Toronto?" she said, intent upon her embroidery.
"That depends," he said, trying to read her; "don't go away; that old gold chair, with its crimson arms, becomes you (in woman's parlance), and brings out your warm tints."
"I should think you would admire a woman like pretty Mrs. St. Clair, as you yourself are dark."
"Yes; she is a pretty little thing; a triumph of art though; but, if you will allow me to say so, I admire your style; usually there is more force of character in dark women rather than in fair."
"Yes; do you think so?"
"I do; now, for instance, there is St. Clair, miserable at the aimless existence of his wife: she is either in hysterics or in—cosmetics."
"We hear he is insanely jealous of her."
"Rumor, as you know, dear Mrs. Grower, says more than her prayers. He tells me he is not jealous; for he does not believe any man would be silly enough to give him cause; but that by he or his son going about with her, her quest for admiration is held in check."
"Oh, I see; that is the reason they attend her so closely; what a pity we are so foolish as to throw away life happiness, and the passing of our time in rest and quietness for the evanescent soap bubbles of a passing hour; but it is growing late; come and see my palms in my pet room, the library, before you go."
"Thank you;" the mere words were naught, but he looked so quietly happy, as he drew the hangings for their exit, that the color came to her cheeks as she remembered her oath, to as quickly fade on the clock striking ten, and the hall bell ringing simultaneously, as a man outside stamped the snow off his boots, impatiently saying, hurriedly, the startled look again in her face:
"Ten o'clock; I fear I must postpone your visit to the library."
"Is there any trouble I can shield you from? if so, you have only to command me," he said, quickly, taking her hand in good night. "No, no, not now," she said, with a troubled look.
"Think, and tell me on New Year's Day," he said, buttoning his overcoat.
"I shook her off, Elaine," he said, impulsively, not seeing Mr. Blair, who was rather back of the door. "Oh, I beg pardon," he continued, sulkily. "I thought you were alone, and watching for my return."
"It is so late," she said, as Mr Blair made his exit.
"Nonsense, who was the man; I don't think it's right of you to have gentleman visitors," he said, in aggrieved tones.
"Now, Philip, does not that sound rather absurd? and, as I have before told you, I wish you would not come here at such a late hour; I don't like it," she said, gravely, as they went into the dining-room, where the usual little supper stood on a tray.
"But we are engaged, it's you who are absurd," he said, pettishly; "but don't let us bother about it, my frosty walk has been quite an appetizer. Did you find it long, pet, while I was away? but I forget, you had that man here. A ring! bother."
"It is Miss Crew, who is, you know, visiting me. Excuse me a moment, I hear Captain Tremaine's voice."
"Hang all her visitors," he muttered.
"I am glad to see you back, dear; come into the dining-room, both of you."
"Thanks, I believe if you only had potato and point, you would offer some one the potato."
"If so, they should thank you; for, from admiration of your hospitality, to imitation, was but one step."
"Blarney, blarney, you might only say that to the Chinese. These oysters are very fine, nothing like eating them off the shell."
"Just my taste; these were sent me by a friend."
"I never saw a man look more at home, than you, Cobbe; if all bachelors looked as contentedly jolly, we would not pity you so."
"No pity for me, Tremaine, thanks. I have given many of you cause for envy."
"He is not at all vain, Captain Tremaine," said Mrs. Gower, amusedly.
"Not for him," said Tremaine, jokingly.
"What is to be our color for 1888?"
"Orange or blue, Mrs. Gower; half the men I have met to-day say one, half the other; opinions are divided."
"Had the other man been a green Reformer, though, I would have bet on him," said Mr. Cobbe, buttoning on his overcoat.
"There is something in that," she said; "for some would say he would have the Ontario Government at his back."
"So he would, and good backers they would be, too. Good-night, Elaine; shall I see you at St. John's Church, to-morrow?" he said, in an undertone.
"Don't ask me, after my last experience; I am going all the way to Holy Trinity Church, with Miss Crew; but shall be at home Monday, excepting while at the polls."
"All right,au revoir."
On his exit, Tremaine said, laughingly,
"Good night. If the candidates were as sure of their election as our friend Cobbe is of his, they would sleep till Tuesday without a narcotic or a charm from the good fairies."
"A Happy New Year! A Happy New Year!" is on every tongue, and how exhilarating is the cry uttered by thousands. From the weakly voice of our aged loved ones, to the bird-like notes of the wee children, mingling with the merry sleigh-bells, do our politicians take up the refrain; and our manly men, and ambitious women, sing out in various chords, as they swarm to the polls, "A Happy New Year! A Happy New Year!"
And Old Boreas takes up the refrain, and blows till his cheeks crack, down Yonge street, from his northern realm. Yea, forty miles distant, does he send his cold breath. A Happy New Year! A Happy New Year.
And our young men and maidens, our girls and our boys, laugh till the air rings. Hurrah for the north wind, we'll go to the Granite and have a good skate.
And one gathers from the merry medley that our King Coal, and theSentinel, are this year's favorites; but those who have put money up, and those who have not, must even wait with bated breath till midnight, or till dawn; and in dreamland, see their pet schemes forwarded, their own man in the Mayor's chair.
It was a busy day at Holmnest, a bee-hive with no drones, by eleven a.m. Mrs. Gower has polled her vote; afterwards, with Miss Crew, drove through snow-mantled Rosedale, down villa-lined Jarvis street, through those stores of wealth, Yonge and King streets, along the margin of the silver lake, ere turning the horses' heads to the north-west and Holmnest; visiting, also, some of the poorer streets, in which quarters Miss Crew has found God's poor, many cases having touched her heart, she now leaves little parcels of good things to gladden these homes.
"You will become bankrupt, Miss Crew," said Mrs. Gower, as they are driven home.
"I am almost so, now; and if it will not bother you, I should like to tell you of a plan I have in view."
"Bother me? I should say not. You should know I take too much interest in you for that." "Thank you; some connections, until recently, have remitted to me a sum amply sufficient for my needs; I know not why," she said, in troubled tones, "they have discontinued it; but they have, and it remains for me to face the difficulty, now that Garfield has outgrown my tuition, I cannot remain dependent on the Dale's kindness; and of Mr. Dale's generous, good treatment of me, a stranger, I cannot say too much; but I must exert myself to get a new situation," she said, nervously. "And will you, dear Mrs. Gower, do what you can in advising me; I have been looking in the newspapers, but have seen nothing suitable."
"Excuse me, Miss Crew, but are you entitled by law to receive this remittance you speak of? if so, you should not quietly relinquish it, but should consult a lawyer. We, at Toronto, are blessed with several honest, as well as clever, law firms. I will accompany you readily, or do anything I can for you."
"You are very kind, but I shrink from lawyers, they ask so many questions," she said, timidly.
"You must not mind that, dear; if you were ill, what would you do, send for a medical man? and the more questions he asked, the better he would understand your case."
"I wish I was braver; but I am only a girl, and have had much trouble, which has made me very nervous and timid."
For one so extremely reticent, this was quite a confidence.
"Yes, it would have that effect on one of your temperament; but with me, my troubles have made me more self-reliant; finding few to trust, I have leaned on myself."
"Yes, you seem to me very brave; but don't you think I should advertise for a situation at once?"
"No, decidedly not. You should ask Mr. Dale to advise, and I shall be very pleased to have you with me all winter."
"How very kind you are, Mrs. Gower," and the tears came to her eyes, "but I should be more satisfied, adding to my purse."
"Very well, dear; I commend your decision, but remember the bedroom you occupy is Miss Crew's own, and your little home-nest will be ever ready for you; but do not forget my advice, which is to confide in Mr. Dale, fully and entirely; he can, and will, give you the very best advice."
"Oh, I don't see how I can. If you only knew; but how selfish I am, spoiling your drive, and on New Year's Day, too."
Here a small sleigh, in which were seated a comfortable-looking couple; the man a mass of grey tints—complexion, hair, whiskers, overcoat, and fur cap—looking like a man who had led a sedentary life; the woman, fresh of color, partly bent by the breath of old Boreas, both looking quietly happy, but so intent on turning their heads, as if on a pivot, first on this side, now on that, as they drove down handsome Saint George street, as to be oblivious of the approach of the sleigh in which were seated Mrs. Gower and Miss Crew.
"Look out, there," shouted the driver. At this, the man, giving his whole attention to his horse, turned him out of the way just in time to save a collision; the woman, as they passed, looking at the occupants. She gave a great cry to stop them, but the driver had given his horses the whip, and on they dashed. Miss Crew had leaned forward, pale as death, her lips blue and parted, she tried to frame the word, "Stop," but failed. Mrs. Gower, in sympathy, defining her meaning, cried:
"Stop, driver, please."
On his doing so:
"Is the sleigh we just passed out of sight?"
"No, ma'am; the gentleman has turned, and is a following of us. Would you, ladies, like a New Year's race? if so, I'm your man," he said, grinning.
But Miss Crew, white as the snow, and looking whiter by contrast with the pretty red hat, has leaped out of the cutter.
"My dog-skin coat is very warm, Mrs. Gower; don't wait; I must speak to them," she said, in the greatest excitement, her eyes glistening, her color coming and going.
"But you will take cold, dear; get in beside me again until they come up."
"No, no, I beg; I wish to meet themalone," she whispered.
"On one condition; are they friends?"
"Yes; oh, yes, she is one of my best."
Mrs. Gower, seeing them almost close, wishing her an affectionate good-bye, bade the man drive on, and, as was natural, fell into a reverie over the strange occurrence happening to a girl of Miss Crew's remarkably reticent character. She seemed pleased, but so intensely excited, one could scarcely tell her real feelings. She thought, "But I sincerely hope it will be a bright incident for her to begin 1888 with; for a more truly pious, gentle, amiable girl I have never met."
On the driver drawing in his horses, to allow a gentlemanly-looking man to pass, who was crossing Bloor West, at the head of St. George street, Mrs. Gower waking from her reverie, sees Mr. Buckingham.
"The compliments of the season, Mrs. Gower," he said, lifting his hat.
"The same to you. Whither bound?"
"To Holmnest."
"Then you had better come into the sleigh; 'there's room enough for twa.'"
"Thanks; with pleasure."
"Driver, you see the young lady ahead of us. I expect she is coming to my place. Just pick her up, please."
"All right, ma'am."
"I suppose you will think our sleighing a make-believe, after Lindsay, and locality."
"You will be surprised to hear I now come from New York. Dale telegraphed me to meet some railway men, so I have been there ever since."
"But won't your interests north-east suffer by your absence?"
"Oh, not materially, I hope; still I am anxious to be on the spot. There is a splendid mine out that way I should like to get hold of."
"Iron, I suppose?"
"Oh, yes; it is, you know, to be the great industry of the future."
"But you only mean if we get Commercial Union?"
"Yes, as far as Canada is concerned."
"What is the name of this special mine you covet? I have heard Mr. Dale speak of several; this may be one."
"It is the Snowden, in Victoria county; the ore is a fine grained magnetite; the mine is favorably situated, having a railway running into it."
"Indeed! all very favorable; do you think you will succeed in becoming a purchaser?"
"Of that, I regret to say, I am somewhat doubtful, as I am told there are several obstructionists connected with it; but I am not going to worry about it," he said, quietly; "if I don't get it, there are others."
"What an easy temperament you have," she said, looking into his quiet unmoved countenance.
"My dear Mrs. Gower, I hold that a man should have himself under such perfect control as to be able to look at himself, in a manner of speaking, with other eyes; sit in judgment upon himself; dissect his motives, reward or punish. I look upon one who lets loose the reins of reason, giving blind passion or impulse full swing, as only an animal of the swine family, whatever his name may be," he said, smiling.
"What must he think of me," she thought; I am as impulsive as a Celt. "What a superior race of beings man would be were his convictions your convictions."
"I think he would be happier, for he would not give way to excitement, which is, in my opinion, a sort of insanity; and also in its reaction, which is melancholy."
"That reaction, after excitement, is one of the strongest blue ribbon arguments; we had a 'chalk talk' thereon at the Pavilion on last Sunday afternoon; what do you think of the Prohibition movement?"
"I go with it, to the letter, for the mass of humanity cannot, or will not, control themselves; how do you go?"
"I believe in temperance in all things. Professor Blackie says, 'We have too much of everything in our day; too much eating, too much drinking, too much preaching, etc;' and I am so far at one with him, that I believe in temperance, and coffee, even on New Year's Day," she added, smiling. "Stop, driver, please."
"Come, get in, Miss O'Sullivan, and a Happy New Year to you, dear; this is my friend, Mr. Buckingham."
"I was on my way to your place, Mrs. Gower, to ask Miss Crew to come and spend the day."
"She is out with some friends; but you must lunch with me, and wait for her."
"Whose is that large, hospitable house, Mrs. Gower, at the head of St. George Street?" asked Miss O'Sullivan.
"A Colonel Sweeney's, dear, who, I was going to say, has a heart as large as his house, he is so kindly hospitable."
Here they overtook Mr. Blair, whose handsome face lit with pleasure, as he lifted his hat; and, somehow, Mrs. Gower was glad of the advent of the young lady, though, before seeing him, she had not minded hertête-à-têtewith Mr. Buckingham, with whom she likes to talk.
In a few minutes Holmnest is reached, when Mrs. Gower, telling Mr. Buckingham to make himself at home, he must stay for luncheon, and until it is time to take the Midland rail, went upstairs to make her toilette for the day.
Mr. Buckingham looks and feels at home ensconced in a deep, softly padded chair, near the blazing grate, in the restful library; he is soon lost in theIron Age.
On Miss O'Sullivan, a sweet-faced, blue-eyed girl, entering, looking bright as the morning in her pretty red woollen frock, the occupant, with the innate courtesy of his countrymen, laying aside his newspaper, adapted himself to her girlish chit-chat in a manner that charmed her, until the entrance of Mrs. Gower, in a very becoming gown of brown silk, with old gold plush trimming, ecru lace chemisette, and elbow sleeves—for she dressed for all day, and any friends who may come to wish her a glad New Year; she first goes to the kitchen to see that the machinery is actively in motion, as she had set it before going to the polls; one servant maid, with the boy, Thomas, being sufficient for the requirements of her cosy little home.
"Well, you both do look comfortable," she said, entering the library.
"Yes; I think we do," said Miss O'Sullivan.
"We only want you to want nothing more," he said, in pleased tones, placing a rattan chair, with its dark green velvet cushioned back and seat, and turning the fire screen to protect her face.
"Not yet, thanks; my poor palms have had no water to-day. How do you think my plants are looking, Mr. Buckingham?"
"Very fine; but if you kept them more moist they would do still better; but most amateur gardeners make a like mistake," he said, cutting some bits of scarlet geranium; "this bit of color will make your costume perfect."
"The costume! but what about the woman?"
"Oh, the woman knows right well," he said, leading her to the mirror.
"Give me the good taste of an American gentleman, in preference to a mirror, which is frequently untrue."
"Luncheon is served, ma'am."
After a substantial luncheon, to which they bring good appetites, given by their exhilarating outing in the frosty air, they cross the hall to the drawing-room, when Thomas opened the door to Miss Crew and Mr. Cobbe.
"Ah, here is our truant," said Mrs. Gower.
"Me!" laughed Cobbe, wishing her the compliments of the season.
Mr. Buckingham thought he detected a slight cloud of dissatisfaction pass over her face, even as she welcomed him.
"I have made fifteen calls already; the fair sex like to be remembered, Buckingham."
"Man is too selfish to forget what he could not do without, Cobbe."
"Give me an American for a due appreciation of our sex," said Mrs. Gower, gaily.
"No, no; you are wrong.Youought to know an Irishman to be the most gallant man that lives," Mr. Cobbe said, sulkily.
"Well, yes, perhaps you are the most gallant," she said, thoughtfully, "but in the bearing of an American man towards my sex there is a something more—there is a gentle courtesy, a deference, a grave tenderness."
"Tut, tut," said Mr. Cobbe, turning over the leaves of an album impatiently.
"I fear you flatter us," said Buckingham.
"No, I think not; simply because your great Republic is so highly civilized and progressive, the outcome of which is our enthronement with you; while, in other countries, we are still midway between our footstool of the dark ages and our throne with you."
Here Mr. St. Clair, Captain Tremaine, and a young barrister, a Mr. McCullogh, made theirentrée.
"Your drawing-room is looking very pretty, Mrs. Gower," said Tremaine; "the holly and mistletoe brings me home again."
"Yes, it looks so well against the blue and tan panels, that I am tempted to let it stay."
"Where did you get it; it is very fine and healthy?" asked St. Clair, admiringly.
"Well, thereby hangs a tale; it is a Christmas gift from Santa Claus. All I know about it is, it came (Thomas thinks) from Slight's."
"It was no slight to you, Elaine," said Cobbe, jokingly.
On the mention, before so many, of her Christian name she made an expressivemoueat Tremaine, unseen by the others, whose attention was momentarily given to several booklets and cards which lay on a pretty gilt stand, and while Miss O'Sullivan and McCullogh turned the pages of "Erminie" for Miss Crew at the piano.
"Wait until Monday, Buckingham. I take the Midland then, in your direction," said St. Clair.
"Impossible, St. Clair. I should have been as far as Lindsay yesterday."
On the clock striking three, St. Clair started to his feet, buttoning his coat.
"Good-bye, Mrs. Gower. 'Time and tide,' you know."
"Oh, yes; but Time is not such a churl as to bid you away before I have had even a look at you."
"But we men come to look at you, to-day, and, as usual, gratify ourselves.Au revoir. I promised Noah to be back at three, to let him off for a skate."
"'What's in a name?'" said Tremaine. "I wonder what relation he of the Ark was to that boy."
"But fancy! I heard a clergyman in this city baptize an unoffending infant Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego."
"Did he throw in the 'and'?" laughed Tremaine.
"Oh, no. Did I give it?"
"Yes. Well, I just call my boy plain Paddy."
"Do you throw in the 'plain'?"
"Oh, come, now; you ladies are having the best of it all through to-day," he said, making his adieux.
"At the polls too?" she said gaily.
Several callers now came in in rapid succession, Mr. Cobbe rising as the last made their exit.
"Think of me, Elaine. I shall come in and cheer you up when I get through," he said, in a loud whisper, as she was having a last quiet word with Buckingham.
Here Mr. Blair entered, and both men thought they saw a something in her smile that had not been given them.
"Good-bye has come again, Mrs. Gower," said Buckingham. "One must always regret leaving Holmnest; but I have only time to catch my train."
"Good-bye, and may all your wishes be granted."
Miss O'Sullivan, saying she must really go, took Miss Crew (who had a new light in her face), Mr. McCullogh accompanying them.
"I am fortunate," said Mr. Blair, as theportièrehangings closed after them; Mrs. Gower smiled.
"Rest, after running about; though I think the fashion of New Year's calls is fast dying out."
"It is, undoubtedly; this is my third and last. You are looking well after your frosty drive," he said, seating himself at the gilt stand beside her.
"Don't you think my friends have good taste?" she said, directing his attention to the cards and booklets; "this white ivory card is pretty, with its golden edge, white roses, and snowdrops, and gold bells, as they ring,
"May every Christmas chime awaken in your heartEach bliss of by-gone years in which your life had part."
"May every Christmas chime awaken in your heartEach bliss of by-gone years in which your life had part."
"Yes," he said, thoughtfully, "if one could only drink a good bumper of the waters of Lethe, and forget the pain, remembering only the bliss."
"But 'tis the memory of the bliss that brings the pain; at least I have found it so," she said gravely.
"Yes, you are right; I have not thought of putting it to myself in that way; but I must not give you a sad train of thought. Ah, this is original," he said, picking up a large card, on which was painted a bunch of scarlet poppies, with the lines:
"O! sleep; O! gentle sleep, how have I frighted thee,That thou no more will weigh my eyelids down,And steep my senses in forgetfulness?"
"O! sleep; O! gentle sleep, how have I frighted thee,That thou no more will weigh my eyelids down,And steep my senses in forgetfulness?"
"All the way from Ottawa; he evidently sees your eyes, which keep his open," he said, trying to read her.
"You are fanciful, Mr. Blair;" but her color deepens under his gaze; "but, be it as you say, he should close his eyes, possess his soul with honor, and clasp the hand of duty."
"You give him a hard task, still I would lay any wager on your kindliness of heart, on your strong sense of honor. I don't think you would fool with a man's affections," he said, earnestly.
In spite of herself she trembles, for she feels that he is more to her than any living man; and as he sits, his elbows on the table, his fingers ran through his iron-grey hair, looking at her, her eyes droop, her hands nervously play with the cards, her sensitive lips showing her emotion, as she thinks of Mr. St. Clair's words to her the evening of their introduction, of the nobility of this man's character, of his devotion to his late wife, of his clean record among men as to his truth and honor in all business transactions; and now she knows, intuitively, in fact, did at their first meeting, that his heart is seeking hers.
"I am right, you would not play with a man's affections; you have had sorrow yourself; tell me."
In spite of herself, a tear glistened in her eyes as she looked into his face, as she thought of her oath.
"No; do I look so faulty, frivolous and foolishly wicked?"
"No, you have a sweet, kind, womanly face," he said, smiling gravely; "and were I to tell you of my lonely life, and how I long for just such a womanly presence, just such companionship to gladden a home, to make my broken life complete, with a sweet sense of peace and rest, would you send me from you desolate?" and his voice thrilled with intense feeling.
"If so, and that my act left me also desolate, would you not forgive me?" she said, brokenly.
"I would forgive you, yes; for I could not live with enmity in my heart towards you; but, why do you speak so?" he said, earnestly, her words giving him the key to her heart, as he came over beside her, and with an arm around her, drew her head to his chest. "Don't resist me; you know I love you, and you will be my ain bonnie wife." He felt her tremble, though she yielded to him. "Better lo'ed ye canna be," and stooping, he kissed her on the lips: "those lips, a thread of scarlet," and he looked at her tenderly.
At this her color deepened, and, with a sigh, she said, her voice trembling with emotion: "Release me, dear, it can never be; I am promised to another. Go now, and leave me to my fate," she said, tearfully.
"Never! Youshallbe my wife, and that before the next moon wanes. Whoever this man is, he has not won your heart. Yes,myheart twin,myown companion every day for our journey through life,myElaine, not his;" and, again and again, for a few blissful moments that she is strained to his heart, do his kisses come to her lips. "Look up, dear wife, and tell me by one look that I am in your heart. Yes, love, your eyes tell me that our lives will be again worth living, again complete. No, I will not let you go; and I just want to see this man who thinks he will rob me of you."
At this juncture the hall-bell rings, just as the clock was striking seven, the hour Mrs. Gower had ordered dinner; and, as quick as her hastened heart-beats would allow, donning society's mask, she is playing Chopin's music, while Mr. Blair is intent on "The Miniature Golden Floral Series;" when Mr. Cobbe enters, evidently by his manner having done more than "look upon the wine when it is red."
"Well, Elaine, don't scold me, I could not come back any sooner," he said, with a jovial air; "but, hang it, I never see you alone these days."
"Can it be possible, she has promised herself to this swaggering fool!" thought Blair.
"What's the matter, Elaine?" he continued, leaning on the piano, and looking into her face, "you have a tragedy face."
"Sometimes I seem to be taking part in one," she said, gravely; hoping he would remember the woman.
"Oh, I see; you have been playing 'Faust;' if you want something devilish, try French opera; German is horns and hoof, and no fun."
Seeing his mood, she abandoned all hope of fixing his attention on any quieting thought, glancing at Mr. Blair for sympathy; one look told her his opinion of her friend. "How he must despise me," she thought, introducing them. "And now, you must both dine with a lone woman."
"It will give me great pleasure to begin the year so," said Mr. Blair, with the determined air of a man who could and would hold his ground, as he put her hand through his arm, whispering, "Courage!"
"You look very much like a lone woman, I must say," said Cobbe, sulkily. "I told you before, Elaine, that I don't think it's right of you," he said, recklessly.
As they crossed the hall to dine, the geraniums dropped from her gown.
"Oh, my poor flowers," Mr. Blair picking them up. Mr. Cobbe said, jealously, "Poor flowers, indeed; I should just like to know who gave them you."
Fearing he would think it had been Mr. Blair, and not feeling equal to a scene, she said, hurriedly:
"A friend who has left town; but you are too sensible to allow such a trifle to spoil your dinner."
From the moment of their passing through theportièrehangings into the hall, Blair had seen the face of a woman peering through the vestibule door, Thomas having neglected fastening the outer door on letting in Mr. Cobbe. On entering the dining-room, Mrs. Gower, in looking over her shoulder in making the above remark, saw the face. Not so Cobbe, who was wholly absorbed in rage at the present state of affairs.
Mr. Blair felt his companion tremble as she said to herself, "That woman!" At that, pressing her closely to his side, he again whispered, "Courage!"
"Thomas, go quickly to the vestibule door."
"Yes, ma'am."
"Why, what's the matter now, Elaine; do you expect another gentleman?"
"Go and see." "No, no; if he comes I'll see him soon enough, and the soup smells too tempting."
Thomas returned and waited, when Mrs. Gower said, nervously, "Are both doors securely fastened, Thomas?"
"They are, ma'am."
"Queer time for a visitor to call, just at dinner hour," said Cobbe, in aggrieved tones.
This was more than Thomas could stand, who had more than once confided to the kitchen his opinion of Mr. Cobbe for doing likewise, so he said, respectfully:
"Beg pardon, sir; but it wasthatlady for you, sir."
"Hang it! you told her I wasn't here, I hope."
"No, sir; I said you was at dinner, and I couldn't disturb you, sir; so she said she would wait outside."
"It's very cold for her," faltered Mrs. Gower.
Here the merry sleigh-bells jingled and stopped at the gate; voices are nearing; and now the hall-bell again rings, when Mr. and Mrs. Dale are heard in the hall stamping the snow off their boots, and divesting themselves of their wraps.
"Thomas, get plates, etc."
They enter looking as if Jack Frost has given them a chilly embrace, for they have had a cold drive from town.
"Welcome! this is a glad surprise, though I half expected you yesterday. Mrs. Dale, allow me to introduce Mr. Blair; Mr. Dale, Mr. Blair; and now be seated; I am so glad to have you back again, Ella; I have missed you much."
"Thank you, Elaine; we both wished you were with us; Henry's English friends, the Elliotts, are delightful, and were charmed with your description of river life on the St. Lawrence."
"They will think I have scarcely done it justice, on their revelling in it themselves."
"We have Ella Wheeler Wilcox and Rose Elizabeth Cleveland, at New York, this winter, Mrs. Gower," said Dale, in gratified tones.
"What a treat it would be to meet them; they will give new life to the women's literary circles."
"Oh, where is Miss Crew?" asked Mrs. Dale.
"Out spending the day at the O'Sullivans."
"I am glad of that," said Dale, kindly. "Miss O'Sullivan has the brightness our little friend lacks, and will, perhaps, win her confidence, which we have been unable to do."
"That is very true," said Mrs. Gower, who now related the incident of the morning, regarding the couple they had met while out sleigh-driving; at which Mrs. Dale was all eyes and ears, her pretty little face aglow with excitement.
"How strange! and she persisted in seeing them alone! did she seem glad?"
"Oh, yes; for such a quiet, self-contained little creature, very much so."
"And did she tell you nothing on her return?"
"No; she had no opportunity; we had callers, and Miss O'Sullivan was here; but she looked happier, poor, lonely, wee lassie."
"She is likely to remain lonely, too," said Cobbe; "a man does not want to marry a girl as stiff as his beaver, and as prim as its band."
"Poor girl; one cannot expect her to show that careless joy in living our girls show, who have happy homes and ties of kin."
"In my opinion," said Dale, "the women and girls who take life easiest, and seem to feel that the good things of life are their heritage, are the American women."
"I don't go with you, Dale," said Mr. Cobbe; "I'll back up some of our own women against them for monopoly of that sort."
"I am at one with you, Mr. Dale," said Mrs. Gower, "for this reason: from the time an American woman can lisp, she is taught the cardinal ideas of the country, viz., liberty and equality."
"From your standpoint, Mrs. Gower, your sex should be all Republicans," said Mr. Dale. "What countryman are you, Mr. Blair?"
"A pure and unadulterated Scotchman; and I hope you like the land o' bagpipes, heather and oatcakes sufficiently as to like me none the less."
"No; for was I not English, I would be Scotch."
"And I," said Mrs. Dale, "would have liked you better were you Irish-American."
"You are candid, at all events," he said, smiling.
"You had better live as near perfection as possible, by remaining in Canada, Mr. Blair," said his hostess, rising from the table. "Come, Ella, we shall leave them to their cigarettes and the subjects nearest their hearts."
"You are one of the most thoughtful women I have ever met," said Dale, drawing the hangings for their exit; "but our smoke will be but a passing cloud; we shall soon sun ourselves in your presence."
"Listen to him," said his wife, merrily; "don't I bring him up well."
As the two friends sipped their coffee from dainty Japanese china, the red silk gown of Mrs. Dale contrasting prettily with the brown and old gold in the dress of her friend, they made a sweet, home-like picture, in this tasteful little drawing-room, with its gaily painted walls, hangings in artistic blending, its softly padded furniture, not extravagant—for Mrs. Gower's income is but $600 per annum—now that house and furniture are paid for, but Roger's bill was very reasonable, for all is in good taste; and with two or three good pictures, a handsome bronze or two, with a few bits of choice bric-a-brac, all the latter gifts from friends; with the glowing grate, the colored lights, the holly and mistletoe, all make an attractive scene.
"And now about yourself, Elaine; I hoped on my return to have found your mercurial friend out in the cold."
"No, Ella; I can do nothing with him," she said, gravely.
"Can't he get it into his head that no woman would marry a man with another woman dangling after him. I have no patience with him. Does she haunt your place still?"
"Yes; she is certainly most constant. Did I tell you of a fright she gave me at two public meetings?"
"No; you wrote me that you must do so on my return."
"Just fancy coming from the Rodgers' mass meeting, before the mayoralty election. I went with Philip, and she must have followed us, for she managed to get near us, and in the crush making our exit, took hold of his arm, andwould not let him see me home; picture me in that crowd, having to fight my way through, and alone! I think I shall never forget that night; fortunately the cars were running; so taking the Carlton, College and Spadina Avenue car, I managed to reach home. Ella, it was awful, the lonely home-coming," she said tearfully; "the cowardly (I suppose it was) fear of meeting acquaintances; but the feeling that I was engaged, nay, under oath to marry a man who could allow this, was worse than had I met dozens of acquaintances; the late hour; then after I had left the Spadina Avenue terminus, the lonely walk up here—all together made me so nervous I was not myself for a day or two."
"I should say you would be; it was dreadful; and as you say, dear, the feeling that you were engaged to such," she said, contemptuously, "added bitterness to the act; oath or no oath, he must release you."
"He won't."
"Heshall;and I am determined to stay with you until I can interview that woman. What a horrid man he is, any way."
Here the gentlemen entered, and a truce to confidentials.
"Has my little wife told you, Mrs. Gower, that I have tickets for 'Faust,' and we hope you will care to accompany us?"
"No; she had not told me, though we were speaking tragedy."
"Well, yours was the prologue; now for 'Faust;' you will come?"
"Yes, with pleasure," she said, feeling that hertête-à-têtewith Mr. Blair is over, for Mr. Cobbe would remain; feeling also that suchtête-à-têtewas too full of quiet content for her to indulge in, engaged as she is to another.
Mr. Blair very reluctantly rises to depart, seeing that the evening he has promised himself, in dual solitude with the woman he determines shall be his wife, is broken in upon.
"Good-night, Mrs. Gower; the walk to town will seem doubly cold by contrast with the warmth of your hospitalities," he said, holding her hand, a look of regret in his blue eyes.
"Button up well, then, to ensure my being remembered for so long," she said, quietly.
"Good-night, Elaine; expect me to-morrow, at five p.m.," said Mr. Cobbe, with an important air.
Outside, to Mr. Blair, he said, "Fine woman, Mrs. Gower; I am in luck, but she has too much freedom," he said, pointedly.
"How do you mean?" asked Blair, by an effort controlling himself to speak quietly.
"Oh, too many gentlemen coming and going; I must arrange for our marriage at once."
"You are honored by a promise from her to marry you, then?"
"Yes; but by more than a promise; by an oath," he said, flightily; "and she is not the only woman who is infatuated with me," he added, chuckling at his companion's discomfiture.
"You are fortunate," said the canny Scotchman, hating him for his words; but aware that there is some mystery in the case, knowing Mrs. Gower to shrink from fulfilling her engagement; having recognized the face of the woman at the vestibule as the woman he has seen prowling about Holmnest at night-fall, he affects a friendly air to draw his companion out, trusting that his intense vanity will lead him to commit himself insomuch as to give him a hold upon him, which he will use as a means of freeing Mrs. Gower.
Hearing steps behind them, he looks, and lo! the light of the street lamp shows the face of the woman of the vestibule.
"By George, you are a lucky fellow; here is this poor little woman at your heels; you are too gallant to allow her to walk alone; step back and introduce me," he said, with the vague hope that he might in this way find the hold she has on Cobbe; butl'homme propose, Dieu dispose, for he said importantly:
"So she is; between you and I, the more faithless I am, the tighter she hugs;" and, turning on his heel, the woman with him, they go at a run down Major Street, leaving Blair, in blank dismay, standing in the cold of the snow-mantled night.
After seeing talented Modjeska at the Grand, in "Faust," Mrs. Gower, having wished her friends a warm good-night, as she sleeps, dreams of a manly, handsome face bending over her, while the light in his eyes give point to his words of "Better lo'ed ye canna be."
On a cold afternoon, in January's third week, when fair Toronto's children wore the colors of Old Boreas; when the spirits of the air floated on the frozen breaths of humanity, and when imagination held that the giant cyclone of the North-west had hurled into our midst a bit of the North Pole, on such a day Holmnest is a snug spot; not one of those mansions with a small coal account that some of our moneyed citizens exist in in cold grandeur during winter's reign; but small, warm and home-like. So thought Mrs. Dale, who is again spending a few days with her friend, and who is now seated with Mr. Blair beside the glowing grate in the drawing-room; he cannot keep away, and having confided his hopes and fears to her, they have become warm friends.
Mrs. Gower and Miss Crew are down town shopping, the latter having abandoned her intention to seek employment other than her voluntary deeds of good as a city missioner, she having received a bill of exchange from the mother country on the Bank of British North America; whether from this cause or from the fact of her constant visits to the quietly happy-looking couple she had met on New Year's Day, her friends can only guess; but she is certainly looking happier, though still reticent as to her private history, merely telling Mrs. Gower, to whom she has become much attached, that before long she will ask their advice, and tell them all.
Mr. Cobbe has just called, but had not gone in, ascertaining from Thomas that his mistress was not at home, but that Mrs. Dale and Mr. Blair were in the drawing-room—he volunteering the latter information, instinct telling him it would not be agreeable; for the kitchen did not approve of him as the coming master at Holmnest, saying one to the other, "Pretty fly he is, to think of dividing up of the likes of he between our missis and that bold hussy as follows him."
At this moment, in the drawing-room, Mrs. Dale, as she alternately pats Tyr's head, or, with deft fingers, embroiders a cushion, says, with a curl on her scarlet lips, her Irish eyes flashing:
"I am glad Elaine was out. You see, he knew enough not to come in and be entertained by us."
"Yes, he knows enough for that," he said, mechanically, waking from a reverie. "I wish to heaven we could interview the woman. I am convinced we would elicit information sufficient to absolve our dear friend from her oath. I am driven to my wit's end, I am in such misery. I can assure you, Mrs. Dale, this matter has taken such hold of me that I neither eat, drink, sleep, nor even think naturally."
And the ring of truth is in his words, as he starts up, and paces up and down the room like a caged lion, eager for action, yet compelled to inactivity. Papers and magazines strew the carpet where he had been seated, on which he had in vain tried to fix his thought. Now he again flings himself into his chair, she sees his brows knit, his eyes small with the intentness of inward musing; his manly, independent bearing is crushed, his firm, determined mouth is still set with a fixed purpose, but his face has lost its glow of happiness.
He haunts Holmnest some hours of each day, his eyes following her every movement as she goes about her home duties, or sits quietly reading, or holding book or newspaper, under pretence of doing so, giving herself a few moments' silent thought, ever and anon lifting her eyes to his face, as quickly to withdraw them, lest sympathy lead her to betray a grief akin to his. One day he asked her how it was she had come in the first place to allow Mr. Cobbe the privilege of friendly intercourse, when she told him all. Of the deaths of loved ones, of her long and tedious law suits, of her losses through the wrong-doings of others, of the flight of summer friends, of her difficulty in earning a sufficiency to eke out her small income, and of Philip Cobbe being introduced; when his jovial, free-from-care nature diverting her attention from her many cares, she and he gradually drifted into a very friendly acquaintance, which resulted in their walk through the Queen's Park. Of her oath she had already told him on the 3rd of January, on his relating to her the boastful words of Mr. Cobbe on the evening previous. At which he had been driven nearly desperate, as also on her resolve that, in honor bound, she must be true to her oath.
She had never allowed him to kiss her since those few blissful moments that lived in the memory of each, in which he had asked her to become his wife on Monday, the 2nd of January, and when he had read her heart.
"It's a miserable fix for Elaine," said Mrs. Dale, picking out a few false stitches she had made in giving her attention to him as he paced the floor in his agony of mind. "She cares for you, but will remain true to her oath; she will go on in this wretched way, Mr. Cobbe coming and going, boasting of his engagement, to keep rivals at bay, and that woman haunting the place until a tragedy ends the whole farce. Elaine will postpone and postpone her union with that man until she dies broken-hearted, poor thing. She has had no end of trouble in the past, and now this must all crop up. Nasty Cobbe; Ihateyou," she said, emphatically.
"So do I," he said, moodily; "but what availeth it? We, with our strong natures, are as wax in the hands of this vain, foolish, empty-headed fellow; he has the whip-hand of us. I never felt small, impotent, powerless in my life until now. You don't know what mad thoughts come to me sometimes, when I see her going about in her sweet womanliness with a pretence of gaiety lest I feel for her, making this truly home, sweet home; now going to her kitchen, now sewing quietly; again singing, though in unsteady tones, the songs of my own land."
"Perhaps it would be better for you; easier, I mean, if you kept away from her."
"Kept away! that's what she tells me. No; come I must. I am not fit to attend to business, to face the busy hive of men down town. I have not as yet rented an office, or put out my shingle as broker and estate agent, so the world which knows me not does not miss me. Did I not come, I should be tortured by the thought that Cobbe had persuaded her to marry him, and that with the false hope of making me forget her, and the woman to give up her game as lost, she would consent. No; I shall come in the seemingly aimless way; but not aimless, for I am her bodyguard. Already my being here, and holding my ground, has more than once prevented atête-à-tête, and saved her from (I make no doubt) his hateful caresses. He hates me, and would revenge himself upon me if he could; and, insomuch as he can, he does do so—by using her Christian name, leaning familiarly over her shoulder as she reads or sews, following her even to the kitchen. Once he dared to kiss her good-bye, but I don't think he will try that again; for, on his looking at me maliciously, to note my jealousy, I gave him one look, at which he made a hasty exit."
"So far so good, Mr. Blair; but you and myself are really doing nothing to free Elaine. Wemustget a hold of the woman; she is not very well clad; is, I dare say, poor; I shall try if the dollar will grease the wheels of her tongue. Now, how shall we manage it? This evening I shall express a wish to telegraph Henry. You must offer to accompany me; this will allow of time to work on Mr. Cobbe's Mary Ann. We shall walk up and down on the other side of the street (thus putting ourselves in Grundy's mouth) until she appears, when, pouncing upon her, we willmakeher tell her relations to Cobbe. You understand?"
"Yes, but he will be here alone with Elaine."
"Just like a man: as jealous as a rooster in a barnyard. Miss Crew will be here, and chance callers."
"Very well; it shall be as you say, though I mortally hate not being present when he is here; but here she comes, her cheeks like roses, and eyes bright from the frosty air," he said, brightening.
"Oh, you pair of fire-worshippers!" she exclaimed, giving her hand to Mr. Blair. "I have had a glorious walk from Yonge, through Bloor west, and up here. We took the Yonge up-cars, when Miss O'Sullivan, who was one of us, carried off Miss Crew till to-morrow."
"I suppose King Street wore its usual afternoon dress of dudes and sealskin sacques," he said, drawing her wrap from her shoulders.
"I suppose so; but we only went as far as Roche's. What a world of a place it is. Mrs. Francis says, 'One can buy everything but butcher's meat there,' and she is about right. The up-cars were, as usual, over-crowded; we were to blame for taking one, I suppose, as so many poor fatigued-looking men were obliged to stand. However, we were sorry for them in a practical way, for we only occupied one seat by turns; the company should run extra cars about six, or label them, 'For men only.'"
"On the other side," said Mrs. Dale, "men say it's a poor rule that won't work both ways, so, as we advocate equal rights, they, as a rule, don't yield their seats."
"Is that so?" said Blair. "I wonder at that, for Mrs. Gower tells me there is a shrine to woman in every house."
"Oh, never mind her, she is our champion, fights and wins our battles. I used to hope she would marry among us, and strut under our big bird; but alas, she sees more beauty in a common Scotch thistle," she says, teasingly.
Blair smiled, gravely, saying with his eyes on Mrs. Gower, in her pretty, dark blue gown, with broken plaid over-skirt,
"I fear not; to the shamrock she plights her troth."
At this the color rushes to the roots of her hair, to as quickly recede, leaving her like marble, and, gathering up her wraps, saying, in unsteady tones,
"Excuse me a moment, I must see what the kitchen is about: it is near dinner time."
Blair, drawing the hangings, said, wistfully following her into the hall:
"Forgive me, dear."
"I must, when you look so sorry; but, that compulsory oath is killing me, Alec; driving me into heart disease," she said, tremblingly.
"My darling! is it possible? but I can see it. Your heart is fairly jumping, your hands cold, your nails blue; come in here for a few minutes' quiet," he said, sorrowfully, leading her into the library, taking her wraps from her, seating himself quietly beside her, simply taking her hands, while whispering soothing words. His own heart breaking the while, that he may not take her in his arms; but with her breath coming in gasps, the excitement would have killed her, even did she permit any demonstration of feeling from him, which indeed, she had unconditionally forbidden.
On the dinner-bell ringing, she said, in low tones:
"You are nice, and good, and kind to have talked to me so quietly until I recovered the use of my tongue. You see, dear, I can give it a rest sometimes; now come for Ella, to our dish of roast beef and Yorkshire pudding. Don't look so grave, Alec; 'Richard is himself again.' I wish you would go away for a time, leave the city; as you have not commenced business actively, really got into harness, you could easily do so; it would be easier for me, I think, if I did not see you," she said, almost breaking down.
"I cannot," he said, looking into her face gravely; "and it would not help you; all I can manage, is to keep to the conditions you made: that in coming I must not speak of my love for you; and you must own, dear, that I fulfil those conditions; holding myself continually in check, curbing my feelings, never outwardly letting loose the reins of passion, even when I see that man hanging about you."
"Yes, you are very good; but still, I—oh, I don't know what to say or do," she said, in anguish, covering her face with her hands; then, by a violent effort controlling herself, took her place at table.
During dinner, she was pale and flushed, talkative and silent, by turns; her companion keeping the ball moving to give her a rest.
Oh their returning to the drawing-room, Mrs. Dale gave them some music, thus giving each time for quiet thought. The sweet sounds suddenly ceasing, she wheels round on the piano-stool, saying, energetically,
"I feel restless this evening, active exercise will cure me; a brisk walk down street, or even the toboggan-slide."
But Mr. Blair does not take her up, and sits with averted eyes, not thinking Mrs. Gower well enough to be left with Mr. Cobbe.
"Well, Ella, Mr. Blair is too gallant not to accompany you. You will both go; when I tell you that I wish to see Philipalone, I am going to again appeal to him."
"I am afraid it will be too much for you, Elaine, perhaps," she said, hesitatingly, for she does not like to give up her plan; "perhaps Mr. Blair ought to stay, he need not be in the very same room with you."
"Yes, that is a good idea; I shall go to the library," he said, in relieved tones.
"No, dears, you will both do as I wish. With the knowledge that I am alone, I shall doubly nerve myself to the task."
For she dreads that Mr. Cobbe's excitable temper will give way, causing a scene.
"Well, if you are going to talk to him, Elaine, tell him everything; and that Mr. Blair and I say he is breaking your heart."
"I fear, Ella, your united opinions would have little weight with him," she said, with the ghost of a smile; "but I shall tell himall, never fear," she said, earnestly feeling that Mr. Blair was, as usual, following her every word. "Never fear, I shall be a good pleader, for I have my life's happiness at stake; away with you at once, and don't come back with broken bones from the slide."
It is a cold, frosty night, the moon and clouds seeming to have a game of hide-and-go-seek across the sky, when Mrs. Dale is already enveloped in her warm dark blue blanket suit and Tam-o-Shanter, with Mr. Blair, in heavy brown overcoat and Christy hat, not having been in our land long enough for his blood to have lost its warmth and to feel the need of furs.
Before they start Mr. Cobbe rings the bell, and is admitted to the library, Mr. Blair turning out the gas in the drawing-room, and Thomas receiving orders that "no one is at home."
"Suppose she should not come this evening," said Mrs. Dale, as she and her companion returned from a brisk walk to a post box, and neared Holmnest. "You know, she misses his trail; at all events, does not watch for him here every evening."
"Hush! she is in the shade of that pile of lumber and bricks in front of the house that is being built next to Holmnest," he whispered, hurriedly.
"So she is; that is lucky; and now to follow our plan. We shall not see her for some minutes, but endeavor to interest her by our talk about that scallawag and poor Elaine."
"I don't think, on second thought, that that would be our best plan; we had better go up to her and demand to know her relations to him," he said, quickly, in an undertone.
"No, no; I know best."
As they neared, the tall, slight figure, clad in a brown ulster and small round hat, disappeared to the other side of the lumber, almost out of sight, but well within ear-shot.
"Stand here a minute, Mr. Blair; before we go in I want to tell you what I fear will be the result of Mr. Cobbe's determination to marry Mrs. Gower against her will," she said, in clear tones. On this they could hear that the woman took a step nearer in the deep snow on the boulevard, that had drifted in the recent storm to the lumber. "You must see yourself," she continued, "that the compulsory oath he compelled her to take is killing her; and none know better than you do yourself that her love is not his; almost all friendly feeling even she had for him prior to that oath, has fled; yet still he will keep her to it; and she will marry him some day, in a fit of desperation to get rid of him, and to show you that you are free to marry some more fortunate woman. It's my belief he is a mere fortune-hunter, and cares no more for her than we Americans care for you, in annexation; we only care for the loaves and fishes (especially the latter). I simply hate to go in to the house; it makes me double my fists to see him making love to her." The last words she said to rouse the woman's wrath; she knows her sex well, for, ploughing through the snow a few steps, she faces them.
Mrs. Dale gives a little scream. Mr. Blair, turning quickly, says, in decided tones,
"Oh! you are here again; well, I am not sorry, for I had determined to put a detective on your track to-morrow, and am glad to have an opportunity of warning you first."
"Any woman would do no more nor I do, just standing here when I please," she said, doggedly, her teeth chattering, partly from nervousness, partly from cold.
"Poor thing; you are half frozen," said Mrs. Dale, to show she was not unfriendly.
"We shall not detain you long, young woman," said Mr. Blair, quickly, as he thinks of the woman he loves worried by the man he hates; "all we want to know is your name and address, and what hold you have on Mr. Cobbe; for a woman of your respectable appearance would not follow a man about unless she had some hold on him—some real right to watch his movements. You have overheard this lady and myself talking over this matter, and I can assure you it would add materially to our peace of mind could we compel Mr. Cobbe to do right by you; come now, no delay, no beating about the bush; tell the truth and shame the devil; out with it."
"Gentlemen lie quicker than a working girl, like myself," she said, suspiciously. "I have heard what this lady said, but how do I know that it's all square? Phil. said if you caught me hanging around after him, you'd get me took up, and here is a peeler coming; I see what you're after."
And she tries to run, but Mr. Blair holds her firmly until the policeman passes.
"I tell you I mean you no harm; but youmusttell your connection with Mr. Cobbe,and at once."
"Give me till to-morrow night, sir, for the love of heaven, and I will try again if Phil. will give your lady up, that I have wished to kill for coming between us; aye, and would have fired Holmnest on her some night, but for this lady's words that she don't want my man. My name is Beatrice Hill, and I live at 910, Seaton Street; I will tell you the rest to-morrow night, if he will not give her up," she said, bursting into tears.
Mr. Blair made a note of the address, Mrs. Dale saying kindly, "You had better come around to the kitchen and get thawed; you are——" when, turning suddenly to Mr. Blair, who has his back to a couple coming down the street, she says, quickly,
"Here are the Smyths; stand where you are; and you too, Beatrice Hill."
"Hello!" cried Smyth, coming upon them suddenly (that is Toronto's pass-word). "How do you do, Mrs. Dale; how do, Blair?"
"How happy would I be with either," said his lively wife, aside to Mr. Blair; "oh, I beg pardon," she continued, seeing the other is not one of them. "How is Mrs. Gower?"
"She is not very well this evening, and is, I hope resting. How is it your little son is out when he ought to be under the bedclothes? That's one thing I am glad my boy is at boarding-school for."
"Oh, this young man has been to a party at the Halls, and we had to trot up for him. Give Elaine my love, and tell her one look at handsome Doctor Mills, on our street, will cure her; he cured my baby. So, come around to-morrow, all of you. Oh, Will, we had better go in to Holmnest for a minute. I want to tell Elaine you have heard from Charlie."
"Oh, no; go in to-morrow. This little chap is nearly asleep."
"All right. Mrs. Dale, please tell Mrs. Gower that Charlie Cole is at New York, and she may expect to see them any day. Good night."
"Good night."
"Come, Mrs. Dale, we had better go in at once; you must be very cold."
"Yes, I am. You had better come round and get thawed out in the kitchen, Beatrice Hill, I will bring you."
"No, thanks; I am used to it. I'll just walk up and down, to keep from freezing."
"Perhaps you had better not try to see him to-night, it is so cold."
"Not try to see him!" she exclaimed. "I see him too seldom, and love him too much for that," she said, pathetically, "and I must see if he will promise me to come no more where neither of us is wanted."
"Remember! you are to be here to-morrow night to tell us your hold on him, unless he gives Mrs. Gower up," he said, firmly.
"I will, sir; thank you both," she said tearfully, as, turning towards the gate of Holmnest, they each slip a five dollar bill into her hand.
"Poor thing, I think she is hard up," said Mrs. Dale, as they ring the bell; "see her examining the bills by the lamp."
"Yes, so she is, to see if they are 'Central'; had she not been sold by mybéte noir, I should say she was a canny Scotchwoman."
On Thomas opening the door, they see Mr. Cobbe draw close theportièrehangings of the library, as if to say, no admittance.
"Have you a match, Thomas?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"Then light one jet in the drawing-room, please."
Here they sit quietly talking for half an hour, during which, at times, Mr. Cobbe talked loud and excitedly, while sometimes Mrs. Gower's voice came to them in pleading, or quieting tones.
At last he goes into the dining-room, asks Thomas for some sherry, drinks two glasses; is again in the hall, his over-shoes, coat, and fur cap on, in his excitement picking up Mr. Blair's gloves, which, when in the street, finding his mistake, he dashes into the road.
Angry and troubled by Mrs. Gower's words, he is kinder to Beatrice Hill than he has been for some time.
"You here again, Betty.Youare infatuated with me, anyway."
"Indeed, I am, sweetheart, but my love doesn't content you. You bet, I'd sooner have a black look from you than a kiss from any man living. The saints forgive me, when I think of the holy Father and cardinals, and how I worship you, Phil."
"Yes, you are wild about me, I know, Betty, but we men are different to you, you know; we have so many adorers, we can't go mooning forever around one woman."
"And you are not angry with me to-night, Phil, for coming again to get a sight of your dear face?"
"No, I am not angry with you to-night; but you must not come again; they don't like it," he said, importantly.
"If I don't see you, I may as well die," she says despondently. "I love you better than any of them ladies do," she says, feeling her way.
"Hang her, she is as fickle as her clime," he says, half aloud, thinking of Mrs. Gower.
His companion made no response, knowing who he meant, but her heart is lighter at his words.
"Hang it, Bet, it's a freezer; if you have any money about you, I'll hail this sleigh if it's empty."
"Yes, sweetheart, here it is," giving him one of the fives.
In a minute they are under the buffalo robe, when, according to promise, she coaxes, entreats, and implores him to give Mrs. Gower up, but he angrily refuses to listen to anything on the subject; entertaining her, instead, with recitals of all the girls on King street who, he is sure, are dying for an introduction to him, and of several women of his acquaintance being infatuated about him, his companion assenting to all he said; getting out at his own quarters, paying the driver to 910 Seaton street, pocketing the change. Beatrice Hill alone, thinks out her plan for the following evening with tears, which she brushes away with bare hands, having given her mits to her fickle swain to keep his hands from the frost.
"Yes, I must tell them all," she thought, weeping silently, "else Phil will make her marry him. Father Nolan would tell me to do so, to save him from guilt. He will turn to his faithful Betty again when he sees how they sit on him, when they know all."
As the hall door had closed on Mr. Cobbe making his exit, Mr. Blair said, turning out the gas:
"Let us go to her."
Mrs. Gower meets them in the hall, looking pale and agitated, her eyes larger and darker in her pale face, her sensitive mouth quivering.
"I was just coming for you," she said, and on her eyes meeting Mr. Blair's, in answer to his loving, steadfast gaze, hers told him that her appeal has been in vain.
"He would not free you?" he said, compassionately.
"No."
"Well, then, he must be compelled to," said Mrs. Dale, energetically; "we are not going to stand by with folded hands, and see the remainder of your life made wretched by a weak, vain, frivolous thing like that. You have had trouble enough in the past, heaven knows."
"Yes, we must act; we must endeavor to interview the woman," he said sympathetically, preparing her for what might occur.
"I fear your kind efforts in my behalf will prove useless, Alec. You would only ascertain that she is some poor creature whose heart he has gained, but who is not bound to him in any way. She is faithful, where he is false," she says, gravely, "and is breaking her heart for him—a way we have—that is all. No, 'Blessed are they who expect nothing,' I must keep well in my mind for the future. I scarcely deserve this from Fate, for I have been pretty brave hitherto through troubles, that at the time were sufficient to crush all hope, leaving not the faintest gleam; but I struggled through the clouds in my sky, which, finally parting, I saw the sunbeams once more. My plan now is, to close up this my home, sweet home, or ask you, Ella, or Mr. Cole, to take it off my hands for a year. It would please me best to know some one I care for was among my little treasured belongings."