The sun was peeping over the hilltops and shooting his merry glance across the rain-soaked lowlands when Eleanor Thursdale awoke from her final snatch of slumber. A hundred feverish lapses into restless subconsciousness had marked the passage of nearly as many miles of clatter and turmoil. Never before had she known a train to be so noisy; never before had she lain awake long enough to make the natural discovery. It seemed hours before she dropped off in the first surrender to sleep; it seemed hours between the succeeding falls. Her brain and heart were waging the most relentless battle against peace and security. She KNEW Joe Dauntless was but two cars ahead, and yet she wondered if were really there; she wondered and was troubled—oh, so troubled.
Daylight was creeping in beneath the curtain of the window. She stretched her fine, tired young body, and for the first time really felt like going to sleep. The perversity of early morning! Gradually it dawned upon her that the train was not moving; as far back as she could recall in her now wakeful spell it occurred to her that the cars had been standing still and that everything was as quiet as death. She looked at her watch; it was six o'clock.
"Goodness!" she thought, sitting up suddenly, "what is the matter?" The curtain flew up and her startled eyes blinked out upon the glaring world.
There was not a house in sight as far as her eyes could range forward and behind. Instead, a wide sweep of farm lands partially submerged by the flood water of many rains. Far away there were brown hills and a long army of tall trees standing at attention,—a bleak prospect despite the cheery intentions of the sun, which lurked behind the hills. Despondent cornstalks of last year's growth stood guard over the soggy fields; drenched, unhappy tufts of grass, and forlorn but triumphant reeds arose here and there from the watery wastes, asserting their victory over a dismantled winter. It was not a glorious view that met the gaze of the bride on her wedding morn.
Strangest of all, the train was so quiet, so utterly inactive, that an absurd feeling of loneliness grew upon her, gradually developing into the alarming certainty that she was the only living person in the world. Then she heard men's voices outside of the window; her relief was almost hysterical. Scrambling out of the berth, she began a hasty, nervous toilet. Three sharp pushes on the button brought the company's ladies' maid—advertised as a part of the luxury and refinement which made the flyer "the finest train in the world."
"What has happened? Where are we?" she demanded, upon the entrance of the sleepy young coloured woman.
"The Pride River bridge is washed away, ma'am," said the maid. "We can't go on no furder."
"Dear me," sighed Eleanor, turning to be buttoned at the back. "And where is Pride River bridge—or where was it, I mean?"
"'Bout twenty mile south of Omegon, ma'am—miss. The river's a sight—highest 'at it's ever been known. It's all over the bottoms. This here train came mighty nigh running into it, too. A boy flagged it just in time, 'bout five o'clock."
"Have we been standing here a whole hour?"
"Yes, miss; right here. They say we can't go back till the section boss has examined the track in Baxter's Cut. Seems as though there's some danger of a washout back yander."
"Do you mean to say we are likely to stay here indefinitely?" gasped Eleanor. "Ouch! Be careful, please!"
"Oh, it won't be long. The porter says they've sent back over the line to telegraft for the section men."
"Good Heavens, is there no station here?"
"No, ma'am; five miles back. They's one jest across the river, but it might as well be in Africa."
"Be quick, please, and then send the conductor to me—and the porter too," urged Eleanor, in distress.
The porter was the first to arrive.
"Porter, will you go to Car 7 and see if the occupant of lower 4 is awake? I am quite sure that is right, but if it should happen to be wrong, please let me know at once."
"Yes, miss; and what shall I tell her?"
"Ahem! It's a—a gentleman. Ask him to—to come to the rear end of the train. That's all. Oh, conductor, how soon will we be on the track again?" The conductor was standing in the door, evidently impressed by the summons from the drawing-room.
"We're not off the track, madam. There is no danger—just a little delay. I have telegraphed to see if I can have a relief train come down from Omegon and pick us up after we've been ferried across the river."
"This is the very worst road I've ever travelled over—the very worst," was Eleanor's natural complaint. "When will that get us to Omegon?"
"We should be there in an hour after leaving here."
"And when did you say we'd leave here?"
"I didn't say. I don't know."
"Who does know, if you don't?" demanded Eleanor.
"God, I presume," observed the harassed conductor, turning away with the realisation that he had erred in coming to her in the first place. The porter returned at that moment.
"Nobody in that section, ma'am. It was sold, but the party didn't show up."
"Good Heavens, you—but he DID show up. I—I know he did. Look again. Try—but wait! Ask for Mr. Dauntless. Ask quietly, please."
"Yes, ma'am."
Her nerves at highest tension, Miss Thursdale made her way toward the rear platform of the train. She passed down the curtained aisles of two coaches, wondering how people could sleep so soundly in a crisis like this. A porter politely opened a door and she slipped out upon the last platform. As far as the eye could reach stretched the roadbed and its telegraph poles, finally disappearing in the haze of the morning. Wide-spread flood, soaking the flat—
A sharp cry of amazement came from the track just below her. She looked down and into the eyes of Anne Courtenay, the governess. For a full minute they stared blankly at each other, apparently bereft of all the agencies that fall to the lot of woman.
"Miss Courtenay!" finally came from the lips of the girl on the platform.
"Miss Thursdale!" murmured Anne, reaching out to support herself against the bumper. Other words failed to come for the time being. In sheer despair, neither could accomplish more than a pallid smile. To the reader is left the privilege of analysing the thoughts which surged through the brains of the bewildered young women,—the fears, the doubts, the resentments.
"Where—where have you been?" at last fell from Miss Thursdale's lips.
"Been?" repeated Miss Courtenay, vaguely. "Oh, yes; I've been taking a walk—a constitutional. I always do."
Eleanor stared harder than ever. "All this distance?" she murmured.
"Down the track for half a mile, Miss Thursdale."
"Are—were you on this train?" ejaculated Eleanor.
"Yes—but I—I—-" stammered Anne, her face growing red with rising resentment. "I did not think this of you."
"What do you mean? It is—May I ask why you are here, Miss Courtenay? It is most extraordinary."
"It is very easily explained," said Miss Courtenay, after a moment's battle with veracity. "My aunt is very ill in Vancouver." To herself she was saying: "I must keep her from really seeing Harry. She knows what he has done—in heaven's name, how could she have found it out?—and she is waiting to catch us if she can. She has followed us! Thank goodness, I've seen her first."
Eleanor was not blessed with the possibility of such an explanation for Anne's presence; she could only believe that the governess had been suddenly called to the bedside of her aunt—a real person, she happened to know, and very rich. But how was she to account for her own astonishing departure from home? Miss Courtenay had seen her at dinner; nothing had been said regarding "an unexpected journey." In truth, Eleanor remembered with inflexible accuracy that she had announced her intention to go to bed with a headache. Then, what must Miss Courtenay be thinking at this very instant?
An inspiration came to her like a flash. "I—I am running away, Miss Courtenay," she cried, with a brave attempt to appear naive.
"I don't understand," murmured poor Anne.
"Of course you don't," said Eleanor, inspiration heaping itself up within her. "Not really, you know, but just for a few days' rest. Mother thinks I'm looking wretchedly. We didn't say anything about it—except to Mr. Windomshire, of course. He knows. Perhaps he will run up to Omegon in a day or two to see me. It's very quiet there, and I'll get a good rest. The hotel is delightful—facing the lake. And the bathing's good. Dear me, I'm so sorry about your aunt." Miss Courtenay's eyes actually blinked with perplexity. This was a most staggering bit of news. Eleanor flushed painfully under the gaze of the other; utter rout followed. She stammered some flimsy excuse and dashed back into the car. To herself she was crying: "I must find Joe and tell him to keep out of sight. Oh, how awful this is!"
Just inside the door she met her porter.
"There's nobody named Dauntless on the train, miss. A gentleman who said he was his friend thinks he missed the train perhaps."
"He—he—oh, I see!" said Eleanor, suddenly perceiving method in Joe's reluctance to answer to his own name. "Thank you. That's all." Then, to herself: "He has seen Miss Courtenay, and she HASN'T seen him,—that's plain." She handed the porter a coin.
"I went to the berth you mentioned, ma'am, and I asked through the curtains: 'Is Mr. Dauntless in here?' There was a lady in the upper, miss, an'—an'—well, I'll never forget what she said to me." Eleanor had gone before he concluded, determined to unearth her cautious lover, if possible.
Anne caught the porter before he could follow.
"See here, porter," she whispered softly, "go to Car 5, section 6, and call its occupant. Tell him NOT to get up. Do you understand? NOT to get up!"
It goes without saying, of course, that all efforts, secret or otherwise, failed to locate the missing men. The distracted brides, each trying to run away from the other in a way, were in a state of collapse, necessarily subdued but most alarming. The Rev. Henry Derby, a nice-looking young fellow, who looked more like a tennis player than a minister of the gospel, eventually identified his old friend's ladye faire, and introduced himself with a discreetness that proved him to have been in college at the proper period and in a somewhat different class from that which he now sought to lead. In the privacy of her drawing-room the bewitching but distressed young woman discussed the situation with the man who had been chosen to perform the clandestine ceremony in the far-away town of Omegon. Derby, coming on from his eastern home in loyal acquiescence to his friend's request, had designedly taken this train, it being understood that Dauntless would board it at Fenlock with his fair conspirator. We all know why Dauntless failed to perform his part of the agreement; Derby, with the perspicuity of a college man, finally advanced a reason for his inexplicable failure to appear. Eleanor had begun tearfully to accuse him of abandoning her at the last moment; Mr. Derby indignantly scouted the idea. When she related their chase in the motor and their escape from Windomshire, he formed his conclusions, and they were in the main remarkably correct.
"I'm afraid, Miss Thursdale, that your disappointed lover, our ancient enemy, the Englishman, was not to be overcome so neatly. Has it occurred to you that he may have reached Fenlock before the train left, and that he is the explanation for Joe's non-appearance?"
"You—you don't mean that he has killed—-" she was gasping, growing whiter and whiter. He hastened to reassure her.
"Oh, no; not so bad as that. But it is possible and quite probable that he—if, as you say, he was on to your—I should say, aware of your flight, it is probable that he succeeded in detaining Joe in Fenlock. That would—-" "Impossible! Joe wouldn't let him!" she cried indignantly.
"Perhaps Joe couldn't help himself. Such things happen. At any rate, you'll understand, the despised enemy could have—-"
"Mr. Windomshire is not a despised enemy. He's a VERY nice man, Mr. Derby," she interrupted.
"Certainly, Miss Thursdale. What I meant to say was, that he was morally sure of preventing the wedding if he could only keep you far enough apart. Now that is probably what he has done. You can't marry Joe in Omegon or anywhere else unless he is there and not in Fenlock."
"I see. Well, I'll go back to Fenlock!" she exclaimed emphatically, a little line of determination and stubbornness settling about the erstwhile trembling lips.
"I admire your loyalty," he said warmly. "Just at present, however, we are water-bound here, and we've got to make the best of it. I fancy Joe will telegraph before long."
"If—if he hasn't been hurt. Oh, Mr. Derby, they may have fought. It would be just like them. It may be dreadfully serious. You don't know as much about men as I do. They're terribly—-"
"Please don't worry, Miss Thursdale," he said, smiling in recollection of his football days. "You'll find there's been nothing bloody about all this. The delay is vexatious, but only temporary, I'm sure."
"I'll marry Joe Dauntless now if it has to be delayed a hundred years," she cried, her eyes flashing.
During the next half-hour poor Derby ran errands, carried messages and complaints to every one of the train men, finally administering smelling salts when it occurred to Eleanor that Joe might have fallen off the train during the night.
In the meantime Anne Courtenay was having a sad half-hour of it. She had no one to turn to, no one to think it all out for her; she was alone and in great despair. The porter had failed to find the tall Englishman; the conductor had been equally unsuccessful; she herself had searched in vain. His trunks and hers were in the baggage car, she found, but there was no sign of the man himself. She was a self-reliant, sensible young woman, accustomed to the rigours of the world, but this was quite too overwhelming. The presence on the train of the girl that she had, to all intents and purposes, cruelly deceived, did not add to her comfort. As a matter of fact, she was quite fond of Eleanor; they were warm friends despite the vagaries of love. Miss Courtenay, among other things, began to wonder, as she sat in her tumbled berth, if retribution had more to do with this than chance.
"Could he have fallen off the train?" she wondered, with a sudden chill of apprehension. The next instant she was calling to the porter. "Send the conductor to me at once. My friend has fallen off the train—out of his window, perhaps. I am quite sure of it. I want an engine to go back and look for him. Hurry, please! don't stand there grinning."
The Pullman conductor came up at that moment.
"Are you the young lady who was asking for Mr. Dauntless?" he asked.
"Dauntless?" she murmured. "No, I'm asking for an engine. Have you—"
"There's another young lady asking for an engine, too, madam. It's impossible."
"Am I to understand that I shall have to walk?—Oh," with a sudden start, "is—is there a Mr. Dauntless missing too?"
"Seems so. He's gone."
Anne dropped the curtains in his face, and then stared at them for a long time. Gradually she began to comprehend. A panic of fear came over her.
"They have met somewhere and quarrelled! Mr. Dauntless was jealous—terribly so. He may have—good Heavens!—he may have killed him in the mistaken idea that Harry was running away with Eleanor. She's on this very train! It's perfectly natural. Porter," she called, "there has been foul play!"
"Gee, miss! That's what the other lady is saying!"
"The other—then it is a double murder! Don't laugh! It's—it's—"
"Don't cry, miss; it's all right." She looked at him piteously for a moment, and then smiled at the absurdity of her conjecture.
A tousled head came from between the curtains of the upper berth opposite, and a sleepy, hoarse voice demanded:
"How long will we be here? What's the latest?"
"We're on time, sah," replied the porter, from sheer force of habit.
"The devil we are! Say, I've got to be in Omegon by ten o'clock. I'll sue this infernal road," snarled the irascible party, snapping the curtains together. It transpired that he was an agent for a medical college, travelling to Omegon on a most unwholesome but edifying mission. He was going up to take possession of the body of a man who had willed his carcass to the school. As the poor chap was not yet dead, but hopelessly ill, the desire for haste on the part of the agent may be misunderstood. It seems, however, that there was some talk of interference by relatives—and the disquieting prospect of a new will.
"If I were you, miss," counselled the porter, "I'd go out and take a little walk. The sun is up, an' it's fine. The relief train will be here 'fore long—an' you all will be rowed acrost the river. Don't worry."
"But I want to go back the way I came," expostulated Anne, feebly. "I can't go on without—until I know what has happened to—to Mr. Windomshire." She took his advice, however, and made her way to the rear platform.
A number of disgruntled passengers were now abroad, and complaining bitterly of the delay. There was no hope of breakfast until the train reached Omegon, where a dining car was waiting. She stood on the platform and looked gloomily back over the long stretch of roadbed.
"Isn't that an engine coming?" some one asked excitedly at her side. She turned and found Miss Thursdale, attended by a gentleman, to whom the question was addressed.
"I believe—yes, it is, Miss Thursdale."
"Then—then we'll all be taken back to the city," she said dejectedly.
"I fancy not. It's probably bringing relief."
"They—they may be bringing bad news," Eleanor groaned. "Oh, Miss Courtenay, how do you do—again? How is your—your grandmother, wasn't it?"
"I—I—yes, I think so—I mean, I think she's no better. They may be bringing his body!" said the other girl, her eyes fixed on the distant locomotive.
"Oh!" almost screamed Eleanor, and stared wildly without words.
A brakeman far down the track was flagging the locomotive; it came to a stop, and several men were seen climbing down from the cab. Two of them eventually disengaged themselves from the little group and hurried forward. One was carrying a suitcase, and both walked as though they were either in pain or attended by extreme old age.
"Why—why—" gasped Eleanor, "it's Joe!"
"And—yes, thank God, it's Har—Mr. Windomshire," almost shrieked Anne.
Then they turned and looked at each other in confusion. Neither had the courage to carry out the desire to fly to the arms of the man she longed to see more than all else in the world. They felt themselves to be caught red-handed.
None but the most eager, loving eyes could possibly have recognised the newcomers. It is not unlikely that the remaining passengers mistook them for tramps. The rivals, morbidly suspicious of each other, taciturn to the point of unfriendliness, had indeed chartered a locomotive—not jointly by intention, but because of provoking necessity. There was but one engine to be had. It is safe to say that while they travelled many sore and turbulent miles in close proximity to each other, neither felt called upon to offer or to demand an explanation.
Five hours in the tender of an engine had done much to reduce them to the level of the men in the cab, so far as personal appearance was concerned. They were still wearing their raincoats, much crumpled and discoloured; their faces were covered with coal dust; they were wet, bedraggled, and humble to the last degree. The American, naturally, was the one who clung to his suitcase; he had foreseen the need for a change of linen. They came toward the train with hesitating, uncertain steps. If their souls were gladdened by the sight of the two young women, general appearances failed to make record of it. It was noted by those who watched their approach that once both of them stopped short and seemed to waver in their determination to advance. That was when each became suddenly aware of the presence of an unexpected girl. Naturally, the Englishman was seriously staggered. The unexplained Eleanor appeared before his very eyes as an accusing nemesis; it is no wonder that his jaw dropped and his befuddled brain took to whirling.
The girls, less regardful of appearances, climbed down from the platform and started forward to meet their knights-errant. The reader may readily appreciate the feelings of the quartette. Not one of them knew just precisely how much or how little the others knew; they were precariously near to being lost in the labyrinth. Something intangible but regular urged Windomshire to be politic; he advanced to meet Eleanor as if it were her due. Anne fell back, perplexed and hurt.
"Hang it all," thought Joe, rage in his heart, "he beat me to her, after all. He'll be enough of a damned ass to try to kiss her before all these people, too." Whereupon, he closed his eyes tightly. When he opened them, Miss Courtenay was walking beside him and asking questions about the weather. Her cheeks were very pink. Windomshire had awkwardly clasped the hand of Miss Thursdale, muttering something not quite intelligible, even to himself. Eleanor was replying with equal blitheness.
"How nice of you to come. Where are you going?"
"Surprised, are you?" he was floundering. "Charmed. Ha, ha! By Jove, Eleanor—er—I heard you were booked by this train and I—I tried to catch it for a bit of a ride with you. I missed it, don't you know. I'll—I'll wager you don't know what I did in my desperation."
"I couldn't guess," she said, trying to catch Joe's eye.
"I hired a private engine, 'pon my word, and then telegraphed ahead to stop this train!"
"Di—did you do that?" she gasped, forgetting that the bridge was out.
Dauntless, meantime, was trying to explain to Miss Courtenay. She already had told him that her aunt was ill in Vancouver, and he had smiled politely and aimlessly.
"I'm on my way to M——. Sudden trip, very important," he was saying. "Missed the train—I dare say it was this one—so I took an engine to follow up. Had to ride in the tender."
"It must have been important," she ventured.
"It was. I—" then with an inspired plunge—"I was due at a wedding."
"How unfortunate! I hope you won't miss it altogether."
Joe caught his breath and thought: "Now what the devil did she mean by that? Has Eleanor told her the whole story?"
It must not be supposed that these young persons were lacking in the simpler gifts of intelligence; they were, individually, beginning to put two and two together, as the saying goes. They were grasping the real situation—groping for it, perhaps, but with a clear-sightedness and acumen which urged that a cautious tongue was expedient. If the duplicity was really as four-handed as it seemed, there could be no harm in waiting for the other fellow to blunder into exposure. Nothing could be explained, of course, until the conspirators found opportunity to consult privately under the new order of assignment.
"How romantic!" Eleanor said, as she walked stiffly ahead with her uncomfortable fiance.
"Eh?" was his simple remark. He was suddenly puzzled over the fact that he HAD caught up to the train. There was something startling in that. "Oh—er—not at all romantic, most prosaic. Couldn't get a coach. Been here long?"
"Since five o'clock."
"I—I suppose you got up to see the sunrise."
"No, to see the river rise," she replied. "The bridge is gone." He was silent for twenty paces, trying to recall what he had said about telegraphing ahead.
"You don't mean it! Then I daresay they haven't got my telegram stopping the train."
"How annoying!"
Dauntless had just said to Anne, in a fit of disgust: "Windomshire's got a lot of nerve. That was my engine, you know. I hired it."
Windomshire went on to say, careful that Joe was quite out of hearing: "Mr. Dauntless was quite annoying. He got into my engine without an invitation, and I'm hanged if he'd take a hint, even after I hired a stoker to throw a spadeful of coal over him. I don't know why he should be in such a confounded hurry to get to—what's the name of the place? I—er—I really think I must go and speak to Miss Courtenay, Eleanor. She—er—looks ill."
"It's her grandmother who is ill—not she. But, yes! Please try to cheer her up a bit, Harry. She's terribly upset."
"I'm sure she is," muttered he, dropping back with more haste than gallantry. Mr. Dauntless sprang forward with equal alacrity, and wrong was right a moment later.
"Joe dear," whispered Eleanor, "I've been nearly crazy. What happened?" He was vainly trying to clasp her hand.
"Nell, he's on to us. I wish I knew just why Miss Courtenay is here. Lord, I'll never forget that ride."
"It was just like you to take advantage of his engine."
"His engine!" exploded Joe, wrathfully. Securely separated from the others, the elopers analysed the situation as best they could. Two separate enterprises struggled earnestly for an outcome. On the surface, the truth seemed plain enough: it was quite clear to both parties that the extraordinary chain of coincidence was not entirely due to Providence. There was something of design behind it all. The staggering part was the calamitous way in which chance had handled their dear and private affairs.
"He doesn't know that you were in my automobile," concluded Dauntless, almost at the same time that a like opinion was being expressed by Windomshire. "Are you willing to go on with it, Nell? Are you scared out of it?"
"No, indeed," she exclaimed, perplexity leaving her brow. "At first I feared he might have telegraphed to mother, but now I am sure he hasn't. He was not following me at all. He is in love with Anne, and he was surreptitiously off for a part of the distance with her. He really doesn't want to marry me, you know."
"Well, he isn't going to, you see. By all that is holy, nothing shall stop us now, dear. We'll go on to Omegon and carry out everything just as we planned. If he's running off after another girl, it's time you put an end to him. Don't give him a thought."
"Don't you think we'd better talk it over with Mr. Derby? He discreetly disappeared when he saw it was you."
"Right! Let's hunt him out. By Jove, we can have him marry us right here,—great!"
"No," she cried firmly, "it MUST be in a church." He could not move her from that stand.
"Oh, if we could only get across that confounded river!" scolded Joe, as they went off in search of Derby.
Windomshire was slowly reconciling himself to the fact that Eleanor loved Dauntless, but he could not get it out of his head that she still expected to marry as her mother had planned.
"See here, Anne, it's all very well to say that she loves Dauntless. Of course she does. But that isn't going to prevent her from marrying me. I don't believe she was running away with him, don't you know. He was simply following her. That's the way these Americans do, you know. Now, the question is, won't she think it odd that you and I should happen to be doing almost the same thing?"
"To be sure she will," said Anne, coolly. "She has a very bad opinion of me. I'm sure she doesn't believe you expect to marry me."
"By Jove, dear, it sounds rather dreadful, doesn't it?" he groaned. "But of course you ARE going to marry me, so what's the odds? Then she can marry Dauntless to her heart's content. I say, are we never to get away from this beastly place?"
"They are to row us across the river in boats. We'll be taken up by another train over there and carried on. Poor Mr. Dauntless, he looks so harassed."
"By Jove, I feel rather cut up about him. He ought to have her, Anne. He's a decent chap, although he was da—very unreasonable last night. I like him, too, in spite of the fact that he kicked coal over me twice in that confounded bin. He was good enough to take a cinder out of my eye this morning, and I helped him to find his watch in the coal-bin. I say, Anne, we might get a farm wagon and drive to some village where there is a minister—"
"No, Harry! you know I've set my heart on being married in a church. It seems so much more decent and—regular; especially after what has just happened."
A porter appeared in the rear platform and shouted a warning to all those on the ground.
"Get yo' things together. The boats'll be ready in ten minutes, ladies and gen'l'men." The locomotive uttered a few sharp whistles to reinforce his shouts, and everybody made a rush for the cars.
The conductor and other trainmen had all they could do to reassure the more nervous and apprehensive of the passengers, many of whom were afraid of the swollen, ugly river just ahead. Boats had been sent up from a town some miles down the stream, and the passengers with their baggage, the express, and the mail pouches were to be ferried across. Word had been received that a makeshift train would pick them up on the other side, not far from the wrecked bridge, and take them to Omegon as quickly as possible.
It was also announced that the company would be unable to send a train beyond Omegon and into the northwest for eight or ten hours, owing to extensive damage by the floods. Repairs to bridges and roadbed were necessary. In the meantime, the passengers would be cared for at the Somerset Hotel in Omegon, at the company's expense. The company regretted and deplored, etc.
There was a frightful clamour by the through passengers, threats of lawsuits, claims for damage, execrations, and groans. In time, however, the whole company went trooping down the track under the leadership of the patient conductor. It was a sorry, disgruntled parade. Everybody wanted a porter at once, and when he could not get one, berated the road in fiercer terms than ever; men who had always carried their own bags to escape feeing a porter, now howled and raged because there was not an army of them on the spot. Everybody was constantly "damning" the luck.
The conductor led his charges from the track through a muddy stubble-field and down to a point where half a dozen small rowboats were waiting among the willows. Dauntless and Eleanor were well up in front, their faces set resolutely toward Omegon. For some well-defined reason, Windomshire and Anne were the last in the strange procession. The medical college agent, the tall and sombre Mr. Hooker, was the first man into a boat. He said it was a case of life or death.
Eleanor looked backward down the long file of trailers, a little smile on her lips.
"They are not all going away to be married, are they, Joe?" she said, taking note of the unbroken array of sour countenances.
"It looks like a funeral, my dear. Look at the cadaverous individual beside the con—Heavens, Nell, isn't that—by George, it is! It's old Mrs. Van Truder! Back there about half-way—the fat one. See her? Good Lord!"
Eleanor turned pale and the joyous light fled from her eyes.
"Oh, dear! I forgot that the Van Truders spend all their summers at Omegon. And it is she—and he, too. Oh, Joe, it's just awful!"
"She's the worst old cat in town," groaned Dauntless. "We can't escape her. She'll spot us, and she'll never let go of us. I don't mind him. He's so near-sighted he couldn't see us. But she!"
"She will suspect, Joe—she's sure to suspect, and she'll watch us like a hawk," whispered the distressed Eleanor. The Van Truders lived in the same block with the Thursdales in town. "She'll telegraph to mother!"
"That reminds me," muttered Joe, looking at his watch. "I had hoped to telegraph to your mother about this time."
"She will forgive us," said she, but she failed in her assumption of confidence. As a matter of fact she felt that her mother would not forgive.
"Well, you left a note pinned on your pillow," said he, as if that covered all the sins.
"Yes, but it was directed to Miss Courtenay, asking her to break it gently to mamma," said she, dismally.
They had reached the edge of the river by this time and others came up with them. For a while they managed to keep out of old Mrs. Van Truder's range of vision, but her sharp eyes soon caught sight of them as they tried to slip into a boat that was already crowded to its full capacity.
"Why, Eleanor Thursdale!" shouted the old lady, her aristocratic eyes almost crossing in their stare of amazement.
"Discovered!" groaned Dauntless to the willows.
Mrs. Van Truder pounced upon Eleanor and, between personal questions and impersonal reflections upon non-government railways, gave her a dizzy quarter of an hour. She ignored Mr. Dauntless almost completely,—quite entirely when she discovered Mr. Windomshire in the background. Little old Mr. Van Truder, in his usual state of subjection, was permitted to study the scenery at close range.
"I was so afraid you'd marry that horrid Dauntless fellow," whispered Mrs. Van Truder. Eleanor gave vent to a constrained laugh.
"How perfectly preposterous!"
"When are you to be married, my dear?"
"At once—I mean, quite soon. Isn't the scenery beautiful, Mr. Van Truder?" asked Eleanor in desperation.
"It's too far away. I can't see it," grumbled the old gentleman.
"He's so very near-sighted," explained his wife. "Do you expect to stay long at the Somerset?"
"It all depends," said Eleanor, with a glance at Dauntless.
"Isn't that your governess with Mr. Windomshire? I can't be mistaken."
"Yes, she's going out to spend a few weeks with a rich aunt,—her sister's mother, I think."
"How's that?" gasped the old lady.
"I mean her mother's sister."
"It sounded very strange, my dear."
"About the mother having a sister?" guessed old Mr. Van Truder, sharply. "Seems all right to me."
"They are going to row us across the river," volunteered Eleanor, helplessly.
"Good-morning, Mr. Windomshire," called Mrs. Van Truder. Windomshire started and got very red in the face. Miss Courtenay's bow went unnoticed by the old lady. In sheer despair, the Englishman turned to Dauntless, a fellow-sufferer.
"I say, old man," he began nervously, "I'd like to ask a favour of you."
"Go ahead—anything I can do," said the other, blankly. Windomshire continued in lowered tones:
"Deucedly awkward, but I forgot my bags at Fenlock. I see you've got yours. Would you mind lending me a fresh shirt and a collar, old chap?"
"Gladly," cried Joe, very much relieved. "Will you take them now?" starting to open his bag. Windomshire hastily interposed.
"I'd rather not, old chap. It's rather exposed here, don't you know. Later on, if you please. Thanks, old man; I'll not forget this." They shook hands without any apparent excuse.
"Mr. Windomshire!" called Mrs. Van Truder. He turned with a hopeless look in his eyes. The two girls had misery and consternation plainly stamped in their faces. "We can't all go over in the next boats, you know. I've no doubt you and Miss Thursdale would not in the least mind being left to the last," with a sly smile.
"Oh—er—ah, by Jove!" gasped Windomshire, with a glance at the still faces of the young women. He saw no relief there.
"Blamed cat!" muttered Dauntless, gritting his teeth.
"Mr. Dauntless, will you and Miss Courtenay come with us in this boat? I want some one to keep the snakes away; Mr. Van Truder can't see them, you know."
There was no way out of it. Joe and Anne meekly followed the Van Truders into the wobbly boat, resentment in their hearts, uncertainty in their minds. They rowed away, leaving Windomshire and Eleanor standing among the willows, ill at ease and troubled beyond expression.
Neither spoke until the boat came to its slippery, uncertain landing-place on the opposite side of the river. Then each breathed easier, in a sigh that seemed to express both relief and dismay.
"It's a very ugly looking river," she murmured encouragingly. She was afraid he might feel obliged, in honour, to offer an explanation for his presence, perhaps attempt to convince her in some tangible way that she was to expect nothing but slavish devotion from him in the future.
"I don't wonder that the bridge gave way," he replied politely. They looked at each other involuntarily, and then instantly looked away.
"I'd give my head to know what she expects of me," thought Windomshire miserably.
"How I despise that old woman!" welled up in Eleanor's bitter heart. Everything was awry. Luckily for both of them a small boy slipped into the river at that moment. He was rescued by the brakeman, but not until the catastrophe had served its purpose as a godsend. The excitement which attended the rescue saved the couple an uncomfortable ten minutes. Eleanor went to the assistance of the distracted mother; Windomshire, in his eagerness to do something, offered to exchange clothes with the dripping trainman; the small boy howled as lustily as his wheezy lungs would permit. Everybody shouted advice to the mother, rebukes to the boy, and praise to the hero; altogether Providence was acting most handsomely.
At last the final boatload of passengers crossed the river and drew up at the landing; Eleanor, with her bewildered fiance, stepped into the beaming presence of Mrs. Van Truder.
"Come with us," she said with a friendliness that shattered all hope. "Mr. Van Truder has just arranged for breakfast at that farmhouse over there. The relief train won't be here for half an hour or more and you must be famished." Eleanor's flimsy excuses were unavailing; her protestations that she could not eat a mouthful fell on obdurate ears. Windomshire, catching sight of the forlorn Anne, was about to assert himself vigorously in declining the invitation when a meaning look from the governess caused him to refrain. The look very plainly told him to accept.
The unhappy couple followed the Van Truders to the nearby farmhouse. They left behind them on the edge of the crowd, seated side by side on a pile of ties, two miserable partners in the fiasco. Gloomy, indeed, was the outlook for Miss Courtenay and the despised Mr. Dauntless. They were silent for many minutes after the departure, rage in their hearts. Then Mr. Dauntless could hold his tongue no longer.
"Damn her!" he exploded so viciously that Anne jumped and cried out,—
"Mr. Dauntless!"
"Oh, you feel just as I do about it only you won't say it aloud," he exclaimed. "I won't stand for it!"
"I—I am sure Miss Thursdale has done nothing to deserve your curses," she began diplomatically.
"Good Heavens, Miss Courtenay, you—Oh, I say, you know I didn't mean Eleanor. The old pelican—that's the one. Old Mrs. Intruder," he grated.
"I am sure it is all quite regular," observed Anne, so seriously that he looked at her in wonder. It began to creep into his head that his speculations were wrong, after all. At any rate it seemed advisable to put a sharp curb on his tongue.
"I'm sorry I spoke as I did about the old lady," he said, after a moment's reflection. "I was thinking of the way in which she left you out of her invitation to breakfast."
"And yourself, incidentally," she smiled.
"Miss Courtenay, I'm—I'm a confounded ass for not thinking of your breakfast. It's not too late. We are both hungry. Won't you come with me and have a bit of something to eat? We'll try that farmhouse ourselves. Come, let us hurry or the crowd will get in ahead of us. Ham and eggs and coffee! they always have that sort of breakfast in farmhouses, I'm told. Come."
She sprang up cheerfully, and followed him across the meadow to the farmhouse. The Van Truder party was entering the door, smoke pouring forth suggestively from a chimney in the rear of the house. The sudden desire for ham and eggs was overcoming, in a way, the pangs of outraged love; there was solace in the new thought.
That breakfast was one never to be forgotten by four persons; two others remembered it to their last days on account of its amazing excellence. A dozen persons were crowded into the little dining-room; no one went forth upon his travels with an empty stomach. No such profitable harvest had ever been reaped by the farmer. Dauntless and Anne ate off of a sewing-table in the corner. Mrs. Van Truder deliberately refused to hear Mr. Windomshire's timorous suggestion that they "make room" for them at the select table. Silent anathemas accompanied every mouthful of food that went down the despot's throat, but she did not know it. Fortunately the lovers were healthy and hungry.
They fared forth after that memorable breakfast with lighter hearts, though still misplaced by an unrelenting fate.
All the way to Omegon Anne sat in the seat with the seething Dauntless, each nursing a pride that had received almost insupportable injuries during the morning hours. Windomshire and Eleanor, under the espionage of the "oldest friend of the family," moped and sighed with a frankness that could not have escaped more discerning eyes. Mrs. Van Truder, having established herself as the much needed chaperon, sat back complacently and gave her charges every opportunity to hold private and no doubt sacred communication in the double seat just across the aisle.
Eleanor pleaded fatigue, and forthwith closed her wistful eyes. Windomshire, with fine consideration, sank into a rapt study of the flitting farm lands. Having got but little sleep among the coals, he finally dropped off into a peaceful cat nap.
Omegon was reached before Eleanor had the courage to awaken him. She did so then only because it was impossible for her to crawl over his knees without losing her dignity; they were planted sturdily against the seat in front. She fled like a scared child to Joe's side, her mind made up to cling to him now, no matter what manner of opposition prevailed.
"I'll go with you, Joe," she whispered fiercely. "I don't care what any one says or thinks. Your cousin WILL meet us with the carriage, won't he?" she concluded piteously. Windomshire also had taken the bull by the horns and was helping Miss Courtenay from the train with an assiduity that brought down the wrath of obstructing passengers upon his devoted head.
"He said he would," replied Dauntless, his spirits in the clouds. "We must get away from these people, Nell. I'll go crazy in another minute. There's Derby waiting for instructions. Dear old Darb—he's a brick. My cousin Jim is a deacon or something in the village church, dear, and he has promised to let us in. I suppose he has a key. He and his wife will be the only witnesses. By George, nothing can stop us now, dear, if you have the nerve to—Where the dickens is Jim? Confound him, I don't see him on the platform."
He looked about the station platform—first anxiously, then impatiently, then—with consternation! His cousin was nowhere in sight. Cold with apprehensiveness, he dashed over to a citizen who wore a star upon his coat, almost dragging Eleanor after him.
"Is Jim Carpenter here? Have you seen him? Do you know him?" he demanded.
"He was here, mister. 'Bout two hours ago, I reckon. I guess you must be the fellow he was to meet—"
"Yes, yes,—where is he now?"
"I don't know, mister. His wife's got pneumonia, an' he told me to tell you he couldn't wait. He took the doctor right out to—"
"Good Lord!" exploded Joe. The citizen jumped a few inches into the air. "He's gone?"
"Yep. But he told me to tell you to go over to the Somerset an' wait till you hear from him."
"Wait—till—I hear—from—him?" groaned Dauntless, wild-eyed but faint. He and Eleanor looked at each other in despair.
"Go—to—the—hotel?" she murmured, her heart in her boots. "I never can do that," she continued. Her voice was full of tears.
Mrs. Van Truder bore down upon them like an angry vulture. They saw her coming, but neither had the strength of purpose to move.
Before they really knew how it happened, she was leading Eleanor to the hotel 'bus and he was limply following, lugging both bags with a faithfulness that seemed pathetic. Two minutes later they were in the 'bus, touching knees with the equally dazed and discomfited English people.
Back on the platform the elongated medical gentleman, Mr. Hooker, was talking loudly, wrathfully to the station agent. His voice rang in their ears long after the 'bus rolled away on its "trip" to the big summer hotel.
"You say old man Grover ain't dead yet?" Mr. Hooker was growling resentfully, even indignantly.
"He ain't expected to live till night, sir, poor old man," replied the agent.
"Well, I'll be damned!" roared Mr. Hooker. "I don't see any sense in a man of his age hanging on like this. He's eighty-three. My time is valuable"—looking at his big silver watch—"and I can't afford to hang around here if he's going to act like this." The agent stared after him as if he were looking at a maniac. Mr. Hooker set off in the direction of old Mr. Grover's house, which had been pointed out to him by a gaping small boy. "I'll go up and see about it," he remarked, as he stepped across a wide rivulet in the middle of the main street. The Somerset Hotel was situated on the most beautiful point of land touching that trim little lake which attracted hundreds of city people annually by its summer wiles. It was too sedate and quiet to be fashionable; the select few who went there sought rest from the frivolities of the world. Eleanor Thursdale had spent one tiresome but proper season there immediately after the death of her father. She hated everything in connection with the place except the little old-fashioned church at the extreme end of the village street, fully half a mile from the hotel. She had chosen it, after romantic reflection, as the sanctuary in which she should become the wife of the man she loved, spurning the great church in town and one of its loveless matches.
The forenoon is left to the imagination of the reader,—with all of its unsettled plans, its doubts and misgivings, its despairs and its failures, its subterfuges and its strategies, its aggravations and complaints. Bell-boys carried surreptitious notes from room to room; assurances, hopes, and reassurances passed one another in systematic confusion. Love was trying to find its way out of the maze.
Immediately after luncheon Dauntless set out to discover his faithless cousin. Eleanor kept close to her room, in readiness for instant flight. The necessary Mr. Derby had his instructions to remain where he could be found without trouble. Mrs. Van Truder, taking up Eleanor's battles, busied herself and every one else in the impossible task of locating the young woman's trunks, which, according to uncertain reports, had gone mysteriously astray. Moreover, she had prepared a telegram to the young lady's mother, assuring her that she was quite safe; but Mr. Dauntless boldly intercepted Mr. Van Truder on his way to the desk.
"Allow me," he remarked, deliberately taking the despatch from the old gentleman. "I'll send it from the station. Don't bother about it, Mr. Van Truder." He drove through the village, but did not stop at the station; his instructions to the driver did not include a pause anywhere. It is not necessary to relate what took place when he descended upon the unfortunate Jim; it is sufficient to say that he dragged him from his sick wife's bedside and berated him soundly for his treachery. Then it was all rearranged,—the hapless Jim being swept into promises which he could not break, even with death staring his wife in the face. The agitated Mr. Dauntless drove back to the hotel with a new set of details perfected. This time nothing should go wrong.
His first action was to acquaint Derby with the plans, and then to send a note of instructions to Eleanor, guarding against any chance that they might not be able to communicate with each other in person.
"It's all fixed," he announced to Derby, in a secluded corner of the grounds. "To-night at nine we are to be at the church down the road there—see it? Nobody is on to us, and Jim has a key. He will meet you there at a quarter of nine. But, hang it all, his wife can't act as a witness. We've got to provide one. He suggested the postmaster, but I don't like the idea; it looks too much like a cheap elopement. I'd just as soon have the cook or the housemaid. I'll get Eleanor there if I have to kill that Van Truder woman. Now, whom shall we have as the second witness?"
"Windomshire, I'm afraid," lamented Derby. "You won't be able to get rid of him."
"Hang him!" groaned Dauntless, his spirits falling, but instantly reviving. "But he's dead in love with Miss Courtenay. It's pitiful, old man. He feels that he's got to marry Nell, but it's not in his heart to do it. Now if we could only shunt him off on to Miss Courtenay this evening! Her train leaves at nine, they say. He might be forced to take her to the station if you will only get busy and make him jealous."
"Jealous? I?"
"Certainly. It won't be much of an effort for you, and it will help me immensely. Make love to her this afternoon, and when you suggest taking her to the station this evening he'll be so wrought up that he won't stand for it. See what I mean?"
"Now see here, Joe, I'm willing to do a great deal for you, but this is too much. You forget that I am a minister of the gospel. It's—"
"I know, old man, but you might do a little thing like this for—By Jove, I've got it! Why not have old Mr. Van Truder for the other witness?"
Mr. Van Truder was crossing the lawn, picking his way carefully.
"Good afternoon," greeted Dauntless.
"Afternoon," responded Mr. Van Truder. "Is this the hotel?"
"No, sir; the hotel is about ten feet to your left. By the way, Mr. Van Truder, would you mind doing me a favour this evening?"
"Gladly. Who are you?"
"Joe Dauntless."
"Anything, my dear Joe."
"Well, it's a dead secret."
"A secret? Trust me," cried the old man, joyfully.
"First, let me introduce my friend, the Rev. Mr. Derby. He's in the secret. It will go no farther, I trust, Mr. Van Truder."
"My wife says I can't keep a secret, but I'll show her that I can. Trust me, my boy."
"I'll bet you a hundred dollars you can't keep this one," said Joe, inspired.
"Done!"
"Well," bravely but cautiously, "I'm going to be married to-night. Be careful now! Look out! Don't explode! Remember the bet!" The old gentleman repressed his feelings.
"Beautiful!" he exclaimed. "Congratulations, my boy."
"Now for the favour. I want you to act as a witness. It's to be a very quiet affair." Dauntless explained as much of the situation to him as he thought necessary, omitting the lady's name. Mr. Van Truder bubbled over with joy and eagerness. He promised faithfully to accompany Mr. Derby, pooh-hooing the suggestion that he could not slip away from the hotel without his wife being aware of the fact.
"Trust me, my boy. Don't worry. I'm always Johnny-on-the-spot. Where did you say the hotel was? I'll go up and get ready. Oh, by the way, who is the young lady?"
"She's a friend of Mr. Dauntless's," said Mr. Derby.
"To be sure; I might have known. Silly question."
The young men watched him enter the hotel, but they did not see him fall into the clutches of his wife just inside the door.
"Where have you been?" demanded Mrs. Van Truder.
"I've been looking everywhere for you, my dear," he said, almost whimpering. "I've got a grand secret, but I can't tell you. Don't ask me!"
"Is it a wedding?" she demanded sternly.
"Dear me! Do you know it too?" he cried, bewildered. "But that's not the real secret; it's only part of it. Joe is going to marry some friend of his to-night—but that's as far as I'll go. I'll NOT betray the secret." He hurried away to avoid questions, muttering to himself as he went: "She's dying to know. But a secret's a secret. She sha'n't know that I am to be a witness."
Mrs. Van Truder pondered long and deeply, but she was not well enough acquainted with all of the facts to hazard a guess as to who the girl might be. It came to her memory that Dauntless had been with Miss Courtenay all morning, however, and she wondered not a little. Windomshire was approaching in search of Anne, who was to have met him as if by accident in a corner of the reading-room.
"Oh, Mr. Windomshire," exclaimed Mrs. Van Truder, darting toward him.
"How do, Mrs. Van Truder? How are you to-day?" he asked, scarcely able to hide his annoyance.
"That is the tenth time you've asked me that question. I must repeat: I am quite well."
"Oh, pardon my inquisitiveness. It has been a very long day, you know."
"I want you and Miss Thursdale to dine with me at eight this evening. I think I'll have a little surprise for you," she said mysteriously. Windomshire glared, and then managed to give a provisional acceptance. It all depended on the hour for leaving for the train. As he hurried off to find Anne he was groaning to himself: "How the deuce can I go to a dinner and run off again with Anne? I've got everything arranged. I can't let a beastly dinner interfere. I won't go, hang me if I do." He came upon Anne in the corner of the library—the most unfrequented corner.
"Well?" she questioned eagerly. He clasped her hands, beaming once more.
"I've seen him, dear. It's all right. My word, I've had no end of a busy day. The confounded fellow was out making calls on the congregation, as they say, and I had to pursue him from house to house, always missing him, by Jove."
"But you DID find him?" anxiously.
"Of course. He will be at the church at nine to-night—sharp. He understands that no one is to know about it. His fee is ten pounds—quite a bit for a chap like him. I found him calling upon a fellow who is about to die—a Mr. Grover. He sent out word I'd have to wait as the old gentleman was passing away. By Jove, do you know I was that intense that I sent in word that the old gentleman would have to wait a bit—I COULDN'T. The pastor came out and—well, it seems that the fee for helping a chap to get married is more substantial than what he gets for helping one to die. And, as luck would have it, I found a fellow who will act as one of the witnesses to the ceremony at this same house,—a Mr. Hooker, Anne. He came down on the train with us. Tall, dark, professional looking man. He was sitting on Mr. Grover's front steps when I got there. The other witness—must have two, you know—is the head-waiter in the dining-room here—"
"The—head-waiter?" she gasped.
"He's a very decent sort of chap, my dear—and, besides, we can't be choosers. Waiters are most discreet fellows, too. He's to get two pounds for his trouble. By Jove, I think I've done rather well. I'm sorry if you don't approve," he lamented.
"But I do approve, Harry," she cried bravely. "It's lovely!"
"Good! I knew you would. Now all we have to do is to slip away from here this evening, and—Oh, I say, hang it all! Mrs. Van Truder has asked me to dine with them this evening."
"Isn't she running you a bit?" cried Anne, indignantly. "She had you for breakfast and luncheon and now it's dinner. I daresay she'll have you for tea too."
"But I'm not going to her confounded dinner. That's settled. I can't do it, you know, and be on time for the wedding. Deuce take it, what does she take a fellow for? Hello, here comes the chap that Dauntless introduced to us this morning." Derby was approaching with a warm and ingratiating smile. "What's his name? Confound him."
"Mr. Derby, I think. Why can't they give us a moment's peace?" she pouted. Derby came up to them, his eyes sparkling with a fire which they could not and were not to understand. He had surveyed them from a distance for some time before deciding to ruthlessly, cruelly break in upon the tranquil situation.
"She's a pretty girl," he reflected, unconsciously going back to his college days, and quite forgetting his cloth—which, by the way, was a neat blue serge with a tender stripe. Consoling himself with the thought that he was doing it to accommodate an old friend, the good-looking Mr. Derby boldly entered the lists for the afternoon. He felt, somehow, that he had it in his power to make Mr. Windomshire quite jealous—and at the same time do nothing reprehensible. What he did succeed in doing, alas, was to make two young people needlessly miserable for a whole afternoon—bringing on grievous headaches and an attack of suppressed melancholia that savoured somewhat of actual madness.
True to his project, he laboured hard and skilfully for hours. Windomshire moved about in solitude, gnashing his teeth, while Derby unceremoniously whisked the dazed Anne off for pleasant walks or held her at bay in some secluded corner of the parlours. By dinner-time, encouraged by Joe's wild but cautious applause, he had driven Windomshire almost to distraction. A thing he did not know, however,—else his pride might have cringed perceptibly,—was that Anne Courtenay was growing to hate him as no one was ever hated before.
"Well," he said to the nervous Mr. Dauntless at seven o'clock that evening, having arrived at what he called the conclusion of his day's work, "I think I've done all that was expected, haven't I?"
"You've got him crazy, old boy. Look at him! It's the first minute he's had since half-past two. Say, what do you think of this cursed weather? It's raining again—and muddy! Great Scot, old man! it's knee deep, and we don't dare take a carriage to the church. One can't sneak worth a cent in a cab, you know. See you later! There's Eleanor waiting to speak to me. By George, I'm nervous. You WON'T fail us, old man?"
"I'll do my part, Joe," said Derby, smiling.
"Well, so long, if I don't see you before nine. You look out for old Mr. Van Truder, will you? See that he sneaks out properly. And—"
"Don't worry, old chap. Go to Miss Thursdale. She seems nervous."