This is a modern-English version of Kilmeny of the Orchard, originally written by Montgomery, L. M. (Lucy Maud).
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KILMENY OF THE ORCHARD
By L. M. MONTGOMERY
Author of “Anne’s House of Dreams,” “Rainbow Valley,"
“Rilla of
Ingleside,” etc.
Transcriber’s Note:
This book has been put on-line as part of the BUILD-A-BOOK Initiative at the Celebration of Women Writers through the combined work of Elizabeth Morton and Mary Mark Ockerbloom.
http://digital.library.upenn.edu/women/
Reformatted by Ben Crowder
Transcriber’s Note:
This book is available online as part of the BUILD-A-BOOK Initiative at the Celebration of Women Writers, thanks to the teamwork of Elizabeth Morton and Mary Mark Ockerbloom.
http://digital.library.upenn.edu/women/
Reformatted by Ben Crowder
TO MY COUSIN
Beatrice A. McIntyre
THIS BOOK
IS AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED
“Kilmeny looked up with a lovely grace,
But nae smile was seen on Kilmeny’s face;
As still was her look, and as still was her ee,
As the stillness that lay on the emerant lea,
Or the mist that sleeps on a waveless sea.
. . . . . . . . . . . . .
Such beauty bard may never declare,
For there was no pride nor passion there;
. . . . . . . . . . . . .
Her seymar was the lily flower,
And her cheek the moss-rose in the shower;
And her voice like the distant melodye
That floats along the twilight sea.”
— The Queen’s Wake
JAMES HOGG
“Kilmeny looked up with beautiful grace,
But no smile was seen on Kilmeny’s face;
Her gaze was as still, and her eyes as calm,
As the stillness that rested on the emerald lea,
Or the mist that sleeps on a waveless sea.
. . . . . . . . . . . . .
Such beauty no bard could ever describe,
For there was no pride or passion there;
. . . . . . . . . . . . .
Her dress was like the lily flower,
And her cheek like the moss-rose in the rain;
And her voice was like the distant melody
That floats along the twilight sea.”
— The Queen’s Wake
JAMES HOGG
CONTENTS
TABLE OF CONTENTS
KILMENY OF THE ORCHARD
CHAPTER I. THE THOUGHTS OF YOUTH
The sunshine of a day in early spring, honey pale and honey sweet, was showering over the red brick buildings of Queenslea College and the grounds about them, throwing through the bare, budding maples and elms, delicate, evasive etchings of gold and brown on the paths, and coaxing into life the daffodils that were peering greenly and perkily up under the windows of the co-eds’ dressing-room.
The sunshine on an early spring day, soft and sweet like honey, was streaming over the red brick buildings of Queenslea College and the surrounding grounds. It filtered through the bare, budding maples and elms, creating delicate patterns of gold and brown on the paths, and encouraging the daffodils to peek out, bright and cheerful, beneath the windows of the girls' dressing room.
A young April wind, as fresh and sweet as if it had been blowing over the fields of memory instead of through dingy streets, was purring in the tree-tops and whipping the loose tendrils of the ivy network which covered the front of the main building. It was a wind that sang of many things, but what it sang to each listener was only what was in that listener’s heart. To the college students who had just been capped and diplomad by “Old Charlie,” the grave president of Queenslea, in the presence of an admiring throng of parents and sisters, sweethearts and friends, it sang, perchance, of glad hope and shining success and high achievement. It sang of the dreams of youth that may never be quite fulfilled, but are well worth the dreaming for all that. God help the man who has never known such dreams—who, as he leaves his alma mater, is not already rich in aerial castles, the proprietor of many a spacious estate in Spain. He has missed his birthright.
A young April breeze, fresh and sweet as if it had been blowing over fields of memories rather than through gloomy streets, was rustling in the treetops and whipping the loose tendrils of the ivy that covered the front of the main building. It was a wind that sang of many things, but what it sang to each listener was only what was in that listener’s heart. To the college students who had just graduated, capped and handed their diplomas by “Old Charlie,” the serious president of Queenslea, in front of an admiring crowd of parents, siblings, sweethearts, and friends, it sang, perhaps, of joyful hope and bright success and great accomplishments. It sang of the dreams of youth that might never be fully realized, but are still worth dreaming about. God help the person who has never experienced such dreams—who, as they leave their alma mater, is not already rich in lofty aspirations, the owner of many a grand estate in Spain. They have missed their birthright.
The crowd streamed out of the entrance hall and scattered over the campus, fraying off into the many streets beyond. Eric Marshall and David Baker walked away together. The former had graduated in Arts that day at the head of his class; the latter had come to see the graduation, nearly bursting with pride in Eric’s success.
The crowd poured out of the entrance hall and dispersed across the campus, branching off into the various streets beyond. Eric Marshall and David Baker walked away together. Eric had just graduated in Arts that day at the top of his class; David had come to see the graduation, nearly bursting with pride for Eric’s success.
Between these two was an old and tried and enduring friendship, although David was ten years older than Eric, as the mere tale of years goes, and a hundred years older in knowledge of the struggles and difficulties of life which age a man far more quickly and effectually than the passing of time.
Between these two was a long-standing and resilient friendship, even though David was ten years older than Eric in terms of age, and a hundred years older in understanding the struggles and challenges of life, which mature a person much more swiftly and effectively than just the passage of time.
Physically the two men bore no resemblance to one another, although they were second cousins. Eric Marshall, tall, broad-shouldered, sinewy, walking with a free, easy stride, which was somehow suggestive of reserve strength and power, was one of those men regarding whom less-favoured mortals are tempted seriously to wonder why all the gifts of fortune should be showered on one individual. He was not only clever and good to look upon, but he possessed that indefinable charm of personality which is quite independent of physical beauty or mental ability. He had steady, grayish-blue eyes, dark chestnut hair with a glint of gold in its waves when the sunlight struck it, and a chin that gave the world assurance of a chin. He was a rich man’s son, with a clean young manhood behind him and splendid prospects before him. He was considered a practical sort of fellow, utterly guiltless of romantic dreams and visions of any sort.
Physically, the two men looked nothing alike, even though they were second cousins. Eric Marshall was tall, broad-shouldered, and lean, walking with a relaxed and confident stride that hinted at hidden strength and power. He was the kind of guy who made less-fortunate people wonder why all the good things in life seemed to favor one person. Not only was he smart and attractive, but he also had that indescribable charm that didn't rely on looks or intelligence. He had steady, grayish-blue eyes, dark chestnut hair that shimmered with gold in the sunlight, and a chin that radiated confidence. He came from a wealthy family, had a bright future ahead of him, and a good childhood behind him. He was seen as a practical guy, completely free of any romantic dreams or fantasies.
“I am afraid Eric Marshall will never do one quixotic thing,” said a Queenslea professor, who had a habit of uttering rather mysterious epigrams, “but if he ever does it will supply the one thing lacking in him.”
“I’m afraid Eric Marshall will never do anything whimsical,” said a Queenslea professor, who had a knack for sharing rather enigmatic sayings, “but if he ever does, it will provide the one thing he’s missing.”
David Baker was a short, stocky fellow with an ugly, irregular, charming face; his eyes were brown and keen and secretive; his mouth had a comical twist which became sarcastic, or teasing, or winning, as he willed. His voice was generally as soft and musical as a woman’s; but some few who had seen David Baker righteously angry and heard the tones which then issued from his lips were in no hurry to have the experience repeated.
David Baker was a short, stocky guy with an awkward yet charming face; his eyes were keen, brown, and secretive; his mouth had a funny twist that could be sarcastic, teasing, or charming, depending on his mood. His voice was usually soft and melodic like a woman's; but a few who had witnessed David Baker in a righteous rage and had heard the sounds that came from him during those moments were not eager to experience it again.
He was a doctor—a specialist in troubles of the throat and voice—and he was beginning to have a national reputation. He was on the staff of the Queenslea Medical College and it was whispered that before long he would be called to fill an important vacancy at McGill.
He was a doctor—a specialist in throat and voice issues—and he was starting to gain a national reputation. He was part of the staff at Queenslea Medical College, and there were rumors that soon he would be called to take an important position at McGill.
He had won his way to success through difficulties and drawbacks which would have daunted most men. In the year Eric was born David Baker was an errand boy in the big department store of Marshall & Company. Thirteen years later he graduated with high honors from Queenslea Medical College. Mr. Marshall had given him all the help which David’s sturdy pride could be induced to accept, and now he insisted on sending the young man abroad for a post-graduate course in London and Germany. David Baker had eventually repaid every cent Mr. Marshall had expended on him; but he never ceased to cherish a passionate gratitude to the kind and generous man; and he loved that man’s son with a love surpassing that of brothers.
He had achieved success despite challenges and setbacks that would have discouraged most people. In the year Eric was born, David Baker was an errand boy at the large department store Marshall & Company. Thirteen years later, he graduated with high honors from Queenslea Medical College. Mr. Marshall provided all the support that David's strong pride would allow him to accept, and now he insisted on sending the young man abroad for a postgraduate course in London and Germany. David Baker eventually repaid every cent Mr. Marshall had spent on him, but he never stopped feeling deep gratitude for the kind and generous man, and he loved that man’s son with a bond stronger than that of brothers.
He had followed Eric’s college course with keen, watchful interest. It was his wish that Eric should take up the study of law or medicine now that he was through Arts; and he was greatly disappointed that Eric should have finally made up his mind to go into business with his father.
He had followed Eric’s college course with keen, watchful interest. It was his hope that Eric would pursue law or medicine now that he had completed his Arts degree; and he was very disappointed that Eric had ultimately decided to go into business with his father.
“It’s a clean waste of your talents,” he grumbled, as they walked home from the college. “You’d win fame and distinction in law—that glib tongue of yours was meant for a lawyer and it is sheer flying in the face of Providence to devote it to commercial uses—a flat crossing of the purposes of destiny. Where is your ambition, man?”
“It’s a total waste of your talents,” he complained as they walked home from college. “You could achieve fame and recognition in law—that smooth talk of yours was made for a lawyer, and it’s just going against fate to use it for business—completely ignoring what you’re meant to do. Where’s your ambition, man?”
“In the right place,” answered Eric, with his ready laugh. “It is not your kind, perhaps, but there is room and need for all kinds in this lusty young country of ours. Yes, I am going into the business. In the first place, it has been father’s cherished desire ever since I was born, and it would hurt him pretty badly if I backed out now. He wished me to take an Arts course because he believed that every man should have as liberal an education as he can afford to get, but now that I have had it he wants me in the firm.”
"In the right place," Eric replied with his usual laugh. "It might not be your style, but there’s a spot and a need for all kinds in this vibrant young country of ours. Yes, I’m going into the business. First of all, it’s been my father's dream ever since I was born, and it would really disappoint him if I backed out now. He wanted me to take an Arts course because he believed every man should get as well-rounded an education as he can afford, but now that I’ve finished, he wants me in the firm."
“He wouldn’t oppose you if he thought you really wanted to go in for something else.”
“He wouldn’t be against you if he believed you genuinely wanted to pursue something else.”
“Not he. But I don’t really want to—that’s the point, David, man. You hate a business life so much yourself that you can’t get it into your blessed noddle that another man might like it. There are many lawyers in the world—too many, perhaps—but there are never too many good honest men of business, ready to do clean big things for the betterment of humanity and the upbuilding of their country, to plan great enterprises and carry them through with brain and courage, to manage and control, to aim high and strike one’s aim. There, I’m waxing eloquent, so I’d better stop. But ambition, man! Why, I’m full of it—it’s bubbling in every pore of me. I mean to make the department store of Marshall & Company famous from ocean to ocean. Father started in life as a poor boy from a Nova Scotian farm. He has built up a business that has a provincial reputation. I mean to carry it on. In five years it shall have a maritime reputation, in ten, a Canadian. I want to make the firm of Marshall & Company stand for something big in the commercial interests of Canada. Isn’t that as honourable an ambition as trying to make black seem white in a court of law, or discovering some new disease with a harrowing name to torment poor creatures who might otherwise die peacefully in blissful ignorance of what ailed them?”
“Not him. But I don’t really want to—that’s the point, David, man. You hate business life so much yourself that you can’t wrap your mind around the fact that another guy might actually enjoy it. There are many lawyers out there—maybe too many—but there are never too many good, honest business people who are ready to do big, meaningful things for the betterment of humanity and to lift up their country, to plan great ventures and see them through with brains and courage, to manage and lead, to aim high and hit the mark. There, I’m getting a bit carried away, so I should probably stop. But ambition, man! I’m bursting with it—it’s bubbling in every part of me. I plan to make the department store of Marshall & Company famous from coast to coast. Dad started out as a poor kid from a Nova Scotian farm. He’s built a business with a local reputation. I intend to carry it on. In five years, it will have a national reputation, and in ten, a Canadian one. I want the firm of Marshall & Company to mean something significant in Canada’s commercial landscape. Isn’t that just as honorable an ambition as trying to make black look white in a courtroom, or discovering some new disease with a scary name just to torment people who might otherwise pass away peacefully, blissfully unaware of what was wrong with them?”
“When you begin to make poor jokes it is time to stop arguing with you,” said David, with a shrug of his fat shoulders. “Go your own gait and dree your own weird. I’d as soon expect success in trying to storm the citadel single-handed as in trying to turn you from any course about which you had once made up your mind. Whew, this street takes it out of a fellow! What could have possessed our ancestors to run a town up the side of a hill? I’m not so slim and active as I was on MY graduation day ten years ago. By the way, what a lot of co-eds were in your class—twenty, if I counted right. When I graduated there were only two ladies in our class and they were the pioneers of their sex at Queenslea. They were well past their first youth, very grim and angular and serious; and they could never have been on speaking terms with a mirror in their best days. But mark you, they were excellent females—oh, very excellent. Times have changed with a vengeance, judging from the line-up of co-eds to-day. There was one girl there who can’t be a day over eighteen—and she looked as if she were made out of gold and roseleaves and dewdrops.”
“When you start making bad jokes, it’s time to stop debating with you,” said David, shrugging his broad shoulders. “Go your own way and deal with your own fate. I’d sooner expect to succeed in trying to capture a fortress alone than in changing your mind once you’ve made a decision. Whew, this street is exhausting! What on earth made our ancestors decide to build a town on the side of a hill? I’m not as slim and agile as I was on my graduation day ten years ago. By the way, there were so many female students in your class—twenty, if I counted right. When I graduated, there were only two women in our class, and they were the first of their kind at Queenslea. They were well past their youth, quite stern and angular and serious; they could never have been friends with a mirror in their prime. But let me tell you, they were outstanding women—oh yes, really outstanding. Times have changed dramatically, judging by the group of female students today. There was one girl there who couldn’t be older than eighteen—and she looked like she was made of gold, rose petals, and dewdrops.”
“The oracle speaks in poetry,” laughed Eric. “That was Florence Percival, who led the class in mathematics, as I’m a living man. By many she is considered the beauty of her class. I can’t say that such is my opinion. I don’t greatly care for that blonde, babyish style of loveliness—I prefer Agnes Campion. Did you notice her—the tall, dark girl with the ropes of hair and a sort of crimson, velvety bloom on her face, who took honours in philosophy?”
“The oracle talks in poetry,” Eric chuckled. “That was Florence Percival, who ran the math class, I swear. Many people think she's the most attractive in her class. I can’t say I feel the same. I’m not really into that blonde, baby-faced look—I prefer Agnes Campion. Did you see her—the tall, dark girl with long hair and a sort of crimson, velvety glow on her face, who got top marks in philosophy?”
“I DID notice her,” said David emphatically, darting a keen side glance at his friend. “I noticed her most particularly and critically—for someone whispered her name behind me and coupled it with the exceedingly interesting information that Miss Campion was supposed to be the future Mrs. Eric Marshall. Whereupon I stared at her with all my eyes.”
“I DID notice her,” David said emphatically, giving his friend a sharp side glance. “I noticed her especially and closely—someone whispered her name behind me and added the really interesting tidbit that Miss Campion was meant to be the future Mrs. Eric Marshall. So, I stared at her with all my attention.”
“There is no truth in that report,” said Eric in a tone of annoyance. “Agnes and I are the best of friends and nothing more. I like and admire her more than any woman I know; but if the future Mrs. Eric Marshall exists in the flesh I haven’t met her yet. I haven’t even started out to look for her—and don’t intend to for some years to come. I have something else to think of,” he concluded, in a tone of contempt, for which anyone might have known he would be punished sometime if Cupid were not deaf as well as blind.
“There’s no truth to that report,” Eric said, sounding annoyed. “Agnes and I are just good friends and nothing more. I like and admire her more than any woman I know, but if the future Mrs. Eric Marshall is out there, I haven’t met her yet. I haven’t even started looking for her—and I don’t plan to for a few years. I have other things to focus on,” he finished, with a tone of disdain, which anyone could tell would get him in trouble eventually if Cupid wasn’t as deaf as he was blind.
“You’ll meet the lady of the future some day,” said David dryly. “And in spite of your scorn I venture to predict that if fate doesn’t bring her before long you’ll very soon start out to look for her. A word of advice, oh, son of your mother. When you go courting take your common sense with you.”
“You’ll meet the woman of your dreams someday,” David said dryly. “And despite your sarcasm, I predict that if fate doesn’t bring her to you soon, you’ll end up going out to search for her. A piece of advice, oh, son of your mother: when you go dating, take your common sense with you.”
“Do you think I shall be likely to leave it behind?” asked Eric amusedly.
“Do you think I’m likely to leave it behind?” Eric asked, amused.
“Well, I mistrust you,” said David, sagely wagging his head. “The Lowland Scotch part of you is all right, but there’s a Celtic streak in you, from that little Highland grandmother of yours, and when a man has that there’s never any knowing where it will break out, or what dance it will lead him, especially when it comes to this love-making business. You are just as likely as not to lose your head over some little fool or shrew for the sake of her outward favour and make yourself miserable for life. When you pick you a wife please remember that I shall reserve the right to pass a candid opinion on her.”
“Well, I don’t trust you,” David said, shaking his head wisely. “The Lowland Scottish part of you is fine, but there’s a Celtic side to you from that Highland grandmother of yours, and when a guy has that, you never know where it might show up or what it will get him into, especially when it comes to love. You might just lose your mind over some silly girl or total brat just because of her looks and make yourself miserable for life. When you choose a wife, just remember that I’ll still have the right to give my honest opinion about her.”
“Pass all the opinions you like, but it is MY opinion, and mine only, which will matter in the long run,” retorted Eric.
“Share all the opinions you want, but only MY opinion matters in the end,” Eric shot back.
“Confound you, yes, you stubborn offshoot of a stubborn breed,” growled David, looking at him affectionately. “I know that, and that is why I’ll never feel at ease about you until I see you married to the right sort of a girl. She’s not hard to find. Nine out of ten girls in this country of ours are fit for kings’ palaces. But the tenth always has to be reckoned with.”
“Damn you, yes, you stubborn product of a stubborn family,” David grumbled, looking at him fondly. “I know that, and that’s why I’ll never feel comfortable about you until I see you married to the right kind of girl. She’s not hard to find. Nine out of ten girls in this country of ours are fit for royalty. But we always have to consider that one who isn’t.”
“You are as bad as Clever Alice in the fairy tale who worried over the future of her unborn children,” protested Eric.
“You're just as bad as Clever Alice in the fairy tale who stressed about the future of her unborn kids,” Eric protested.
“Clever Alice has been very unjustly laughed at,” said David gravely. “We doctors know that. Perhaps she overdid the worrying business a little, but she was perfectly right in principle. If people worried a little more about their unborn children—at least, to the extent of providing a proper heritage, physically, mentally, and morally, for them—and then stopped worrying about them after they ARE born, this world would be a very much pleasanter place to live in, and the human race would make more progress in a generation than it has done in recorded history.”
“Clever Alice has been unfairly mocked,” David said seriously. “We doctors understand that. Maybe she was a bit excessive in her worrying, but her principles were spot on. If people cared a bit more about their unborn children—at least by ensuring they have a good physical, mental, and moral foundation—and then relaxed once they’re born, the world would be a much nicer place, and humanity would achieve more in one generation than it has throughout all of history.”
“Oh, if you are going to mount your dearly beloved hobby of heredity I am not going to argue with you, David, man. But as for the matter of urging me to hasten and marry me a wife, why don’t you”—It was on Eric’s lips to say, “Why don’t you get married to a girl of the right sort yourself and set me a good example?” But he checked himself. He knew that there was an old sorrow in David Baker’s life which was not to be unduly jarred by the jests even of privileged friendship. He changed his question to, “Why don’t you leave this on the knees of the gods where it properly belongs? I thought you were a firm believer in predestination, David.”
“Oh, if you’re going to dive into your beloved hobby of heredity, I’m not going to argue with you, David. But when it comes to urging me to hurry up and marry a wife, why don’t you—” Eric almost said, “Why don’t you marry a decent girl yourself and set a good example for me?” But he held back. He was aware of an old pain in David Baker’s life that shouldn’t be disturbed by even the playful banter of close friends. He changed his question to, “Why don’t you leave this in the hands of fate where it truly belongs? I thought you believed in predestination, David.”
“Well, so I am, to a certain extent,” said David cautiously. “I believe, as an excellent old aunt of mine used to say, that what is to be will be and what isn’t to be happens sometimes. And it is precisely such unchancy happenings that make the scheme of things go wrong. I dare say you think me an old fogy, Eric; but I know something more of the world than you do, and I believe, with Tennyson’s Arthur, that ‘there’s no more subtle master under heaven than is the maiden passion for a maid.’ I want to see you safely anchored to the love of some good woman as soon as may be, that’s all. I’m rather sorry Miss Campion isn’t your lady of the future. I liked her looks, that I did. She is good and strong and true—and has the eyes of a woman who could love in a way that would be worth while. Moreover, she’s well-born, well-bred, and well-educated—three very indispensable things when it comes to choosing a woman to fill your mother’s place, friend of mine!”
“Well, I am, to some extent,” David said cautiously. “I believe, as my wise old aunt used to say, that what’s meant to happen will happen, and sometimes what’s not meant to happen does. And it’s exactly these unexpected events that throw everything off balance. You probably think I’m old-fashioned, Eric, but I know a bit more about the world than you do, and I agree with Tennyson’s Arthur that ‘there’s no more subtle master under heaven than the maiden passion for a maid.’ I just want to see you safely committed to the love of a good woman as soon as possible, that’s all. I’m honestly a bit disappointed Miss Campion isn’t your future lady. I liked how she looked, I really did. She’s good, strong, and genuine—and she has the kind of eyes that indicate a love worth having. Plus, she’s well-born, well-bred, and well-educated—three essential things when it comes to choosing a woman to take your mother’s place, my friend!”
“I agree with you,” said Eric carelessly. “I could not marry any woman who did not fulfill those conditions. But, as I have said, I am not in love with Agnes Campion—and it wouldn’t be of any use if I were. She is as good as engaged to Larry West. You remember West?”
“I agree with you,” Eric said casually. “I couldn’t marry any woman who didn’t meet those criteria. But, as I mentioned, I’m not in love with Agnes Campion—and it wouldn’t matter if I were. She’s practically engaged to Larry West. Do you remember West?”
“That thin, leggy fellow you chummed with so much your first two years in Queenslea? Yes, what has become of him?”
"That tall, skinny guy you hung out with so much during your first two years at Queenslea? Yeah, what happened to him?"
“He had to drop out after his second year for financial reasons. He is working his own way through college, you know. For the past two years he has been teaching school in some out-of-the-way place over in Prince Edward Island. He isn’t any too well, poor fellow—never was very strong and has studied remorselessly. I haven’t heard from him since February. He said then that he was afraid he wasn’t going to be able to stick it out till the end of the school year. I hope Larry won’t break down. He is a fine fellow and worthy even of Agnes Campion. Well, here we are. Coming in, David?”
“He had to drop out after his second year because he couldn’t afford it. He’s working his way through college, you know. For the last two years, he’s been teaching in a very remote area over in Prince Edward Island. He’s not doing too well, poor guy—he's never been very strong and has been studying relentlessly. I haven’t heard from him since February. He mentioned then that he was worried he wouldn’t be able to make it through to the end of the school year. I hope Larry doesn’t end up breaking down. He’s a great guy and good enough for Agnes Campion. Well, here we are. Coming in, David?”
“Not this afternoon—haven’t got time. I must mosey up to the North End to see a man who has got a lovely throat. Nobody can find out what is the matter. He has puzzled all the doctors. He has puzzled me, but I’ll find out what is wrong with him if he’ll only live long enough.”
“Not this afternoon—I don't have time. I need to head up to the North End to see a guy who has a lovely throat. No one can figure out what's wrong. He's confused all the doctors. He's confused me too, but I’ll discover what’s going on with him if he just hangs in there long enough.”
CHAPTER II. A LETTER OF DESTINY
Eric, finding that his father had not yet returned from the college, went into the library and sat down to read a letter he had picked up from the hall table. It was from Larry West, and after the first few lines Eric’s face lost the absent look it had worn and assumed an expression of interest.
Eric, noticing that his dad hadn't come back from college yet, went into the library and sat down to read a letter he had picked up from the hall table. It was from Larry West, and after the first few lines, Eric's face changed from looking distracted to one of interest.
“I am writing to ask a favour of you, Marshall,” wrote West. “The fact is, I’ve fallen into the hands of the Philistines—that is to say, the doctors. I’ve not been feeling very fit all winter but I’ve held on, hoping to finish out the year.
“I’m reaching out to ask a favor from you, Marshall,” West wrote. “Honestly, I’ve ended up in the clutches of the Philistines—that is, the doctors. I haven’t been feeling great all winter, but I’ve been hanging on, hoping to get through the year.”
“Last week my landlady—who is a saint in spectacles and calico—looked at me one morning at the breakfast table and said, VERY gently, ‘You must go to town to-morrow, Master, and see a doctor about yourself.’
“Last week my landlady—who is a saint in glasses and a calico dress—looked at me one morning at the breakfast table and said, VERY gently, ‘You need to go to town tomorrow, dear, and see a doctor about yourself.’”
“I went and did not stand upon the order of my going. Mrs. Williamson is She-Who-Must-Be-Obeyed. She has an inconvenient habit of making you realize that she is exactly right, and that you would be all kinds of a fool if you didn’t take her advice. You feel that what she thinks to-day you will think to-morrow.
“I went without hesitating about whether I should go or not. Mrs. Williamson is the one you have to listen to. She has an annoying way of making you see that she's completely right, and that you’d be a fool not to take her advice. You feel like what she believes today, you'll believe tomorrow.”
“In Charlottetown I consulted a doctor. He punched and pounded me, and poked things at me and listened at the other end of them; and finally he said I must stop work ‘immejutly and to onct’ and hie me straightway to a climate not afflicted with the north-east winds of Prince Edward Island in the spring. I am not to be allowed to do any work until the fall. Such was his dictum and Mrs. Williamson enforces it.
“In Charlottetown, I saw a doctor. He examined me thoroughly, poked and prodded me, and listened to my body with various instruments; in the end, he told me I had to stop working ‘immediately and at once’ and head straight for a climate that isn’t plagued by the north-east winds of Prince Edward Island in spring. I’m not allowed to do any work until the fall. That was his order, and Mrs. Williamson is enforcing it."
“I shall teach this week out and then the spring vacation of three weeks begins. I want you to come over and take my place as pedagogue in the Lindsay school for the last week in May and the month of June. The school year ends then and there will be plenty of teachers looking for the place, but just now I cannot get a suitable substitute. I have a couple of pupils who are preparing to try the Queen’s Academy entrance examinations, and I don’t like to leave them in the lurch or hand them over to the tender mercies of some third-class teacher who knows little Latin and less Greek. Come over and take the school till the end of the term, you petted son of luxury. It will do you a world of good to learn how rich a man feels when he is earning twenty-five dollars a month by his own unaided efforts!
“I'll be teaching this week, and then the three-week spring break starts. I want you to come over and take my place as a teacher at the Lindsay school for the last week of May and the month of June. The school year ends then, and there will be plenty of teachers looking for a job, but right now I can’t find a suitable substitute. I have a couple of students who are preparing for the Queen’s Academy entrance exams, and I don’t want to leave them hanging or hand them over to some mediocre teacher who knows little Latin and even less Greek. Come over and take the school until the end of the term, you pampered son of privilege. It will do you a world of good to see how fulfilling it is to earn twenty-five dollars a month through your own efforts!”
“Seriously, Marshall, I hope you can come, for I don’t know any other fellow I can ask. The work isn’t hard, though you’ll likely find it monotonous. Of course, this little north-shore farming settlement isn’t a very lively place. The rising and setting of the sun are the most exciting events of the average day. But the people are very kind and hospitable; and Prince Edward Island in the month of June is such a thing as you don’t often see except in happy dreams. There are some trout in the pond and you’ll always find an old salt at the harbour ready and willing to take you out cod-fishing or lobstering.
“Seriously, Marshall, I really hope you can come because I don’t know anyone else I can ask. The work isn’t hard, but you might find it a bit boring. This little farming settlement on the north shore isn’t very exciting. The sunrise and sunset are the most thrilling things that happen on a typical day. But the people are very kind and welcoming; and Prince Edward Island in June is something you don’t see often except in happy dreams. There are some trout in the pond, and you can always find an old fisherman at the harbor ready and willing to take you out for cod fishing or lobstering.”
“I’ll bequeath you my boarding house. You’ll find it comfortable and not further from the school than a good constitutional. Mrs. Williamson is the dearest soul alive; and she is one of those old-fashioned cooks who feed you on feasts of fat things and whose price is above rubies.
“I'll leave you my boarding house. You'll find it cozy and not any farther from the school than a good walk. Mrs. Williamson is the sweetest person alive; she's one of those old-school cooks who serves you hearty meals and whose worth is priceless.
“Her husband, Robert, or Bob, as he is commonly called despite his sixty years, is quite a character in his way. He is an amusing old gossip, with a turn for racy comment and a finger in everybody’s pie. He knows everything about everybody in Lindsay for three generations back.
“Her husband, Robert, or Bob, as he's usually called despite being sixty years old, is quite a character in his own right. He's an entertaining old gossip, with a knack for spicy remarks and a hand in everyone's business. He knows all there is to know about everyone in Lindsay for three generations back.”
“They have no living children, but Old Bob has a black cat which is his especial pride and darling. The name of this animal is Timothy and as such he must always be called and referred to. Never, as you value Robert’s good opinion, let him hear you speaking of his pet as ‘the cat,’ or even as ‘Tim.’ You will never be forgiven and he will not consider you a fit person to have charge of the school.
“They don’t have any living children, but Old Bob has a black cat that he especially loves and cherishes. The name of this cat is Timothy, and he must always be called by that name. Never, if you value Robert’s good opinion, let him hear you refer to his pet as ‘the cat’ or even as ‘Tim.’ You won’t be forgiven, and he won’t think you’re a suitable person to run the school.”
“You shall have my room, a little place over the kitchen, with a ceiling that follows the slant of the roof down one side, against which you will bump your head times innumerable until you learn to remember that it is there, and a looking glass which will make one of your eyes as small as a pea and the other as big as an orange.
“You can have my room, a small space above the kitchen, with a ceiling that slopes down on one side, where you’ll bang your head countless times until you remember it’s there, and a mirror that will make one of your eyes look as tiny as a pea and the other as big as an orange."
“But to compensate for these disadvantages the supply of towels is generous and unexceptionable; and there is a window whence you will daily behold an occidental view over Lindsay Harbour and the gulf beyond which is an unspeakable miracle of beauty. The sun is setting over it as I write and I see such a sea of glass mingled with fire as might have figured in the visions of the Patmian seer. A vessel is sailing away into the gold and crimson and pearl of the horizon; the big revolving light on the tip of the headland beyond the harbour has just been lighted and is winking and flashing like a beacon,
“But to make up for these downsides, the supply of towels is abundant and of good quality; and there’s a window from which you can enjoy a western view over Lindsay Harbour and the stunning gulf that lies beyond. The sun is setting over it as I write, and I'm witnessing a mesmerizing sea of glass mixed with fire that could have been imagined in the visions of the Patmian seer. A boat is drifting into the gold, crimson, and pearl of the horizon; the large rotating light at the tip of the headland beyond the harbour has just been turned on and is blinking and shining like a beacon."
“‘O’er the foam
Of perilous seas in faerie lands forlorn.’”
“‘Over the foam of dangerous seas in forgotten fairy lands.’”
“Wire me if you can come; and if you can, report for duty on the twenty-third of May.”
“Text me if you can make it; and if you can, show up for duty on May twenty-third.”
Mr. Marshall, Senior, came in, just as Eric was thoughtfully folding up his letter. The former looked more like a benevolent old clergyman or philanthropist than the keen, shrewd, somewhat hard, although just and honest, man of business that he really was. He had a round, rosy face, fringed with white whiskers, a fine head of long white hair, and a pursed-up mouth. Only in his blue eyes was a twinkle that would have made any man who designed getting the better of him in a bargain think twice before he made the attempt.
Mr. Marshall, Senior, walked in just as Eric was thoughtfully folding his letter. He looked more like a kind old clergyman or philanthropist than the sharp, shrewd, somewhat tough, though fair and honest, businessman that he actually was. He had a round, rosy face framed with white whiskers, a thick head of long white hair, and a tight-lipped smile. Only in his blue eyes was a sparkle that would make anyone trying to outsmart him in a deal reconsider their approach.
It was easily seen that Eric must have inherited his personal beauty and distinction of form from his mother, whose picture hung on the dark wall between the windows. She had died while still young, when Eric was a boy of ten. During her lifetime she had been the object of the passionate devotion of both her husband and son; and the fine, strong, sweet face of the picture was a testimony that she had been worthy of their love and reverence. The same face, cast in a masculine mold, was repeated in Eric; the chestnut hair grew off his forehead in the same way; his eyes were like hers, and in his grave moods they held a similar expression, half brooding, half tender, in their depths.
It was clear that Eric must have inherited his good looks and graceful features from his mother, whose picture hung on the dark wall between the windows. She had passed away young, when Eric was just ten. During her life, she had been deeply cherished by both her husband and son; the beautiful, strong, sweet face in the picture showed that she deserved their love and respect. Eric shared the same face, only in a more masculine form; his chestnut hair fell back from his forehead in the same way, and his eyes were like hers. In his serious moments, they carried a similar expression, a mix of contemplation and tenderness reflected in their depths.
Mr. Marshall was very proud of his son’s success in college, but he had no intention of letting him see it. He loved this boy of his, with the dead mother’s eyes, better than anything on earth, and all his hopes and ambitions were bound up in him.
Mr. Marshall was really proud of his son's success in college, but he had no plans to let him know that. He loved his boy, with those eyes that reminded him of his late mother, more than anything in the world, and all his hopes and dreams were tied up in him.
“Well, that fuss is over, thank goodness,” he said testily, as he dropped into his favourite chair.
“Well, that fuss is over, thank goodness,” he said irritably, as he plopped down into his favorite chair.
“Didn’t you find the programme interesting?” asked Eric absently.
“Didn’t you think the program was interesting?” Eric asked absentmindedly.
“Most of it was tommyrot,” said his father. “The only things I liked were Charlie’s Latin prayer and those pretty little girls trotting up to get their diplomas. Latin IS the language for praying in, I do believe,—at least, when a man has a voice like Old Charlie’s. There was such a sonorous roll to the words that the mere sound of them made me feel like getting down on my marrow bones. And then those girls were as pretty as pinks, now weren’t they? Agnes was the finest-looking of the lot in my opinion. I hope it’s true that you’re courting her, Eric?”
“Most of it was nonsense,” his father said. “The only things I liked were Charlie’s Latin prayer and those cute little girls walking up to get their diplomas. Latin really is the language for praying, I believe—at least when a man has a voice like Old Charlie’s. There was such a rich sound to the words that just hearing them made me feel like getting down on my knees. And those girls were as pretty as can be, weren’t they? Agnes was the prettiest of the bunch, in my opinion. I hope it’s true that you’re dating her, Eric?”
“Confound it, father,” said Eric, half irritably, half laughingly, “have you and David Baker entered into a conspiracy to hound me into matrimony whether I will or no?”
“Damn it, Dad,” Eric said, half irritated, half laughing, “have you and David Baker teamed up to pressure me into marriage whether I like it or not?”
“I’ve never said a word to David Baker on such a subject,” protested Mr. Marshall.
“I’ve never said anything to David Baker about that,” protested Mr. Marshall.
“Well, you are just as bad as he is. He hectored me all the way home from the college on the subject. But why are you in such a hurry to have me married, dad?”
“Well, you’re just as bad as he is. He nagged me all the way home from college about it. But why are you in such a rush to get me married, Dad?”
“Because I want a homemaker in this house as soon as may be. There has never been one since your mother died. I am tired of housekeepers. And I want to see your children at my knees before I die, Eric, and I’m an old man now.”
“Because I want a homemaker in this house as soon as possible. There hasn't been one since your mother passed away. I'm tired of housekeepers. And I want to see your children at my feet before I die, Eric, and I'm an old man now.”
“Well, your wish is natural, father,” said Eric gently, with a glance at his mother’s picture. “But I can’t rush out and marry somebody off-hand, can I? And I fear it wouldn’t exactly do to advertise for a wife, even in these days of commercial enterprise.”
“Well, your wish is understandable, Dad,” said Eric softly, looking at his mom’s picture. “But I can't just go out and marry someone on a whim, can I? And I think it wouldn’t be appropriate to put out an ad for a wife, even in these times of commercialism.”
“Isn’t there ANYBODY you’re fond of?” queried Mr. Marshall, with the patient air of a man who overlooks the frivolous jests of youth.
“Isn’t there ANYONE you like?” asked Mr. Marshall, with the patient demeanor of someone who tolerates the silly jokes of young people.
“No. I never yet saw the woman who could make my heart beat any faster.”
“No. I've never met a woman who could make my heart race any faster.”
“I don’t know what you young men are made of nowadays,” growled his father. “I was in love half a dozen times before I was your age.”
“I don’t know what you young guys are made of these days,” his father grumbled. “I was in love at least six times before I was your age.”
“You might have been ‘in love.’ But you never LOVED any woman until you met my mother. I know that, father. And it didn’t happen till you were pretty well on in life either.”
“You might have been ‘in love.’ But you never really LOVED any woman until you met my mother. I know that, Dad. And it didn’t happen until you were well into your life, either.”
“You’re too hard to please. That’s what’s the matter, that’s what’s the matter!”
“You're too hard to please. That's what's wrong, that's what's wrong!”
“Perhaps I am. When a man has had a mother like mine his standard of womanly sweetness is apt to be pitched pretty high. Let’s drop the subject, father. Here, I want you to read this letter—it’s from Larry.”
“Maybe I am. When a guy has had a mom like mine, his expectations for a woman's sweetness are going to be pretty high. Let's change the topic, Dad. Here, I want you to read this letter—it’s from Larry.”
“Humph!” grunted Mr. Marshall, when he had finished with it. “So Larry’s knocked out at last—always thought he would be—always expected it. Sorry, too. He was a decent fellow. Well, are you going?”
“Humph!” grunted Mr. Marshall when he was done with it. “So Larry’s finally out—always thought he would be—always expected it. I’m sorry, though. He was a good guy. So, are you leaving?”
“Yes, I think so, if you don’t object.”
“Yes, I think so, if you don’t mind.”
“You’ll have a pretty monotonous time of it, judging from his account of Lindsay.”
"You'll have a pretty boring time of it, based on his account of Lindsay."
“Probably. But I am not going over in search of excitement. I’m going to oblige Larry and have a look at the Island.”
“Probably. But I’m not going over there looking for thrills. I’m going to help Larry and take a look at the Island.”
“Well, it’s worth looking at, some parts of the year,” conceded Mr. Marshall. “When I’m on Prince Edward Island in the summer I always understand an old Scotch Islander I met once in Winnipeg. He was always talking of ‘the Island.’ Somebody once asked him, ‘What island do you mean?’ He simply LOOKED at that ignorant man. Then he said, ‘Why, Prince Edward Island, mon. WHAT OTHER ISLAND IS THERE?’ Go if you’d like to. You need a rest after the grind of examinations before settling down to business. And mind you don’t get into any mischief, young sir.”
“Well, it’s worth checking out at certain times of the year,” admitted Mr. Marshall. “When I’m on Prince Edward Island in the summer, I always think of an old Scottish Islander I met once in Winnipeg. He was always talking about ‘the Island.’ Someone once asked him, ‘Which island are you talking about?’ He just GAVE that clueless guy a look. Then he said, ‘Why, Prince Edward Island, man. WHAT OTHER ISLAND IS THERE?’ Go if you want. You need a break after the stress of exams before you settle into work. And make sure you don’t get into any trouble, young man.”
“Not much likelihood of that in a place like Lindsay, I fancy,” laughed Eric.
“Not much chance of that in a place like Lindsay, I think,” laughed Eric.
“Probably the devil finds as much mischief for idle hands in Lindsay as anywhere else. The worst tragedy I ever heard of happened on a backwoods farm, fifteen miles from a railroad and five from a store. However, I expect your mother’s son to behave himself in the fear of God and man. In all likelihood the worst thing that will happen to you over there will be that some misguided woman will put you to sleep in a spare room bed. And if that does happen may the Lord have mercy on your soul!”
“Probably the devil finds just as much trouble for idle hands in Lindsay as anywhere else. The worst tragedy I ever heard of happened on a remote farm, fifteen miles from a train station and five from a store. However, I expect your mother's son to act respectfully in the eyes of God and others. Most likely, the worst thing that will happen to you there is that some well-meaning woman will make you sleep in a spare room. And if that does happen, may God have mercy on your soul!”
CHAPTER III. THE MASTER OF LINDSAY SCHOOL
One evening, a month later, Eric Marshall came out of the old, white-washed schoolhouse at Lindsay, and locked the door—which was carved over with initials innumerable, and built of double plank in order that it might withstand all the assaults and batteries to which it might be subjected.
One evening, a month later, Eric Marshall stepped out of the old, whitewashed schoolhouse in Lindsay and locked the door—which was covered in countless initials and made of double planks so it could endure all the wear and tear it might face.
Eric’s pupils had gone home an hour before, but he had stayed to solve some algebra problems, and correct some Latin exercises for his advanced students.
Eric’s students had gone home an hour earlier, but he stayed to work on some algebra problems and grade some Latin assignments for his advanced students.
The sun was slanting in warm yellow lines through the thick grove of maples to the west of the building, and the dim green air beneath them burst into golden bloom. A couple of sheep were nibbling the lush grass in a far corner of the play-ground; a cow-bell, somewhere in the maple woods, tinkled faintly and musically, on the still crystal air, which, in spite of its blandness, still retained a touch of the wholesome austerity and poignancy of a Canadian spring. The whole world seemed to have fallen, for the time being, into a pleasant untroubled dream.
The sun was shining through the thick grove of maples to the west of the building, casting warm yellow rays, and the dim green air below burst into a golden glow. A couple of sheep were munching on the lush grass in a far corner of the playground; somewhere in the maple woods, a cowbell tinkled softly and musically in the still, clear air, which, despite its gentleness, still had a hint of the fresh seriousness and sentimentality of a Canadian spring. The entire world felt like it had slipped into a nice, peaceful dream for the moment.
The scene was very peaceful and pastoral—almost too much so, the young man thought, with a shrug of his shoulders, as he stood in the worn steps and gazed about him. How was he going to put in a whole month here, he wondered, with a little smile at his own expense.
The scene was really peaceful and scenic—almost too much so, the young man thought, shrugging his shoulders as he stood on the worn steps and looked around. How was he going to spend a whole month here, he wondered, smiling a bit at his own situation.
“Father would chuckle if he knew I was sick of it already,” he thought, as he walked across the play-ground to the long red road that ran past the school. “Well, one week is ended, at any rate. I’ve earned my own living for five whole days, and that is something I could never say before in all my twenty-four years of existence. It is an exhilarating thought. But teaching the Lindsay district school is distinctly NOT exhilarating—at least in such a well-behaved school as this, where the pupils are so painfully good that I haven’t even the traditional excitement of thrashing obstreperous bad boys. Everything seems to go by clock work in Lindsay educational institution. Larry must certainly have possessed a marked gift for organizing and drilling. I feel as if I were merely a big cog in an orderly machine that ran itself. However, I understand that there are some pupils who haven’t shown up yet, and who, according to all reports, have not yet had the old Adam totally drilled out of them. They may make things more interesting. Also a few more compositions, such as John Reid’s, would furnish some spice to professional life.”
“Dad would laugh if he knew I was already tired of this,” he thought, as he walked across the playground to the long red road that ran past the school. “Well, at least one week is over. I’ve made my own living for five whole days, which is something I could never say before in all my twenty-four years. That’s an exciting thought. But teaching at the Lindsay district school is definitely NOT exciting—especially in such a well-behaved school like this, where the students are so painfully good that I don’t even get the usual thrill of dealing with rowdy troublemakers. Everything seems to run like clockwork in Lindsay’s educational institution. Larry must have had a real talent for organizing and training. I feel like I’m just a big cog in a well-organized machine that runs itself. However, I hear there are some students who haven’t shown up yet, and who, by all accounts, haven’t had the old mischief totally trained out of them. They might make things more interesting. Also, a few more essays like John Reid’s would add some spice to my professional life.”
Eric’s laughter wakened the echoes as he swung into the road down the long sloping hill. He had given his fourth grade pupils their own choice of subjects in the composition class that morning, and John Reid, a sober, matter-of-fact little urchin, with not the slightest embryonic development of a sense of humour, had, acting upon the whispered suggestion of a roguish desk-mate, elected to write upon “Courting.” His opening sentence made Eric’s face twitch mutinously whenever he recalled it during the day. “Courting is a very pleasant thing which a great many people go too far with.”
Eric’s laughter echoed as he strolled down the long sloping hill. That morning, he had let his fourth-grade students choose their own topics for the composition class, and John Reid, a serious little kid with no hint of a sense of humor, had, taking a whispered suggestion from a mischievous classmate, decided to write about “Dating.” His opening sentence made Eric's face twitch in annoyance whenever he thought about it throughout the day. “Dating is a very nice thing that many people take too far.”
The distant hills and wooded uplands were tremulous and aerial in delicate spring-time gauzes of pearl and purple. The young, green-leafed maples crowded thickly to the very edge of the road on either side, but beyond them were emerald fields basking in sunshine, over which cloud shadows rolled, broadened, and vanished. Far below the fields a calm ocean slept bluely, and sighed in its sleep, with the murmur that rings for ever in the ear of those whose good fortune it is to have been born within the sound of it.
The distant hills and wooded areas looked soft and airy in delicate springtime hues of pearl and purple. Young green-leafed maples grew thick right up to the edge of the road on both sides, but beyond them lay emerald fields soaking up the sunshine, where clouds created shadows that rolled, spread out, and disappeared. Far below the fields, a calm ocean rested in a deep blue, sighing as it slept, with a soothing sound that lingers in the ears of those lucky enough to have been born within its reach.
Now and then Eric met some callow, check-shirted, bare-legged lad on horseback, or a shrewd-faced farmer in a cart, who nodded and called out cheerily, “Howdy, Master?” A young girl, with a rosy, oval face, dimpled cheeks, and pretty dark eyes filled with shy coquetry, passed him, looking as if she would not be at all averse to a better acquaintance with the new teacher.
Now and then, Eric ran into some inexperienced, plaid-shirted, bare-legged kid on horseback, or a sharp-faced farmer in a cart, who nodded and cheerfully called out, “Hey there, Master!” A young girl with a rosy, oval face, dimpled cheeks, and pretty dark eyes filled with shy flirtation passed by him, appearing as if she wouldn’t mind getting to know the new teacher better.
Half way down the hill Eric met a shambling, old gray horse drawing an express wagon which had seen better days. The driver was a woman: she appeared to be one of those drab-tinted individuals who can never have felt a rosy emotion in all their lives. She stopped her horse, and beckoned Eric over to her with the knobby handle of a faded and bony umbrella.
Halfway down the hill, Eric encountered a shuffling, old gray horse pulling a beat-up express wagon. The driver was a woman who looked like one of those dull, colorless people who probably never experienced any joy in their lives. She halted her horse and signaled Eric over to her with the knobby handle of a worn-out, skinny umbrella.
“Reckon you’re the new Master, ain’t you?” she asked.
“Are you the new Master?” she asked.
Eric admitted that he was.
Eric confessed that he was.
“Well, I’m glad to see you,” she said, offering him a hand in a much darned cotton glove that had once been black.
“Well, I’m glad to see you,” she said, offering him a hand in a very patched cotton glove that had once been black.
“I was right sorry to see Mr. West go, for he was a right good teacher, and as harmless, inoffensive a creetur as ever lived. But I always told him every time I laid eyes on him that he was in consumption, if ever a man was. YOU look real healthy—though you can’t aways tell by looks, either. I had a brother complected like you, but he was killed in a railroad accident out west when he was real young.
“I was really sorry to see Mr. West go because he was a great teacher and as harmless and inoffensive a person as ever lived. But I always told him every time I saw him that he was suffering from tuberculosis, if ever a man was. YOU look really healthy—though you can't always tell by looks, either. I had a brother who looked like you, but he was killed in a railroad accident out west when he was very young.
“I’ve got a boy I’ll be sending to school to you next week. He’d oughter gone this week, but I had to keep him home to help me put the pertaters in; for his father won’t work and doesn’t work and can’t be made to work.
“I've got a boy I’ll be sending to school with you next week. He should have gone this week, but I had to keep him home to help me plant the potatoes; because his father won't work and doesn't work and can’t be made to work.
“Sandy—his full name is Edward Alexander—called after both his grandfathers—hates the idee of going to school worse ‘n pisen—always did. But go he shall, for I’m determined he’s got to have more larning hammered into his head yet. I reckon you’ll have trouble with him, Master, for he’s as stupid as an owl, and as stubborn as Solomon’s mule. But mind this, Master, I’ll back you up. You just lick Sandy good and plenty when he needs it, and send me a scrape of the pen home with him, and I’ll give him another dose.
“Sandy—his full name is Edward Alexander—named after both his grandfathers—hates the idea of going to school more than anything—always has. But he’s going, because I’m determined he needs to learn more. I think you’ll have a tough time with him, Master, because he’s as foolish as an owl and as stubborn as a mule. But remember this, Master, I’ve got your back. Just discipline Sandy when he deserves it, and send a note home with him, and I’ll give him another dose.
“There’s people that always sides in with their young ones when there’s any rumpus kicked up in the school, but I don’t hold to that, and never did. You can depend on Rebecca Reid every time, Master.”
“Some people always take their kids' side when there's any trouble at school, but I don’t believe in that, and never have. You can always count on Rebecca Reid, Master.”
“Thank you. I am sure I can,” said Eric, in his most winning tones.
“Thanks. I’m sure I can,” said Eric, in his most charming voice.
He kept his face straight until it was safe to relax, and Mrs. Reid drove on with a soft feeling in her leathery old heart, which had been so toughened by long endurance of poverty and toil, and a husband who wouldn’t work and couldn’t be made to work, that it was no longer a very susceptible organ where members of the opposite sex were concerned.
He kept a straight face until it was safe to relax, and Mrs. Reid drove on with a warm feeling in her weathered old heart, which had been so hardened by years of poverty and hard work, and a husband who wouldn’t work and couldn’t be forced to work, that it was no longer very responsive when it came to members of the opposite sex.
Mrs. Reid reflected that this young man had a way with him.
Mrs. Reid thought that this young man had a certain charm about him.
Eric already knew most of the Lindsay folks by sight; but at the foot of the hill he met two people, a man and a boy, whom he did not know. They were sitting in a shabby, old-fashioned wagon, and were watering their horse at the brook, which gurgled limpidly under the little plank bridge in the hollow.
Eric already recognized most of the people from Lindsay by sight, but at the bottom of the hill, he came across two individuals, a man and a boy, whom he didn’t know. They were sitting in a worn, old-fashioned wagon, watering their horse at the stream that flowed clear and refreshing under the small wooden bridge in the valley.
Eric surveyed them with some curiosity. They did not look in the least like the ordinary run of Lindsay people. The boy, in particular, had a distinctly foreign appearance, in spite of the gingham shirt and homespun trousers, which seemed to be the regulation, work-a-day outfit for the Lindsay farmer lads. He had a lithe, supple body, with sloping shoulders, and a lean, satiny brown throat above his open shirt collar. His head was covered with thick, silky, black curls, and the hand that hung down by the side of the wagon was unusually long and slender. His face was richly, though somewhat heavily featured, olive tinted, save for the cheeks, which had a dusky crimson bloom. His mouth was as red and beguiling as a girl’s, and his eyes were large, bold and black. All in all, he was a strikingly handsome fellow; but the expression of his face was sullen, and he somehow gave Eric the impression of a sinuous, feline creature basking in lazy grace, but ever ready for an unexpected spring.
Eric looked at them with some curiosity. They didn’t seem at all like the usual people from Lindsay. The boy, in particular, had a distinctly foreign look, despite wearing a gingham shirt and homespun trousers, which appeared to be the standard work outfit for the Lindsay farm boys. He had a lean, flexible body with sloping shoulders and a slender, smooth brown neck above his open shirt collar. His head was covered with thick, silky black curls, and the hand hanging by the side of the wagon was unusually long and thin. His face was rich, though somewhat heavy-featured, olive-toned except for the cheeks, which had a dusky crimson flush. His mouth was as red and captivating as a girl’s, and his eyes were large, bold, and black. Overall, he was a strikingly handsome young man, but his expression was sullen, giving Eric the impression of a sleek, feline creature lounging in lazy grace, always ready to spring into action.
The other occupant of the wagon was a man between sixty-five and seventy, with iron-gray hair, a long, full, gray beard, a harsh-featured face, and deep-set hazel eyes under bushy, bristling brows. He was evidently tall, with a spare, ungainly figure, and stooping shoulders. His mouth was close-lipped and relentless, and did not look as if it had ever smiled. Indeed, the idea of smiling could not be connected with this man—it was utterly incongruous. Yet there was nothing repellent about his face; and there was something in it that compelled Eric’s attention.
The other person in the wagon was a man between sixty-five and seventy, with iron-gray hair, a long, full, gray beard, a harsh-looking face, and deep-set hazel eyes beneath bushy, bristly eyebrows. He was clearly tall, with a thin, awkward build and slouched shoulders. His mouth was tight and unyielding, and it seemed like it had never smiled. In fact, the thought of him smiling felt completely out of place. Still, there was nothing off-putting about his face; instead, something about it drew Eric’s attention.
He rather prided himself on being a student of physiognomy, and he felt quite sure that this man was no ordinary Lindsay farmer of the genial, garrulous type with which he was familiar.
He took pride in being a student of facial expressions, and he was pretty sure that this man was not your typical Lindsay farmer of the friendly, talkative kind he was used to.
Long after the old wagon, with its oddly assorted pair, had gone lumbering up the hill, Eric found himself thinking of the stern, heavy browed man and the black-eyed, red-lipped boy.
Long after the old wagon, with its mismatched pair, had slowly made its way up the hill, Eric found himself thinking about the serious, heavy-browed man and the black-eyed, red-lipped boy.
CHAPTER IV. A TEA TABLE CONVERSATION
The Williamson place, where Eric boarded, was on the crest of the succeeding hill. He liked it as well as Larry West had prophesied that he would. The Williamsons, as well as the rest of the Lindsay people, took it for granted that he was a poor college student working his way through as Larry West had been doing. Eric did not disturb this belief, although he said nothing to contribute to it.
The Williamson place, where Eric boarded, was on top of the next hill. He liked it just as much as Larry West had predicted he would. The Williamsons, along with the rest of the Lindsay crowd, assumed he was a broke college student working his way through like Larry West had been. Eric didn’t challenge this assumption, even though he didn’t say anything to support it.
The Williamsons were at tea in the kitchen when Eric went in. Mrs. Williamson was the “saint in spectacles and calico” which Larry West had termed her. Eric liked her greatly. She was a slight, gray-haired woman, with a thin, sweet, high-bred face, deeply lined with the records of outlived pain. She talked little as a rule; but, in the pungent country phrase she never spoke but she said something. The one thing that constantly puzzled Eric was how such a woman ever came to marry Robert Williamson.
The Williamsons were having tea in the kitchen when Eric walked in. Mrs. Williamson was the “saint in spectacles and calico,” as Larry West had called her. Eric really liked her. She was a petite, gray-haired woman with a delicate, kind-looking face, deeply lined by the struggles she had endured. She usually didn't talk much, but in the colorful way people in the country spoke, she always had something meaningful to say. The one thing that always puzzled Eric was how a woman like her ended up marrying Robert Williamson.
She smiled in a motherly fashion at Eric, as he hung his hat on the white-washed wall and took his place at the table. Outside of the window behind him was a birch grove which, in the westering sun, was a tremulous splendour, with a sea of undergrowth wavered into golden billows by every passing wind.
She smiled kindly at Eric as he hung his hat on the whitewashed wall and took his seat at the table. Outside the window behind him, a birch grove was bathed in the setting sun, shimmering with beauty, while a sea of undergrowth swayed into golden waves with every passing breeze.
Old Robert Williamson sat opposite him, on a bench. He was a small, lean old man, half lost in loose clothes that seemed far too large for him. When he spoke his voice was as thin and squeaky as he appeared to be himself.
Old Robert Williamson sat across from him on a bench. He was a small, lean old man, half swallowed by baggy clothes that seemed way too big for him. When he spoke, his voice was as thin and squeaky as he looked.
The other end of the bench was occupied by Timothy, sleek and complacent, with a snowy breast and white paws. After old Robert had taken a mouthful of anything he gave a piece to Timothy, who ate it daintily and purred resonant gratitude.
The other end of the bench was taken up by Timothy, sleek and content, with a snowy chest and white paws. After old Robert had a bite of anything, he would give a piece to Timothy, who ate it delicately and purred his appreciation.
“You see we’re busy waiting for you, Master,” said old Robert. “You’re late this evening. Keep any of the youngsters in? That’s a foolish way of punishing them, as hard on yourself as on them. One teacher we had four years ago used to lock them in and go home. Then he’d go back in an hour and let them out—if they were there. They weren’t always. Tom Ferguson kicked the panels out of the old door once and got out that way. We put a new door of double plank in that they couldn’t kick out.”
“You see, we’ve been waiting for you, Master,” said old Robert. “You’re late tonight. Did you keep any of the kids in? That’s a silly way to punish them; it’s just as tough on you as it is on them. One teacher we had four years ago used to lock them in and head home. Then he’d come back an hour later to let them out—if they were still there. They weren’t always. Tom Ferguson once kicked the panels out of the old door to escape. We ended up putting in a new double-plank door that they couldn’t kick out.”
“I stayed in the schoolroom to do some work,” said Eric briefly.
“I stayed in the classroom to get some work done,” Eric said briefly.
“Well, you’ve missed Alexander Tracy. He was here to find out if you could play checkers, and, when I told him you could, he left word for you to go up and have a game some evening soon. Don’t beat him too often, even if you can. You’ll need to stand in with him, I tell you, Master, for he’s got a son that may brew trouble for you when he starts in to go to school. Seth Tracy’s a young imp, and he’d far sooner be in mischief than eat. He tries to run on every new teacher and he’s run two clean out of the school. But he met his match in Mr. West. William Tracy’s boys now—you won’t have a scrap of bother with THEM. They’re always good because their mother tells them every Sunday that they’ll go straight to hell if they don’t behave in school. It’s effective. Take some preserve, Master. You know we don’t help things here the way Mrs. Adam Scott does when she has boarders, ‘I s’pose you don’t want any of this—nor you—nor you?’ Mother, Aleck says old George Wright is having the time of his life. His wife has gone to Charlottetown to visit her sister and he is his own boss for the first time since he was married, forty years ago. He’s on a regular orgy, Aleck says. He smokes in the parlour and sits up till eleven o’clock reading dime novels.”
"Well, you just missed Alexander Tracy. He came by to see if you could play checkers, and when I told him you could, he left a message for you to come up and have a game sometime soon. Don’t beat him too often, even if you can. You’ll want to be on his good side, trust me, Master, because he’s got a son who might cause you some trouble when he starts school. Seth Tracy is quite the handful, and he’d rather cause mischief than eat. He tries to run off every new teacher and has scared two of them out of the school. But he met his match with Mr. West. As for William Tracy’s boys—you won’t have any trouble with THEM. They’re always well-behaved because their mother tells them every Sunday that if they don’t behave in school, they’ll go straight to hell. It works wonders. Have some preserves, Master. You know we don’t manage things here like Mrs. Adam Scott does when she has boarders, saying, ‘I suppose you don’t want any of this—nor you—nor you?’ Mother, Aleck says old George Wright is having the time of his life. His wife has gone to Charlottetown to visit her sister, and for the first time in forty years since he got married, he’s in charge of himself. He’s living it up, Aleck says. He smokes in the living room and stays up until eleven reading dime novels."
“Perhaps I met Mr. Tracy,” said Eric. “Is he a tall man, with gray hair and a dark, stern face?”
“Maybe I met Mr. Tracy,” Eric said. “Is he tall, has gray hair, and a serious, dark face?”
“No, he’s a round, jolly fellow, is Aleck, and he stopped growing pretty much before he’d ever begun. I reckon the man you mean is Thomas Gordon. I seen him driving down the road too. HE won’t be troubling you with invitations up, small fear of it. The Gordons ain’t sociable, to say the least of it. No, sir! Mother, pass the biscuits to the Master.”
“No, Aleck is a round, cheerful guy, and he pretty much stopped growing before he really started. I think the person you’re talking about is Thomas Gordon. I’ve seen him driving down the road too. He won’t be bothering you with invitations, not a chance. The Gordons aren't friendly, to put it mildly. No, sir! Mom, please pass the biscuits to the Master.”
“Who was the young fellow he had with him?” asked Eric curiously.
“Who was the young guy he had with him?” asked Eric curiously.
“Neil—Neil Gordon.”
“Neil—Neil Gordon.”
“That is a Scotchy name for such a face and eyes. I should rather have expected Guiseppe or Angelo. The boy looks like an Italian.”
"That’s a weird name for someone with such a face and eyes. I would have expected Guiseppe or Angelo instead. The boy looks Italian."
“Well, now, you know, Master, I reckon it’s likely he does, seeing that that’s exactly what he is. You’ve hit the nail square on the head. Italyun, yes, sir! Rather too much so, I’m thinking, for decent folks’ taste.”
“Well, now, you know, Master, I guess he probably does, since that’s exactly what he is. You’ve hit the nail right on the head. Italyan, yes, sir! A bit too much so, I’m thinking, for decent folks’ taste.”
“How has it happened that an Italian boy with a Scotch name is living in a place like Lindsay?”
“How did it happen that an Italian boy with a Scottish name is living in a place like Lindsay?”
“Well, Master, it was this way. About twenty-two years ago—WAS it twenty-two, Mother or twenty-four? Yes, it was twenty-two—‘twas the same year our Jim was born and he’d have been twenty-two if he’d lived, poor little fellow. Well, Master, twenty-two years ago a couple of Italian pack peddlers came along and called at the Gordon place. The country was swarming with them then. I useter set the dog on one every day on an average.
“Well, Master, it was like this. About twenty-two years ago—was it twenty-two, Mother, or twenty-four? Yes, it was twenty-two—it was the same year our Jim was born, and he would have been twenty-two if he had lived, poor little guy. Well, Master, twenty-two years ago, a couple of Italian peddlers came by and stopped at the Gordon place. The area was crawling with them back then. I used to send the dog after one almost every day.”
“Well, these peddlers were man and wife, and the woman took sick up there at the Gordon place, and Janet Gordon took her in and nursed her. A baby was born the next day, and the woman died. Then the first thing anybody knew the father skipped clean out, pack and all, and was never seen or heard tell of afterwards. The Gordons were left with the fine youngster to their hands. Folks advised them to send him to the Orphan Asylum, and ‘twould have been the wisest plan, but the Gordons were never fond of taking advice. Old James Gordon was living then, Thomas and Janet’s father, and he said he would never turn a child out of his door. He was a masterful old man and liked to be boss. Folks used to say he had a grudge against the sun ‘cause it rose and set without his say so. Anyhow, they kept the baby. They called him Neil and had him baptized same as any Christian child. He’s always lived there. They did well enough by him. He was sent to school and taken to church and treated like one of themselves. Some folks think they made too much of him. It doesn’t always do with that kind, for ‘what’s bred in bone is mighty apt to come out in flesh,’ if ‘taint kept down pretty well. Neil’s smart and a great worker, they tell me. But folks hereabouts don’t like him. They say he ain’t to be trusted further’n you can see him, if as far. It’s certain he’s awful hot tempered, and one time when he was going to school he near about killed a boy he’d took a spite to—choked him till he was black in the face and Neil had to be dragged off.”
“Well, these peddlers were a married couple, and the woman got sick at the Gordon place, so Janet Gordon took her in and took care of her. A baby was born the next day, and the woman died. Then, before anyone knew it, the father disappeared completely, bags and all, and was never seen or heard from again. The Gordons were left with the young child. People suggested they send him to the Orphan Asylum, and that would have been the smartest choice, but the Gordons never liked taking advice. Old James Gordon was still alive then, Thomas and Janet’s father, and he said he would never turn a child away from his door. He was a strong-willed old man who liked to be in charge. People used to say he held a grudge against the sun because it rose and set without his approval. Anyway, they kept the baby. They named him Neil and had him baptized just like any Christian child. He’s always lived there. They treated him well enough. He went to school, attended church, and was treated like one of their own. Some people think they spoiled him. That doesn’t always work out well because ‘what's bred in the bone is likely to come out in the flesh,’ if it’s not kept in check. Neil’s smart and a hard worker, they say. But folks around here don’t trust him. They say he can’t be trusted any further than you can see him, if even that far. It’s true he has a terrible temper, and one time when he was going to school, he nearly killed a boy he had taken a dislike to—he choked him until he turned blue and had to be pulled off.”
“Well now, father, you know they teased him terrible,” protested Mrs. Williamson. “The poor boy had a real hard time when he went to school, Master. The other children were always casting things up to him and calling him names.”
“Well now, Dad, you know they really teased him,” protested Mrs. Williamson. “The poor boy had a really tough time when he started school, Master. The other kids were always throwing things in his face and calling him names.”
“Oh, I daresay they tormented him a lot,” admitted her husband. “He’s a great hand at the fiddle and likes company. He goes to the harbour a good deal. But they say he takes sulky spells when he hasn’t a word to throw to a dog. ‘Twouldn’t be any wonder, living with the Gordons. They’re all as queer as Dick’s hat-band.”
“Oh, I bet they really bothered him a lot,” her husband admitted. “He’s really good with the fiddle and enjoys being around people. He spends a lot of time at the harbor. But they say he gets moody when he hasn’t talked to anyone for a while. It wouldn't be surprising, living with the Gordons. They’re all as strange as can be.”
“Father, you shouldn’t talk so about your neighbours,” said his wife rebukingly.
“Dad, you shouldn’t speak about the neighbors like that,” his wife said, scolding him.
“Well now, Mother, you know they are, if you’d only speak up honest. But you’re like old Aunt Nancy Scott, you never say anything uncharitable except in the way of business. You know the Gordons ain’t like other people and never were and never will be. They’re about the only queer folks we have in Lindsay, Master, except old Peter Cook, who keeps twenty-five cats. Lord, Master, think of it! What chanct would a poor mouse have? None of the rest of us are queer, leastwise, we hain’t found it out if we are. But, then, we’re mighty uninteresting, I’m bound to admit that.”
“Well now, Mom, you know they are, if you’d just be honest about it. But you’re like old Aunt Nancy Scott, you never say anything unkind unless it’s business-related. You know the Gordons aren’t like other people, they never were and never will be. They’re basically the only strange folks we have in Lindsay, Master, except for old Peter Cook, who has twenty-five cats. Can you imagine it, Master? What chance does a poor mouse have? None of the rest of us are weird, at least, we haven’t figured it out if we are. But then again, we’re pretty boring, I have to admit that.”
“Where do the Gordons live?” asked Eric, who had grown used to holding fast to a given point of inquiry through all the bewildering mazes of old Robert’s conversation.
“Where do the Gordons live?” asked Eric, who had become accustomed to sticking to a specific question amid the confusing twists of old Robert’s conversation.
“Away up yander, half a mile in from Radnor road, with a thick spruce wood atween them and all the rest of the world. They never go away anywheres, except to church—they never miss that—and nobody goes there. There’s just old Thomas, and his sister Janet, and a niece of theirs, and this here Neil we’ve been talking about. They’re a queer, dour, cranky lot, and I WILL say it, Mother. There, give your old man a cup of tea and never mind the way his tongue runs on. Speaking of tea, do you know Mrs. Adam Palmer and Mrs. Jim Martin took tea together at Foster Reid’s last Wednesday afternoon?”
“Way up there, half a mile in from Radnor Road, with a thick spruce forest between them and the rest of the world. They never go anywhere except to church—they never miss that—and nobody else goes there. It’s just old Thomas, his sister Janet, a niece of theirs, and this Neil we’ve been talking about. They’re a strange, grumpy, cranky bunch, and I’ll say it, Mother. Now, make your old man a cup of tea and don’t worry about how much he talks. Speaking of tea, did you know Mrs. Adam Palmer and Mrs. Jim Martin had tea together at Foster Reid’s last Wednesday afternoon?”
“No, why, I thought they were on bad terms,” said Mrs. Williamson, betraying a little feminine curiosity.
“No, really? I thought they weren't getting along,” said Mrs. Williamson, showing a hint of feminine curiosity.
“So they are, so they are. But they both happened to visit Mrs. Foster the same afternoon and neither would leave because that would be knuckling down to the other. So they stuck it out, on opposite sides of the parlour. Mrs. Foster says she never spent such an uncomfortable afternoon in all her life before. She would talk a spell to one and then t’other. And they kept talking TO Mrs. Foster and AT each other. Mrs. Foster says she really thought she’d have to keep them all night, for neither would start to go home afore the other. Finally Jim Martin came in to look for his wife, ‘cause he thought she must have got stuck in the marsh, and that solved the problem. Master, you ain’t eating anything. Don’t mind my stopping; I was at it half an hour afore you come, and anyway I’m in a hurry. My hired boy went home to-day. He heard the rooster crow at twelve last night and he’s gone home to see which of his family is dead. He knows one of ‘em is. He heard a rooster crow in the middle of the night onct afore and the next day he got word that his second cousin down at Souris was dead. Mother, if the Master don’t want any more tea, ain’t there some cream for Timothy?”
“So they are, so they are. But they both happened to visit Mrs. Foster the same afternoon and neither would leave because that would be giving in to the other. So they toughened it out, on opposite sides of the living room. Mrs. Foster says she never spent such an uncomfortable afternoon in her life. She would talk a bit to one and then the other. And they kept talking TO Mrs. Foster and AT each other. Mrs. Foster says she really thought she’d have to keep them all night, since neither would start to go home before the other. Finally, Jim Martin came in looking for his wife because he thought she might have gotten stuck in the marsh, and that solved the problem. Master, you aren’t eating anything. Don’t mind my interruption; I’ve been at it for half an hour before you got here, and anyway I’m in a rush. My hired boy went home today. He heard the rooster crow at midnight last night and he’s gone home to see which of his family is dead. He knows one of them is. He heard a rooster crow in the middle of the night once before and the next day he got word that his second cousin down at Souris was dead. Mother, if the Master doesn’t want any more tea, isn’t there some cream for Timothy?”
CHAPTER V. A PHANTOM OF DELIGHT
Shortly before sunset that evening Eric went for a walk. When he did not go to the shore he liked to indulge in long tramps through the Lindsay fields and woods, in the mellowness of “the sweet ‘o the year.” Most of the Lindsay houses were built along the main road, which ran parallel to the shore, or about the stores at “The Corner.” The farms ran back from them into solitudes of woods and pasture lands.
Shortly before sunset that evening, Eric went for a walk. When he didn’t head to the shore, he enjoyed taking long hikes through the Lindsay fields and woods, soaking in the warmth of "the sweet time of the year." Most of the Lindsay houses were located along the main road, which ran parallel to the shore, or around the stores at “The Corner.” The farms stretched back from them into peaceful woods and pastures.
Eric struck southwest from the Williamson homestead, in a direction he had not hitherto explored, and walked briskly along, enjoying the witchery of the season all about him in earth and air and sky. He felt it and loved it and yielded to it, as anyone of clean life and sane pulses must do.
Eric headed southwest from the Williamson homestead, venturing into an area he hadn't explored before, and walked quickly, appreciating the enchantment of the season surrounding him in the earth, air, and sky. He felt it, loved it, and embraced it, just as anyone with a good life and healthy energy naturally would.
The spruce wood in which he presently found himself was smitten through with arrows of ruby light from the setting sun. He went through it, walking up a long, purple aisle where the wood-floor was brown and elastic under his feet, and came out beyond it on a scene which surprised him.
The spruce forest he was currently in was filled with shafts of ruby light from the setting sun. He walked through it, moving along a long, purple path where the wooden floor felt soft and springy beneath his feet, and emerged into a scene that took him by surprise.
No house was in sight, but he found himself looking into an orchard; an old orchard, evidently long neglected and forsaken. But an orchard dies hard; and this one, which must have been a very delightful spot once, was delightful still, none the less so for the air of gentle melancholy which seemed to pervade it, the melancholy which invests all places that have once been the scenes of joy and pleasure and young life, and are so no longer, places where hearts have throbbed, and pulses thrilled, and eyes brightened, and merry voices echoed. The ghosts of these things seem to linger in their old haunts through many empty years.
No house was in sight, but he found himself looking into an orchard; an old orchard, clearly long neglected and abandoned. But an orchard doesn't just fade away; this one, which must have once been a lovely spot, was still charming, made even more so by the gentle sadness that seemed to fill it. This sadness surrounds all places that have been filled with joy, pleasure, and youthful life, but are no longer. These are places where hearts raced, pulses quickened, eyes sparkled, and happy voices could be heard. The echoes of those memories seem to linger in their old spaces through many empty years.
The orchard was large and long, enclosed in a tumbledown old fence of longers bleached to a silvery gray in the suns of many lost summers. At regular intervals along the fence were tall, gnarled fir trees, and an evening wind, sweeter than that which blew over the beds of spice from Lebanon, was singing in their tops, an earth-old song with power to carry the soul back to the dawn of time.
The orchard was spacious and stretched out, surrounded by a rundown old fence of longers faded to a silvery gray in the sunlight of countless summers gone by. At regular intervals along the fence stood tall, twisted fir trees, and an evening breeze, sweeter than the one that blew over the spice fields from Lebanon, was whispering through their tops, an ancient song that had the power to transport the soul back to the dawn of time.
Eastward, a thick fir wood grew, beginning with tiny treelets just feathering from the grass, and grading up therefrom to the tall veterans of the mid-grove, unbrokenly and evenly, giving the effect of a solid, sloping green wall, so beautifully compact that it looked as if it had been clipped into its velvet surface by art.
Eastward, a dense fir forest stretched out, starting with small saplings just peeking through the grass, and gradually rising to the tall older trees in the middle of the grove, seamlessly and uniformly, creating the appearance of a solid, sloping green wall, so beautifully neat that it seemed like it had been artistically trimmed into its velvety finish.
Most of the orchard was grown over lushly with grass; but at the end where Eric stood there was a square, treeless place which had evidently once served as a homestead garden. Old paths were still visible, bordered by stones and large pebbles. There were two clumps of lilac trees; one blossoming in royal purple, the other in white. Between them was a bed ablow with the starry spikes of June lilies. Their penetrating, haunting fragrance distilled on the dewy air in every soft puff of wind. Along the fence rosebushes grew, but it was as yet too early in the season for roses.
Most of the orchard was thick with grass, but at the end where Eric stood, there was a square, tree-free spot that had clearly been a garden. Old paths were still visible, lined with stones and large pebbles. There were two clusters of lilac trees; one blooming in deep purple, the other in white. In between them was a bed bursting with the starry spikes of June lilies. Their strong, haunting scent filled the dewy air with every gentle breeze. Along the fence, rosebushes grew, but it was still too early in the season for roses.
Beyond was the orchard proper, three long rows of trees with green avenues between, each tree standing in a wonderful blow of pink and white.
Beyond was the orchard itself, three long rows of trees with green paths in between, each tree bursting with beautiful pink and white blossoms.
The charm of the place took sudden possession of Eric as nothing had ever done before. He was not given to romantic fancies; but the orchard laid hold of him subtly and drew him to itself, and he was never to be quite his own man again. He went into it over one of the broken panels of fence, and so, unknowing, went forward to meet all that life held for him.
The charm of the place suddenly captivated Eric like nothing ever had before. He wasn’t one for romantic fantasies, but the orchard quietly seized him and pulled him in, and he would never quite be himself again. He climbed over one of the broken panels of the fence, and unknowingly, moved forward to face everything that life had in store for him.
He walked the length of the orchard’s middle avenue between long, sinuous boughs picked out with delicate, rose-hearted bloom. When he reached its southern boundary he flung himself down in a grassy corner of the fence where another lilac bush grew, with ferns and wild blue violets at its roots. From where he now was he got a glimpse of a house about a quarter of a mile away, its gray gable peering out from a dark spruce wood. It seemed a dull, gloomy, remote place, and he did not know who lived there.
He walked down the middle path of the orchard, surrounded by long, winding branches adorned with delicate, rose-colored blossoms. When he reached the southern edge, he threw himself down in a grassy spot by the fence where another lilac bush stood, with ferns and wild blue violets growing around its base. From his new position, he caught sight of a house about a quarter mile away, its gray gable peeking out from a dark spruce forest. It looked like a dull, gloomy, isolated place, and he had no idea who lived there.
He had a wide outlook to the west, over far hazy fields and misty blue intervales. The sun had just set, and the whole world of green meadows beyond swam in golden light. Across a long valley brimmed with shadow were uplands of sunset, and great sky lakes of saffron and rose where a soul might lose itself in colour. The air was very fragrant with the baptism of the dew, and the odours of a bed of wild mint upon which he had trampled. Robins were whistling, clear and sweet and sudden, in the woods all about him.
He had a broad view to the west, over distant hazy fields and misty hills. The sun had just set, and the entire expanse of green meadows beyond glowed in golden light. Across a long valley filled with shadows were hills lit by the sunset, with vast sky lakes of yellow and pink where one could lose themselves in color. The air was fragrant with the fresh dew and the scent of wild mint that he had stepped on. Robins were singing, clear and sweet and sudden, in the woods all around him.
“This is a veritable ‘haunt of ancient peace,’” quoted Eric, looking around with delighted eyes. “I could fall asleep here, dream dreams and see visions. What a sky! Could anything be diviner than that fine crystal eastern blue, and those frail white clouds that look like woven lace? What a dizzying, intoxicating fragrance lilacs have! I wonder if perfume could set a man drunk. Those apple trees now—why, what is that?”
“This is a true ‘haunt of ancient peace,’” Eric said, looking around with delight. “I could fall asleep here, dream dreams, and see visions. What a sky! Could anything be more beautiful than that clear eastern blue, and those delicate white clouds that look like woven lace? The fragrance of lilacs is dizzying and intoxicating! I wonder if perfume could get someone drunk. Those apple trees—wait, what is that?”
Eric started up and listened. Across the mellow stillness, mingled with the croon of the wind in the trees and the flute-like calls of the robins, came a strain of delicious music, so beautiful and fantastic that Eric held his breath in astonishment and delight. Was he dreaming? No, it was real music, the music of a violin played by some hand inspired with the very spirit of harmony. He had never heard anything like it; and, somehow, he felt quite sure that nothing exactly like it ever had been heard before; he believed that that wonderful music was coming straight from the soul of the unseen violinist, and translating itself into those most airy and delicate and exquisite sounds for the first time; the very soul of music, with all sense and earthliness refined away.
Eric sat up and listened. Across the calm stillness, blended with the gentle rustle of the wind in the trees and the flute-like calls of the robins, came a flow of beautiful music, so enchanting and surreal that Eric held his breath in shock and joy. Was he dreaming? No, it was real music, the sound of a violin played by someone completely inspired by the essence of harmony. He had never heard anything like it; and somehow, he was absolutely certain that nothing exactly like it had ever been heard before. He believed that this amazing music was coming directly from the soul of the unseen violinist, translating itself into those most airy, delicate, and exquisite sounds for the first time; the very essence of music, with all sense and earthly weight refined away.
It was an elusive, haunting melody, strangely suited to the time and place; it had in it the sigh of the wind in the woods, the eerie whispering of the grasses at dewfall, the white thoughts of the June lilies, the rejoicing of the apple blossoms; all the soul of all the old laughter and song and tears and gladness and sobs the orchard had ever known in the lost years; and besides all this, there was in it a pitiful, plaintive cry as of some imprisoned thing calling for freedom and utterance.
It was a haunting, elusive melody, oddly fitting for the time and place; it contained the sigh of the wind in the woods, the eerie whisper of the grasses at dusk, the pure thoughts of the June lilies, the joy of the apple blossoms; all the essence of the laughter, song, tears, joy, and sorrow the orchard had experienced over the years; and on top of that, it carried a sad, mournful cry like something trapped, yearning for freedom and expression.
At first Eric listened as a man spellbound, mutely and motionlessly, lost in wonderment. Then a very natural curiosity overcame him. Who in Lindsay could play a violin like that? And who was playing so here, in this deserted old orchard, of all places in the world?
At first, Eric listened like a man under a spell, silent and still, filled with amazement. Then a natural curiosity took over. Who in Lindsay could play the violin like that? And who was playing here, in this empty old orchard, of all places?
He rose and walked up the long white avenue, going as slowly and silently as possible, for he did not wish to interrupt the player. When he reached the open space of the garden he stopped short in new amazement and was again tempted into thinking he must certainly be dreaming.
He got up and strolled down the long white path, moving as slowly and quietly as he could because he didn’t want to disturb the musician. When he reached the open area of the garden, he suddenly stopped in surprise and was once again tempted to think he must be dreaming.
Under the big branching white lilac tree was an old, sagging, wooden bench; and on this bench a girl was sitting, playing on an old brown violin. Her eyes were on the faraway horizon and she did not see Eric. For a few moments he stood there and looked at her. The pictures she made photographed itself on his vision to the finest detail, never to be blotted from his book of remembrance. To his latest day Eric Marshall will be able to recall vividly that scene as he saw it then—the velvet darkness of the spruce woods, the overarching sky of soft brilliance, the swaying lilac blossoms, and amid it all the girl on the old bench with the violin under her chin.
Under the big white lilac tree was an old, sagging wooden bench, and on this bench sat a girl playing an old brown violin. Her gaze was fixed on the distant horizon, and she didn’t see Eric. For a few moments, he stood there watching her. The images she created etched themselves into his memory in perfect detail, never to fade from his mind. Until the end of his days, Eric Marshall would vividly recall that scene as he saw it then—the velvet darkness of the spruce woods, the soft brilliance of the sky, the swaying lilac blossoms, and in the midst of it all, the girl on the old bench with the violin under her chin.
He had, in his twenty-four years of life, met hundreds of pretty women, scores of handsome women, a scant half dozen of really beautiful women. But he knew at once, beyond all possibility of question or doubt, that he had never seen or imagined anything so exquisite as this girl of the orchard. Her loveliness was so perfect that his breath almost went from him in his first delight of it.
He had, in his twenty-four years of life, met hundreds of pretty women, plenty of attractive women, and only a handful of truly beautiful women. But he knew instantly, without a shadow of a doubt, that he had never seen or even imagined anything as stunning as this girl from the orchard. Her beauty was so flawless that he almost gasped in his first moment of wonder.
Her face was oval, marked in every cameo-like line and feature with that expression of absolute, flawless purity, found in the angels and Madonnas of old paintings, a purity that held in it no faintest strain of earthliness. Her head was bare, and her thick, jet-black hair was parted above her forehead and hung in two heavy lustrous braids over her shoulders. Her eyes were of such a blue as Eric had never seen in eyes before, the tint of the sea in the still, calm light that follows after a fine sunset; they were as luminous as the stars that came out over Lindsay Harbour in the afterglow, and were fringed about with very long, soot-black lashes, and arched over by most delicately pencilled dark eyebrows. Her skin was as fine and purely tinted as the heart of a white rose. The collarless dress of pale blue print she wore revealed her smooth, slender throat; her sleeves were rolled up above her elbows and the hand which guided the bow of her violin was perhaps the most beautiful thing about her, perfect in shape and texture, firm and white, with rosy-nailed taper fingers. One long, drooping plume of lilac blossom lightly touched her hair and cast a wavering shadow over the flower-like face beneath it.
Her face was oval, every line and feature giving off an expression of absolute, flawless purity, like that seen in angels and Madonnas from old paintings, a purity completely free of any earthly strain. Her head was bare, and her thick, jet-black hair was parted above her forehead, hanging in two heavy, shiny braids over her shoulders. Her eyes were a blue that Eric had never seen before, the color of the sea in the calm, still light that follows a beautiful sunset; they were as bright as the stars that appeared over Lindsay Harbour in the afterglow, fringed with long, black lashes, and arched by delicately shaped dark eyebrows. Her skin was as smooth and perfectly tinted as the heart of a white rose. The collarless pale blue dress she wore showed off her smooth, slender throat; her sleeves were rolled up above her elbows, and the hand holding the bow of her violin might have been the most beautiful thing about her—perfect in shape and texture, firm and white, with rosy-tipped, tapered fingers. A long, drooping plume of lilac blossom lightly touched her hair and cast a wavering shadow over her flower-like face beneath it.
There was something very child-like about her, and yet at least eighteen sweet years must have gone to the making of her. She seemed to be playing half unconsciously, as if her thoughts were far away in some fair dreamland of the skies. But presently she looked away from “the bourne of sunset,” and her lovely eyes fell on Eric, standing motionless before her in the shadow of the apple tree.
There was something very childlike about her, and yet at least eighteen sweet years must have gone into making her who she was. She seemed to be playing half unconsciously, as if her thoughts were far away in some beautiful dreamland above the clouds. But soon she looked away from “the edge of sunset,” and her lovely eyes landed on Eric, standing still before her in the shadow of the apple tree.
The sudden change that swept over her was startling. She sprang to her feet, the music breaking in mid-strain and the bow slipping from her hand to the grass. Every hint of colour fled from her face and she trembled like one of the wind-stirred June lilies.
The sudden change that came over her was shocking. She jumped to her feet, the music cutting off abruptly and the bow slipping from her hand onto the grass. Every bit of color drained from her face, and she shook like one of the wind-blown June lilies.
“I beg your pardon,” said Eric hastily. “I am sorry that I have alarmed you. But your music was so beautiful that I did not remember you were not aware of my presence here. Please forgive me.”
“I’m really sorry,” Eric said quickly. “I didn’t mean to scare you. Your music was so beautiful that I forgot you didn’t know I was here. Please forgive me.”
He stopped in dismay, for he suddenly realized that the expression on the girl’s face was one of terror—not merely the startled alarm of a shy, childlike creature who had thought herself alone, but absolute terror. It was betrayed in her blanched and quivering lips and in the widely distended blue eyes that stared back into his with the expression of some trapped wild thing.
He stopped in shock, suddenly realizing that the look on the girl’s face was one of pure terror—not just the startled fear of a shy, innocent girl who thought she was alone, but sheer horror. It showed in her pale, trembling lips and in her wide, blue eyes that looked back at him like a trapped animal.
It hurt him that any woman should look at him in such a fashion, at him who had always held womanhood in such reverence.
It pained him that any woman would look at him like that, especially since he had always held women in such high esteem.
“Don’t look so frightened,” he said gently, thinking only of calming her fear, and speaking as he would to a child. “I will not hurt you. You are safe, quite safe.”
“Don’t look so scared,” he said softly, focused on reassuring her and speaking as he would to a child. “I won’t hurt you. You’re safe, really safe.”
In his eagerness to reassure her he took an unconscious step forward. Instantly she turned, and, without a sound, fled across the orchard, through a gap in the northern fence and along what seemed to be a lane bordering the fir wood beyond and arched over with wild cherry trees misty white in the gathering gloom. Before Eric could recover his wits she had vanished from his sight among the firs.
In his need to comfort her, he took a step forward without thinking. She immediately turned and silently ran across the orchard, through an opening in the northern fence and along what looked like a path next to the fir trees, which were covered with wild cherry trees glowing white in the dimming light. Before Eric could gather his thoughts, she had disappeared from view among the firs.
He stooped and picked up the violin bow, feeling slightly foolish and very much annoyed.
He bent down and picked up the violin bow, feeling a bit silly and really annoyed.
“Well, this is a most mysterious thing,” he said, somewhat impatiently. “Am I bewitched? Who was she? WHAT was she? Can it be possible that she is a Lindsay girl? And why in the name of all that’s provoking should she be so frightened at the mere sight of me? I have never thought I was a particularly hideous person, but certainly this adventure has not increased my vanity to any perceptible extent. Perhaps I have wandered into an enchanted orchard, and been outwardly transformed into an ogre. Now that I have come to think of it, there is something quite uncanny about the place. Anything might happen here. It is no common orchard for the production of marketable apples, that is plain to be seen. No, it’s a most unwholesome locality; and the sooner I make my escape from it the better.”
“Well, this is really strange,” he said, a bit impatiently. “Am I under a spell? Who was she? WHAT was she? Could she actually be a Lindsay girl? And why on earth should she be so scared just by seeing me? I’ve never thought of myself as particularly ugly, but this whole situation hasn’t boosted my self-esteem at all. Maybe I’ve stumbled into a magical orchard and have been turned into an ogre. Now that I think about it, there’s something quite eerie about this place. Anything could happen here. This is definitely not your average orchard for growing marketable apples, that’s for sure. No, it’s a pretty unhealthy spot; and the sooner I get out of here, the better.”
He glanced about it with a whimsical smile. The light was fading rapidly and the orchard was full of soft, creeping shadows and silences. It seemed to wink sleepy eyes of impish enjoyment at his perplexity. He laid the violin bow down on the old bench.
He looked around with a playful smile. The light was fading quickly, and the orchard was filled with soft, creeping shadows and quiet. It seemed to wink sleepy eyes of mischievous pleasure at his confusion. He set the violin bow down on the old bench.
“Well, there is no use in my following her, and I have no right to do so even if it were of use. But I certainly wish she hadn’t fled in such evident terror. Eyes like hers were never meant to express anything but tenderness and trust. Why—why—WHY was she so frightened? And who—who—WHO—can she be?”
“Well, there's no point in me following her, and I have no right to do so even if it would help. But I really wish she hadn't run away in such obvious fear. Eyes like hers were never meant to show anything but kindness and trust. Why—why—WHY was she so scared? And who—who—WHO—could she be?”
All the way home, over fields and pastures that were beginning to be moonlight silvered he pondered the mystery.
All the way home, through fields and pastures starting to glow in the moonlight, he thought about the mystery.
“Let me see,” he reflected. “Mr. Williamson was describing the Lindsay girls for my benefit the other evening. If I remember rightly he said that there were four handsome ones in the district. What were their names? Florrie Woods, Melissa Foster—no, Melissa Palmer—Emma Scott, and Jennie May Ferguson. Can she be one of them? No, it is a flagrant waste of time and gray matter supposing it. That girl couldn’t be a Florrie or a Melissa or an Emma, while Jennie May is completely out of the question. Well, there is some bewitchment in the affair. Of that I’m convinced. So I’d better forget all about it.”
“Let me think,” he pondered. “Mr. Williamson was talking about the Lindsay girls for my benefit the other night. If I remember correctly, he mentioned that there were four attractive ones in the area. What were their names? Florrie Woods, Melissa Foster—no, Melissa Palmer—Emma Scott, and Jennie May Ferguson. Could she be one of them? No, it’s a complete waste of time and brainpower to think that. That girl couldn’t be a Florrie, a Melissa, or an Emma, while Jennie May is totally out of the question. Well, there’s definitely something enchanting about this situation. I’m sure of it. So I’d better just drop it.”
But Eric found that it was impossible to forget all about it. The more he tried to forget, the more keenly and insistently he remembered. The girl’s exquisite face haunted him and the mystery of her tantalized him.
But Eric found that it was impossible to forget about it. The more he tried to forget, the more he vividly and stubbornly remembered. The girl’s beautiful face haunted him, and the mystery of her intrigued him.
True, he knew that, in all likelihood, he might easily solve the problem by asking the Williamsons about her. But somehow, to his own surprise, he found that he shrank from doing this. He felt that it was impossible to ask Robert Williamson and probably have the girl’s name overflowed in a stream of petty gossip concerning her and all her antecedents and collaterals to the third and fourth generation. If he had to ask any one it should be Mrs. Williamson; but he meant to find out the secret for himself if it were at all possible.
True, he knew that, most likely, he could easily solve the problem by asking the Williamsons about her. But somehow, to his own surprise, he found himself hesitating to do this. He felt it was impossible to ask Robert Williamson and end up drowning in a flood of petty gossip about her and all her relatives going back to the third and fourth generation. If he had to ask someone, it should be Mrs. Williamson; but he intended to uncover the secret for himself if it was at all possible.
He had planned to go to the harbour the next evening. One of the lobstermen had promised to take him out cod-fishing. But instead he wandered southwest over the fields again.
He intended to go to the harbor the next evening. One of the lobstermen had promised to take him out cod fishing. But instead, he wandered southwest over the fields again.
He found the orchard easily—he had half expected NOT to find it. It was still the same fragrant, grassy, wind-haunted spot. But it had no occupant and the violin bow was gone from the old bench.
He found the orchard easily—he had half expected NOT to find it. It was still the same fragrant, grassy, wind-swept spot. But there was no one there and the violin bow was gone from the old bench.
“Perhaps she tiptoed back here for it by the light o’ the moon,” thought Eric, pleasing his fancy by the vision of a lithe, girlish figure stealing with a beating heart through mingled shadow and moonshine. “I wonder if she will possibly come this evening, or if I have frightened her away for ever. I’ll hide me behind this spruce copse and wait.”
“Maybe she snuck back here for it by the light of the moon,” thought Eric, enjoying the image of a graceful, young woman moving quietly with a racing heart through the mix of shadows and moonlight. “I wonder if she'll actually come this evening, or if I’ve scared her off for good. I’ll hide behind this spruce grove and wait.”
Eric waited until dark, but no music sounded through the orchard and no one came to it. The keenness of his disappointment surprised him, nay more, it vexed him. What nonsense to be so worked up because a little girl he had seen for five minutes failed to appear! Where was his common sense, his “gumption,” as old Robert Williamson would have said? Naturally a man liked to look at a pretty face. But was that any reason why he should feel as if life were flat, stale, and unprofitable simply because he could not look at it? He called himself a fool and went home in a petulant mood. Arriving there, he plunged fiercely into solving algebraical equations and working out geometry exercises, determined to put out of his head forthwith all vain imaginings of an enchanted orchard, white in the moonshine, with lilts of elfin music echoing down its long arcades.
Eric waited until dark, but no music played in the orchard and no one showed up. He was surprised by the intensity of his disappointment, and even more, it frustrated him. What a ridiculous thing to be so upset because a little girl he had seen for five minutes didn’t come! Where was his common sense, his “gumption,” as old Robert Williamson would have said? Of course, a man likes to admire a pretty face. But did that really mean he should feel like life was dull, stale, and pointless just because he couldn’t see it? He called himself a fool and went home in a sulky mood. Once there, he threw himself into solving algebra equations and working on geometry problems, determined to immediately push out of his mind all silly fantasies of an enchanted orchard, glowing in the moonlight, with the sounds of enchanting music echoing through its long pathways.
The next day was Sunday and Eric went to church twice. The Williamson pew was one of the side ones at the top of the church and its occupants practically faced the congregation. Eric looked at every girl and woman in the audience, but he saw nothing of the face which, setting will power and common sense flatly at defiance, haunted his memory like a star.
The next day was Sunday and Eric went to church twice. The Williamson pew was one of the side ones at the front of the church, and its occupants practically faced the congregation. Eric looked at every girl and woman in the audience, but he didn’t see the face that, ignoring willpower and common sense, haunted his memory like a star.
Thomas Gordon was there, sitting alone in his long, empty pew near the top of the building; and Neil Gordon sang in the choir which occupied the front pew of the gallery. He had a powerful and melodious, though untrained voice, which dominated the singing and took the colour out of the weaker, more commonplace tones of the other singers. He was well-dressed in a suit of dark blue serge, with a white collar and tie. But Eric idly thought it did not become him so well as the working clothes in which he had first seen him. He was too obviously dressed up, and he looked coarser and more out of harmony with his surroundings.
Thomas Gordon was there, sitting alone in his long, empty pew near the top of the building; and Neil Gordon was singing in the choir, which filled the front pew of the gallery. He had a powerful and melodic, though untrained, voice that dominated the singing, overshadowing the weaker, more ordinary tones of the other singers. He was well-dressed in a dark blue suit, with a white collar and tie. But Eric thought idly that it didn't suit him as well as the work clothes he had first seen him in. He looked too dressed up and felt out of place, appearing coarser and more disconnected from his surroundings.
For two days Eric refused to let himself think of the orchard. Monday evening he went cod-fishing, and Tuesday evening he went up to play checkers with Alexander Tracy. Alexander won all the games so easily that he never had any respect for Eric Marshall again.
For two days, Eric didn’t allow himself to think about the orchard. On Monday evening, he went cod fishing, and on Tuesday evening, he went to play checkers with Alexander Tracy. Alexander won every game so easily that he never respected Eric Marshall again.
“Played like a feller whose thoughts were wool gathering,” he complained to his wife. “He’ll never make a checker player—never in this world.”
“Played like a guy who was daydreaming,” he complained to his wife. “He’ll never be a good checkers player—never in this world.”
CHAPTER VI. THE STORY OF KILMENY
Wednesday evening Eric went to the orchard again; and again he was disappointed. He went home, determined to solve the mystery by open inquiry. Fortune favoured him, for he found Mrs. Williamson alone, sitting by the west window of her kitchen and knitting at a long gray sock. She hummed softly to herself as she knitted, and Timothy slept blackly at her feet. She looked at Eric with quiet affection in her large, candid eyes. She had liked Mr. West. But Eric had found his way into the inner chamber of her heart, by reason that his eyes were so like those of the little son she had buried in the Lindsay churchyard many years before.
Wednesday evening, Eric went back to the orchard; and once again, he was let down. He returned home, determined to figure out the mystery through direct questioning. Luck was on his side, as he found Mrs. Williamson by herself, sitting by the west window of her kitchen, knitting a long gray sock. She hummed softly to herself while she worked, and Timothy lay sound asleep at her feet. She looked at Eric with quiet warmth in her large, honest eyes. She had liked Mr. West. But Eric had made his way into the depths of her heart because his eyes resembled those of the little son she had buried in the Lindsay churchyard many years ago.
“Mrs. Williamson,” said Eric, with an affectation of carelessness, “I chanced on an old deserted orchard back behind the woods over there last week, a charming bit of wilderness. Do you know whose it is?”
“Mrs. Williamson,” said Eric, pretending to be indifferent, “I stumbled upon an old abandoned orchard behind the woods over there last week, a lovely little wilderness. Do you know who it belongs to?”
“I suppose it must be the old Connors orchard,” answered Mrs. Williamson after a moment’s reflection. “I had forgotten all about it. It must be all of thirty years since Mr. and Mrs. Connors moved away. Their house and barns were burned down and they sold the land to Thomas Gordon and went to live in town. They’re both dead now. Mr. Connors used to be very proud of his orchard. There weren’t many orchards in Lindsay then, though almost everybody has one now.”
“I guess it must be the old Connors orchard,” Mrs. Williamson replied after a moment of thinking. “I totally forgot about it. It’s been about thirty years since Mr. and Mrs. Connors moved away. Their house and barns were burned down, and they sold the land to Thomas Gordon before moving to town. They’re both gone now. Mr. Connors was really proud of his orchard. There weren’t many orchards in Lindsay back then, but almost everyone has one now.”
“There was a young girl in it, playing on a violin,” said Eric, annoyed to find that it cost him an effort to speak of her, and that the blood mounted to his face as he did so. “She ran away in great alarm as soon as she saw me, although I do not think I did or said anything to frighten or vex her. I have no idea who she was. Do you know?”
“There was a young girl there playing the violin,” Eric said, frustrated to realize that it took effort to talk about her and that he was blushing as he did. “She ran off in a panic as soon as she saw me, even though I don't think I did or said anything to scare or upset her. I have no idea who she was. Do you know?”
Mrs. Williamson did not make an immediate reply. She laid down her knitting and gazed out of the window as if pondering seriously some question in her own mind. Finally she said, with an intonation of keen interest in her voice,
Mrs. Williamson didn't respond right away. She set her knitting aside and stared out the window, as if she were deeply contemplating something. After a moment, she spoke with a tone of genuine interest in her voice,
“I suppose it must have been Kilmeny Gordon, Master.”
“I guess it must have been Kilmeny Gordon, Master.”
“Kilmeny Gordon? Do you mean the niece of Thomas Gordon of whom your husband spoke?”
“Kilmeny Gordon? Are you talking about the niece of Thomas Gordon that your husband mentioned?”
“Yes.”
“Yep.”
“I can hardly believe that the girl I saw can be a member of Thomas Gordon’s family.”
“I can hardly believe that the girl I saw is part of Thomas Gordon’s family.”
“Well, if it wasn’t Kilmeny Gordon I don’t know who it could have been. There is no other house near that orchard and I’ve heard she plays the violin. If it was Kilmeny you’ve seen what very few people in Lindsay have ever seen, Master. And those few have never seen her close by. I have never laid eyes on her myself. It’s no wonder she ran away, poor girl. She isn’t used to seeing strangers.”
“Well, if it wasn’t Kilmeny Gordon, I don’t know who else it could have been. There’s no other house near that orchard, and I’ve heard she plays the violin. If it was Kilmeny, you’ve seen something that very few people in Lindsay have ever seen, Master. And those few have never seen her up close. I’ve never seen her myself. It’s no surprise she ran away, poor girl. She’s not used to strangers.”
“I’m rather glad if that was the sole reason of her flight,” said Eric. “I admit I didn’t like to see any girl so frightened of me as she appeared to be. She was as white as paper, and so terrified that she never uttered a word, but fled like a deer to cover.”
“I’m really glad if that was the only reason she ran away,” said Eric. “I have to admit I didn’t like seeing any girl so scared of me like she seemed to be. She was as pale as a ghost and so frightened that she didn’t say a word, but just ran away like a deer seeking shelter.”
“Well, she couldn’t have spoken a word in any case,” said Mrs. Williamson quietly. “Kilmeny Gordon is dumb.”
“Well, she couldn’t have said anything anyway,” Mrs. Williamson said softly. “Kilmeny Gordon can’t speak.”
Eric sat in dismayed silence for a moment. That beautiful creature afflicted in such a fashion—why, it was horrible! Mingled with his dismay was a strange pang of personal regret and disappointment.
Eric sat in stunned silence for a moment. That beautiful being suffering in such a way—how terrible! Along with his shock was a strange sense of personal regret and disappointment.
“It couldn’t have been Kilmeny Gordon, then,” he protested at last, remembering. “The girl I saw played on the violin exquisitely. I never heard anything like it. It is impossible that a deaf mute could play like that.”
“It couldn’t have been Kilmeny Gordon, then,” he finally admitted, remembering. “The girl I saw played the violin beautifully. I’ve never heard anything like it. There’s no way a deaf mute could play like that.”
“Oh, she isn’t deaf, Master,” responded Mrs. Williamson, looking at Eric keenly through her spectacles. She picked up her knitting and fell to work again. “That is the strange part of it, if anything about her can be stranger than another. She can hear as well as anybody and understands everything that is said to her. But she can’t speak a word and never could, at least, so they say. The truth is, nobody knows much about her. Janet and Thomas never speak of her, and Neil won’t either. He has been well questioned, too, you can depend on that; but he won’t ever say a word about Kilmeny and he gets mad if folks persist.”
“Oh, she’s not deaf, Master,” Mrs. Williamson replied, observing Eric closely through her glasses. She picked up her knitting and got back to work. “That’s the odd part, if anything about her can be odder than another. She can hear just as well as anyone and understands everything said to her. But she can’t say a word and never has, at least, that’s what they say. The truth is, no one knows much about her. Janet and Thomas never talk about her, and Neil won’t either. He’s been asked a lot, you can count on that; but he never says a thing about Kilmeny and gets upset if people keep asking.”
“Why isn’t she to be spoken of?” queried Eric impatiently. “What is the mystery about her?”
“Why can’t we talk about her?” Eric asked impatiently. “What’s the mystery surrounding her?”
“It’s a sad story, Master. I suppose the Gordons look on her existence as a sort of disgrace. For my own part, I think it’s terrible, the way she’s been brought up. But the Gordons are very strange people, Mr. Marshall. I kind of reproved father for saying so, you remember, but it is true. They have very strange ways. And you’ve really seen Kilmeny? What does she look like? I’ve heard that she was handsome. Is it true?”
“It’s a sad story, Master. I guess the Gordons see her existence as a kind of shame. For my part, I think it’s awful how she’s been raised. But the Gordons are really odd people, Mr. Marshall. I sort of called out my dad for saying that, you remember, but it’s true. They have some really strange ways. And you’ve actually seen Kilmeny? What does she look like? I’ve heard she’s beautiful. Is that true?”
“I thought her very beautiful,” said Eric rather curtly. “But HOW has she been brought up, Mrs. Williamson? And why?”
“I thought she was really beautiful,” Eric said somewhat abruptly. “But HOW was she raised, Mrs. Williamson? And why?”
“Well, I might as well tell you the whole story, Master. Kilmeny is the niece of Thomas and Janet Gordon. Her mother was Margaret Gordon, their younger sister. Old James Gordon came out from Scotland. Janet and Thomas were born in the Old Country and were small children when they came here. They were never very sociable folks, but still they used to visit out some then, and people used to go there. They were kind and honest people, even if they were a little peculiar.
“Well, I might as well tell you the whole story, Master. Kilmeny is the niece of Thomas and Janet Gordon. Her mother was Margaret Gordon, their younger sister. Old James Gordon came over from Scotland. Janet and Thomas were born in the Old Country and were small kids when they got here. They were never very outgoing, but they did have some visitors now and then, and people would go there. They were kind and honest, even if they were a bit unusual.”
“Mrs. Gordon died a few years after they came out, and four years later James Gordon went home to Scotland and brought a new wife back with him. She was a great deal younger than he was and a very pretty woman, as my mother often told me. She was friendly and gay and liked social life. The Gordon place was a very different sort of place after she came there, and even Janet and Thomas got thawed out and softened down a good bit. They were real fond of their stepmother, I’ve heard. Then, six years after she was married, the second Mrs. Gordon died too. She died when Margaret was born. They say James Gordon almost broke his heart over it.
“Mrs. Gordon passed away a few years after they came out, and four years later, James Gordon went back to Scotland and returned with a new wife. She was much younger than him and a very attractive woman, as my mother often mentioned. She was sociable and cheerful and enjoyed being part of social gatherings. The Gordon estate felt completely different after she arrived, and even Janet and Thomas warmed up and softened a bit. I’ve heard they became quite fond of their stepmother. Then, six years after their marriage, the second Mrs. Gordon passed away too. She died when Margaret was born. They say James Gordon was heartbroken over it.
“Janet brought Margaret up. She and Thomas just worshipped the child and so did their father. I knew Margaret Gordon well once. We were just the same age and we set together in school. We were always good friends until she turned against all the world.
“Janet raised Margaret. She and Thomas adored the child, and so did their father. I once knew Margaret Gordon well. We were the same age and sat together in school. We were always good friends until she turned against everyone.”
“She was a strange girl in some ways even then, but I always liked her, though a great many people didn’t. She had some bitter enemies, but she had some devoted friends too. That was her way. She made folks either hate or love her. Those who did love her would have gone through fire and water for her.
“She was a weird girl in some ways even back then, but I always liked her, even though a lot of people didn’t. She had some fierce enemies, but she had some loyal friends too. That was just how she was. She made people either love her or hate her. Those who loved her would have done anything for her.”
“When she grew up she was very pretty—tall and splendid, like a queen, with great thick braids of black hair and red, red cheeks and lips. Everybody who saw her looked at her a second time. She was a little vain of her beauty, I think, Master. And she was proud, oh, she was very proud. She liked to be first in everything, and she couldn’t bear not to show to good advantage. She was dreadful determined, too. You couldn’t budge her an inch, Master, when she once had made up her mind on any point. But she was warm-hearted and generous. She could sing like an angel and she was very clever. She could learn anything with just one look at it and she was terrible fond of reading.
“When she grew up, she was really beautiful—tall and stunning, like a queen, with thick black braids and bright red cheeks and lips. Everyone who saw her took a second look. I think she was a bit vain about her looks, Master. And she was proud, oh yes, very proud. She wanted to be first in everything, and she couldn’t stand not to look her best. She was incredibly determined, too. You couldn’t change her mind once she had decided on something, Master. But she was also warm-hearted and generous. She could sing like an angel, and she was very smart. She could learn anything with just one glance at it, and she absolutely loved reading.
“When I’m talking about her like this it all comes back to me, just what she was like and how she looked and spoke and acted, and little ways she had of moving her hands and head. I declare it almost seems as if she was right here in this room instead of being over there in the churchyard. I wish you’d light the lamp, Master. I feel kind of nervous.”
“When I talk about her like this, it all rushes back to me—how she looked, spoke, and acted, and the little ways she moved her hands and head. It almost feels like she’s right here in this room instead of over there in the graveyard. I wish you’d turn on the lamp, Master. I’m feeling a bit nervous.”
Eric rose and lighted the lamp, rather wondering at Mrs. Williamson’s unusual exhibition of nerves. She was generally so calm and composed.
Eric got up and turned on the lamp, feeling curious about Mrs. Williamson's unusual display of nerves. She was usually so calm and collected.
“Thank you, Master. That’s better. I won’t be fancying now that Margaret Gordon’s here listening to what I’m saying. I had the feeling so strong a moment ago.
“Thank you, Master. That’s better. I won’t be imagining now that Margaret Gordon’s here listening to what I’m saying. I had that feeling so strongly just a moment ago.”
“I suppose you think I’m a long while getting to Kilmeny, but I’m coming to that. I didn’t mean to talk so much about Margaret, but somehow my thoughts got taken up with her.
“I guess you think I’m taking a long time to get to Kilmeny, but I’m getting there. I didn’t intend to talk so much about Margaret, but somehow I got caught up in my thoughts about her."
“Well, Margaret passed the Board and went to Queen’s Academy and got a teacher’s license. She passed pretty well up when she came out, but Janet told me she cried all night after the pass list came out because there were some ahead of her.
“Well, Margaret passed the Board and went to Queen’s Academy and got a teacher’s license. She did quite well when she graduated, but Janet told me she cried all night after the pass list was released because there were some who ranked ahead of her.
“She went to teach school over at Radnor. It was there she met a man named Ronald Fraser. Margaret had never had a beau before. She could have had any young man in Lindsay if she had wanted him, but she wouldn’t look at one of them. They said it was because she thought nobody was good enough for her, but that wasn’t the way of it at all, Master. I knew, because Margaret and I used to talk of those matters, as girls do. She didn’t believe in going with anybody unless it was somebody she thought everything of. And there was nobody in Lindsay she cared that much for.
“She went to teach school over at Radnor. It was there she met a guy named Ronald Fraser. Margaret had never had a boyfriend before. She could have had any young man in Lindsay if she wanted, but she wouldn’t give any of them a chance. They said it was because she thought nobody was good enough for her, but that wasn’t the case at all, Master. I knew because Margaret and I used to talk about those things, like girls do. She didn’t believe in dating anyone unless it was someone she truly admired. And there was nobody in Lindsay she felt that way about.”
“This Ronald Fraser was a stranger from Nova Scotia and nobody knew much about him. He was a widower, although he was only a young man. He had set up store-keeping in Radnor and was doing well. He was real handsome and had taking ways women like. It was said that all the Radnor girls were in love with him, but I don’t think his worst enemy could have said he flirted with them. He never took any notice of them; but the very first time he saw Margaret Gordon he fell in love with her and she with him.
“This Ronald Fraser was a newcomer from Nova Scotia, and not much was known about him. He was a widower, even though he was still quite young. He had opened a store in Radnor and was doing well. He was really handsome and had charming ways that women liked. It was said that all the girls in Radnor were in love with him, but I doubt even his worst enemy could say he flirted with them. He never paid them any attention; however, the very first time he saw Margaret Gordon, he fell in love with her, and she fell in love with him too.”
“They came over to church in Lindsay together the next Sunday and everybody said it would be a match. Margaret looked lovely that day, so gentle and womanly. She had been used to hold her head pretty high, but that day she held it drooping a little and her black eyes cast down. Ronald Fraser was very tall and fair, with blue eyes. They made as handsome a couple as I ever saw.
“They went to church in Lindsay together the next Sunday, and everyone said it would be a match. Margaret looked beautiful that day, so gentle and feminine. She usually held her head high, but that day she kept it lowered a bit with her dark eyes looking down. Ronald Fraser was very tall and fair, with blue eyes. They made one of the most attractive couples I’ve ever seen.”
“But old James Gordon and Thomas and Janet didn’t much approve of him. I saw that plain enough one time I was there and he brought Margaret home from Radnor Friday night. I guess they wouldn’t have liked anybody, though, who come after Margaret. They thought nobody was good enough for her.
“But old James Gordon and Thomas and Janet didn’t really approve of him. I saw that clearly one time I was there and he brought Margaret home from Radnor on Friday night. I guess they wouldn’t have liked anyone who came after Margaret. They thought nobody was good enough for her.”
“But Margaret coaxed them all round in time. She could do pretty near anything with them, they were so fond and proud of her. Her father held out the longest, but finally he give in and consented for her to marry Ronald Fraser.
“But Margaret managed to win them all over in the end. She could pretty much do anything with them; they cared for her so much and took pride in her. Her father took the longest to agree, but eventually, he gave in and allowed her to marry Ronald Fraser.”
“They had a big wedding, too—all the neighbours were asked. Margaret always liked to make a display. I was her bridesmaid, Master. I helped her dress and nothing would please her; she wanted to look that nice for Ronald’s sake. She was a handsome bride; dressed in white, with red roses in her hair and at her breast. She wouldn’t wear white flowers; she said they looked too much like funeral flowers. She looked like a picture. I can see her this minute, as plain as plain, just as she was that night, blushing and turning pale by turns, and looking at Ronald with her eyes of love. If ever a girl loved a man with all her heart Margaret Gordon did. It almost made me feel frightened. She gave him the worship it isn’t right to give anybody but God, Master, and I think that is always punished.
“They had a big wedding, too—all the neighbors were invited. Margaret always liked to make a show of things. I was her bridesmaid, Master. I helped her get ready, and nothing would satisfy her; she wanted to look perfect for Ronald. She was a beautiful bride, dressed in white, with red roses in her hair and on her breast. She refused to wear white flowers; she said they looked too much like funeral flowers. She looked like a work of art. I can picture her right now, as clear as day, just like she was that night, blushing and going pale, looking at Ronald with eyes full of love. If anyone ever loved a man with all her heart, it was Margaret Gordon. It almost scared me. She gave him an adoration that should only be reserved for God, Master, and I think that always brings some kind of consequence.”
“They went to live at Radnor and for a little while everything went well. Margaret had a nice house, and was gay and happy. She dressed beautiful and entertained a good deal. Then—well, Ronald Fraser’s first wife turned up looking for him! She wasn’t dead after all.
“They moved to Radnor, and for a while, everything was great. Margaret had a lovely house and was cheerful and happy. She dressed beautifully and hosted a lot of gatherings. Then—well, Ronald Fraser’s first wife showed up looking for him! She wasn’t dead after all.”
“Oh, there was terrible scandal, Master. The talk and gossip was something dreadful. Every one you met had a different story, and it was hard to get at the truth. Some said Ronald Fraser had known all the time that his wife wasn’t dead, and had deceived Margaret. But I don’t think he did. He swore he didn’t. They hadn’t been very happy together, it seems. Her mother made trouble between them. Then she went to visit her mother in Montreal, and died in the hospital there, so the word came to Ronald. Perhaps he believed it a little too readily, but that he DID believe it I never had a doubt. Her story was that it was another woman of the same name. When she found out Ronald thought her dead she and her mother agreed to let him think so. But when she heard he had got married again she thought she’d better let him know the truth.
“Oh, there was a huge scandal, Master. The gossip was just awful. Everyone you met had a different story, and it was hard to figure out what was true. Some said Ronald Fraser had known all along that his wife wasn’t dead and had lied to Margaret. But I don’t think he did. He swore he didn’t. They hadn’t been very happy together, it seems. Her mother caused issues between them. Then she went to visit her mother in Montreal and died in the hospital there, so that’s how Ronald found out. Maybe he took it a little too easily, but I never doubted he believed it. Her story was that it was another woman with the same name. When she found out Ronald thought she was dead, she and her mother decided to let him believe it. But when she heard he had remarried, she thought she should let him know the truth.”
“It all sounded like a queer story and I suppose you couldn’t blame people for not believing it too readily. But I’ve always felt it was true. Margaret didn’t think so, though. She believed that Ronald Fraser had deceived her, knowing all the time that he couldn’t make her his lawful wife. She turned against him and hated him just as much as she had loved him before.
“It all sounded like a strange story, and I guess you couldn’t blame people for being skeptical about it. But I’ve always believed it was true. Margaret didn’t see it that way, though. She thought Ronald Fraser had tricked her, fully aware that he couldn’t make her his legal wife. She turned against him and hated him just as much as she had once loved him.”
“Ronald Fraser went away with his real wife, and in less than a year word came of his death. They said he just died of a broken heart, nothing more nor less.
“Ronald Fraser left with his actual wife, and in less than a year, news came about his death. They said he just died of a broken heart, nothing more, nothing less.”
“Margaret came home to her father’s house. From the day that she went over its threshold, she never came out until she was carried out in her coffin three years ago. Not a soul outside of her own family ever saw her again. I went to see her, but Janet told me she wouldn’t see me. It was foolish of Margaret to act so. She hadn’t done anything real wrong; and everybody was sorry for her and would have helped her all they could. But I reckon pity cut her as deep as blame could have done, and deeper, because you see, Master, she was so proud she couldn’t bear it.
“Margaret came home to her father’s house. From the day she crossed the threshold, she never stepped out again until she was carried out in her coffin three years ago. No one outside her family ever saw her again. I went to visit her, but Janet told me she wouldn’t see me. It was silly of Margaret to act like that. She hadn’t really done anything wrong; and everyone felt sorry for her and would have helped her as much as they could. But I guess pity hurt her just as much as blame could have, and even more, because you see, Master, she was so proud she couldn’t handle it.
“They say her father was hard on her, too; and that was unjust if it was true. Janet and Thomas felt the disgrace, too. The people that had been in the habit of going to the Gordon place soon stopped going, for they could see they were not welcome.
“They say her dad was tough on her, too, which was unfair if it was true. Janet and Thomas also felt the shame. The people who used to visit the Gordon place quickly stopped coming because they realized they weren’t welcome.”
“Old James Gordon died that winter. He never held his head up again after the scandal. He had been an elder in the church, but he handed in his resignation right away and nobody could persuade him to withdraw it.
“Old James Gordon died that winter. He never held his head up again after the scandal. He had been an elder in the church, but he handed in his resignation right away and nobody could persuade him to take it back.
“Kilmeny was born in the spring, but nobody ever saw her, except the minister who baptized her. She was never taken to church or sent to school. Of course, I suppose there wouldn’t have been any use in her going to school when she couldn’t speak, and it’s likely Margaret taught her all she could be taught herself. But it was dreadful that she was never taken to church, or let go among the children and young folks. And it was a real shame that nothing was ever done to find out why she couldn’t talk, or if she could be cured.
“Kilmeny was born in the spring, but no one ever saw her, except the minister who baptized her. She was never taken to church or sent to school. I guess it wouldn’t have made any sense for her to go to school since she couldn’t speak, and it’s likely Margaret taught her everything she could learn herself. But it was terrible that she was never taken to church or allowed to be with other children and young people. And it was a real shame that nothing was ever done to figure out why she couldn’t talk or if she could be helped.”
“Margaret Gordon died three years ago, and everybody in Lindsay went to the funeral. But they didn’t see her. The coffin lid was screwed down. And they didn’t see Kilmeny either. I would have loved to see HER for Margaret’s sake, but I didn’t want to see poor Margaret. I had never seen her since the night she was a bride, for I had left Lindsay on a visit just after that, and what I came home the scandal had just broken out. I remembered Margaret in all her pride and beauty, and I couldn’t have borne to look at her dead face and see the awful changes I knew must be there.
“Margaret Gordon died three years ago, and everyone in Lindsay attended the funeral. But they didn’t actually see her. The coffin lid was screwed down. And they didn’t see Kilmeny either. I would have loved to see HER for Margaret’s sake, but I didn’t want to see poor Margaret. I hadn’t seen her since the night she got married, because I had left Lindsay on a trip right after that, and when I came back, the scandal had just broken out. I remembered Margaret in all her pride and beauty, and I couldn’t bear to look at her dead face and see the terrible changes I knew must have happened.”
“It was thought perhaps Janet and Thomas would take Kilmeny out after her mother was gone, but they never did, so I suppose they must have agreed with Margaret about the way she had been brought up. I’ve often felt sorry for the poor girl, and I don’t think her people did right by her, even if she was mysteriously afflicted. She must have had a very sad, lonely life.
“It was thought that maybe Janet and Thomas would take Kilmeny out after her mother passed away, but they never did, so I guess they must have agreed with Margaret about how she had been raised. I’ve often felt sorry for the poor girl, and I don’t think her family treated her well, even if she was mysteriously troubled. She must have had a very sad, lonely life."
“That is the story, Master, and I’ve been a long time telling it, as I dare say you think. But the past just seemed to be living again for me as I talked. If you don’t want to be pestered with questions about Kilmeny Gordon, Master, you’d better not let on you’ve seen her.”
“That’s the story, Master, and I know it’s taken a while to tell it, as you probably think. But it felt like the past was coming to life again as I spoke. If you don’t want to be bombarded with questions about Kilmeny Gordon, Master, it’s best not to let on that you’ve seen her.”
Eric was not likely to. He had heard all he wanted to know and more.
Eric was probably not going to. He had learned all he needed to know and then some.
“So this girl is at the core of a tragedy,” he reflected, as he went to his room. “And she is dumb! The pity of it! Kilmeny! The name suits her. She is as lovely and innocent as the heroine of the old ballad. ‘And oh, Kilmeny was fair to see.’ But the next line is certainly not so appropriate, for her eyes were anything but ‘still and steadfast’—after she had seen me, at all events.”
“So this girl is at the center of a tragedy,” he thought as he walked to his room. “And she’s clueless! What a shame! Kilmeny! The name fits her well. She’s as beautiful and pure as the heroine in the old ballad. ‘And oh, Kilmeny was fair to see.’ But the next line definitely doesn’t apply, because her eyes were anything but ‘still and steadfast’—at least, not after she saw me.”
He tried to put her out of his thoughts, but he could not. The memory of her beautiful face drew him with a power he could not resist. The next evening he went again to the orchard.
He tried to stop thinking about her, but he couldn't. The memory of her beautiful face pulled him in with a force he couldn't ignore. The next evening, he returned to the orchard.
CHAPTER VII. A ROSE OF WOMANHOOD
When he emerged from the spruce wood and entered the orchard his heart gave a sudden leap, and he felt that the blood rushed madly to his face. She was there, bending over the bed of June lilies in the centre of the garden plot. He could only see her profile, virginal and white.
When he came out of the spruce forest and entered the orchard, his heart suddenly raced, and he felt heat rush to his face. She was there, bending over the bed of June lilies in the middle of the garden. He could only see her profile, pure and white.
He stopped, not wishing to startle her again. When she lifted her head he expected to see her shrink and flee, but she did not do so; she only grew a little paler and stood motionless, watching him intently.
He paused, not wanting to scare her again. When she raised her head, he figured she would back away in fear, but she didn’t; she just became a bit paler and stood still, watching him closely.
Seeing this, he walked slowly towards her, and when he was so close to her that he could hear the nervous flutter of her breath over her parted, trembling lips, he said very gently,
Seeing this, he walked slowly towards her, and when he was close enough to hear the nervous flutter of her breath over her parted, trembling lips, he said very gently,
“Do not be afraid of me. I am a friend, and I do not wish to disturb or annoy you in any way.”
“Don’t be afraid of me. I’m a friend, and I don’t want to bother or annoy you in any way.”
She seemed to hesitate a moment. Then she lifted a little slate that hung at her belt, wrote something on it rapidly, and held it out to him. He read, in a small distinctive handwriting,
She paused for a moment. Then she picked up a small slate that was attached to her belt, quickly wrote something on it, and offered it to him. He read, in a unique handwriting,
“I am not afraid of you now. Mother told me that all strange men were very wicked and dangerous, but I do not think you can be. I have thought a great deal about you, and I am sorry I ran away the other night.”
“I’m not scared of you anymore. Mom always said that all strange men were really bad and dangerous, but I don’t think you are. I’ve thought a lot about you, and I’m sorry I ran away the other night.”
He realized her entire innocence and simplicity. Looking earnestly into her still troubled eyes he said,
He saw her complete innocence and simplicity. Looking intently into her still troubled eyes, he said,
“I would not do you any harm for the world. All men are not wicked, although it is too true that some are so. My name is Eric Marshall and I am teaching in the Lindsay school. You, I think, are Kilmeny Gordon. I thought your music so very lovely the other evening that I have been wishing ever since that I might hear it again. Won’t you play for me?”
“I wouldn’t hurt you for anything. Not all people are bad, even though it’s true that some really are. My name is Eric Marshall, and I’m teaching at the Lindsay school. You’re Kilmeny Gordon, right? I thought your music was so beautiful the other evening that I’ve been hoping to hear it again. Would you play for me?”
The vague fear had all gone from her eyes by this time, and suddenly she smiled—a merry, girlish, wholly irresistible smile, which broke through the calm of her face like a gleam of sunlight rippling over a placid sea. Then she wrote, “I am very sorry that I cannot play this evening. I did not bring my violin with me. But I will bring it to-morrow evening and play for you if you would like to hear me. I should like to please you.”
The vague fear was gone from her eyes by now, and suddenly she smiled—a cheerful, youthful, totally irresistible smile that lit up her face like a beam of sunlight dancing on a calm sea. Then she wrote, “I’m really sorry I can’t play this evening. I didn’t bring my violin with me. But I’ll bring it tomorrow evening and play for you if you’d like to hear me. I’d love to make you happy.”
Again that note of innocent frankness! What a child she was—what a beautiful, ignorant child, utterly unskilled in the art of hiding her feelings! But why should she hide them? They were as pure and beautiful as herself. Eric smiled back at her with equal frankness.
Again that note of innocent honesty! What a child she was—what a beautiful, naive child, completely unskilled in the art of concealing her feelings! But why should she hide them? They were as pure and lovely as she was. Eric smiled back at her with the same openness.
“I should like it more than I can say, and I shall be sure to come to-morrow evening if it is fine. But if it is at all damp or unpleasant you must not come. In that case another evening will do. And now won’t you give me some flowers?”
“I would really like that more than I can express, and I’ll definitely come tomorrow evening if the weather is nice. But if it’s even a little wet or not pleasant, you shouldn’t come. In that case, another evening works too. And now, will you give me some flowers?”
She nodded, with another little smile, and began to pick some of the June lilies, carefully selecting the most perfect among them. He watched her lithe, graceful motions with delight; every movement seemed poetry itself. She looked like a very incarnation of Spring—as if all the shimmer of young leaves and glow of young mornings and evanescent sweetness of young blossoms in a thousand springs had been embodied in her.
She nodded with a small smile and started picking some June lilies, carefully choosing the most perfect ones. He watched her smooth, graceful movements with delight; every action seemed like poetry. She looked like the very essence of Spring—as if all the sparkle of fresh leaves, the brightness of young mornings, and the fleeting sweetness of new blooms from a thousand springs had come to life in her.
When she came to him, radiant, her hands full of the lilies, a couplet from a favourite poem darted into his head—
When she approached him, glowing, her hands full of lilies, a line from a favorite poem flashed into his mind—
“A blossom vermeil white
That lightly breaks a faded flower sheath,
Here, by God’s rood, is the one maid for me.”
“A delicate white blossom
That gently emerges from a worn flower casing,
Here, by God’s cross, is the one girl for me.”The next moment he was angry with himself for his folly. She was, after all, nothing but a child—and a child set apart from her fellow creatures by her sad defect. He must not let himself think nonsense.
The next moment, he was angry with himself for being foolish. She was, after all, just a child—and a child set apart from her peers by her unfortunate flaw. He shouldn’t allow himself to think silly thoughts.
“Thank you. These June lilies are the sweetest flowers the spring brings us. Do you know that their real name is the white narcissus?” She looked pleased and interested.
“Thank you. These June lilies are the most beautiful flowers that spring gives us. Did you know their real name is the white narcissus?” She looked happy and curious.
“No, I did not know,” she wrote. “I have often read of the white narcissus and wondered what it was like. I never thought of it being the same as my dear June lilies. I am glad you told me. I love flowers very much. They are my very good friends.”
“No, I didn’t know,” she wrote. “I’ve often read about the white narcissus and wondered what it was like. I never thought it was the same as my beloved June lilies. I’m glad you told me. I really love flowers. They’re my good friends.”
“You couldn’t help being friends with the lilies. Like always takes to like,” said Eric. “Come and sit down on the old bench—here, where you were sitting that night I frightened you so badly. I could not imagine who or what you were. Sometimes I thought I had dreamed you—only,” he added under his breath and unheard by her, “I could never have dreamed anything half so lovely.”
“You couldn’t help but be friends with the lilies. Birds of a feather flock together,” said Eric. “Come and sit on the old bench—right here, where you were sitting that night I scared you so much. I could hardly believe who or what you were. Sometimes I thought I had dreamed you—only,” he added softly, too quietly for her to hear, “I could never have dreamed anything half as beautiful.”
She sat down beside him on the old bench and looked unshrinkingly in his face. There was no boldness in her glance—nothing but the most perfect, childlike trust and confidence. If there had been any evil in his heart—any skulking thought, he was afraid to acknowledge—those eyes must have searched it out and shamed it. But he could meet them unafraid. Then she wrote,
She sat down next to him on the old bench and looked directly into his face. There was no boldness in her gaze—just the purest, childlike trust and confidence. If there had been any bad intentions in his heart—any sneaky thoughts he was scared to admit—those eyes would have found them and made him feel ashamed. But he could look back at her without fear. Then she wrote,
“I was very much frightened. You must have thought me very silly, but I had never seen any man except Uncle Thomas and Neil and the egg peddler. And you are different from them—oh, very, very different. I was afraid to come back here the next evening. And yet, somehow, I wanted to come. I did not want you to think I did not know how to behave. I sent Neil back for my bow in the morning. I could not do without it. I cannot speak, you know. Are you sorry?”
“I was really scared. You probably thought I was being ridiculous, but I had only ever seen Uncle Thomas, Neil, and the egg vendor. And you are nothing like them—oh, very, very different. I was nervous about coming back here the next evening. Yet, somehow, I wanted to return. I didn’t want you to think I didn’t know how to act. I had Neil go back for my bow in the morning. I couldn’t be without it. I can’t speak, you know. Are you sorry?”
“I am very sorry for your sake.”
"I'm really sorry for you."
“Yes, but what I mean is, would you like me better if I could speak like other people?”
“Yes, but what I mean is, would you like me more if I talked like other people?”
“No, it does not make any difference in that way, Kilmeny. By the way, do you mind my calling you Kilmeny?”
“No, it doesn't make any difference like that, Kilmeny. By the way, is it okay if I call you Kilmeny?”
She looked puzzled and wrote, “What else should you call me? That is my name. Everybody calls me that.”
She looked confused and wrote, “What else should you call me? That’s my name. Everyone calls me that.”
“But I am such a stranger to you that perhaps you would wish me to call you Miss Gordon.”
“But I'm such a stranger to you that maybe you'd prefer me to call you Miss Gordon.”
“Oh, no, I would not like that,” she wrote quickly, with a distressed look on her face. “Nobody ever calls me that. It would make me feel as if I were not myself but somebody else. And you do not seem like a stranger to me. Is there any reason why you should not call me Kilmeny?”
“Oh, no, I really wouldn’t like that,” she quickly wrote, looking distressed. “Nobody ever calls me that. It would make me feel like I’m not myself but someone else. And you don’t seem like a stranger to me. Is there any reason you shouldn’t call me Kilmeny?”
“No reason whatever, if you will allow me the privilege. You have a very lovely name—the very name you ought to have.”
“No reason at all, if you’ll let me have that privilege. You have a really lovely name—the perfect name for you.”
“I am glad you like it. Do you know that I was called after my grandmother and she was called after a girl in a poem? Aunt Janet has never liked my name, although she liked my grandmother. But I am glad you like both my name and me. I was afraid you would not like me because I cannot speak.”
“I’m really happy you like it. Did you know I was named after my grandma, and she was named after a girl in a poem? Aunt Janet has never liked my name, even though she liked my grandma. But I’m glad you like both my name and me. I was worried you wouldn’t like me because I can’t speak.”
“You can speak through your music, Kilmeny.”
“You can express yourself through your music, Kilmeny.”
She looked pleased. “How well you understand,” she wrote. “Yes, I cannot speak or sing as other people can, but I can make my violin say things for me.”
She looked happy. “You understand so well,” she wrote. “Yes, I can’t talk or sing like other people can, but I can make my violin express things for me.”
“Do you compose your own music?” he asked. But he saw she did not understand him. “I mean, did any one ever teach you the music you played here that evening?”
“Do you write your own music?” he asked. But he saw she didn’t understand him. “I mean, did anyone ever teach you the music you played here that evening?”
“Oh, no. It just came as I thought. It has always been that way. When I was very little Neil taught me to hold the violin and the bow, and the rest all came of itself. My violin once belonged to Neil, but he gave it to me. Neil is very good and kind to me, but I like you better. Tell me about yourself.”
“Oh, no. It happened just like I thought it would. It’s always been that way. When I was really little, Neil showed me how to hold the violin and the bow, and everything else just came naturally. My violin used to belong to Neil, but he gave it to me. Neil is really good and kind to me, but I like you more. Tell me about yourself.”
The wonder of her grew upon him with every passing moment. How lovely she was! What dear little ways and gestures she had—ways and gestures as artless and unstudied as they were effective. And how strangely little her dumbness seemed to matter after all! She wrote so quickly and easily, her eyes and smile gave such expression to her mobile face, that voice was hardly missed.
The more time he spent with her, the more he was amazed. She was so beautiful! She had such charming little quirks and gestures—natural and effortless as they were impactful. And surprisingly, her silence didn’t seem to matter much at all! She wrote so quickly and easily, and her eyes and smile expressed so much on her animated face that it was hard to notice the absence of a voice.
They lingered in the orchard until the long, languid shadows of the trees crept to their feet. It was just after sunset and the distant hills were purple against the melting saffron of the sky in the west and the crystalline blue of the sky in the south. Eastward, just over the fir woods, were clouds, white and high heaped like snow mountains, and the westernmost of them shone with a rosy glow as of sunset on an Alpine height.
They hung out in the orchard until the long, lazy shadows of the trees stretched out to their feet. It was just after sunset, and the distant hills were purple against the fading saffron of the sky in the west and the clear blue of the sky in the south. To the east, just over the fir woods, were clouds, white and piled high like snowy mountains, and the farthest of them glowed with a pinkish light, like sunset on an Alpine peak.
The higher worlds of air were still full of light—perfect, stainless light, unmarred of earth shadow; but down in the orchard and under the spruces the light had almost gone, giving place to a green, dewy dusk, made passionately sweet with the breath of the apple blossoms and mint, and the balsamic odours that rained down upon them from the firs.
The higher skies were still filled with bright, pure light, untouched by the shadows of the earth; but down in the orchard and beneath the spruces, the light had nearly faded, replaced by a green, dewy twilight, made profoundly sweet by the scent of apple blossoms and mint, along with the aromatic fragrances that fell from the fir trees.
Eric told her of his life, and the life in the great outer world, in which she was girlishly and eagerly interested. She asked him many questions about it—direct and incisive questions which showed that she had already formed decided opinions and views about it. Yet it was plain to be seen that she did not regard it as anything she might ever share herself. Hers was the dispassionate interest with which she might have listened to a tale of the land of fairy or of some great empire long passed away from earth.
Eric shared stories about his life and the world beyond that fascinated her with a youthful eagerness. She bombarded him with direct and sharp questions that revealed she had already developed strong opinions about it. Still, it was clear that she didn't see it as something she would ever participate in herself. Her interest was detached, much like how she might listen to a story about a land of fairytales or a grand empire that had long vanished from the earth.
Eric discovered that she had read a great deal of poetry and history, and a few books of biography and travel. She did not know what a novel meant and had never heard of one. Curiously enough, she was well informed regarding politics and current events, from the weekly paper for which her uncle subscribed.
Eric found out that she had read a lot of poetry and history, along with a few biographies and travel books. She didn’t know what a novel was and had never even heard of one. Interestingly, she was quite knowledgeable about politics and current events, thanks to the weekly paper her uncle subscribed to.
“I never read the newspaper while mother was alive,” she wrote, “nor any poetry either. She taught me to read and write and I read the Bible all through many times and some of the histories. After mother died Aunt Janet gave me all her books. She had a great many. Most of them had been given to her as prizes when she was a girl at school, and some of them had been given to her by my father. Do you know the story of my father and mother?”
“I never read the newspaper while my mom was alive,” she wrote, “nor any poetry either. She taught me to read and write, and I read the Bible cover to cover many times and some of the histories. After my mom died, Aunt Janet gave me all her books. She had a lot of them. Most were given to her as prizes when she was a girl in school, and some were given to her by my dad. Do you know the story of my dad and mom?”
Eric nodded.
Eric agreed.
“Yes, Mrs. Williamson told me all about it. She was a friend of your mother.”
“Yes, Mrs. Williamson filled me in on everything. She was a friend of your mom.”
“I am glad you have heard it. It is so sad that I would not like to tell it, but you will understand everything better because you know. I never heard it until just before mother died. Then she told me all. I think she had thought father was to blame for the trouble; but before she died she told me she believed that she had been unjust to him and that he had not known. She said that when people were dying they saw things more clearly and she saw she had made a mistake about father. She said she had many more things she wanted to tell me, but she did not have time to tell them because she died that night. It was a long while before I had the heart to read her books. But when I did I thought them so beautiful. They were poetry and it was like music put into words.”
“I’m glad you’ve heard it. It’s so sad that I wouldn’t want to tell it, but you’ll understand everything better because you know. I never found out until just before Mom died. Then she told me everything. I think she believed Dad was to blame for the problems; but before she passed, she said she thought she had been unfair to him and that he hadn’t known. She said that when people are dying, they see things more clearly, and she realized she had made a mistake about Dad. She mentioned she had many more things she wanted to share with me, but she didn’t have time because she died that night. It took a long time before I felt brave enough to read her books. But when I finally did, I found them so beautiful. They were poetry, like music put into words.”
“I will bring you some books to read, if you would like them,” said Eric.
“I'll bring you some books to read if you want,” said Eric.
Her great blue eyes gleamed with interest and delight.
Her bright blue eyes sparkled with curiosity and joy.
“Oh, thank you, I would like it very much. I have read mine over so often that I know them nearly all by heart. One cannot get tired of really beautiful things, but sometimes I feel that I would like some new books.”
“Oh, thank you, I would really like that. I've read my books so often that I almost know them by heart. You can never get tired of truly beautiful things, but sometimes I wish I had some new books.”
“Are you never lonely, Kilmeny?”
“Are you ever lonely, Kilmeny?”
“Oh, no, how could I be? There is always plenty for me to do, helping Aunt Janet about the house. I can do a great many things”—she glanced up at him with a pretty pride as her flying pencil traced the words. “I can cook and sew. Aunt Janet says I am a very good housekeeper, and she does not praise people very often or very much. And then, when I am not helping her, I have my dear, dear violin. That is all the company I want. But I like to read and hear of the big world so far away and the people who live there and the things that are done. It must be a very wonderful place.”
“Oh, no, how could I be bored? There’s always so much for me to do, helping Aunt Janet around the house. I can do lots of things”—she looked up at him with a sense of pride as her pencil moved quickly across the page. “I can cook and sew. Aunt Janet says I'm a really good housekeeper, and she doesn’t give out compliments very often. And when I’m not helping her, I have my beloved violin. That's all the company I need. But I also enjoy reading about the outside world, so far away, the people who live there, and everything that's happening. It must be an amazing place.”
“Wouldn’t you like to go out into it and see its wonders and meet those people yourself?” he asked, smiling at her.
“Don’t you want to go out there and experience its wonders and meet those people yourself?” he asked, smiling at her.
At once he saw that, in some way he could not understand, he had hurt her. She snatched her pencil and wrote, with such swiftness of motion and energy of expression that it almost seemed as if she had passionately exclaimed the words aloud,
At that moment, he realized that, for some reason he couldn't grasp, he had hurt her. She grabbed her pencil and wrote with such speed and intensity that it felt almost like she had shouted the words out loud.
“No, no, no. I do not want to go anywhere away from home. I do not want ever to see strangers or have them see me. I could not bear it.”
“No, no, no. I don’t want to go anywhere away from home. I never want to see strangers or have them see me. I couldn’t handle it.”
He thought that possibly the consciousness of her defect accounted for this. Yet she did not seem sensitive about her dumbness and made frequent casual references to it in her written remarks. Or perhaps it was the shadow on her birth. Yet she was so innocent that it seemed unlikely she could realize or understand the existence of such a shadow. Eric finally decided that it was merely the rather morbid shrinking of a sensitive child who had been brought up in an unwholesome and unnatural way. At last the lengthening shadows warned him that it was time to go.
He thought that maybe her awareness of her flaw explained this. Still, she didn’t seem bothered by her speech impairment and often made casual mentions of it in her writing. Or maybe it was the stigma surrounding her birth. But she was so innocent that it didn’t seem likely she could grasp that kind of stigma. Eric eventually concluded that it was just the unhealthy shrinking of a sensitive child raised in a twisted and unnatural environment. Finally, the lengthening shadows signaled to him that it was time to leave.
“You won’t forget to come to-morrow evening and play for me,” he said, rising reluctantly. She answered by a quick little shake of her sleek, dark head, and a smile that was eloquent. He watched her as she walked across the orchard,
“You won’t forget to come tomorrow evening and play for me,” he said, rising reluctantly. She responded with a quick little shake of her smooth, dark hair and a smile that said a lot. He watched her as she walked across the orchard,
“With the moon’s beauty and the moon’s soft pace,”
“With the beauty of the moon and its gentle pace,”
and along the wild cherry lane. At the corner of the firs she paused and waved her hand to him before turning it.
and along the wild cherry lane. At the corner of the firs, she stopped and waved her hand at him before turning away.
When Eric reached home old Robert Williamson was having a lunch of bread and milk in the kitchen. He looked up, with a friendly grin, as Eric strode in, whistling.
When Eric got home, old Robert Williamson was having a lunch of bread and milk in the kitchen. He looked up with a friendly grin as Eric walked in, whistling.
“Been having a walk, Master?” he queried.
“Have you been out for a walk, sir?” he asked.
“Yes,” said Eric.
“Yes,” Eric replied.
Unconsciously and involuntarily he infused so much triumph into the simple monosyllable that even old Robert felt it. Mrs. Williamson, who was cutting bread at the end of the table, laid down her knife and loaf, and looked at the young man with a softly troubled expression in her eyes. She wondered if he had been back to the Connors orchard—and if he could have seen Kilmeny Gordon again.
Unknowingly and without meaning to, he packed so much victory into that one little word that even old Robert sensed it. Mrs. Williamson, who was slicing bread at the end of the table, put down her knife and loaf and looked at the young man with a gently concerned expression in her eyes. She wondered if he had been back to the Connors' orchard—and if he might have seen Kilmeny Gordon again.
“You didn’t discover a gold mine, I s’pose?” said old Robert dryly. “You look as if you might have.”
“You didn’t find a gold mine, did you?” old Robert said drily. “You look like you might have.”
CHAPTER VIII. AT THE GATE OF EDEN
When Eric went to the old Connors orchard the next evening he found Kilmeny waiting for him on the bench under the white lilac tree, with the violin in her lap. As soon as she saw him she caught it up and began to play an airy delicate little melody that sounded like the laughter of daisies.
When Eric went to the old Connors orchard the next evening, he found Kilmeny waiting for him on the bench under the white lilac tree, with the violin in her lap. As soon as she saw him, she picked it up and started to play a light, delicate melody that sounded like the laughter of daisies.
When it was finished she dropped her bow, and looked up at him with flushed cheeks and questioning eyes.
When she was done, she dropped her bow and looked up at him with flushed cheeks and curious eyes.
“What did that say to you?” she wrote.
“What did that mean to you?” she wrote.
“It said something like this,” answered Eric, falling into her humour smilingly. “Welcome, my friend. It is a very beautiful evening. The sky is so blue and the apple blossoms so sweet. The wind and I have been here alone together and the wind is a good companion, but still I am glad to see you. It is an evening on which it is good to be alive and to wander in an orchard that is fine and white. Welcome, my friend.”
“It went something like this,” Eric replied, smiling as he joined in her humor. “Welcome, my friend. It’s a beautiful evening. The sky is so blue, and the apple blossoms are delightful. The wind and I have been here together, and the wind is a good companion, but I’m still happy to see you. It’s an evening that's perfect for being alive and strolling through a lovely, white orchard. Welcome, my friend.”
She clapped her hands, looking like a pleased child.
She clapped her hands, looking like a happy little kid.
“You are very quick to understand,” she wrote. “That was just what I meant. Of course I did not think it in just those words, but that was the FEELING of it. I felt that I was so glad I was alive, and that the apple blossoms and the white lilacs and the trees and I were all pleased together to see you come. You are quicker than Neil. He is almost always puzzled to understand my music, and I am puzzled to understand his. Sometimes it frightens me. It seems as if there were something in it trying to take hold of me—something I do not like and want to run away from.”
“You pick things up really fast,” she wrote. “That’s exactly what I meant. I didn’t think of it in those exact words, but that was the overall FEELING of it. I felt so happy to be alive, and the apple blossoms, the white lilacs, the trees, and I were all happy together to see you arrive. You’re quicker than Neil. He’s usually confused by my music, and I don’t get his either. Sometimes it scares me. It feels like there’s something in it trying to grab hold of me—something I don’t like and want to escape from.”
Somehow Eric did not like her references to Neil. The idea of that handsome, low-born boy seeing Kilmeny every day, talking to her, sitting at the same table with her, dwelling under the same roof, meeting her in the hundred intimacies of daily life, was distasteful to him. He put the thought away from him, and flung himself down on the long grass at her feet.
Somehow, Eric was uncomfortable with her mentions of Neil. The thought of that attractive, lower-class guy seeing Kilmeny every day, talking to her, sitting at the same table, living under the same roof, and sharing the countless little moments of daily life made him uneasy. He pushed the thought aside and threw himself down on the long grass at her feet.
“Now play for me, please,” he said. “I want to lie here and listen to you.”
“Now play for me, please,” he said. “I want to lie here and listen to you.”
“And look at you,” he might have added. He could not tell which was the greater pleasure. Her beauty, more wonderful than any pictured loveliness he had ever seen, delighted him. Every tint and curve and outline of her face was flawless. Her music enthralled him. This child, he told himself as he listened, had genius. But it was being wholly wasted. He found himself thinking resentfully of the people who were her guardians, and who were responsible for her strange life. They had done her a great and irremediable wrong. How dared they doom her to such an existence? If her defect of utterance had been attended to in time, who knew but that it might have been cured? Now it was probably too late. Nature had given her a royal birthright of beauty and talent, but their selfish and unpardonable neglect had made it of no account.
“And look at you,” he might have added. He couldn't decide which brought him more joy. Her beauty, more amazing than any picture he'd ever seen, captivated him. Every shade, curve, and line of her face was perfect. Her music enchanted him. This girl, he thought as he listened, was truly gifted. But it was being completely wasted. He found himself feeling bitter towards the people who were supposed to take care of her and were responsible for her unusual life. They had done her a grave and irreversible injustice. How could they condemn her to such a life? If her speech issue had been addressed sooner, who knows, it might have been fixed? Now, it was likely too late. Nature had given her a noble heritage of beauty and talent, but their selfish and unforgivable neglect had rendered it worthless.
What divine music she lured out of the old violin—merry and sad, gay and sorrowful by turns, music such as the stars of morning might have made singing together, music that the fairies might have danced to in their revels among the green hills or on yellow sands, music that might have mourned over the grave of a dead hope. Then she drifted into a still sweeter strain. As he listened to it he realized that the whole soul and nature of the girl were revealing themselves to him through her music—the beauty and purity of her thoughts, her childhood dreams and her maiden reveries. There was no thought of concealment about her; she could not help the revelation she was unconscious of making.
What beautiful music she pulled from the old violin—happy and sad, cheerful and mournful at different times, music that the morning stars might have created while singing together, music that fairies might have danced to in their celebrations among the green hills or on golden sands, music that might have grieved over the loss of a dead hope. Then she transitioned into an even sweeter melody. As he listened, he understood that the girl’s entire essence and spirit were being revealed to him through her music—the beauty and purity of her thoughts, her childhood dreams, and her young daydreams. There was no sense of hiding anything about her; she couldn't help but reveal what she was unaware of sharing.
At last she laid her violin aside and wrote,
At last, she set her violin down and wrote,
“I have done my best to give you pleasure. It is your turn now. Do you remember a promise you made me last night? Have you kept it?”
“I’ve done my best to make you happy. Now it’s your turn. Do you remember the promise you made me last night? Did you keep it?”
He gave her the two books he had brought for her—a modern novel and a volume of poetry unknown to her. He had hesitated a little over the former; but the book was so fine and full of beauty that he thought it could not bruise the bloom of her innocence ever so slightly. He had no doubts about the poetry. It was the utterance of one of those great inspired souls whose passing tread has made the kingdom of their birth and labour a veritable Holy Land.
He handed her the two books he had brought for her—a contemporary novel and a volume of poetry she had never seen before. He had hesitated a bit over the novel; but the book was so beautiful and well-crafted that he thought it wouldn’t spoil her innocence at all. He had no doubts about the poetry. It was the work of one of those great inspired souls whose presence has made their homeland a true Holy Land.
He read her some of the poems. Then he talked to her of his college days and friends. The minutes passed very swiftly. There was just then no world for him outside of that old orchard with its falling blossoms and its shadows and its crooning winds.
He read her some of the poems. Then he talked to her about his college days and friends. The minutes flew by. At that moment, there was no world for him outside of that old orchard with its falling blossoms, shadows, and whispering winds.
Once, when he told her the story of some college pranks wherein the endless feuds of freshmen and sophomores figured, she clapped her hands together according to her habit, and laughed aloud—a clear, musical, silvery peal. It fell on Eric’s ear with a shock of surprise. He thought it strange that she could laugh like that when she could not speak. Wherein lay the defect that closed for her the gates of speech? Was it possible that it could be removed?
Once, when he shared the story of some college pranks involving the ongoing rivalries between freshmen and sophomores, she clapped her hands together, as was her habit, and laughed out loud—a clear, musical, silvery sound. It struck Eric with surprise. He found it odd that she could laugh like that even though she couldn’t speak. What was the reason that shut her out from being able to talk? Could it be fixed?
“Kilmeny,” he said gravely after a moment’s reflection, during which he had looked up as she sat with the ruddy sunlight falling through the lilac branches on her bare, silky head like a shower of red jewels, “do you mind if I ask you something about your inability to speak? Will it hurt you to talk of the matter with me?”
“Kilmeny,” he said seriously after a moment of thought, during which he had looked up at her as she sat with the warm sunlight streaming through the lilac branches onto her bare, silky head like a shower of red jewels, “do you mind if I ask you something about why you can’t speak? Will it upset you to discuss this with me?”
She shook her head.
She shook her head.
“Oh, no,” she wrote, “I do not mind at all. Of course I am sorry I cannot speak, but I am quite used to the thought and it never hurts me at all.”
“Oh, no,” she wrote, “I really don’t mind at all. Of course I’m sorry I can’t speak, but I’m pretty used to the idea and it never bothers me at all.”
“Then, Kilmeny, tell me this. Do you know why it is that you are unable to speak, when all your other faculties are so perfect?”
“Then, Kilmeny, tell me this. Do you know why you can’t speak, when all your other abilities are so perfect?”
“No, I do not know at all why I cannot speak. I asked mother once and she told me it was a judgment on her for a great sin she had committed, and she looked so strangely that I was frightened, and I never spoke of it to her or anyone else again.”
“No, I really don’t know why I can’t speak. I asked my mom once, and she said it was a punishment for a big sin she had committed. She looked so strange that it scared me, and I never brought it up with her or anyone else again.”
“Were you ever taken to a doctor to have your tongue and organs of speech examined?”
“Have you ever been taken to a doctor to have your tongue and speech organs checked?”
“No. I remember when I was a very little girl that Uncle Thomas wanted to take me to a doctor in Charlottetown and see if anything could be done for me, but mother would not let him. She said it would be no use. And I do not think Uncle Thomas thought it would be, either.”
“No. I remember when I was a little girl that Uncle Thomas wanted to take me to a doctor in Charlottetown to see if anything could be done for me, but mom wouldn’t let him. She said it wouldn’t help. And I don’t think Uncle Thomas thought it would, either.”
“You can laugh very naturally. Can you make any other sound?”
“You can laugh really easily. Can you make any other sound?”
“Yes, sometimes. When I am pleased or frightened I have made little cries. But it is only when I am not thinking of it at all that I can do that. If I TRY to make a sound I cannot do it at all.”
“Yes, sometimes. When I’m happy or scared, I let out little cries. But I can only do that when I’m not thinking about it at all. If I TRY to make a sound, I just can’t do it.”
This seemed to Eric more mysterious than ever.
This felt even more mysterious to Eric than before.
“Do you ever try to speak—to utter words?” he persisted.
“Do you ever try to talk—to say something?” he continued.
“Oh yes, very often. All the time I am saying the words in my head, just as I hear other people saying them, but I never can make my tongue say them. Do not look so sorry, my friend. I am very happy and I do not mind so very much not being able to speak—only sometimes when I have so many thoughts and it seems so slow to write them out, some of them get away from me. I must play to you again. You look too sober.”
“Oh yes, very often. I’m always saying the words in my head, just like I hear other people say them, but I can never get my tongue to say them. Don’t look so sorry, my friend. I’m very happy and I don’t really mind not being able to speak—only sometimes when I have so many thoughts and it feels too slow to write them down, some of them slip away. I have to play for you again. You look too serious.”
She laughed again, picked up her violin, and played a tinkling, roguish little melody as if she were trying to tease him, looking at Eric over her violin with luminous eyes that dared him to be merry.
She laughed again, picked up her violin, and played a playful, mischievous little tune as if she were trying to tease him, glancing at Eric over her violin with bright eyes that dared him to be cheerful.
Eric smiled; but the puzzled look returned to his face many times that evening. He walked home in a brown study. Kilmeny’s case certainly seemed a strange one, and the more he thought of it the stranger it seemed.
Eric smiled, but the confused expression came back to his face repeatedly that evening. He walked home lost in thought. Kilmeny’s situation definitely seemed odd, and the more he reflected on it, the stranger it became.
“It strikes me as something very peculiar that she should be able to make sounds only when she is not thinking about it,” he reflected. “I wish David Baker could examine her. But I suppose that is out of the question. That grim pair who have charge of her would never consent.”
“It seems really strange to me that she can only make sounds when she’s not thinking about it,” he thought. “I wish David Baker could take a look at her. But I guess that’s not going to happen. That stern couple in charge of her would never agree.”
CHAPTER IX. THE STRAIGHT SIMPLICITY OF EVE
For the next three weeks Eric Marshall seemed to himself to be living two lives, as distinct from each other as if he possessed a double personality. In one, he taught the Lindsay district school diligently and painstakingly; solved problems; argued on theology with Robert Williamson; called at the homes of his pupils and took tea in state with their parents; went to a rustic dance or two and played havoc, all unwittingly, with the hearts of the Lindsay maidens.
For the next three weeks, Eric Marshall felt like he was living two separate lives, as different as if he had a split personality. In one life, he worked hard and carefully at the Lindsay district school; tackled problems; debated theology with Robert Williamson; visited the homes of his students and had tea formally with their parents; attended a few local dances, unintentionally causing chaos with the hearts of the Lindsay girls.
But this life was a dream of workaday. He only LIVED in the other, which was spent in an old orchard, grassy and overgrown, where the minutes seemed to lag for sheer love of the spot and the June winds made wild harping in the old spruces.
But this life was just a routine. He only LIVED in the other, which was spent in an old orchard, grassy and overgrown, where the minutes seemed to drag for the sheer love of the place and the June winds created wild music in the old spruces.
Here every evening he met Kilmeny; in that old orchard they garnered hours of quiet happiness together; together they went wandering in the fair fields of old romance; together they read many books and talked of many things; and, when they were tired of all else, Kilmeny played to him and the old orchard echoed with her lovely, fantastic melodies.
Here every evening he met Kilmeny; in that old orchard they shared hours of quiet happiness together; they wandered in the beautiful fields of old romance; they read many books and talked about many things; and when they were tired of everything else, Kilmeny played for him and the old orchard echoed with her lovely, imaginative melodies.
At every meeting her beauty came home afresh to him with the old thrill of glad surprise. In the intervals of absence it seemed to him that she could not possibly be as beautiful as he remembered her; and then when they met she seemed even more so. He learned to watch for the undisguised light of welcome that always leaped into her eyes at the sound of his footsteps. She was nearly always there before him and she always showed that she was glad to see him with the frank delight of a child watching for a dear comrade.
At every meeting, her beauty struck him again with the familiar thrill of joy. During the times they were apart, he thought she couldn't possibly be as beautiful as he remembered her; then, when they met, she appeared even more beautiful. He came to look for the unmistakable spark of happiness that always lit up her eyes when she heard his footsteps. She was almost always there waiting for him, and she always showed her joy at seeing him with the open delight of a child waiting for a beloved friend.
She was never in the same mood twice. Now she was grave, now gay, now stately, now pensive. But she was always charming. Thrawn and twisted the old Gordon stock might be, but it had at least this one offshoot of perfect grace and symmetry. Her mind and heart, utterly unspoiled of the world, were as beautiful as her face. All the ugliness of existence had passed her by, shrined in her double solitude of upbringing and muteness.
She was never in the same mood twice. One moment she was serious, the next cheerful, sometimes dignified, and other times thoughtful. But she was always charming. The old Gordon lineage might be twisted and complicated, but it had at least this one branch of perfect grace and symmetry. Her mind and heart, completely untouched by the world, were as beautiful as her face. All the ugliness of life had bypassed her, sheltered in her double solitude of upbringing and silence.
She was naturally quick and clever. Delightful little flashes of wit and humour sparkled out occasionally. She could be whimsical—even charmingly capricious. Sometimes innocent mischief glimmered out in the unfathomable deeps of her blue eyes. Sarcasm, even, was not unknown to her. Now and then she punctured some harmless bubble of a young man’s conceit or masculine superiority with a biting little line of daintily written script.
She was naturally quick and smart. Delightful little bursts of wit and humor occasionally shone through. She could be whimsical—even charmingly unpredictable. Sometimes, innocent mischief sparkled in the depths of her blue eyes. Sarcasm wasn’t unfamiliar to her, either. Now and then, she would pop some harmless bubble of a young man's arrogance or sense of superiority with a sharp little line of elegantly written text.
She assimilated the ideas in the books they read, speedily, eagerly, and thoroughly, always seizing on the best and truest, and rejecting the false and spurious and weak with an unfailing intuition at which Eric marvelled. Hers was the spear of Ithuriel, trying out the dross of everything and leaving only the pure gold.
She absorbed the ideas in the books they read quickly, eagerly, and completely, always picking out the best and most truthful while instinctively rejecting the false, fake, and weak. Eric was amazed by her intuition. She was like Ithuriel's spear, testing everything and leaving only the pure gold.
In manner and outlook she was still a child. Yet now and again she was as old as Eve. An expression would leap into her laughing face, a subtle meaning reveal itself in her smile, that held all the lore of womanhood and all the wisdom of the ages.
In behavior and perspective, she was still a kid. Yet every now and then, she seemed as ancient as Eve. A look would flash across her joyful face, a deeper meaning would emerge in her smile, containing all the knowledge of womanhood and the wisdom of the ages.
Her way of smiling enchanted him. The smile always began far down in her eyes and flowed outward to her face like a sparkling brook stealing out of shadow into sunshine.
Her smile captivated him. It always started deep in her eyes and radiated outward to her face like a sparkling stream emerging from the shadows into the sunlight.
He knew everything about her life. She told him her simple history freely. She often mentioned her uncle and aunt and seemed to regard them with deep affection. She rarely spoke of her mother. Eric came somehow to understand, less from what she said than from what she did not say, that Kilmeny, though she had loved her mother, had always been rather afraid of her. There had not been between them the natural beautiful confidence of mother and child.
He knew all about her life. She shared her simple story openly. She often talked about her uncle and aunt and seemed to have a deep fondness for them. She hardly ever mentioned her mother. Eric somehow realized, more from what she didn't say than from what she did, that Kilmeny, while she had loved her mother, had always been a bit scared of her. There hadn't been that natural, beautiful trust typically found between a mother and child.
Of Neil, she wrote frequently at first, and seemed very fond of him. Later she ceased to mention him. Perhaps—for she was marvellously quick to catch and interpret every fleeting change of expression in his voice and face—she discerned what Eric did not know himself—that his eyes clouded and grew moody at the mention of Neil’s name.
Of Neil, she wrote about often at first and seemed to really like him. Later, she stopped mentioning him. Maybe—since she was incredibly quick to notice and interpret every little change in his tone and expression—she picked up on what Eric didn’t even realize himself: that his eyes would darken and become gloomy when Neil's name came up.
Once she asked him naively,
Once she asked him innocently,
“Are there many people like you out in the world?”
“Are there a lot of people like you in the world?”
“Thousands of them,” said Eric, laughing.
“Thousands of them,” Eric said, laughing.
She looked gravely at him. Then she gave her head a quick decided little shake.
She glanced seriously at him. Then she gave her head a quick, determined little shake.
“I do not think so,” she wrote. “I do not know much of the world, but I do not think there are many people like you in it.”
“I don't think so,” she wrote. “I don't know much about the world, but I don't believe there are many people like you in it.”
One evening, when the far-away hills and fields were scarfed in gauzy purples, and the intervales were brimming with golden mists, Eric carried to the old orchard a little limp, worn volume that held a love story. It was the first thing of the kind he had ever read to her, for in the first novel he had lent her the love interest had been very slight and subordinate. This was a beautiful, passionate idyl exquisitely told.
One evening, as the distant hills and fields were draped in soft purples, and the valleys were filled with golden mist, Eric brought to the old orchard a small, worn-out book that contained a love story. It was the first one of its kind he had ever read to her, because in the first novel he had lent her, the romance was very minimal and secondary. This one was a beautiful, passionate tale, beautifully told.
He read it to her, lying in the grass at her feet; she listened with her hands clasped over her knee and her eyes cast down. It was not a long story; and when he had finished it he shut the book and looked up at her questioningly.
He read it to her, lying in the grass at her feet; she listened with her hands clasped over her knee and her eyes down. It wasn’t a long story, and when he finished, he closed the book and looked up at her, waiting for her reaction.
“Do you like it, Kilmeny?” he asked.
“Do you like it, Kilmeny?” he asked.
Very slowly she took her slate and wrote,
Very slowly, she picked up her slate and wrote,
“Yes, I like it. But it hurt me, too. I did not know that a person could like anything that hurt her. I do not know why it hurt me. I felt as if I had lost something that I never had. That was a very silly feeling, was it not? But I did not understand the book very well, you see. It is about love and I do not know anything about love. Mother told me once that love is a curse, and that I must pray that it would never enter into my life. She said it very earnestly, and so I believed her. But your book teaches that it is a blessing. It says that it is the most splendid and wonderful thing in life. Which am I to believe?”
“Yes, I liked it. But it also hurt me. I didn’t know a person could enjoy something that caused them pain. I don’t understand why it hurt me. I felt like I had lost something I never actually had. That seems like a silly feeling, doesn’t it? But I didn’t really get the book, you know? It’s about love, and I don’t know anything about love. My mom once told me that love is a curse and that I should pray it never comes into my life. She said it very seriously, so I believed her. But your book teaches that love is a blessing. It says it’s the most amazing and wonderful thing in life. Which one should I believe?”
“Love—real love—is never a curse, Kilmeny,” said Eric gravely. “There is a false love which IS a curse. Perhaps your mother believed it was that which had entered her life and ruined it; and so she made the mistake. There is nothing in the world—or in heaven either, as I believe—so truly beautiful and wonderful and blessed as love.”
“Love—true love—is never a curse, Kilmeny,” Eric said seriously. “There’s a false love that is a curse. Maybe your mother thought that was what came into her life and destroyed it; and that's where she went wrong. There’s nothing in the world—or in heaven, as I believe—that's as beautiful, amazing, and blessed as love.”
“Have you ever loved?” asked Kilmeny, with the directness of phrasing necessitated by her mode of communication which was sometimes a little terrible. She asked the question simply and without embarrassment. She knew of no reason why love might not be discussed with Eric as other matters—music and books and travel—might be.
“Have you ever loved?” Kilmeny asked, her straightforwardness stemming from her unique way of communicating, which could sometimes be a bit intense. She posed the question plainly and without hesitation. She saw no reason why love shouldn’t be talked about with Eric just like other topics—music, books, and travel—could be.
“No,” said Eric—honestly, as he thought, “but every one has an ideal of love whom he hopes to meet some day—‘the ideal woman of a young man’s dream.’ I suppose I have mine, in some sealed, secret chamber of my heart.”
“No,” Eric said—truthfully, as he believed, “but everyone has their idea of love that they hope to find someday—‘the ideal woman of a young man’s dream.’ I guess I have mine, tucked away in some hidden, secret part of my heart.”
“I suppose your ideal woman would be beautiful, like the woman in your book?”
“I guess your ideal woman would be beautiful, like the woman in your book?”
“Oh, yes, I am sure I could never care for an ugly woman,” said Eric, laughing a little as he sat up. “Our ideals are always beautiful, whether they so translate themselves into realities or not. But the sun is going down. Time does certainly fly in this enchanted orchard. I believe you bewitch the moments away, Kilmeny. Your namesake of the poem was a somewhat uncanny maid, if I recollect aright, and thought as little of seven years in elfland as ordinary folk do of half an hour on upper earth. Some day I shall waken from a supposed hour’s lingering here and find myself an old man with white hair and ragged coat, as in that fairy tale we read the other night. Will you let me give you this book? I should never commit the sacrilege of reading it in any other place than this. It is an old book, Kilmeny. A new book, savouring of the shop and market-place, however beautiful it might be, would not do for you. This was one of my mother’s books. She read it and loved it. See—the faded rose leaves she placed in it one day are there still. I’ll write your name in it—that quaint, pretty name of yours which always sounds as if it had been specially invented for you—‘Kilmeny of the Orchard’—and the date of this perfect June day on which we read it together. Then when you look at it you will always remember me, and the white buds opening on that rosebush beside you, and the rush and murmur of the wind in the tops of those old spruces.”
“Oh, yes, I’m sure I could never care for an ugly woman,” Eric said, laughing a bit as he sat up. “Our ideals are always beautiful, whether they turn into reality or not. But the sun is setting. Time really flies in this enchanted orchard. I believe you make the moments disappear, Kilmeny. Your namesake from the poem was a somewhat eerie girl, if I remember correctly, and thought as little of seven years in Elfland as ordinary people do of half an hour in the real world. One day, I’ll wake up from what I thought was just an hour spent here and find myself an old man with white hair and a ragged coat, just like in that fairy tale we read the other night. Will you let me give you this book? I could never disrespect it by reading it anywhere else. It’s an old book, Kilmeny. A new book, with the scent of the shop and market, no matter how beautiful it is, wouldn’t suit you. This was one of my mother’s books. She read it and loved it. Look—the faded rose petals she once placed in it are still there. I’ll write your name in it—that quirky, pretty name of yours that always sounds like it was made just for you—‘Kilmeny of the Orchard’—and the date of this beautiful June day when we read it together. Then when you look at it, you’ll always remember me, and the white buds blooming on that rosebush next to you, and the rush and whisper of the wind in the tops of those old spruces.”
He held out the book to her, but, to his surprise, she shook her head, with a deeper flush on her face.
He offered her the book, but, to his surprise, she shook her head, her face growing even redder.
“Won’t you take the book, Kilmeny? Why not?”
“Will you take the book, Kilmeny? Why not?”
She took her pencil and wrote slowly, unlike her usual quick movement.
She picked up her pencil and wrote slowly, which was different from her usual fast pace.
“Do not be offended with me. I shall not need anything to make me remember you because I can never forget you. But I would rather not take the book. I do not want to read it again. It is about love, and there is no use in my learning about love, even if it is all you say. Nobody will ever love me. I am too ugly.”
“Please don't take offense at me. I don't need anything to remember you because I can never forget you. But I’d prefer not to take the book. I don’t want to read it again. It’s about love, and there’s no point in me learning about love, even if it's exactly what you say. No one will ever love me. I’m too ugly.”
“You! Ugly!” exclaimed Eric. He was on the point of going off into a peal of laughter at the idea when a glimpse of her half averted face sobered him. On it was a hurt, bitter look, such as he remembered seeing once before, when he had asked her if she would not like to see the world for herself.
“You! Ugly!” Eric shouted. He was about to burst out laughing at the thought when he caught a glimpse of her turned-away face, which brought him back to reality. It wore a hurt, bitter expression—one he remembered seeing before, when he had asked her if she wanted to explore the world for herself.
“Kilmeny,” he said in astonishment, “you don’t really think yourself ugly, do you?”
“Kilmeny,” he said in disbelief, “you really don’t think you’re ugly, do you?”
She nodded, without looking at him, and then wrote,
She nodded without looking at him, then wrote,
“Oh, yes, I know that I am. I have known it for a long time. Mother told me that I was very ugly and that nobody would ever like to look at me. I am sorry. It hurts me much worse to know I am ugly than it does to know I cannot speak. I suppose you will think that is very foolish of me, but it is true. That was why I did not come back to the orchard for such a long time, even after I had got over my fright. I hated to think that YOU would think me ugly. And that is why I do not want to go out into the world and meet people. They would look at me as the egg peddler did one day when I went out with Aunt Janet to his wagon the spring after mother died. He stared at me so. I knew it was because he thought me so ugly, and I have always hidden when he came ever since.”
“Oh, yes, I know that I am. I've known it for a long time. Mom told me that I was really ugly and that nobody would ever want to look at me. I'm sorry. It hurts even more to know I'm ugly than to know I can't speak. I guess you’ll think that’s really foolish of me, but it’s true. That’s why I didn’t come back to the orchard for such a long time, even after I got over my fear. I hated thinking that YOU would find me ugly. And that's why I don’t want to go out into the world and meet people. They would look at me like the egg vendor did one day when I went out with Aunt Janet to his wagon the spring after mom died. He stared at me so. I knew it was because he thought I was so ugly, and I’ve always hidden when he came around ever since.”
Eric’s lips twitched. In spite of his pity for the real suffering displayed in her eyes, he could not help feeling amused over the absurd idea of this beautiful girl believing herself in all seriousness to be ugly.
Eric's lips twitched. Despite feeling sorry for the real pain reflected in her eyes, he couldn't help but feel amused by the ridiculous idea of this beautiful girl genuinely thinking she was ugly.
“But, Kilmeny, do you think yourself ugly when you look in a mirror?” he asked smiling.
“But, Kilmeny, do you think you look ugly when you see yourself in a mirror?” he asked, smiling.
“I have never looked in a mirror,” she wrote. “I never knew there was such a thing until after mother died, and I read about it in a book. Then I asked Aunt Janet and she said mother had broken all the looking glasses in the house when I was a baby. But I have seen my face reflected in the spoons, and in a little silver sugar bowl Aunt Janet has. And it IS ugly—very ugly.”
“I’ve never looked in a mirror,” she wrote. “I didn’t even know they existed until after my mom died and I read about them in a book. Then I asked Aunt Janet, and she said my mom had smashed all the mirrors in the house when I was a baby. But I’ve seen my face reflected in spoons and in a little silver sugar bowl Aunt Janet has. And it IS ugly—very ugly.”
Eric’s face went down into the grass. For his life he could not help laughing; and for his life he would not let Kilmeny see him laughing. A certain little whimsical wish took possession of him and he did not hasten to tell her the truth, as had been his first impulse. Instead, when he dared to look up he said slowly,
Eric’s face dropped into the grass. No matter what, he couldn’t stop laughing; and no matter what, he wouldn’t let Kilmeny see him laugh. A quirky little impulse took over him, and he didn’t rush to tell her the truth, as he initially wanted to. Instead, when he finally dared to look up, he said slowly,
“I don’t think you are ugly, Kilmeny.”
“I don’t think you’re ugly, Kilmeny.”
“Oh, but I am sure you must,” she wrote protestingly. “Even Neil does. He tells me I am kind and nice, but one day I asked him if he thought me very ugly, and he looked away and would not speak, so I knew what he thought about it, too. Do not let us speak of this again. It makes me feel sorry and spoils everything. I forget it at other times. Let me play you some good-bye music, and do not feel vexed because I would not take your book. It would only make me unhappy to read it.”
“Oh, but I’m sure you do,” she wrote in protest. “Even Neil thinks so. He tells me I’m kind and nice, but one day I asked him if he thought I was really ugly, and he looked away and didn’t say anything, so I knew what he thought about it too. Let’s not talk about this again. It makes me feel sad and ruins everything. I forget about it other times. Let me play you some goodbye music, and please don’t be upset because I didn’t take your book. Reading it would just make me unhappy.”
“I am not vexed,” said Eric, “and I think you will take it some day yet—after I have shown you something I want you to see. Never mind about your looks, Kilmeny. Beauty isn’t everything.”
“I’m not upset,” Eric said, “and I think you’ll understand that someday—after I show you something I want you to see. Don’t worry about your appearance, Kilmeny. Beauty isn’t everything.”
“Oh, it is a great deal,” she wrote naively. “But you do like me, even though I am so ugly, don’t you? You like me because of my beautiful music, don’t you?”
“Oh, it means a lot,” she wrote innocently. “But you do like me, even though I’m not attractive, right? You like me because of my beautiful music, don’t you?”
“I like you very much, Kilmeny,” answered Eric, laughing a little; but there was in his voice a tender note of which he was unconscious. Kilmeny was aware of it, however, and she picked up her violin with a pleased smile.
“I like you a lot, Kilmeny,” Eric replied, chuckling a bit; but there was a soft tone in his voice that he didn’t realize. Kilmeny noticed it, though, and she picked up her violin with a happy smile.
He left her playing there, and all the way through the dim resinous spruce wood her music followed him like an invisible guardian spirit.
He left her playing there, and all the way through the dim, resin-scented spruce forest, her music followed him like an invisible guardian spirit.
“Kilmeny the Beautiful!” he murmured, “and yet, good heavens, the child thinks she is ugly—she with a face more lovely than ever an artist dreamed of! A girl of eighteen who has never looked in a mirror! I wonder if there is another such in any civilized country in the world. What could have possessed her mother to tell her such a falsehood? I wonder if Margaret Gordon could have been quite sane. It is strange that Neil has never told her the truth. Perhaps he doesn’t want her to find out.”
“Kilmeny the Beautiful!” he whispered, “and yet, my goodness, the girl thinks she’s ugly—she has a face more beautiful than any artist ever imagined! An eighteen-year-old who has never looked in a mirror! I wonder if there’s anyone like her in any civilized country. What on earth made her mother tell her such a lie? I wonder if Margaret Gordon was really in her right mind. It’s odd that Neil has never told her the truth. Maybe he doesn’t want her to find out.”
Eric had met Neil Gordon a few evenings before this, at a country dance where Neil had played the violin for the dancers. Influenced by curiosity he had sought the lad’s acquaintance. Neil was friendly and talkative at first; but at the first hint concerning the Gordons which Eric threw out skilfully his face and manner changed. He looked secretive and suspicious, almost sinister. A sullen look crept into his big black eyes and he drew his bow across the violin strings with a discordant screech, as if to terminate the conversation. Plainly nothing was to be found out from him about Kilmeny and her grim guardians.
Eric had met Neil Gordon a few nights earlier at a country dance where Neil had played the violin for the dancers. Driven by curiosity, he had tried to get to know the guy. Neil was friendly and chatty at first, but when Eric casually mentioned the Gordons, his demeanor shifted. He became secretive and suspicious, almost menacing. A gloomy expression settled in his big black eyes, and he drew his bow across the violin strings with a harsh screech, as if to end the conversation. Clearly, Eric wasn’t going to learn anything from him about Kilmeny and her stern guardians.
CHAPTER X. A TROUBLING OF THE WATERS
One evening in late June Mrs. Williamson was sitting by her kitchen window. Her knitting lay unheeded in her lap, and Timothy, though he nestled ingratiatingly against her foot as he lay on the rug and purred his loudest, was unregarded. She rested her face on her hand and looked out of the window, across the distant harbour, with troubled eyes.
One evening in late June, Mrs. Williamson sat by her kitchen window. Her knitting was forgotten in her lap, and Timothy, despite snuggling affectionately against her foot while purring loudly on the rug, was ignored. She rested her face on her hand and gazed out of the window, across the distant harbor, with a troubled expression.
“I guess I must speak,” she thought wistfully. “I hate to do it. I always did hate meddling. My mother always used to say that ninety-nine times out of a hundred the last state of a meddler and them she meddled with was worse than the first. But I guess it’s my duty. I was Margaret’s friend, and it is my duty to protect her child any way I can. If the Master does go back across there to meet her I must tell him what I think about it.”
“I guess I have to say something,” she thought sadly. “I really don’t want to. I’ve always hated getting involved. My mom used to say that ninety-nine times out of a hundred, the outcome for a meddler and the people they meddled with was worse than before. But I guess it’s my responsibility. I was Margaret’s friend, and I need to protect her child in any way I can. If the Master decides to go back over there to meet her, I need to share my thoughts on it.”
Overhead in his room, Eric was walking about whistling. Presently he came downstairs, thinking of the orchard, and the girl who would be waiting for him there.
Overhead in his room, Eric was pacing around, whistling. Soon, he came downstairs, thinking about the orchard and the girl who would be waiting for him there.
As he crossed the little front entry he heard Mrs. Williamson’s voice calling to him.
As he walked through the small front entry, he heard Mrs. Williamson's voice calling out to him.
“Mr. Marshall, will you please come here a moment?”
“Mr. Marshall, could you come here for a moment, please?”
He went out to the kitchen. Mrs. Williamson looked at him deprecatingly. There was a flush on her faded cheek and her voice trembled.
He walked into the kitchen. Mrs. Williamson looked at him with disapproval. There was a flush on her worn cheek, and her voice shook.
“Mr. Marshall, I want to ask you a question. Perhaps you will think it isn’t any of my business. But it isn’t because I want to meddle. No, no. It is only because I think I ought to speak. I have thought it over for a long time, and it seems to me that I ought to speak. I hope you won’t be angry, but even if you are I must say what I have to say. Are you going back to the old Connors orchard to meet Kilmeny Gordon?”
“Mr. Marshall, I want to ask you something. You might think it’s none of my business. But I’m not trying to interfere. No, not at all. I just think I should say something. I've been thinking about it for a long time, and it feels like I need to. I hope you won’t get upset, but even if you do, I have to say what’s on my mind. Are you going back to the old Connors orchard to meet Kilmeny Gordon?”
For a moment an angry flush burned in Eric’s face. It was more Mrs. Williamson’s tone than her words which startled and annoyed him.
For a moment, Eric's face turned red with anger. It was more the way Mrs. Williamson spoke than what she said that shocked and irritated him.
“Yes, I am, Mrs. Williamson,” he said coldly. “What of it?”
“Yes, I am, Mrs. Williamson,” he said coolly. “So what?”
“Then, sir,” said Mrs. Williamson with more firmness, “I have got to tell you that I don’t think you are doing right. I have been suspecting all along that that was where you went every evening, but I haven’t said a word to any one about it. Even my husband doesn’t know. But tell me this, Master. Do Kilmeny’s uncle and aunt know that you are meeting her there?”
“Then, sir,” Mrs. Williamson said more firmly, “I need to tell you that I don’t think you’re doing the right thing. I’ve suspected all along that’s where you’ve been going every evening, but I haven’t said anything to anyone about it. Even my husband doesn’t know. But tell me this, Master. Do Kilmeny’s uncle and aunt know that you’re meeting her there?”
“Why,” said Eric, in some confusion, “I—I do not know whether they do or not. But Mrs. Williamson, surely you do not suspect me of meaning any harm or wrong to Kilmeny Gordon?”
“Why,” Eric said, sounding a bit confused, “I—I don’t know if they do or not. But Mrs. Williamson, you can’t think I would mean any harm or wrongdoing to Kilmeny Gordon?”
“No, I don’t, Master. I might think it of some men, but never of you. I don’t for a minute think that you would do her or any woman any wilful wrong. But you may do her great harm for all that. I want you to stop and think about it. I guess you haven’t thought. Kilmeny can’t know anything about the world or about men, and she may get to thinking too much of you. That might break her heart, because you couldn’t ever marry a dumb girl like her. So I don’t think you ought to be meeting her so often in this fashion. It isn’t right, Master. Don’t go to the orchard again.”
“No, I don’t, Master. I might think that way about some guys, but never about you. I don’t believe for a second that you would purposely do her or any woman wrong. But you could still really hurt her. I want you to stop and think about it. I don’t think you’ve considered this. Kilmeny doesn’t know anything about the world or about men, and she might start hoping for too much from you. That could break her heart, because you could never marry a girl like her. So I don’t think you should be seeing her so often like this. It’s not right, Master. Don’t go to the orchard again.”
Without a word Eric turned away, and went upstairs to his room. Mrs. Williamson picked up her knitting with a sigh.
Without saying anything, Eric turned away and went upstairs to his room. Mrs. Williamson picked up her knitting with a sigh.
“That’s done, Timothy, and I’m real thankful,” she said. “I guess there’ll be no need of saying anything more. Mr. Marshall is a fine young man, only a little thoughtless. Now that he’s got his eyes opened I’m sure he’ll do what is right. I don’t want Margaret’s child made unhappy.”
“That’s done, Timothy, and I really appreciate it,” she said. “I guess there’s no need to say anything more. Mr. Marshall is a good young man, just a bit careless. Now that he’s aware, I’m sure he’ll do the right thing. I don’t want Margaret’s child to be unhappy.”
Her husband came to the kitchen door and sat down on the steps to enjoy his evening smoke, talking between whiffs to his wife of Elder Tracy’s church row, and Mary Alice Martin’s beau, the price Jake Crosby was giving for eggs, the quantity of hay yielded by the hill meadow, the trouble he was having with old Molly’s calf, and the respective merits of Plymouth Rock and Brahma roosters. Mrs. Williamson answered at random, and heard not one word in ten.
Her husband came to the kitchen door and sat on the steps to enjoy his evening smoke, chatting between puffs with his wife about Elder Tracy’s church dispute, Mary Alice Martin’s boyfriend, the price Jake Crosby was offering for eggs, the amount of hay coming from the hill meadow, the problems he was having with old Molly’s calf, and the pros and cons of Plymouth Rock and Brahma roosters. Mrs. Williamson responded without much thought and caught only about one word in ten.
“What’s got the Master, Mother?” inquired old Robert, presently. “I hear him striding up and down in his room ‘sif he was caged. Sure you didn’t lock him in by mistake?”
“What’s wrong with the Master, Mother?” old Robert asked a moment later. “I can hear him pacing up and down in his room like he’s in a cage. Are you sure you didn’t accidentally lock him in?”
“Maybe he’s worried over the way Seth Tracy’s acting in school,” suggested Mrs. Williamson, who did not choose that her gossipy husband should suspect the truth about Eric and Kilmeny Gordon.
“Maybe he’s concerned about how Seth Tracy is behaving in school,” suggested Mrs. Williamson, who didn’t want her nosy husband to suspect the truth about Eric and Kilmeny Gordon.
“Shucks, he needn’t worry a morsel over that. Seth’ll quiet down as soon as he finds he can’t run the Master. He’s a rare good teacher—better’n Mr. West was even, and that’s saying something. The trustees are hoping he’ll stay for another term. They’re going to ask him at the school meeting to-morrow, and offer him a raise of supplement.”
“Honestly, he doesn’t need to worry about that at all. Seth will settle down once he realizes he can’t control the Master. He’s an excellent teacher—better than Mr. West was, and that’s saying a lot. The trustees are hoping he’ll stick around for another term. They’re going to ask him at the school meeting tomorrow and offer him a pay raise.”
Upstairs, in his little room under the eaves, Eric Marshall was in the grip of the most intense and overwhelming emotion he had ever experienced.
Upstairs, in his small room under the eaves, Eric Marshall was feeling the most intense and overwhelming emotion he had ever felt.
Up and down, to and fro, he walked, with set lips and clenched hands. When he was wearied out he flung himself on a chair by the window and wrestled with the flood of feeling.
Up and down, back and forth, he walked, with tight lips and fists clenched. When he got too tired, he threw himself onto a chair by the window and struggled with the rush of emotions.
Mrs. Williamson’s words had torn away the delusive veil with which he had bound his eyes. He was face to face with the knowledge that he loved Kilmeny Gordon with the love that comes but once, and is for all time. He wondered how he could have been so long blind to it. He knew that he must have loved her ever since their first meeting that May evening in the old orchard.
Mrs. Williamson’s words had ripped away the false veil he had put over his eyes. He was confronted with the truth that he loved Kilmeny Gordon with a once-in-a-lifetime kind of love that lasts forever. He couldn't believe he had been blind to it for so long. He realized that he must have loved her from the very first time they met that May evening in the old orchard.
And he knew that he must choose between two alternatives—either he must never go to the orchard again, or he must go as an avowed lover to woo him a wife.
And he knew that he had to choose between two options—either he would never go to the orchard again, or he would go as a declared lover to find himself a wife.
Worldly prudence, his inheritance from a long line of thrifty, cool-headed ancestors, was strong in Eric, and he did not yield easily or speedily to the dictates of his passion. All night he struggled against the new emotions that threatened to sweep away the “common sense” which David Baker had bade him take with him when he went a-wooing. Would not a marriage with Kilmeny Gordon be an unwise thing from any standpoint?
Worldly wisdom, inherited from a long line of practical, level-headed ancestors, was strong in Eric, and he didn’t give in easily or quickly to his feelings. All night he fought against the new emotions that threatened to overwhelm the “common sense” David Baker had told him to take with him when he went courting. Wouldn’t marrying Kilmeny Gordon be a foolish decision from any perspective?
Then something stronger and greater and more vital than wisdom or unwisdom rose up in him and mastered him. Kilmeny, beautiful, dumb Kilmeny was, as he had once involuntarily thought, “the one maid” for him. Nothing should part them. The mere idea of never seeing her again was so unbearable that he laughed at himself for having counted it a possible alternative.
Then something more powerful and essential than wisdom or foolishness took over him. Kilmeny, beautiful, silent Kilmeny was, as he had once unconsciously thought, “the one girl” for him. Nothing should separate them. The very thought of never seeing her again was so intolerable that he found it laughable that he had ever considered it a possible option.
“If I can win Kilmeny’s love I shall ask her to be my wife,” he said, looking out of the window to the dark, southwestern hill beyond which lay his orchard.
“If I can win Kilmeny’s love, I’ll ask her to be my wife,” he said, looking out of the window at the dark southwestern hill, beyond which lay his orchard.
The velvet sky over it was still starry; but the water of the harbour was beginning to grow silvery in the reflection of the dawn that was breaking in the east.
The velvet sky above was still full of stars, but the water in the harbor was starting to shimmer silver with the dawn breaking in the east.
“Her misfortune will only make her dearer to me. I cannot realize that a month ago I did not know her. It seems to me that she has been a part of my life for ever. I wonder if she was grieved that I did not go to the orchard last night—if she waited for me. If she does, she does not know it herself yet. It will be my sweet task to teach her what love means, and no man has ever had a lovelier, purer, pupil.”
“Her misfortune will only make her more special to me. I can't believe that a month ago I didn't even know her. It feels like she has been a part of my life forever. I wonder if she was upset that I didn't go to the orchard last night—if she was waiting for me. If she was, she doesn't realize it yet. It will be my wonderful job to show her what love really means, and no man has ever had a more lovely, pure student.”
At the annual school meeting, the next afternoon, the trustees asked Eric to take the Lindsay school for the following year. He consented unhesitatingly.
At the annual school meeting the next afternoon, the trustees asked Eric to take over the Lindsay school for the next year. He agreed without hesitation.
That evening he went to Mrs. Williamson, as she washed her tea dishes in the kitchen.
That evening, he went to Mrs. Williamson while she was washing her tea dishes in the kitchen.
“Mrs. Williamson, I am going back to the old Connors orchard to see Kilmeny again to-night.”
“Mrs. Williamson, I’m heading back to the old Connors orchard to see Kilmeny again tonight.”
She looked at him reproachfully.
She gave him a disapproving look.
“Well, Master, I have no more to say. I suppose it wouldn’t be of any use if I had. But you know what I think of it.”
“Well, Master, I have nothing more to say. I guess it wouldn’t help if I did. But you know how I feel about it.”
“I intend to marry Kilmeny Gordon if I can win her.”
“I plan to marry Kilmeny Gordon if I can win her over.”
An expression of amazement came into the good woman’s face. She looked scrutinizingly at the firm mouth and steady gray eyes for a moment. Then she said in a troubled voice,
An expression of surprise crossed the good woman's face. She studied the firm mouth and steady gray eyes for a moment. Then she spoke in a worried tone,
“Do you think that is wise, Master? I suppose Kilmeny is pretty; the egg peddler told me she was; and no doubt she is a good, nice girl. But she wouldn’t be a suitable wife for you—a girl that can’t speak.”
“Do you think that’s a good idea, Master? I guess Kilmeny is attractive; the egg peddler told me she is; and I’m sure she’s a nice girl. But she wouldn’t be a good match for you—a girl who can’t talk.”
“That doesn’t make any difference to me.”
"That doesn't matter to me."
“But what will your people say?”
“But what will your people think?”
“I have no ‘people’ except my father. When he sees Kilmeny he will understand. She is all the world to me, Mrs. Williamson.”
"I have no 'people' except my dad. When he sees Kilmeny, he'll get it. She means everything to me, Mrs. Williamson."
“As long as you believe that there is nothing more to be said,” was the quiet answer, “I’d be a little bit afraid if I was you, though. But young people never think of those things.”
“As long as you believe that there’s nothing more to discuss,” was the quiet answer, “I’d be a little worried if I were you, though. But young people never think about those things.”
“My only fear is that she won’t care for me,” said Eric soberly.
“My only fear is that she won’t care about me,” said Eric seriously.
Mrs. Williamson surveyed the handsome, broad-shouldered young man shrewdly.
Mrs. Williamson looked over the good-looking, broad-shouldered young man carefully.
“I don’t think there are many women would say you ‘no’, Master. I wish you well in your wooing, though I can’t help thinking you’re doing a daft-like thing. I hope you won’t have any trouble with Thomas and Janet. They are so different from other folks there is no knowing. But take my advice, Master, and go and see them about it right off. Don’t go on meeting Kilmeny unbeknownst to them.”
“I don’t think there are many women who would say ‘no’ to you, Master. I wish you good luck in your pursuit, but I can’t help thinking it’s a bit foolish. I hope you won’t have any issues with Thomas and Janet. They’re so different from other people, it’s hard to say. But take my advice, Master, and go talk to them about it right away. Don’t keep meeting Kilmeny without them knowing.”
“I shall certainly take your advice,” said Eric, gravely. “I should have gone to them before. It was merely thoughtlessness on my part. Possibly they do know already. Kilmeny may have told them.”
“I'll definitely take your advice,” Eric said seriously. “I should have gone to them sooner. It was just thoughtlessness on my part. They might already know. Kilmeny may have told them.”
Mrs. Williamson shook her head decidedly.
Mrs. Williamson shook her head firmly.
“No, no, Master, she hasn’t. They’d never have let her go on meeting you there if they had known. I know them too well to think of that for a moment. Go you straight to them and say to them just what you have said to me. That is your best plan, Master. And take care of Neil. People say he has a notion of Kilmeny himself. He’ll do you a bad turn if he can, I’ve no doubt. Them foreigners can’t be trusted—and he’s just as much a foreigner as his parents before him—though he HAS been brought up on oatmeal and the shorter catechism, as the old saying has it. I feel that somehow—I always feel it when I look at him singing in the choir.”
“No, no, Master, she hasn’t. They’d never have let her keep meeting you there if they had known. I know them too well to think otherwise for a second. You should go straight to them and tell them exactly what you’ve told me. That’s your best plan, Master. And watch out for Neil. People say he has a thing for Kilmeny himself. He’ll try to sabotage you if he can, I’m sure of it. Those foreigners can’t be trusted—and he’s just as much a foreigner as his parents before him—although he HAS been raised on oatmeal and the shorter catechism, as the saying goes. I can feel it somehow—I always sense it when I see him singing in the choir.”
“Oh, I am not afraid of Neil,” said Eric carelessly. “He couldn’t help loving Kilmeny—nobody could.”
“Oh, I’m not scared of Neil,” Eric said casually. “He couldn’t help but love Kilmeny—nobody could.”
“I suppose every young man thinks that about his girl—if he’s the right sort of young man,” said Mrs. Williamson with a little sigh.
“I guess every young guy feels that way about his girl—if he's the right kind of guy,” said Mrs. Williamson with a small sigh.
She watched Eric out of sight anxiously.
She nervously watched Eric disappear from view.
“I hope it’ll all come out right,” she thought. “I hope he ain’t making an awful mistake—but—I’m afraid. Kilmeny must be very pretty to have bewitched him so. Well, I suppose there is no use in my worrying over it. But I do wish he had never gone back to that old orchard and seen her.”
“I hope it all turns out okay,” she thought. “I hope he’s not making a huge mistake—but—I’m worried. Kilmeny must be really beautiful to have captivated him like that. Well, I guess there's no point in me stressing over it. But I really wish he had never gone back to that old orchard and seen her.”
CHAPTER XI. A LOVER AND HIS LASS
Kilmeny was in the orchard when Eric reached it, and he lingered for a moment in the shadow of the spruce wood to dream over her beauty.
Kilmeny was in the orchard when Eric arrived, and he paused for a moment in the shadow of the spruce trees to admire her beauty.
The orchard had lately overflowed in waves of old-fashioned caraway, and she was standing in the midst of its sea of bloom, with the lace-like blossoms swaying around her in the wind. She wore the simple dress of pale blue print in which he had first seen her; silk attire could not better have become her loveliness. She had woven herself a chaplet of half open white rosebuds and placed it on her dark hair, where the delicate blossoms seemed less wonderful than her face.
The orchard had recently burst into waves of vintage caraway, and she was standing in the middle of its sea of flowers, with the lace-like blooms swaying around her in the breeze. She wore the simple pale blue printed dress in which he had first seen her; silk couldn't have suited her beauty any better. She had made herself a crown of half-open white rosebuds and placed it in her dark hair, where the delicate blossoms seemed less stunning than her face.
When Eric stepped through the gap she ran to meet him with outstretched hands, smiling. He took her hands and looked into her eyes with an expression before which hers for the first time faltered. She looked down, and a warm blush strained the ivory curves of her cheek and throat. His heart bounded, for in that blush he recognized the banner of love’s vanguard.
When Eric walked through the opening, she rushed to greet him with open arms, smiling. He took her hands and gazed into her eyes, causing her to falter for the first time. She looked down, and a warm blush spread across the smooth curves of her cheek and neck. His heart raced because, in that blush, he saw the first sign of love.
“Are you glad to see me, Kilmeny?” he asked, in a low significant tone.
“Are you happy to see me, Kilmeny?” he asked, in a soft, meaningful tone.
She nodded, and wrote in a somewhat embarrassed fashion,
She nodded and wrote in a slightly embarrassed way,
“Yes. Why do you ask? You know I am always glad to see you. I was afraid you would not come. You did not come last night and I was so sorry. Nothing in the orchard seemed nice any longer. I couldn’t even play. I tried to, and my violin only cried. I waited until it was dark and then I went home.”
“Yeah. Why do you want to know? You know I’m always happy to see you. I was worried you wouldn't show up. You didn’t come last night and I felt really sad. Everything in the orchard lost its charm. I couldn’t even enjoy myself. I tried to play, but my violin just sounded sad. I waited until it got dark and then I went home.”
“I am sorry you were disappointed, Kilmeny. I couldn’t come last night. Some day I shall tell you why. I stayed home to learn a new lesson. I am sorry you missed me—no, I am glad. Can you understand how a person may be glad and sorry for the same thing?”
“I’m sorry you were let down, Kilmeny. I couldn’t make it last night. One day I’ll explain why. I stayed home to learn something new. I’m sorry you didn’t get to see me—no, actually, I’m glad. Can you understand how someone can feel both glad and sorry about the same thing?”
She nodded again, with a return of her usual sweet composure.
She nodded again, regaining her usual sweet composure.
“Yes, I could not have understood once, but I can now. Did you learn your new lesson?”
“Yes, I couldn't understand before, but I get it now. Did you learn your new lesson?”
“Yes, very thoroughly. It was a delightful lesson when I once understood it. I must try to teach it to you some day. Come over to the old bench, Kilmeny. There is something I want to say to you. But first, will you give me a rose?”
“Yes, very thoroughly. It was a delightful lesson when I understood it. I need to try to teach it to you someday. Come over to the old bench, Kilmeny. There’s something I want to tell you. But first, will you give me a rose?”
She ran to the bush, and, after careful deliberation, selected a perfect half-open bud and brought it to him—a white bud with a faint, sunrise flush about its golden heart.
She ran to the bush and, after thinking it over, chose a perfect half-open bud and brought it to him—a white bud with a subtle, sunrise tint around its golden center.
“Thank you. It is as beautiful as—as a woman I know,” Eric said.
“Thank you. It’s as beautiful as—well, as a woman I know,” Eric said.
A wistful look came into her face at his words, and she walked with a drooping head across the orchard to the bench.
A nostalgic look crossed her face at his words, and she walked with her head down across the orchard to the bench.
“Kilmeny,” he said, seriously, “I am going to ask you to do something for me. I want you to take me home with you and introduce me to your uncle and aunt.”
“Kilmeny,” he said, seriously, “I’m going to ask you to do something for me. I want you to take me home with you and introduce me to your uncle and aunt.”
She lifted her head and stared at him incredulously, as if he had asked her to do something wildly impossible. Understanding from his grave face that he meant what he said, a look of dismay dawned in her eyes. She shook her head almost violently and seemed to be making a passionate, instinctive effort to speak. Then she caught up her pencil and wrote with feverish haste:
She raised her head and looked at him in disbelief, as if he had asked her to do something totally outrageous. Realizing from his serious expression that he was serious, a look of shock appeared in her eyes. She shook her head almost violently and seemed to be trying hard to speak. Then she grabbed her pencil and wrote quickly:
“I cannot do that. Do not ask me to. You do not understand. They would be very angry. They do not want to see any one coming to the house. And they would never let me come here again. Oh, you do not mean it?”
“I can’t do that. Please don’t ask me to. You don’t understand. They would be really angry. They don’t want anyone coming to the house. And they would never let me come here again. Oh, you can’t be serious?”
He pitied her for the pain and bewilderment in her eyes; but he took her slender hands in his and said firmly,
He felt sorry for her for the pain and confusion in her eyes; but he took her slender hands in his and said firmly,
“Yes, Kilmeny, I do mean it. It is not quite right for us to be meeting each other here as we have been doing, without the knowledge and consent of your friends. You cannot now understand this, but—believe me—it is so.”
“Yes, Kilmeny, I really mean it. It’s not quite right for us to be meeting like this without the knowledge and consent of your friends. You may not understand this now, but—trust me—it’s true.”
She looked questioningly, pityingly into his eyes. What she read there seemed to convince her, for she turned very pale and an expression of hopelessness came into her face. Releasing her hands, she wrote slowly,
She looked at him with a mix of curiosity and pity. What she saw there seemed to convince her, because she turned very pale and a look of hopelessness crossed her face. Letting go of his hands, she wrote slowly,
“If you say it is wrong I must believe it. I did not know anything so pleasant could be wrong. But if it is wrong we must not meet here any more. Mother told me I must never do anything that was wrong. But I did not know this was wrong.”
“If you say it’s wrong, I have to believe you. I didn’t know something so nice could be wrong. But if it is wrong, we can’t meet here anymore. Mom told me I should never do anything wrong. But I didn’t realize this was wrong.”
“It was not wrong for you, Kilmeny. But it was a little wrong for me, because I knew better—or rather, should have known better. I didn’t stop to think, as the children say. Some day you will understand fully. Now, you will take me to your uncle and aunt, and after I have said to them what I want to say it will be all right for us to meet here or anywhere.”
“It wasn’t wrong for you, Kilmeny. But it was a bit wrong for me, because I should have known better. I didn’t stop to think, like the kids say. Someday, you’ll fully understand. Now, you’re going to take me to your uncle and aunt, and after I talk to them about what I need to say, it will be fine for us to meet here or anywhere.”
She shook her head.
She shook her head.
“No,” she wrote, “Uncle Thomas and Aunt Janet will tell you to go away and never come back. And they will never let me come here any more. Since it is not right to meet you I will not come, but it is no use to think of going to them. I did not tell them about you because I knew that they would forbid me to see you, but I am sorry, since it is so wrong.”
“No,” she wrote, “Uncle Thomas and Aunt Janet will tell you to leave and never come back. And they won’t let me come here anymore. Since it’s not right to see you, I won’t come, but it’s pointless to think about going to them. I didn’t tell them about you because I knew they would forbid me from seeing you, but I’m sorry because it feels so wrong.”
“You must take me to them,” said Eric firmly. “I am quite sure that things will not be as you fear when they hear what I have to say.”
“You have to take me to them,” Eric said firmly. “I’m pretty sure things won’t be as bad as you think once they hear what I have to say.”
Uncomforted, she wrote forlornly,
Feeling uncomfortable, she wrote sadly,
“I must do it, since you insist, but I am sure it will be no use. I cannot take you to-night because they are away. They went to the store at Radnor. But I will take you to-morrow night; and after that I shall not see you any more.”
“I have to do it since you’re insisting, but I’m sure it won’t help. I can’t take you tonight because they’re not here. They went to the store in Radnor. But I can take you tomorrow night; after that, I won’t see you anymore.”
Two great tears brimmed over in her big blue eyes and splashed down on her slate. Her lips quivered like a hurt child’s. Eric put his arm impulsively about her and drew her head down upon his shoulder. As she cried there, softly, miserably, he pressed his lips to the silky black hair with its coronal of rosebuds. He did not see two burning eyes which were looking at him over the old fence behind him with hatred and mad passion blazing in their depths. Neil Gordon was crouched there, with clenched hands and heaving breast, watching them.
Two big tears welled up in her blue eyes and fell onto her slate. Her lips trembled like a hurt child's. Eric instinctively wrapped his arm around her and pulled her head onto his shoulder. While she cried softly and miserably, he kissed her silky black hair, adorned with rosebuds. He didn’t notice the two fiery eyes glaring at him from behind the old fence, filled with hatred and intense passion. Neil Gordon was crouched there, fists clenched and chest heaving, watching them.
“Kilmeny, dear, don’t cry,” said Eric tenderly. “You shall see me again. I promise you that, whatever happens. I do not think your uncle and aunt will be as unreasonable as you fear, but even if they are they shall not prevent me from meeting you somehow.”
“Kilmeny, dear, don’t cry,” Eric said gently. “You’ll see me again. I promise you that, no matter what happens. I don’t think your uncle and aunt will be as unreasonable as you’re worried they’ll be, but even if they are, they won’t stop me from finding a way to meet you.”
Kilmeny lifted her head, and wiped the tears from her eyes.
Kilmeny raised her head and wiped the tears from her eyes.
“You do not know what they are like,” she wrote. “They will lock me into my room. That is the way they always punished me when I was a little girl. And once, not so very long ago, when I was a big girl, they did it.”
“You don’t know what they’re like,” she wrote. “They’ll lock me in my room. That’s how they always punished me when I was a little girl. And once, not too long ago, when I was older, they did it.”
“If they do I’ll get you out somehow,” said Eric, laughing a little.
“If they do, I’ll find a way to get you out,” Eric said, laughing a bit.
She allowed herself to smile, but it was a rather forlorn little effort. She did not cry any more, but her spirits did not come back to her. Eric talked gaily, but she only listened in a pensive, absent way, as if she scarcely heard him. When he asked her to play she shook her head.
She let herself smile, but it was a pretty sad attempt. She didn’t cry anymore, but her mood didn’t improve. Eric chatted cheerfully, but she just listened absentmindedly, as if she barely heard him. When he asked her to play, she shook her head.
“I cannot think any music to-night,” she wrote, “I must go home, for my head aches and I feel very stupid.”
“I can’t think of any music tonight,” she wrote, “I have to go home because my head hurts and I feel really dumb.”
“Very well, Kilmeny. Now, don’t worry, little girl. It will all come out all right.”
“Alright, Kilmeny. Now, don’t worry, kid. Everything will turn out fine.”
Evidently she did not share his confidence, for her head drooped again as they walked together across the orchard. At the entrance of the wild cherry lane she paused and looked at him half reproachfully, her eyes filling again. She seemed to be bidding him a mute farewell. With an impulse of tenderness which he could not control, Eric put his arm about her and kissed her red, trembling mouth. She started back with a little cry. A burning colour swept over her face, and the next moment she fled swiftly up the darkening lane.
Evidently, she didn’t share his confidence, as her head drooped again while they walked together through the orchard. When they reached the entrance of the wild cherry lane, she paused and looked at him with a hint of reproach, her eyes welling up again. It felt like she was silently saying goodbye. Overcome with tenderness he couldn’t resist, Eric wrapped his arm around her and kissed her red, trembling lips. She recoiled with a small gasp. A deep flush spread across her face, and the next moment, she quickly ran up the darkening lane.
The sweetness of that involuntary kiss clung to Eric’s lips as he went homeward, half-intoxicating him. He knew that it had opened the gates of womanhood to Kilmeny. Never again, he felt, would her eyes meet his with their old unclouded frankness. When next he looked into them he knew that he should see there the consciousness of his kiss. Behind her in the orchard that night Kilmeny had left her childhood.
The sweetness of that unintentional kiss lingered on Eric’s lips as he walked home, almost intoxicating him. He realized that it had marked a new beginning for Kilmeny in her journey into womanhood. He felt that her eyes would never again meet his with the same innocent openness. The next time he looked into them, he knew he would see the awareness of his kiss reflected back. That night, in the orchard, Kilmeny had left her childhood behind.
CHAPTER XII. A PRISONER OF LOVE
When Eric betook himself to the orchard the next evening he had to admit that he felt rather nervous. He did not know how the Gordons would receive him and certainly the reports he had heard of them were not encouraging, to say the least of it. Even Mrs. Williamson, when he had told her where he was going, seemed to look upon him as one bent on bearding a lion in his den.
When Eric went to the orchard the next evening, he had to admit that he felt pretty nervous. He didn't know how the Gordons would welcome him, and the stories he had heard about them were definitely not reassuring, to say the least. Even Mrs. Williamson, when he told her where he was headed, seemed to see him as someone daring to confront a lion in its den.
“I do hope they won’t be very uncivil to you, Master,” was the best she could say.
“I really hope they won't be too rude to you, Master,” was the best she could say.
He expected Kilmeny to be in the orchard before him, for he had been delayed by a call from one of the trustees; but she was nowhere to be seen. He walked across it to the wild cherry lane; but at its entrance he stopped short in sudden dismay.
He expected Kilmeny to be in the orchard ahead of him since he had been held up by a call from one of the trustees, but she was nowhere in sight. He walked across the orchard to the wild cherry lane, but at its entrance, he suddenly stopped in shock.
Neil Gordon had stepped from behind the trees and stood confronting him, with blazing eyes, and lips which writhed in emotion so great that at first it prevented him from speaking.
Neil Gordon stepped out from behind the trees and faced him, with intense eyes and lips twisting with such strong emotion that it initially made him unable to speak.
With a thrill of dismay Eric instantly understood what must have taken place. Neil had discovered that he and Kilmeny had been meeting in the orchard, and beyond doubt had carried that tale to Janet and Thomas Gordon. He realized how unfortunate it was that this should have happened before he had had time to make his own explanation. It would probably prejudice Kilmeny’s guardians still further against him. At this point in his thoughts Neil’s pent up passion suddenly found vent in a burst of wild words.
With a jolt of anxiety, Eric immediately grasped what must have happened. Neil had found out that he and Kilmeny had been meeting in the orchard, and without a doubt, he had told Janet and Thomas Gordon about it. Eric realized how unfortunate it was that this had occurred before he had a chance to explain things himself. It would likely turn Kilmeny’s guardians even more against him. Just then, Neil’s bottled-up feelings erupted in a flurry of wild words.
“So you’ve come to meet her again. But she isn’t here—you’ll never see her again! I hate you—I hate you—I hate you!”
“So you’re here to see her again. But she’s not here—you’ll never see her again! I hate you—I hate you—I hate you!”
His voice rose to a shrill scream. He took a furious step nearer Eric as if he would attack him. Eric looked steadily in his eyes with a calm defiance, before which his wild passion broke like foam on a rock.
His voice shot up to a piercing scream. He took an angry step closer to Eric as if he was about to attack him. Eric looked steadily into his eyes with a calm defiance, which caused his wild passion to break like foam on a rock.
“So you have been making trouble for Kilmeny, Neil, have you?” said Eric contemptuously. “I suppose you have been playing the spy. And I suppose that you have told her uncle and aunt that she has been meeting me here. Well, you have saved me the trouble of doing it, that is all. I was going to tell them myself, tonight. I don’t know what your motive in doing this has been. Was it jealousy of me? Or have you done it out of malice to Kilmeny?”
“So you've been causing problems for Kilmeny, Neil, huh?” Eric said with disdain. “I guess you've been playing the spy. And I bet you've told her uncle and aunt that she’s been meeting me here. Well, thanks for saving me the trouble of doing it myself—I was going to tell them tonight anyway. I don’t know what your reason for this is. Are you jealous of me? Or did you do it out of spite toward Kilmeny?”
His contempt cowed Neil more effectually than any display of anger could have done.
His contempt intimidated Neil more effectively than any show of anger could have.
“Never you mind why I did it,” he muttered sullenly. “What I did or why I did it is no business of yours. And you have no business to come sneaking around here either. Kilmeny won’t meet you here again.”
“Don’t worry about why I did it,” he mumbled resentfully. “What I did or why I did it is none of your concern. And you have no right to sneak around here either. Kilmeny won’t see you here again.”
“She will meet me in her own home then,” said Eric sternly. “Neil, in behaving as you have done you have shown yourself to be a very foolish, undisciplined boy. I am going straightway to Kilmeny’s uncle and aunt to explain everything.”
“She will meet me at her own house then,” said Eric firmly. “Neil, by acting the way you have, you’ve proven to be a very foolish, undisciplined boy. I’m going directly to Kilmeny’s uncle and aunt to explain everything.”
Neil sprang forward in his path.
Neil jumped ahead in his path.
“No—no—go away,” he implored wildly. “Oh, sir—oh, Mr. Marshall, please go away. I’ll do anything for you if you will. I love Kilmeny. I’ve loved her all my life. I’d give my life for her. I can’t have you coming here to steal her from me. If you do—I’ll kill you! I wanted to kill you last night when I saw you kiss her. Oh, yes, I saw you. I was watching—spying, if you like. I don’t care what you call it. I had followed her—I suspected something. She was so different—so changed. She never would wear the flowers I picked for her any more. She seemed to forget I was there. I knew something had come between us. And it was you, curse you! Oh, I’ll make you sorry for it.”
“No—no—leave me alone,” he pleaded desperately. “Oh, sir—oh, Mr. Marshall, please go away. I’ll do anything for you if you will. I love Kilmeny. I’ve loved her my whole life. I’d give my life for her. I can’t have you coming here to take her from me. If you do—I’ll kill you! I wanted to kill you last night when I saw you kiss her. Oh, yes, I saw you. I was watching—spying, if you want to call it that. I don’t care what you call it. I had followed her—I sensed something was off. She was so different—so changed. She never wore the flowers I picked for her anymore. She seemed to forget I was there. I knew something had come between us. And it was you, damn you! Oh, I’ll make you regret it.”
He was working himself up into a fury again—the untamed fury of the Italian peasant thwarted in his heart’s desire. It overrode all the restraint of his training and environment. Eric, amid all his anger and annoyance, felt a thrill of pity for him. Neil Gordon was only a boy still; and he was miserable and beside himself.
He was working himself up into a rage again—the wild anger of the Italian peasant frustrated in his deepest wishes. It overpowered all the self-control he had learned from his upbringing and surroundings. Eric, despite all his anger and frustration, felt a rush of sympathy for him. Neil Gordon was still just a kid; and he was unhappy and out of control.
“Neil, listen to me,” he said quietly. “You are talking very foolishly. It is not for you to say who shall or shall not be Kilmeny’s friend. Now, you may just as well control yourself and go home like a decent fellow. I am not at all frightened by your threats, and I shall know how to deal with you if you persist in interfering with me or persecuting Kilmeny. I am not the sort of person to put up with that, my lad.”
“Neil, listen to me,” he said quietly. “You’re talking really foolishly. It’s not up to you to decide who can or can’t be Kilmeny’s friend. Now, you might as well get a grip and head home like a decent person. I’m not scared of your threats at all, and I know how to handle you if you keep interfering with me or harassing Kilmeny. I’m not someone who puts up with that, kid.”
The restrained power in his tone and look cowed Neil. The latter turned sullenly away, with another muttered curse, and plunged into the shadow of the firs.
The controlled authority in his voice and expression intimidated Neil. He turned away sulkily, muttering another curse, and disappeared into the shadows of the fir trees.
Eric, not a little ruffled under all his external composure by this most unexpected and unpleasant encounter, pursued his way along the lane which wound on by the belt of woodland in twist and curve to the Gordon homestead. His heart beat as he thought of Kilmeny. What might she not be suffering? Doubtless Neil had given a very exaggerated and distorted account of what he had seen, and probably her dour relations were very angry with her, poor child. Anxious to avert their wrath as soon as might be, he hurried on, almost forgetting his meeting with Neil. The threats of the latter did not trouble him at all. He thought the angry outburst of a jealous boy mattered but little. What did matter was that Kilmeny was in trouble which his heedlessness had brought upon her.
Eric, feeling a bit flustered despite his calm exterior from the unexpected and unpleasant encounter, made his way along the lane that twisted and turned through the woods toward the Gordon homestead. His heart raced as he thought about Kilmeny. What could she be going through? Neil must have given a highly exaggerated and distorted version of what he had seen, and her stern relatives were probably very upset with her, poor girl. Eager to prevent their anger as quickly as possible, he hurried on, almost forgetting his meeting with Neil. Neil's threats didn’t bother him at all. He considered the angry outburst of a jealous boy to be of little consequence. What truly mattered was that Kilmeny was in trouble because of his carelessness.
Presently he found himself before the Gordon house. It was an old building with sharp eaves and dormer windows, its shingles stained a dark gray by long exposure to wind and weather. Faded green shutters hung on the windows of the lower story. Behind it grew a thick wood of spruces. The little yard in front of it was grassy and prim and flowerless; but over the low front door a luxuriant early-flowering rose vine clambered, in a riot of blood-red blossom which contrasted strangely with the general bareness of its surroundings. It seemed to fling itself over the grim old house as if intent on bombarding it with an alien life and joyousness.
Right now, he found himself in front of the Gordon house. It was an old building with sharp eaves and dormer windows, its shingles dark gray from years of wear and tear. Faded green shutters hung on the windows of the lower floor. Behind it, a thick grove of spruces grew. The small yard in front was neat and grassy but without flowers; however, over the low front door, a lush early-blooming rose vine climbed, bursting with bright red blossoms that stood out oddly against the overall emptiness of the place. It seemed to reach over the grim old house as if trying to shower it with a strange energy and joy.
Eric knocked at the door, wondering if it might be possible that Kilmeny should come to it. But a moment later it was opened by an elderly woman—a woman of rigid lines from the hem of her lank, dark print dress to the crown of her head, covered with black hair which, despite its few gray threads, was still thick and luxuriant. She had a long, pale face somewhat worn and wrinkled, but possessing a certain harsh comeliness of feature which neither age nor wrinkles had quite destroyed; and her deep-set, light gray eyes were not devoid of suggested kindliness, although they now surveyed Eric with an unconcealed hostility. Her figure, in its merciless dress, was very angular; yet there was about her a dignity of carriage and manner which Eric liked. In any case, he preferred her unsmiling dourness to vulgar garrulity.
Eric knocked on the door, wondering if Kilmeny might actually come to answer it. But a moment later, it was opened by an older woman—a woman whose rigid form extended from the hem of her long, dark print dress to the crown of her head, which was covered with black hair that, despite a few gray strands, remained thick and abundant. She had a long, pale face that was somewhat worn and wrinkled, but had a certain harsh attractiveness that neither age nor wrinkles had completely erased; her deep-set, light gray eyes suggested some warmth, even though they now looked at Eric with clear hostility. Her figure, accentuated by her unyielding dress, was very angular; yet there was a dignity in her posture and manner that Eric appreciated. In any case, he preferred her unsmiling seriousness to any kind of loud chatter.
He lifted his hat.
He took off his hat.
“Have I the honour of speaking to Miss Gordon?” he asked.
“Am I speaking to Miss Gordon?” he asked.
“I am Janet Gordon,” said the woman stiffly.
“I’m Janet Gordon,” the woman said stiffly.
“Then I wish to talk with you and your brother.”
“Then I want to talk with you and your brother.”
“Come in.”
"Come on in."
She stepped aside and motioned him to a low brown door opening on the right.
She moved aside and gestured for him to go through a low brown door on the right.
“Go in and sit down. I’ll call Thomas,” she said coldly, as she walked out through the hall.
“Go in and sit down. I’ll call Thomas,” she said coolly, as she walked out through the hall.
Eric walked into the parlour and sat down as bidden. He found himself in the most old-fashioned room he had ever seen. The solidly made chairs and tables, of some wood grown dark and polished with age, made even Mrs. Williamson’s “parlour set” of horsehair seem extravagantly modern by contrast. The painted floor was covered with round braided rugs. On the centre table was a lamp, a Bible and some theological volumes contemporary with the square-runged furniture. The walls, wainscoted half way up in wood and covered for the rest with a dark, diamond-patterned paper, were hung with faded engravings, mostly of clerical-looking, bewigged personages in gowns and bands.
Eric walked into the parlor and sat down as instructed. He found himself in the most outdated room he had ever seen. The solidly built chairs and tables, made from dark wood polished by age, made even Mrs. Williamson’s horsehair “parlor set” seem extravagantly modern by comparison. The painted floor was covered with round braided rugs. On the center table was a lamp, a Bible, and some theological books that matched the square-runged furniture. The walls, paneled halfway up with wood and covered above with dark, diamond-patterned wallpaper, were adorned with faded engravings, mostly of clerical-looking, bewigged figures in gowns and bands.
But over the high, undecorated black mantel-piece, in a ruddy glow of sunset light striking through the window, hung one which caught and held Eric’s attention to the exclusion of everything else. It was the enlarged “crayon” photograph of a young girl, and, in spite of the crudity of execution, it was easily the center of interest in the room.
But above the plain black mantelpiece, in a warm glow of sunset light coming through the window, hung a picture that completely captured Eric’s attention, blocking out everything else. It was an enlarged “crayon” photograph of a young girl, and despite its rough execution, it was clearly the focal point of the room.
Eric at once guessed that this must be the picture of Margaret Gordon, for, although quite unlike Kilmeny’s sensitive, spirited face in general, there was a subtle, unmistakable resemblance about brow and chin.
Eric immediately suspected that this must be a picture of Margaret Gordon, because, although it was quite different from Kilmeny's sensitive, spirited face overall, there was a subtle, unmistakable resemblance in the brow and chin.
The pictured face was a very handsome one, suggestive of velvety dark eyes and vivid colouring; but it was its expression rather than its beauty which fascinated Eric. Never had he seen a countenance indicative of more intense and stubborn will power. Margaret Gordon was dead and buried; the picture was a cheap and inartistic production in an impossible frame of gilt and plush; yet the vitality in that face dominated its surroundings still. What then must have been the power of such a personality in life?
The face in the picture was really handsome, hinting at velvety dark eyes and vibrant coloring; but it was the expression more than the beauty that drew Eric in. He had never seen a face that showed such intense and stubborn willpower. Margaret Gordon was dead and gone; the image was a cheap and poorly crafted piece in an outrageous frame of gold and plush; yet the energy in that face still commanded the attention of its surroundings. So, what must such a powerful personality have been like when she was alive?
Eric realized that this woman could and would have done whatsoever she willed, unflinchingly and unrelentingly. She could stamp her desire on everything and everybody about her, moulding them to her wish and will, in their own despite and in defiance of all the resistance they might make. Many things in Kilmeny’s upbringing and temperament became clear to him.
Eric realized that this woman could and would do whatever she wanted, without hesitation or mercy. She could impose her desires on everything and everyone around her, shaping them to her wishes, regardless of their own desires and in spite of any resistance they might show. Many aspects of Kilmeny’s upbringing and personality became clear to him.
“If that woman had told me I was ugly I should have believed her,” he thought. “Ay, even though I had a mirror to contradict her. I should never have dreamed of disputing or questioning anything she might have said. The strange power in her face is almost uncanny, peering out as it does from a mask of beauty and youthful curves. Pride and stubbornness are its salient characteristics. Well, Kilmeny does not at all resemble her mother in expression and only very slightly in feature.”
“If that woman had told me I was ugly, I would have believed her,” he thought. “Yeah, even if I had a mirror to show otherwise. I would never have thought of arguing or questioning anything she said. The strange power in her face is almost eerie, peering out as it does from a mask of beauty and youthful curves. Pride and stubbornness are its most noticeable traits. Well, Kilmeny doesn’t really look like her mother in expression and only a little in features.”
His reflections were interrupted by the entrance of Thomas and Janet Gordon. The former had evidently been called from his work. He nodded without speaking, and the two sat gravely down before Eric.
His thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of Thomas and Janet Gordon. Thomas clearly had been pulled away from his work. He nodded silently, and the two took their seats seriously in front of Eric.
“I have come to see you with regard to your niece, Mr. Gordon,” he said abruptly, realizing that there would be small use in beating about the bush with this grim pair. “I met your—I met Neil Gordon in the Connors orchard, and I found that he has told you that I have been meeting Kilmeny there.”
“I came to talk to you about your niece, Mr. Gordon,” he said directly, knowing it wouldn’t help to dance around the issue with this serious couple. “I met your—I met Neil Gordon in the Connors orchard, and I found out that he told you I’ve been meeting Kilmeny there.”
He paused. Thomas Gordon nodded again; but he did not speak, and he did not remove his steady, piercing eyes from the young man’s flushed countenance. Janet still sat in a sort of expectant immovability.
He paused. Thomas Gordon nodded again; but he didn’t say anything, and he didn’t take his steady, piercing eyes off the young man’s flushed face. Janet still sat in a kind of expectant stillness.
“I fear that you have formed an unfavourable opinion of me on this account, Mr. Gordon,” Eric went on. “But I hardly think I deserve it. I can explain the matter if you will allow me. I met your niece accidentally in the orchard three weeks ago and heard her play. I thought her music very wonderful and I fell into the habit of coming to the orchard in the evenings to hear it. I had no thought of harming her in any way, Mr. Gordon. I thought of her as a mere child, and a child who was doubly sacred because of her affliction. But recently I—I—it occurred to me that I was not behaving quite honourably in encouraging her to meet me thus. Yesterday evening I asked her to bring me here and introduce me to you and her aunt. We would have come then if you had been at home. As you were not we arranged to come tonight.”
“I’m worried that you think badly of me because of this, Mr. Gordon,” Eric continued. “But I really don’t think I deserve it. If you’ll let me, I can explain. I ran into your niece by chance in the orchard three weeks ago and heard her play. I thought her music was amazing, and I started going to the orchard in the evenings just to listen. I never meant to harm her in any way, Mr. Gordon. I saw her as just a child, and a child who was even more precious because of her condition. But recently I—I—realized that it wasn’t quite right for me to encourage her to meet me like this. Last night, I asked her to bring me here and introduce me to you and her aunt. We would have come then if you had been home. Since you weren’t, we decided to come tonight.”
“I hope you will not refuse me the privilege of seeing your niece, Mr. Gordon,” said Eric eagerly. “I ask you to allow me to visit her here. But I do not ask you to receive me as a friend on my own recommendations only. I will give you references—men of standing in Charlottetown and Queenslea. If you refer to them—”
“I hope you won’t deny me the chance to see your niece, Mr. Gordon,” Eric said eagerly. “I’m asking you to let me visit her here. But I’m not expecting you to welcome me as a friend based solely on my word. I can provide references—well-respected men in Charlottetown and Queenslea. If you check with them—”
“I don’t need to do that,” said Thomas Gordon, quietly. “I know more of you than you think, Master. I know your father well by reputation and I have seen him. I know you are a rich man’s son, whatever your whim in teaching a country school may be. Since you have kept your own counsel about your affairs I supposed you didn’t want your true position generally known, and so I have held my tongue about you. I know no ill of you, Master, and I think none, now that I believe you were not beguiling Kilmeny to meet you unknown to her friends of set purpose. But all this doesn’t make you a suitable friend for her, sir—it makes you all the more unsuitable. The less she sees of you the better.”
“I don’t need to do that,” Thomas Gordon said quietly. “I know more about you than you realize, sir. I know your father well by reputation and I have seen him. I know you’re a rich man’s son, no matter what your reasons are for teaching at a country school. Since you’ve kept your own plans to yourself, I figured you didn’t want your true status widely known, so I’ve kept quiet about you. I don’t think poorly of you, sir, and I have no negative opinions now that I believe you weren’t deceiving Kilmeny to meet her without her friends knowing on purpose. But none of this makes you a good match for her, sir—it makes you even less suitable. The less she sees of you, the better.”
Eric almost started to his feet in an indignant protest; but he swiftly remembered that his only hope of winning Kilmeny lay in bringing Thomas Gordon to another way of thinking. He had got on better than he had expected so far; he must not now jeopardize what he had gained by rashness or impatience.
Eric nearly jumped to his feet in an angry protest, but he quickly remembered that his only chance of winning Kilmeny depended on convincing Thomas Gordon to think differently. He had made more progress than he had anticipated up to this point; he couldn't risk what he had achieved through recklessness or impatience.
“Why do you think so, Mr. Gordon?” he asked, regaining his self-control with an effort.
“Why do you think that, Mr. Gordon?” he asked, regaining his composure with some effort.
“Well, plain speaking is best, Master. If you were to come here and see Kilmeny often she’d most likely come to think too much of you. I mistrust there’s some mischief done in that direction already. Then when you went away she might break her heart—for she is one of those who feel things deeply. She has been happy enough. I know folks condemn us for the way she has been brought up, but they don’t know everything. It was the best way for her, all things considered. And we don’t want her made unhappy, Master.”
“Well, honestly, it’s better to be direct, Master. If you were to come here and see Kilmeny often, she’d probably start to think too highly of you. I worry there’s already some trouble brewing there. Then, when you leave, she might end up heartbroken—she’s the kind of person who really feels things deeply. She’s been happy enough. I know people criticize us for how she’s been raised, but they don’t know the whole story. It was the best way for her, all things considered. And we don’t want her to be unhappy, Master.”
“But I love your niece and I want to marry her if I can win her love,” said Eric steadily.
“But I love your niece, and I want to marry her if I can earn her love,” said Eric confidently.
He surprised them out of their self possession at last. Both started, and looked at him as if they could not believe the evidence of their ears.
He finally caught them off guard. Both jumped and looked at him as if they couldn't believe what they were hearing.
“Marry her! Marry Kilmeny!” exclaimed Thomas Gordon incredulously. “You can’t mean it, sir. Why, she is dumb—Kilmeny is dumb.”
“Marry her! Marry Kilmeny!” Thomas Gordon exclaimed in disbelief. “You can’t be serious, sir. She’s mute—Kilmeny is mute.”
“That makes no difference in my love for her, although I deeply regret it for her own sake,” answered Eric. “I can only repeat what I have already said, Mr. Gordon. I want Kilmeny for my wife.”
“That doesn’t change my love for her, even though I feel really sorry for her,” Eric replied. “I can only say what I’ve already said, Mr. Gordon. I want Kilmeny to be my wife.”
The older man leaned forward and looked at the floor in a troubled fashion, drawing his bushy eyebrows down and tapping the calloused tips of his fingers together uneasily. He was evidently puzzled by this unexpected turn of the conversation, and in grave doubt what to say.
The older man leaned forward and glanced at the floor, looking troubled. He furrowed his bushy eyebrows and tapped the callused tips of his fingers together, clearly uneasy. It was obvious he was confused by this unexpected twist in the conversation and wasn't sure how to respond.
“What would your father say to all this, Master?” he queried at last.
“What would your dad think about all this, Master?” he finally asked.
“I have often heard my father say that a man must marry to please himself,” said Eric, with a smile. “If he felt tempted to go back on that opinion I think the sight of Kilmeny would convert him. But, after all, it is what I say that matters in this case, isn’t it, Mr. Gordon? I am well educated and not afraid of work. I can make a home for Kilmeny in a few years even if I have to depend entirely on my own resources. Only give me the chance to win her—that is all I ask.”
“I’ve often heard my dad say that a man should get married to make himself happy,” Eric said with a smile. “If he ever thought about changing that opinion, I think seeing Kilmeny would change his mind. But in the end, what I say matters in this situation, right, Mr. Gordon? I’m well-educated and not afraid of hard work. I can create a home for Kilmeny in a few years, even if I have to rely completely on my own efforts. Just give me the chance to win her—that’s all I ask.”
“I don’t think it would do, Master,” said Thomas Gordon, shaking his head. “Of course, I dare say you—you”—he tried to say “love,” but Scotch reserve balked stubbornly at the terrible word—“you think you like Kilmeny now, but you are only a lad—and lads’ fancies change.”
“I don’t think that will work, Master,” Thomas Gordon said, shaking his head. “Of course, I believe you—you”—he tried to say “love,” but his Scottish reserve stubbornly held back from using such a strong word—“you think you like Kilmeny now, but you’re just a boy—and boys’ feelings change.”
“Mine will not,” Eric broke in vehemently. “It is not a fancy, Mr. Gordon. It is the love that comes once in a lifetime and once only. I may be but a lad, but I know that Kilmeny is the one woman in the world for me. There can never be any other. Oh, I’m not speaking rashly or inconsiderately. I have weighed the matter well and looked at it from every aspect. And it all comes to this—I love Kilmeny and I want what any decent man who loves a woman truly has the right to have—the chance to win her love in return.”
“Mine won’t,” Eric interrupted passionately. “This isn’t just a passing fancy, Mr. Gordon. It’s the kind of love that happens once in a lifetime, and only once. I may be young, but I know that Kilmeny is the only woman for me. There can never be another. Oh, I’m not speaking impulsively or thoughtlessly. I’ve considered this carefully and looked at it from every angle. And it all boils down to this—I love Kilmeny, and I want what any decent man who truly loves a woman deserves—the chance to win her love in return.”
“Well!” Thomas Gordon drew a long breath that was almost a sigh. “Maybe—if you feel like that, Master—I don’t know—there are some things it isn’t right to cross. Perhaps we oughtn’t—Janet, woman, what shall we say to him?”
“Well!” Thomas Gordon took a deep breath that was almost a sigh. “Maybe—if you feel that way, Master—I don’t know—there are some things that shouldn't be crossed. Perhaps we shouldn’t—Janet, what should we say to him?”
Janet Gordon had hitherto spoken no word. She had sat rigidly upright on one of the old chairs under Margaret Gordon’s insistent picture, with her knotted, toil-worn hands grasping the carved arms tightly, and her eyes fastened on Eric’s face. At first their expression had been guarded and hostile, but as the conversation proceeded they lost this gradually and became almost kindly. Now, when her brother appealed to her, she leaned forward and said eagerly,
Janet Gordon hadn't said a word until now. She had been sitting stiffly on one of the old chairs under Margaret Gordon’s persistent portrait, her worn, tired hands gripping the carved arms tightly, her eyes fixed on Eric’s face. At first, her expression was cautious and unfriendly, but as the conversation went on, it slowly softened into something almost warm. Now, when her brother turned to her, she leaned in and said eagerly,
“Do you know that there is a stain on Kilmeny’s birth, Master?”
“Did you know there’s a stain on Kilmeny’s birth, Master?”
“I know that her mother was the innocent victim of a very sad mistake, Miss Gordon. I admit no real stain where there was no conscious wrong doing. Though, for that matter, even if there were, it would be no fault of Kilmeny’s and would make no difference to me as far as she is concerned.”
“I know that her mother was an innocent victim of a really unfortunate mistake, Miss Gordon. I don’t see any real stain where there was no intentional wrongdoing. And even if there had been, it wouldn’t be Kilmeny’s fault and wouldn’t change how I feel about her.”
A sudden change swept over Janet Gordon’s face, quite marvelous in the transformation it wrought. Her grim mouth softened and a flood of repressed tenderness glorified her cold gray eyes.
A sudden change swept over Janet Gordon’s face, truly impressive in the transformation it created. Her serious mouth softened, and a wave of hidden warmth lit up her cold gray eyes.
“Well, then.” she said almost triumphantly, “since neither that nor her dumbness seems to be any drawback in your eyes I don’t see why you should not have the chance you want. Perhaps your world will say she is not good enough for you, but she is—she is”—this half defiantly. “She is a sweet and innocent and true-hearted lassie. She is bright and clever and she is not ill looking. Thomas, I say let the young man have his will.”
“Alright, then,” she said, almost triumphantly. “Since neither that nor her silence seems to be a problem for you, I don’t see why you shouldn’t have the chance you want. Maybe your world will say she’s not good enough for you, but she is—she is,” she said, with a bit of defiance. “She is a sweet, innocent, and true-hearted girl. She’s smart and clever, and she’s not bad-looking. Thomas, I say let the young man have his way.”
Thomas Gordon stood up, as if he considered the responsibility off his shoulders and the interview at an end.
Thomas Gordon stood up, as if he felt the weight of responsibility had been lifted off his shoulders and the interview was over.
“Very well, Janet, woman, since you think it is wise. And may God deal with him as he deals with her. Good evening, Master. I’ll see you again, and you are free to come and go as suits you. But I must go to my work now. I left my horses standing in the field.”
“Alright, Janet, if you think that’s a good idea. And may God handle him the way he handles her. Good evening, Master. I’ll see you again, and you can come and go as you like. But I need to get back to my work now. I left my horses in the field.”
“I will go up and send Kilmeny down,” said Janet quietly.
"I'll go up and send Kilmeny down," Janet said softly.
She lighted the lamp on the table and left the room. A few minutes later Kilmeny came down. Eric rose and went to meet her eagerly, but she only put out her right hand with a pretty dignity and, while she looked into his face, she did not look into his eyes.
She turned on the lamp on the table and left the room. A few minutes later, Kilmeny came downstairs. Eric stood up and went to meet her excitedly, but she just extended her right hand with a lovely grace, and while she looked at his face, she didn’t look into his eyes.
“You see I was right after all, Kilmeny,” he said, smiling. “Your uncle and aunt haven’t driven me away. On the contrary they have been very kind to me, and they say I may see you whenever and wherever I like.”
“You see I was right after all, Kilmeny,” he said, smiling. “Your uncle and aunt haven’t pushed me away. On the contrary, they have been really kind to me, and they said I can see you whenever and wherever I want.”
She smiled, and went over to the table to write on her slate.
She smiled and walked over to the table to write on her slate.
“But they were very angry last night, and said dreadful things to me. I felt very frightened and unhappy. They seemed to think I had done something terribly wrong. Uncle Thomas said he would never trust me out of his sight again. I could hardly believe it when Aunt Janet came up and told me you were here and that I might come down. She looked at me very strangely as she spoke, but I could see that all the anger had gone out of her face. She seemed pleased and yet sad. But I am glad they have forgiven us.”
“But they were really angry last night and said horrible things to me. I felt really scared and upset. They seemed to think I had done something seriously wrong. Uncle Thomas said he would never trust me out of his sight again. I could hardly believe it when Aunt Janet came up and told me you were here and that I could come down. She looked at me very oddly as she spoke, but I could see that all the anger had left her face. She seemed happy and yet sad. But I’m glad they’ve forgiven us.”
She did not tell him how glad she was, and how unhappy she had been over the thought that she was never to see him again. Yesterday she would have told him all frankly and fully; but for her yesterday was a lifetime away—a lifetime in which she had come into her heritage of womanly dignity and reserve. The kiss which Eric had left on her lips, the words her uncle and aunt had said to her, the tears she had shed for the first time on a sleepless pillow—all had conspired to reveal her to herself. She did not yet dream that she loved Eric Marshall, or that he loved her. But she was no longer the child to be made a dear comrade of. She was, though quite unconsciously, the woman to be wooed and won, exacting, with sweet, innate pride, her dues of allegiance.
She didn’t tell him how happy she was or how sad she had felt thinking she would never see him again. Just yesterday, she would have shared everything openly; but for her, yesterday felt like ages ago—a time when she had embraced her sense of womanly dignity and restraint. The kiss Eric had left on her lips, the words her uncle and aunt had said to her, the tears she had cried for the first time while lying awake at night—all of this had worked together to help her understand herself. She didn’t yet realize that she loved Eric Marshall or that he loved her. But she was no longer the child who could just be a close friend. Though she didn’t know it, she was a woman to be courted and won, demanding, with a gentle, natural pride, her share of loyalty.
CHAPTER XIII. A SWEETER WOMAN NE’ER DREW BREATH
Thenceforward Eric Marshall was a constant visitor at the Gordon homestead. He soon became a favourite with Thomas and Janet, especially the latter. He liked them both, discovering under all their outward peculiarities sterling worth and fitness of character. Thomas Gordon was surprisingly well read and could floor Eric any time in argument, once he became sufficiently warmed up to attain fluency of words. Eric hardly recognized him the first time he saw him thus animated. His bent form straightened, his sunken eyes flashed, his face flushed, his voice rang like a trumpet, and he poured out a flood of eloquence which swept Eric’s smart, up-to-date arguments away like straws in the rush of a mountain torrent. Eric enjoyed his own defeat enormously, but Thomas Gordon was ashamed of being thus drawn out of himself, and for a week afterwards confined his remarks to “Yes” and “No,” or, at the outside, to a brief statement that a change in the weather was brewing.
From that point on, Eric Marshall was a regular visitor at the Gordon home. He quickly became a favorite of Thomas and Janet, especially Janet. He liked them both, finding beneath their outward quirks a solid character and real worth. Thomas Gordon was surprisingly well-read and could out-argue Eric any time he warmed up enough to express himself fluently. Eric barely recognized him the first time he saw him so animated. His hunched form straightened, his sunken eyes lit up, his face flushed, his voice resonated like a trumpet, and he unleashed a wave of eloquence that swept away Eric’s sharp, modern arguments like twigs in a rushing mountain stream. Eric thoroughly enjoyed his own defeat, but Thomas Gordon felt embarrassed about being so expressive, and for a week afterward, he limited his comments to “Yes” and “No,” or, at most, a brief observation about the changing weather.
Janet never talked on matters of church and state; such she plainly considered to be far beyond a woman’s province. But she listened with lurking interest in her eyes while Thomas and Eric pelted on each other with facts and statistics and opinions, and on the rare occasions when Eric scored a point she permitted herself a sly little smile at her brother’s expense.
Janet never discussed church and state issues; she clearly thought they were way beyond a woman's role. But she listened with a hidden interest in her eyes while Thomas and Eric tossed facts, statistics, and opinions back and forth, and on the rare occasions when Eric made a good point, she allowed herself a sly little smile at her brother’s expense.
Of Neil, Eric saw but little. The Italian boy avoided him, or if they chanced to meet passed him by with sullen, downcast eyes. Eric did not trouble himself greatly about Neil; but Thomas Gordon, understanding the motive which had led Neil to betray his discovery of the orchard trysts, bluntly told Kilmeny that she must not make such an equal of Neil as she had done.
Of Neil, Eric saw very little. The Italian boy stayed away from him, or if they happened to cross paths, he would walk by with a gloomy, downturned gaze. Eric didn’t worry much about Neil; however, Thomas Gordon, knowing why Neil had revealed their secret meetings in the orchard, straightforwardly told Kilmeny that she shouldn’t treat Neil as an equal like she had before.
“You have been too kind to the lad, lassie, and he’s got presumptuous. He must be taught his place. I mistrust we have all made more of him than we should.”
“You’ve been too nice to the kid, girl, and he’s gotten cocky. He needs to learn his place. I worry that we’ve all made too much of him than we should.”
But most of the idyllic hours of Eric’s wooing were spent in the old orchard; the garden end of it was now a wilderness of roses—roses red as the heart of a sunset, roses pink as the early flush of dawn, roses white as the snows on mountain peaks, roses full blown, and roses in buds that were sweeter than anything on earth except Kilmeny’s face. Their petals fell in silken heaps along the old paths or clung to the lush grasses among which Eric lay and dreamed, while Kilmeny played to him on her violin.
But most of Eric's romantic moments were spent in the old orchard; the garden part of it was now a wild tangle of roses—roses red like the heart of a sunset, roses pink like the first light of dawn, roses white like the snow on mountain peaks, fully bloomed roses, and budding roses that were sweeter than anything on earth except Kilmeny's face. Their petals fell in soft piles along the old paths or clung to the lush grasses where Eric lay and dreamed, while Kilmeny played for him on her violin.
Eric promised himself that when she was his wife her wonderful gift for music should be cultivated to the utmost. Her powers of expression seemed to deepen and develop every day, growing as her soul grew, taking on new colour and richness from her ripening heart.
Eric promised himself that when she became his wife, he would fully support her amazing musical talent. Her ability to express herself appeared to deepen and evolve each day, expanding as her spirit matured, gaining new depth and richness from her blossoming heart.
To Eric, the days were all pages in an inspired idyl. He had never dreamed that love could be so mighty or the world so beautiful. He wondered if the universe were big enough to hold his joy or eternity long enough to live it out. His whole existence was, for the time being, bounded by that orchard where he wooed his sweetheart. All other ambitions and plans and hopes were set aside in the pursuit of this one aim, the attainment of which would enhance all others a thousand-fold, the loss of which would rob all others of their reason for existence. His own world seemed very far away and the things of that world forgotten.
To Eric, the days felt like pages in a beautiful story. He had never imagined that love could be so powerful or the world so amazing. He wondered if the universe was big enough to contain his happiness or if eternity was long enough to fully experience it. For now, his entire life was centered around that orchard where he courted his beloved. All other dreams, plans, and hopes were put on hold for this single goal, the achievement of which would amplify everything else a thousand times, and the loss of which would strip all other aspirations of their meaning. His own world seemed very distant, and the things from that world felt forgotten.
His father, on hearing that he had taken the Lindsay school for a year, had written him a testy, amazed letter, asking him if he were demented.
His father, upon hearing that he had taken the Lindsay school for a year, wrote him an irritated, shocked letter, asking if he was out of his mind.
“Or is there a girl in the case?” he wrote. “There must be, to tie you down to a place like Lindsay for a year. Take care, master Eric; you’ve been too sensible all your life. A man is bound to make a fool of himself at least once, and when you didn’t get through with that in your teens it may be attacking you now.”
“Is there a girl involved?” he wrote. “There has to be, to keep you stuck in a place like Lindsay for a year. Be careful, master Eric; you’ve always been too sensible. Every man has to make a fool of himself at least once, and since you didn’t do that in your teens, it might be catching up with you now.”
David also wrote, expostulating more gravely; but he did not express the suspicions Eric knew he must entertain.
David also wrote, arguing more seriously; but he didn't share the suspicions Eric knew he must have.
“Good old David! He is quaking with fear that I am up to something he can’t approve of, but he won’t say a word by way of attempting to force my confidence.”
“Good old David! He’s shaking with fear that I’m up to something he won’t approve of, but he won’t say a word to try to gain my trust.”
It could not long remain a secret in Lindsay that “the Master” was going to the Gordon place on courting thoughts intent. Mrs. Williamson kept her own and Eric’s counsel; the Gordons said nothing; but the secret leaked out and great was the surprise and gossip and wonder. One or two incautious people ventured to express their opinion of the Master’s wisdom to the Master himself; but they never repeated the experiment. Curiosity was rife. A hundred stories were circulated about Kilmeny, all greatly exaggerated in the circulation. Wise heads were shaken and the majority opined that it was a great pity. The Master was a likely young fellow; he could have his pick of almost anybody, you might think; it was too bad that he should go and take up with that queer, dumb niece of the Gordons who had been brought up in such a heathenish way. But then you never could guess what way a man’s fancy would jump when he set out to pick him a wife. They guessed Neil Gordon didn’t like it much. He seemed to have got dreadful moody and sulky of late and wouldn’t sing in the choir any more. Thus the buzz of comment and gossip ran.
It didn't take long for everyone in Lindsay to find out that “the Master” was heading to the Gordon place with romantic intentions. Mrs. Williamson kept her thoughts to herself, along with Eric’s, and the Gordons said nothing; but the secret got out, leading to a lot of surprise, gossip, and speculation. A few reckless people tried to share their thoughts on the Master’s choice directly with him, but they never did it again. Curiosity was high. Several exaggerated stories about Kilmeny spread around. People shook their heads knowingly, and most agreed it was a shame. The Master was a great young guy; he could probably choose anyone he wanted, so it seemed unfortunate that he would get involved with that strange, mute niece of the Gordons who had been raised in such a backward way. But then again, you could never predict what a man would find attractive when looking for a wife. They suspected Neil Gordon wasn't too happy about it. He seemed to have become really moody and withdrawn lately and stopped singing in the choir. And so the buzz of conversation and gossip continued.
To those two in the old orchard it mattered not a whit. Kilmeny knew nothing of gossip. To her, Lindsay was as much of an unknown world as the city of Eric’s home. Her thoughts strayed far and wide in the realm of her fancy, but they never wandered out to the little realities that hedged her strange life around. In that life she had blossomed out, a fair, unique thing. There were times when Eric almost regretted that one day he must take her out of her white solitude to a world that, in the last analysis, was only Lindsay on a larger scale, with just the same pettiness of thought and feeling and opinion at the bottom of it. He wished he might keep her to himself for ever, in that old, spruce-hidden orchard where the roses fell.
To the two in the old orchard, it didn’t matter at all. Kilmeny knew nothing of the rumors. To her, Lindsay was as unfamiliar as Eric’s city. Her imagination roamed far and wide, but it never touched the small realities that surrounded her unusual life. In that life, she had blossomed into a beautiful, unique being. Sometimes, Eric almost wished that he could keep her in her pure solitude, away from a world that, in the end, was just a bigger version of Lindsay, filled with the same pettiness of thought, feeling, and opinion. He wished he could hold on to her forever, in that old, spruce-hidden orchard where the roses fell.
One day he indulged himself in the fulfillment of the whim he had formed when Kilmeny had told him she thought herself ugly. He went to Janet and asked her permission to bring a mirror to the house that he might have the privilege of being the first to reveal Kilmeny to herself exteriorly. Janet was somewhat dubious at first.
One day, he decided to act on the idea he had when Kilmeny told him she thought she was ugly. He went to Janet and asked her if he could bring a mirror to the house so he could be the first to show Kilmeny her reflection. Janet was a bit unsure at first.
“There hasn’t been such a thing in the house for sixteen years, Master. There never was but three—one in the spare room, and a little one in the kitchen, and Margaret’s own. She broke them all the day it first struck her that Kilmeny was going to be bonny. I might have got one after she died maybe. But I didn’t think of it; and there’s no need of lasses to be always prinking at their looking glasses.”
“There hasn’t been anything like that in the house for sixteen years, Master. There were only three—one in the guest room, and a small one in the kitchen, and Margaret’s own. She broke them all the day she first realized that Kilmeny was going to be pretty. I might have gotten one after she died maybe. But I didn’t think about it; and there’s no need for girls to always be admiring themselves in mirrors.”
But Eric pleaded and argued skilfully, and finally Janet said,
But Eric pleaded and made his case really well, and eventually Janet said,
“Well, well, have your own way. You’d have it anyway I think, lad. You are one of those men who always get their own way. But that is different from the men who TAKE their own way—and that’s a mercy,” she added under her breath.
“Well, well, do what you want. You’d do it your way anyway, I bet. You’re one of those guys who always gets his way. But that’s different from the men who FORCE their way—and that’s a blessing,” she muttered.
Eric went to town the next Saturday and picked out a mirror that pleased him. He had it shipped to Radnor and Thomas Gordon brought it home, not knowing what it was, for Janet had thought it just as well he should not know.
Eric went to town the next Saturday and chose a mirror that he liked. He had it sent to Radnor, and Thomas Gordon brought it home, unaware of what it was, since Janet thought it was better for him not to know.
“It’s a present the Master is making Kilmeny,” she told him.
“It’s a gift the Master is making for Kilmeny,” she told him.
She sent Kilmeny off to the orchard after tea, and Eric slipped around to the house by way of the main road and lane. He and Janet together unpacked the mirror and hung it on the parlour wall.
She sent Kilmeny to the orchard after tea, and Eric went around to the house via the main road and lane. He and Janet unpacked the mirror together and hung it on the parlour wall.
“I never saw such a big one, Master,” said Janet rather doubtfully, as if, after all, she distrusted its gleaming, pearly depth and richly ornamented frame. “I hope it won’t make her vain. She is very bonny, but it may not do her any good to know it.”
“I’ve never seen one this big, Master,” said Janet, a bit unsure, as if she didn't entirely trust its shining, pearl-like depth and beautifully decorated frame. “I hope it won’t make her vain. She’s really pretty, but it might not be good for her to know that.”
“It won’t harm her,” said Eric confidently. “When a belief in her ugliness hasn’t spoiled a girl a belief in her beauty won’t.”
“It won’t hurt her,” Eric said confidently. “If believing she’s ugly hasn’t ruined a girl, then believing she’s beautiful won’t.”
But Janet did not understand epigrams. She carefully removed a little dust from the polished surface, and frowned meditatively at the by no means beautiful reflection she saw therein.
But Janet didn't get epigrams. She carefully brushed away a bit of dust from the shiny surface and frowned thoughtfully at the far from beautiful reflection staring back at her.
“I cannot think what made Kilmeny suppose she was ugly, Master.”
“I can’t understand why Kilmeny thought she was ugly, Master.”
“Her mother told her she was,” said Eric, rather bitterly.
“Her mom told her she was,” Eric said, a bit bitterly.
“Ah!” Janet shot a quick glance at the picture of her sister. “Was that it? Margaret was a strange woman, Master. I suppose she thought her own beauty had been a snare to her. She WAS bonny. That picture doesn’t do her justice. I never liked it. It was taken before she was—before she met Ronald Fraser. We none of us thought it very like her at the time. But, Master, three years later it was like her—oh, it was like her then! That very look came in her face.”
“Ah!” Janet quickly glanced at the picture of her sister. “Was that it? Margaret was an unusual woman, Master. I guess she believed her own beauty had been a trap for her. She WAS pretty. That picture doesn’t capture her well at all. I never liked it. It was taken before she—before she met Ronald Fraser. None of us thought it resembled her much back then. But, Master, three years later it looked just like her—oh, it looked like her then! That exact expression showed up on her face.”
“Kilmeny doesn’t resemble her mother,” remarked Eric, glancing at the picture with the same feeling of mingled fascination and distaste with which he always regarded it. “Does she look like her father?”
“Kilmeny doesn’t look like her mom,” Eric said, looking at the picture with the same mix of fascination and distaste that he always felt. “Does she look like her dad?”
“No, not a great deal, though some of her ways are very like his. She looks like her grandmother—Margaret’s mother, Master. Her name was Kilmeny too, and she was a handsome, sweet woman. I was very fond of my stepmother, Master. When she died she gave her baby to me, and asked me to be a mother to it. Ah well, I tried; but I couldn’t fence the sorrow out of Margaret’s life, and it sometimes comes to my mind that maybe I’ll not be able to fence it out of Kilmeny’s either.”
“No, not much, although some of her habits are quite similar to his. She resembles her grandmother—Margaret’s mother, Master. Her name was Kilmeny too, and she was a beautiful, kind woman. I was very fond of my stepmother, Master. When she passed away, she entrusted her baby to me and asked me to be a mother to her. Well, I tried; but I couldn’t protect Margaret from sorrow, and it often occurs to me that maybe I won’t be able to shield Kilmeny from it either.”
“That will be my task,” said Eric.
"That's my gig," Eric said.
“You’ll do your best, I do not doubt. But maybe it will be through you that sorrow will come to her after all.”
"You'll do your best, and I have no doubt about that. But maybe it will be through you that she'll end up feeling sorrow after all."
“Not through any fault of mine, Aunt Janet.”
“Not because of anything I did, Aunt Janet.”
“No, no, I’m not saying it will be your fault. But my heart misgives me at times. Oh, I dare say I am only a foolish old woman, Master. Go your ways and bring your lass here to look at your plaything when you like. I’ll not make or meddle with it.”
“No, no, I’m not saying it will be your fault. But sometimes I have a bad feeling. Oh, I guess I'm just a silly old woman, Master. Go ahead and bring your girl here to see your toy whenever you want. I won’t get involved with it.”
Janet betook herself to the kitchen and Eric went to look for Kilmeny. She was not in the orchard and it was not until he had searched for some time that he found her. She was standing under a beech tree in a field beyond the orchard, leaning on the longer fence, with her hands clasped against her cheek. In them she held a white Mary-lily from the orchard. She did not run to meet him while he was crossing the pasture, as she would once have done. She waited motionless until he was close to her. Eric began, half laughingly, half tenderly, to quote some lines from her namesake ballad:
Janet headed to the kitchen, and Eric went to look for Kilmeny. She wasn't in the orchard, and it took him a while to find her. She was standing under a beech tree in a field beyond the orchard, leaning on the longer fence with her hands pressed against her cheek. In her hands, she held a white lily from the orchard. She didn't run to greet him as she would have before. Instead, she waited quietly until he got close to her. Eric started, half-laughing and half-tender, to quote some lines from the ballad named after her:
“‘Kilmeny, Kilmeny, where have you been?
Long hae we sought baith holt and den,—
By linn, by ford, and greenwood tree!
Yet you are halesome and fair to see.
Where got you that joup o’ the lily sheen?
That bonny snood o’ the birk sae green,
And those roses, the fairest that ever was seen?
Kilmeny, Kilmeny, where have you been?’
“Kilmeny, Kilmeny, where have you been? We've searched everywhere, both by the woods and in the dens— By the waterfall, by the crossing, and under the trees! Yet you look healthy and beautiful. Where did you get that lovely glow of the shining lily? That pretty headband made of the green birch, And those roses, the most beautiful we've ever seen? Kilmeny, Kilmeny, where have you been?’
“Only it’s a lily and not a rose you are carrying. I might go on and quote the next couplet too—
“Only it’s a lily and not a rose you are carrying. I could also quote the next couplet too—
“‘Kilmeny looked up with a lovely grace,
But there was nae smile on Kilmeny’s face.’
“‘Kilmeny looked up with a lovely grace,
But there was no smile on Kilmeny’s face.’ “Why are you looking so sober?”
“Why do you look so serious?”
Kilmeny did not have her slate with her and could not answer; but Eric guessed from something in her eyes that she was bitterly contrasting the beauty of the ballad’s heroine with her own supposed ugliness.
Kilmeny didn’t have her slate with her and couldn’t answer; but Eric guessed from something in her eyes that she was harshly comparing the beauty of the ballad’s heroine with her own perceived ugliness.
“Come down to the house, Kilmeny. I have something there to show you—something lovelier than you have ever seen before,” he said, with boyish pleasure shining in his eyes. “I want you to go and put on that muslin dress you wore last Sunday evening, and pin up your hair the same way you did then. Run along—don’t wait for me. But you are not to go into the parlour until I come. I want to pick some of those Mary-lilies up in the orchard.”
“Come down to the house, Kilmeny. I have something for you to see—something more beautiful than anything you've ever seen,” he said, excitement glimmering in his eyes. “I want you to put on that muslin dress you wore last Sunday evening and style your hair the same way you did then. Go on—don’t wait for me. But you can't go into the parlor until I get there. I want to pick some of those Mary-lilies from the orchard.”
When Eric returned to the house with an armful of the long stemmed, white Madonna lilies that bloomed in the orchard Kilmeny was just coming down the steep, narrow staircase with its striped carpeting of homespun drugget. Her marvelous loveliness was brought out into brilliant relief by the dark wood work and shadows of the dim old hall.
When Eric came back to the house with a bunch of long-stemmed, white Madonna lilies that bloomed in the orchard, Kilmeny was just coming down the steep, narrow staircase with its striped carpet made of homespun fabric. Her amazing beauty stood out even more against the dark woodwork and shadows of the dim, old hall.
She wore a trailing, clinging dress of some creamy tinted fabric that had been her mother’s. It had not been altered in any respect, for fashion held no sway at the Gordon homestead, and Kilmeny thought that the dress left nothing to be desired. Its quaint style suited her admirably; the neck was slightly cut away to show the round white throat, and the sleeves were long, full “bishops,” out of which her beautiful, slender hands slipped like flowers from their sheaths. She had crossed her long braids at the back and pinned them about her head like a coronet; a late white rose was fastened low down on the left side.
She wore a flowing, fitted dress made of some creamy fabric that had belonged to her mother. It hadn’t been changed at all because fashion didn’t matter at the Gordon homestead, and Kilmeny thought the dress was perfect. Its unique style suited her wonderfully; the neckline was cut slightly to show her graceful, pale throat, and the sleeves were long and full, resembling “bishops,” out of which her beautiful, slender hands emerged like flowers from their buds. She had twisted her long braids at the back and pinned them around her head like a crown; a late white rose was pinned low on the left side.
“‘A man had given all other bliss
And all his worldly wealth for this—
To waste his whole heart in one kiss
Upon her perfect lips,’”
“‘A man had given up all other happiness
And all his worldly possessions for this—
To pour his whole heart into one kiss
On her perfect lips,’” quoted Eric in a whisper as he watched her descend. Aloud he said,
quoted Eric in a whisper as he watched her come down. Out loud, he said,
“Take these lilies on your arm, letting their bloom fall against your shoulder—so. Now, give me your hand and shut your eyes. Don’t open them until I say you may.”
“Take these lilies and hold them against your shoulder like this. Now, give me your hand and close your eyes. Don’t open them until I tell you to.”
He led her into the parlour and up to the mirror.
He took her into the living room and over to the mirror.
“Look,” he cried, gaily.
“Look,” he said happily.
Kilmeny opened her eyes and looked straight into the mirror where, like a lovely picture in a golden frame, she saw herself reflected. For a moment she was bewildered. Then she realized what it meant. The lilies fell from her arm to the floor and she turned pale. With a little low, involuntary cry she put her hands over her face.
Kilmeny opened her eyes and looked straight into the mirror where, like a beautiful picture in a golden frame, she saw her reflection. For a moment, she was confused. Then she understood what it meant. The lilies slipped from her arm to the floor, and she turned pale. With a soft, involuntary gasp, she covered her face with her hands.
Eric pulled them boyishly away.
Eric playfully pulled them away.
“Kilmeny, do you think you are ugly now? This is a truer mirror than Aunt Janet’s silver sugar bowl! Look—look—look! Did you ever imagine anything fairer than yourself, dainty Kilmeny?”
“Kilmeny, do you think you look ugly now? This is a more honest reflection than Aunt Janet’s silver sugar bowl! Look—look—look! Did you ever think anything was prettier than you, delicate Kilmeny?”
She was blushing now, and stealing shy radiant glances at the mirror. With a smile she took her slate and wrote naively,
She was blushing now, stealing shy, bright glances at the mirror. With a smile, she grabbed her slate and wrote naively,
“I think I am pleasant to look upon. I cannot tell you how glad I am. It is so dreadful to believe one is ugly. You can get used to everything else, but you never get used to that. It hurts just the same every time you remember it. But why did mother tell me I was ugly? Could she really have thought so? Perhaps I have become better looking since I grew up.”
“I think I look good. I can’t even express how happy that makes me. It’s awful to think you’re unattractive. You can adjust to everything else, but you never really get used to that. It still hurts every time you think about it. But why did my mom say I was ugly? Could she have really believed that? Maybe I’ve become better looking as I’ve grown up.”
“I think perhaps your mother had found that beauty is not always a blessing, Kilmeny, and thought it wiser not to let you know you possessed it. Come, let us go back to the orchard now. We mustn’t waste this rare evening in the house. There is going to be a sunset that we shall remember all our lives. The mirror will hang here. It is yours. Don’t look into it too often, though, or Aunt Janet will disapprove. She is afraid it will make you vain.”
“I think maybe your mom realized that beauty isn't always a gift, Kilmeny, and figured it was better not to let you know you had it. Come on, let’s head back to the orchard now. We shouldn’t waste this rare evening inside. There’s going to be a sunset that we’ll remember for the rest of our lives. The mirror will hang here. It’s yours. Just don’t look into it too often, or Aunt Janet will get upset. She worries it’ll make you vain.”
Kilmeny gave one of her rare, musical laughs, which Eric never heard without a recurrence of the old wonder that she could laugh so when she could not speak. She blew an airy little kiss at her mirrored face and turned from it, smiling happily.
Kilmeny let out one of her rare, musical laughs, which always filled Eric with the same old amazement that she could laugh like that even though she couldn’t speak. She blew a light kiss to her reflection and turned away from it, smiling contentedly.
On their way to the orchard they met Neil. He went by them with an averted face, but Kilmeny shivered and involuntarily drew nearer to Eric.
On their way to the orchard, they ran into Neil. He passed by them with his face turned away, but Kilmeny shivered and instinctively moved closer to Eric.
“I don’t understand Neil at all now,” she wrote nervously. “He is not nice, as he used to be, and sometimes he will not answer when I speak to him. And he looks so strangely at me, too. Besides, he is surly and impertinent to Uncle and Aunt.”
“I don’t understand Neil at all now,” she wrote nervously. “He’s not nice like he used to be, and sometimes he doesn’t respond when I talk to him. Plus, he looks at me strangely. On top of that, he’s rude and disrespectful to Uncle and Aunt.”
“Don’t mind Neil,” said Eric lightly. “He is probably sulky because of some things I said to him when I found he had spied on us.”
“Don’t worry about Neil,” Eric said casually. “He’s probably being moody because of some things I mentioned when I discovered he had been watching us.”
That night before she went up stairs Kilmeny stole into the parlour for another glimpse of herself in that wonderful mirror by the light of a dim little candle she carried. She was still lingering there dreamily when Aunt Janet’s grim face appeared in the shadows of the doorway.
That night before she went upstairs, Kilmeny sneaked into the living room for another look at herself in that amazing mirror by the light of the dim little candle she was holding. She was still lost in thought when Aunt Janet’s stern face appeared in the shadows of the doorway.
“Are you thinking about your own good looks, lassie? Ay, but remember that handsome is as handsome does,” she said, with grudging admiration—for the girl with her flushed cheeks and shining eyes was something that even dour Janet Gordon could not look upon unmoved.
“Are you thinking about how you look, girl? Yes, but remember that looks aren’t everything,” she said, with a hint of reluctant admiration—for the girl with her flushed cheeks and bright eyes was someone even serious Janet Gordon couldn’t look at without feeling something.
Kilmeny smiled softly.
Kilmeny smiled gently.
“I’ll try to remember,” she wrote, “but oh, Aunt Janet, I am so glad I am not ugly. It is not wrong to be glad of that, is it?”
“I’ll try to remember,” she wrote, “but oh, Aunt Janet, I’m so glad I’m not ugly. It’s not wrong to be glad about that, is it?”
The older woman’s face softened.
The older woman's expression softened.
“No, I don’t suppose it is, lassie,” she conceded. “A comely face is something to be thankful for—as none know better than those who have never possessed it. I remember well when I was a girl—but that is neither here nor there. The Master thinks you are wonderful bonny, Kilmeny,” she added, looking keenly at the girl.
“No, I don’t think it is, girl,” she admitted. “A pretty face is something to be grateful for—no one knows this better than those who have never had one. I remember when I was young—but that’s not important. The Master thinks you are really beautiful, Kilmeny,” she added, looking closely at the girl.
Kilmeny started and a scarlet blush scorched her face. That, and the expression that flashed into her eyes, told Janet Gordon all she wished to know. With a stifled sigh she bade her niece good night and went away.
Kilmeny flinched, and a deep blush rushed to her cheeks. That, along with the look that appeared in her eyes, revealed everything Janet Gordon needed to understand. With a suppressed sigh, she said goodnight to her niece and walked away.
Kilmeny ran fleetly up the stairs to her dim little room, that looked out into the spruces, and flung herself on her bed, burying her burning face in the pillow. Her aunt’s words had revealed to her the hidden secret of her heart. She knew that she loved Eric Marshall—and the knowledge brought with it a strange anguish. For was she not dumb? All night she lay staring wide-eyed through the darkness till the dawn.
Kilmeny quickly ran up the stairs to her small, dimly lit room that looked out at the spruces, and threw herself onto her bed, burying her hot face in the pillow. Her aunt's words had uncovered the hidden truth of her heart. She realized that she loved Eric Marshall—and that realization brought her a strange pain. After all, wasn't she mute? All night, she lay there wide awake, staring into the darkness until dawn.
CHAPTER XIV. IN HER SELFLESS MOOD
Eric noticed a change in Kilmeny at their next meeting—a change that troubled him. She seemed aloof, abstracted, almost ill at ease. When he proposed an excursion to the orchard he thought she was reluctant to go. The days that followed convinced him of the change. Something had come between them. Kilmeny seemed as far away from him as if she had in truth, like her namesake of the ballad, sojourned for seven years in the land “where the rain never fell and the wind never blew,” and had come back washed clean from all the affections of earth.
Eric noticed a change in Kilmeny at their next meeting—a change that bothered him. She seemed distant, lost in thought, almost uncomfortable. When he suggested a trip to the orchard, it felt like she was hesitant to go. The following days made him sure about the change. Something had come between them. Kilmeny felt as far away from him as if she had truly, like her namesake in the ballad, spent seven years in the land “where the rain never fell and the wind never blew,” and had returned completely stripped of all earthly emotions.
Eric had a bad week of it; but he determined to put an end to it by plain speaking. One evening in the orchard he told her of his love.
Eric had a rough week, but he decided to end it by being straightforward. One evening in the orchard, he confessed his love to her.
It was an evening in August, with wheat fields ripening to their harvestry—a soft violet night made for love, with the distant murmur of an unquiet sea on a rocky shore sounding through it. Kilmeny was sitting on the old bench where he had first seen her. She had been playing for him, but her music did not please her and she laid aside the violin with a little frown.
It was an August evening, with wheat fields ready for harvest—a soft violet night perfect for romance, with the distant sound of a restless sea on a rocky shore in the background. Kilmeny was sitting on the old bench where he had first seen her. She had been playing for him, but she wasn’t happy with her music and set the violin down with a slight frown.
It might be that she was afraid to play—afraid that her new emotions might escape her and reveal themselves in music. It was difficult to prevent this, so long had she been accustomed to pour out all her feelings in harmony. The necessity for restraint irked her and made of her bow a clumsy thing which no longer obeyed her wishes. More than ever at that instant did she long for speech—speech that would conceal and protect where dangerous silence might betray.
She might have been afraid to play—afraid that her new emotions might slip out and express themselves through music. It was tough to hold this back, as she had long been used to pouring all her feelings into melodies. The need to hold back frustrated her and made her bow feel awkward, no longer responding to her wishes. More than ever in that moment, she wished for words—words that would hide and shield where risky silence could expose her.
In a low voice that trembled with earnestness Eric told her that he loved her—that he had loved her from the first time he had seen her in that old orchard. He spoke humbly but not fearfully, for he believed that she loved him, and he had little expectation of any rebuff.
In a quiet voice that shook with sincerity, Eric told her that he loved her—that he had loved her since the first time he saw her in that old orchard. He spoke with humility but not fear, because he believed she loved him too, and he didn’t expect any rejection.
“Kilmeny, will you be my wife?” he asked finally, taking her hands in his.
“Kilmeny, will you marry me?” he asked at last, taking her hands in his.
Kilmeny had listened with averted face. At first she had blushed painfully but now she had grown very pale. When he had finished speaking and was waiting for her answer, she suddenly pulled her hands away, and, putting them over her face, burst into tears and noiseless sobs.
Kilmeny had listened with her face turned away. At first, she had blushed deeply, but now she was very pale. When he finished speaking and was waiting for her response, she suddenly pulled her hands away, covered her face, and burst into silent tears and sobs.
“Kilmeny, dearest, have I alarmed you? Surely you knew before that I loved you. Don’t you care for me?” Eric said, putting his arm about her and trying to draw her to him. But she shook her head sorrowfully, and wrote with compressed lips,
“Kilmeny, my love, have I worried you? You must have known all along that I loved you. Don’t you feel the same about me?” Eric said, wrapping his arm around her and trying to pull her closer. But she shook her head sadly and wrote with tight lips,
“Yes, I do love you, but I will never marry you, because I cannot speak.”
“Yes, I do love you, but I will never marry you because I can’t speak.”
“Oh, Kilmeny,” said Eric smiling, for he believed his victory won, “that doesn’t make any difference to me—you know it doesn’t, sweetest. If you love me that is enough.”
“Oh, Kilmeny,” said Eric, smiling, because he thought he had won, “that doesn’t matter to me—you know it doesn’t, my dear. If you love me, that’s all that counts.”
But Kilmeny only shook her head again. There was a very determined look on her pale face. She wrote,
But Kilmeny just shook her head again. There was a very resolute look on her pale face. She wrote,
“No, it is not enough. It would be doing you a great wrong to marry you when I cannot speak, and I will not do it because I love you too much to do anything that would harm you. Your world would think you had done a very foolish thing and it would be right. I have thought it all over many times since something Aunt Janet said made me understand, and I know I am doing right. I am sorry I did not understand sooner, before you had learned to care so much.”
“No, that's not enough. It would be very unfair to marry you when I can't express myself, and I won't do it because I love you too much to do anything that would hurt you. Your friends would think you've made a huge mistake, and they'd be right. I've thought this through many times since something Aunt Janet said made me realize, and I know I'm making the right choice. I wish I had understood sooner, before you started to care so deeply."
“Kilmeny, darling, you have taken a very absurd fancy into that dear black head of yours. Don’t you know that you will make me miserably unhappy all my life if you will not be my wife?”
“Kilmeny, sweetheart, you have developed a really silly obsession with that lovely black hair of yours. Don’t you realize that you’ll make me incredibly unhappy for the rest of my life if you don’t agree to be my wife?”
“No, you think so now; and I know you will feel very badly for a time. Then you will go away and after awhile you will forget me; and then you will see that I was right. I shall be very unhappy, too, but that is better than spoiling your life. Do not plead or coax because I shall not change my mind.”
“No, you think that now; but I know you’ll feel really bad for a while. Then you’ll leave, and after some time, you’ll forget about me; and then you’ll realize I was right. I’ll be really unhappy too, but that’s better than ruining your life. Don’t beg or try to persuade me because I won’t change my mind.”
Eric did plead and coax, however—at first patiently and smilingly, as one might argue with a dear foolish child; then with vehement and distracted earnestness, as he began to realize that Kilmeny meant what she said. It was all in vain. Kilmeny grew paler and paler, and her eyes revealed how keenly she was suffering. She did not even try to argue with him, but only listened patiently and sadly, and shook her head. Say what he would, entreat and implore as he might, he could not move her resolution a hairs-breadth.
Eric pleaded and begged, at first patiently and with a smile, like someone trying to reason with a dear but foolish child; then with intense and frantic seriousness, as he started to realize that Kilmeny meant what she said. It was all pointless. Kilmeny became paler and her eyes showed how deeply she was hurting. She didn't even try to argue with him, but just listened patiently and sadly, shaking her head. No matter what he said, no matter how much he pleaded or begged, he couldn't change her decision even a little bit.
Yet he did not despair; he could not believe that she would adhere to such a resolution; he felt sure that her love for him would eventually conquer, and he went home not unhappily after all. He did not understand that it was the very intensity of her love which gave her the strength to resist his pleading, where a more shallow affection might have yielded. It held her back unflinchingly from doing him what she believed to be a wrong.
Yet he didn't lose hope; he couldn't believe that she would stick to such a decision. He was confident that her love for him would eventually win out, and he went home feeling relatively content. He didn't realize that it was the depth of her love that gave her the strength to resist his pleas, while a less intense affection might have given in. It held her back resolutely from doing what she thought was wrong for him.
CHAPTER XV. AN OLD, UNHAPPY, FAR-OFF THING
The next day Eric sought Kilmeny again and renewed his pleadings, but again in vain. Nothing he could say, no argument which he could advance, was of any avail against her sad determination. When he was finally compelled to realize that her resolution was not to be shaken, he went in his despair to Janet Gordon. Janet listened to his story with concern and disappointment plainly visible on her face. When he had finished she shook her head.
The next day, Eric looked for Kilmeny again and repeated his pleas, but once more it was pointless. Nothing he said or any argument he made could change her sad resolve. When he finally understood that her decision was unmovable, he went in despair to Janet Gordon. Janet listened to his story, her concern and disappointment clearly evident on her face. When he finished, she shook her head.
“I’m sorry, Master. I can’t tell you how sorry I am. I had hoped for something very different. HOPED! I have PRAYED for it. Thomas and I are getting old and it has weighed on my mind for years—what was to become of Kilmeny when we would be gone. Since you came I had hoped she would have a protector in you. But if Kilmeny says she will not marry you I am afraid she’ll stick to it.”
“I’m sorry, Master. I can’t express how sorry I am. I had hoped for something very different. HOPED! I have PRAYED for it. Thomas and I are getting older, and it has been on my mind for years—what will happen to Kilmeny when we are gone. Since you arrived, I had hoped she would have a protector in you. But if Kilmeny says she won’t marry you, I’m afraid she will hold to that.”
“But she loves me,” cried the young man, “and if you and her uncle speak to her—urge her—perhaps you can influence her—”
“But she loves me,” cried the young man, “and if you and her uncle talk to her—encourage her—maybe you can sway her—”
“No, Master, it wouldn’t be any use. Oh, we will, of course, but it will not be any use. Kilmeny is as determined as her mother when once she makes up her mind. She has always been good and obedient for the most part, but once or twice we have found out that there is no moving her if she does resolve upon anything. When her mother died Thomas and I wanted to take her to church. We could not prevail on her to go. We did not know why then, but now I suppose it was because she believed she was so very ugly. It is because she thinks so much of you that she will not marry you. She is afraid you would come to repent having married a dumb girl. Maybe she is right—maybe she is right.”
“No, Master, it wouldn’t do any good. Oh, we will, of course, but it won’t help. Kilmeny is just as stubborn as her mother once she sets her mind on something. She has mostly been good and obedient, but there have been a couple of times when we discovered that nothing can change her mind if she decides on something. When her mother passed away, Thomas and I wanted to take her to church. We couldn’t get her to go. We didn’t understand why back then, but now I think it was because she believed she was very ugly. It’s because she cares so much about you that she won’t marry you. She’s scared you’d regret marrying a mute girl. Maybe she’s right—maybe she’s right.”
“I cannot give her up,” said Eric stubbornly. “Something must be done. Perhaps her defect can be remedied even yet. Have you ever thought of that? You have never had her examined by a doctor qualified to pronounce on her case, have you?”
“I can't give her up,” Eric said stubbornly. “Something has to be done. Maybe her problem can still be fixed. Have you ever considered that? You've never had her checked by a doctor who can properly assess her situation, right?”
“No, Master, we never took her to anyone. When we first began to fear that she was never going to talk Thomas wanted to take her to Charlottetown and have her looked to. He thought so much of the child and he felt terrible about it. But her mother wouldn’t hear of it being done. There was no use trying to argue with her. She said that it would be no use—that it was her sin that was visited on her child and it could never be taken away.”
“No, Master, we never took her to anyone. When we first started to worry that she might never talk, Thomas wanted to take her to Charlottetown to get her checked out. He cared so much about the child and felt awful about it. But her mother wouldn’t even consider it. There was no point in trying to argue with her. She said it wouldn’t help—that it was her sin that was affecting her child and it could never be removed.”
“And did you give in meekly to a morbid whim like that?” asked Eric impatiently.
“And did you just give in to a creepy urge like that?” asked Eric impatiently.
“Master, you didn’t know my sister. We HAD to give in—nobody could hold out against her. She was a strange woman—and a terrible woman in many ways—after her trouble. We were afraid to cross her for fear she would go out of her mind.”
“Master, you didn’t know my sister. We HAD to give in—no one could resist her. She was an unusual woman—and a horrible woman in many ways—after her issues. We were afraid to confront her for fear she would lose her mind.”
“But, could you not have taken Kilmeny to a doctor unknown to her mother?”
“But, couldn't you have taken Kilmeny to a doctor her mother didn't know?”
“No, that was not possible. Margaret never let her out of her sight, not even when she was grown up. Besides, to tell you the whole truth, Master, we didn’t think ourselves that it would be much use to try to cure Kilmeny. It WAS a sin that made her as she is.”
“No, that wasn't possible. Margaret never took her eyes off her, not even when she was grown. Besides, to be completely honest, Master, we didn’t think it would do much good to try to cure Kilmeny. It WAS a sin that made her who she is.”
“Aunt Janet, how can you talk such nonsense? Where was there any sin? Your sister thought herself a lawful wife. If Ronald Fraser thought otherwise—and there is no proof that he did—HE committed a sin, but you surely do not believe that it was visited in this fashion on his innocent child!”
“Aunt Janet, how can you say such crazy things? Where was the sin in any of this? Your sister believed she was a legitimate wife. If Ronald Fraser thought differently—and there’s no evidence that he did—HE is the one who sinned, but you surely don’t think his innocent child should suffer for it!”
“No, I am not meaning that, Master. That wasn’t where Margaret did wrong; and though I never liked Ronald Fraser over much, I must say this in his defence—I believe he thought himself a free man when he married Margaret. No, it’s something else—something far worse. It gives me a shiver whenever I think of it. Oh, Master, the Good Book is right when it says the sins of the parents are visited on the children. There isn’t a truer word in it than that from cover to cover.”
“No, that’s not what I mean, Master. Margaret didn’t make a mistake there; and even though I never liked Ronald Fraser much, I have to defend him—he genuinely believed he was free when he married Margaret. No, it’s something else—something much worse. It gives me chills whenever I think about it. Oh, Master, the Good Book is right when it says that the sins of the parents affect their children. There isn't a truer statement in it than that from beginning to end.”
“What, in heaven’s name, is the meaning of all this?” exclaimed Eric. “Tell me what it is. I must know the whole truth about Kilmeny. Do not torment me.”
“What on earth is going on?” Eric exclaimed. “Tell me what it is. I have to know the whole truth about Kilmeny. Please don’t torture me.”
“I am going to tell you the story, Master, though it will be like opening an old wound. No living person knows it but Thomas and me. When you hear it you will understand why Kilmeny can’t speak, and why it isn’t likely that there can ever be anything done for her. She doesn’t know the truth and you must never tell her. It isn’t a fit story for her ears, especially when it is about her mother. Promise me that you will never tell her, no matter what may happen.”
“I’m going to share the story with you, Master, but it’s going to feel like reopening an old wound. Only Thomas and I know it. When you hear it, you’ll understand why Kilmeny can’t speak and why it’s unlikely anything can be done to help her. She doesn’t know the truth, and you must never share it with her. It’s not a story she should hear, especially since it concerns her mother. Promise me you won’t tell her, no matter what happens.”
“I promise. Go on—go on,” said the young man feverishly.
“I promise. Go ahead—go ahead,” said the young man eagerly.
Janet Gordon locked her hands together in her lap, like a woman who nerves herself to some hateful task. She looked very old; the lines on her face seemed doubly deep and harsh.
Janet Gordon clasped her hands in her lap, like someone preparing herself for an unpleasant job. She looked very aged; the wrinkles on her face appeared even deeper and more pronounced.
“My sister Margaret was a very proud, high-spirited girl, Master. But I would not have you think she was unlovable. No, no, that would be doing a great injustice to her memory. She had her faults as we all have; but she was bright and merry and warm-hearted. We all loved her. She was the light and life of this house. Yes, Master, before the trouble that came on her Margaret was a winsome lass, singing like a lark from morning till night. Maybe we spoiled her a little—maybe we gave her too much of her own way.
“My sister Margaret was a very proud, spirited girl, Master. But I wouldn’t want you to think she was unlovable. No, that would be a great injustice to her memory. She had her faults, like all of us; but she was bright, cheerful, and warm-hearted. We all loved her. She was the light and life of this house. Yes, Master, before the trouble that came her way, Margaret was a charming girl, singing like a lark from morning till night. Maybe we spoiled her a little—maybe we let her have her way too often.
“Well, Master, you have heard the story of her marriage to Ronald Fraser and what came after, so I need not go into that. I know, or used to know Elizabeth Williamson well, and I know that whatever she told you would be the truth and nothing more or less than the truth.
“Well, Master, you’ve heard the story of her marriage to Ronald Fraser and what happened afterward, so I don’t need to go over that. I know, or used to know, Elizabeth Williamson well, and I know that whatever she told you would be the truth and nothing more or less than the truth.
“Our father was a very proud man. Oh, Master, if Margaret was too proud she got it from no stranger. And her misfortune cut him to the heart. He never spoke a word to us here for more than three days after he heard of it. He sat in the corner there with bowed head and would not touch bite or sup. He had not been very willing for her to marry Ronald Fraser; and when she came home in disgrace she had not set foot over the threshold before he broke out railing at her. Oh, I can see her there at the door this very minute, Master, pale and trembling, clinging to Thomas’s arm, her great eyes changing from sorrow and shame to wrath. It was just at sunset and a red ray came in at the window and fell right across her breast like a stain of blood.
"Our father was a very proud man. Oh, Master, if Margaret was too proud she certainly didn’t get it from anyone else. And her misfortune hurt him deeply. He didn’t say a word to us for more than three days after he heard about it. He sat in the corner there with his head down and wouldn't eat or drink anything. He hadn’t been very keen on her marrying Ronald Fraser; and when she came home in disgrace, she hadn’t even crossed the threshold before he started yelling at her. Oh, I can picture her at the door right now, Master, pale and shaking, holding onto Thomas’s arm, her big eyes shifting from sadness and shame to anger. It was just at sunset, and a red ray of light came through the window and fell right across her chest like a stain of blood."
“Father called her a hard name, Master. Oh, he was too hard—even though he was my father I must say he was too hard on her, broken-hearted as she was, and guilty of nothing more after all than a little willfulness in the matter of her marriage.
“Father called her a harsh name, Master. Oh, he was too harsh—even though he was my father, I have to say he was too hard on her, broken-hearted as she was, and guilty of nothing more than a bit of stubbornness regarding her marriage.”
“And father was sorry for it—Oh, Master, the word wasn’t out of his mouth before he was sorry for it. But the mischief was done. Oh, I’ll never forget Margaret’s face, Master! It haunts me yet in the black of the night. It was full of anger and rebellion and defiance. But she never answered him back. She clenched her hands and went up to her old room without saying a word, all those mad feelings surging in her soul, and being held back from speech by her sheer, stubborn will. And, Master, never a word did Margaret say from that day until after Kilmeny was born—not one word, Master. Nothing we could do for her softened her. And we were kind to her, Master, and gentle with her, and never reproached her by so much as a look. But she would not speak to anyone. She just sat in her room most of the time and stared at the wall with such awful eyes. Father implored her to speak and forgive him, but she never gave any sign that she heard him.
“And Dad felt terrible about it—Oh, Master, the word wasn’t even out of his mouth before he regretted it. But the damage was done. Oh, I’ll never forget Margaret’s face, Master! It still haunts me in the dead of night. It was full of anger, rebellion, and defiance. But she never replied to him. She clenched her hands and went up to her old room without saying a word, all those wild feelings surging inside her, held back from speaking by her sheer, stubborn will. And, Master, Margaret never said a word from that day until after Kilmeny was born—not one word, Master. Nothing we did for her softened her. And we were kind to her, Master, and gentle with her, and never reproached her with even a look. But she wouldn’t talk to anyone. She just sat in her room most of the time and stared at the wall with such haunting eyes. Dad begged her to talk and forgive him, but she never showed any sign that she heard him.
“I haven’t come to the worst yet, Master. Father sickened and took to his bed. Margaret would not go in to see him. Then one night Thomas and I were watching by him; it was about eleven o’clock. All at once he said,
“I haven’t reached the worst part yet, Master. Father got sick and lay in bed. Margaret wouldn’t go in to see him. Then one night, Thomas and I were keeping watch over him; it was around eleven o’clock. Suddenly, he said,
“‘Janet, go up and tell the lass’—he always called Margaret that—it was a kind of pet name he had for her—‘that I’m deein’ and ask her to come down and speak to me afore I’m gone.’
“‘Janet, go up and tell the girl’—he always called Margaret that—it was a sort of nickname he had for her—‘that I’m dying and ask her to come down and talk to me before I’m gone.’”
“Master, I went. Margaret was sitting in her room all alone in the cold and dark, staring at the wall. I told her what our father had said. She never let on she heard me. I pleaded and wept, Master. I did what I had never done to any human creature—I kneeled to her and begged her, as she hoped for mercy herself, to come down and see our dying father. Master, she wouldn’t! She never moved or looked at me. I had to get up and go downstairs and tell that old man she would not come.”
“Master, I went. Margaret was sitting in her room all alone in the cold and dark, staring at the wall. I told her what our father had said. She didn't show any sign that she heard me. I begged and cried, Master. I did what I had never done to anyone—I knelt before her and pleaded, as she hoped for mercy herself, to come down and see our dying father. Master, she wouldn't! She didn’t move or look at me. I had to get up and go downstairs to tell that old man she wouldn’t come.”
Janet Gordon lifted her hands and struck them together in her agony of remembrance.
Janet Gordon raised her hands and clapped them together in her pain of remembering.
“When I told father he only said, oh, so gently,
“When I told Dad, he just said, oh, so gently,
“‘Poor lass, I was too hard on her. She isna to blame. But I canna go to meet her mother till our little lass has forgie’n me for the name I called her. Thomas, help me up. Since she winna come to me I must e’en go to her.’
“‘Poor girl, I was too harsh on her. She's not to blame. But I can’t go meet her mother until our little girl has forgiven me for the name I called her. Thomas, help me up. Since she won’t come to me, I guess I have to go to her.’”
“There was no crossing him—we saw that. He got up from his deathbed and Thomas helped him out into the hall and up the stair. I walked behind with the candle. Oh, Master, I’ll never forget it—the awful shadows and the storm wind wailing outside, and father’s gasping breath. But we got him to Margaret’s room and he stood before her, trembling, with his white hairs falling about his sunken face. And he prayed Margaret to forgive him—to forgive him and speak just one word to him before he went to meet her mother. Master”—Janet’s voice rose almost to a shriek—“she would not—she would not! And yet she WANTED to speak—afterwards she confessed to me that she wanted to speak. But her stubbornness wouldn’t let her. It was like some evil power that had gripped hold of her and wouldn’t let go. Father might as well have pleaded with a graven image. Oh, it was hard and dreadful! She saw her father die and she never spoke the word he prayed for to him. THAT was her sin, Master,—and for that sin the curse fell on her unborn child. When father understood that she would not speak he closed his eyes and was like to have fallen if Thomas had not caught him.
“There was no arguing with him—we knew that. He got up from his deathbed, and Thomas helped him out into the hallway and up the stairs. I followed behind with the candle. Oh, Master, I’ll never forget it—the terrible shadows and the storm wind howling outside, and father’s raspy breaths. But we got him to Margaret’s room, and he stood before her, trembling, with his white hair falling around his sunken face. He begged Margaret to forgive him—to forgive him and just say one word to him before he went to meet her mother. Master”—Janet’s voice almost rose to a scream—“she wouldn’t—she wouldn’t! And yet she WANTED to say something—afterward, she admitted to me that she wanted to speak. But her stubbornness held her back. It was like some evil force had taken hold of her and wouldn’t release her. Father might as well have been pleading with a statue. Oh, it was hard and awful! She watched her father die, and she never said the word he begged her for. THAT was her sin, Master—and for that sin, the curse fell on her unborn child. When father realized that she wouldn’t speak, he closed his eyes and nearly collapsed if Thomas hadn’t caught him.
“‘Oh, lass, you’re a hard woman,’ was all he said. And they were his last words. Thomas and I carried him back to his room, but the breath was gone from him before we ever got him there.
“‘Oh, girl, you’re a tough one,’ was all he said. And those were his last words. Thomas and I carried him back to his room, but he had already stopped breathing before we even got him there.”
“Well, Master, Kilmeny was born a month afterwards, and when Margaret felt her baby at her breast the evil thing that had held her soul in its bondage lost its power. She spoke and wept and was herself again. Oh, how she wept! She implored us to forgive her and we did freely and fully. But the one against whom she had sinned most grievously was gone, and no word of forgiveness could come to her from the grave. My poor sister never knew peace of conscience again, Master. But she was gentle and kind and humble until—until she began to fear that Kilmeny was never going to speak. We thought then that she would go out of her mind. Indeed, Master, she never was quite right again.
“Well, Master, Kilmeny was born a month later, and when Margaret felt her baby at her breast, the evil thing that had held her soul captive lost its power. She spoke, cried, and became herself again. Oh, how she cried! She begged us to forgive her, and we did, completely and sincerely. But the person she had wronged the most was gone, and no word of forgiveness could reach her from the grave. My poor sister never found peace of mind again, Master. But she remained gentle, kind, and humble until—until she started to worry that Kilmeny would never speak. We thought then that she might lose her mind. In fact, Master, she was never quite the same afterward."
“But that is the story and it’s a thankful woman I am that the telling of it is done. Kilmeny can’t speak because her mother wouldn’t.”
“But that is the story, and I’m grateful that it’s finally been told. Kilmeny can’t speak because her mother wouldn’t let her.”
Eric had listened with a gray horror on his face to the gruesome tale. The black tragedy of it appalled him—the tragedy of that merciless law, the most cruel and mysterious thing in God’s universe, which ordains that the sin of the guilty shall be visited on the innocent. Fight against it as he would, the miserable conviction stole into his heart that Kilmeny’s case was indeed beyond the reach of any human skill.
Eric listened with a sick look on his face to the gruesome story. The dark tragedy of it shocked him—the tragedy of that unforgiving law, the most brutal and mysterious thing in God's universe, which dictates that the sins of the guilty are punished on the innocent. No matter how hard he tried to fight it, the awful realization crept into his heart that Kilmeny's situation was truly beyond the help of any human skill.
“It is a dreadful tale,” he said moodily, getting up and walking restlessly to and fro in the dim spruce-shadowed old kitchen where they were. “And if it is true that her mother’s willful silence caused Kilmeny’s dumbness, I fear, as you say, that we cannot help her. But you may be mistaken. It may have been nothing more than a strange coincidence. Possibly something may be done for her. At all events, we must try. I have a friend in Queenslea who is a physician. His name is David Baker, and he is a very skilful specialist in regard to the throat and voice. I shall have him come here and see Kilmeny.”
“It’s a terrible story,” he said gloomily, getting up and pacing back and forth in the dim, spruce-shadowed old kitchen where they were. “And if it’s true that her mother’s stubborn silence caused Kilmeny’s inability to speak, I’m afraid, as you mentioned, that we can’t help her. But you might be wrong. It could have just been a strange coincidence. Maybe something can be done for her. In any case, we have to try. I have a friend in Queenslea who is a doctor. His name is David Baker, and he’s a very skilled specialist in throat and voice issues. I’ll have him come here to see Kilmeny.”
“Have your way,” assented Janet in the hopeless tone which she might have used in giving him permission to attempt any impossible thing.
“Go ahead,” Janet agreed in a resigned tone, as if she were giving him the okay to try something completely unachievable.
“It will be necessary to tell Dr. Baker why Kilmeny cannot speak—or why you think she cannot.”
“It’s important to explain to Dr. Baker why Kilmeny can’t talk—or why you believe she can’t.”
Janet’s face twitched.
Janet's face twitched.
“Must that be, Master? Oh, it’s a bitter tale to tell a stranger.”
“Do we have to, Master? Oh, it’s a tough story to share with someone I don’t know.”
“Don’t be afraid. I shall tell him nothing that is not strictly necessary to his proper understanding of the case. It will be quite enough to say that Kilmeny may be dumb because for several months before her birth her mother’s mind was in a very morbid condition, and she preserved a stubborn and unbroken silence because of a certain bitter personal resentment.”
“Don’t worry. I won’t tell him anything that's not absolutely necessary for him to understand the situation properly. It’s enough to say that Kilmeny might be mute because her mother was in a very unhealthy state of mind for several months before she was born, and she kept a stubborn and unbroken silence due to some deep personal resentment.”
“Well, do as you think best, Master.”
“Well, do what you think is best, Master.”
Janet plainly had no faith in the possibility of anything being done for Kilmeny. But a rosy glow of hope flashed over Kilmeny’s face when Eric told her what he meant to do.
Janet clearly didn't believe that anything could be done for Kilmeny. But a bright spark of hope lit up Kilmeny’s face when Eric shared his plans.
“Oh, do you think he can make me speak?” she wrote eagerly.
“Oh, do you think he can get me to talk?” she wrote eagerly.
“I don’t know, Kilmeny. I hope that he can, and I know he will do all that mortal skill can do. If he can remove your defect will you promise to marry me, dearest?”
“I don’t know, Kilmeny. I hope he can, and I know he will do everything within his power. If he can fix your problem, will you promise to marry me, my love?”
She nodded. The grave little motion had the solemnity of a sacred promise.
She nodded. That serious little gesture felt like a solemn promise.
“Yes,” she wrote, “when I can speak like other women I will marry you.”
“Yes,” she wrote, “when I can talk like other women, I will marry you.”
CHAPTER XVI. DAVID BAKER’S OPINION
The next week David Baker came to Lindsay. He arrived in the afternoon when Eric was in school. When the latter came home he found that David had, in the space of an hour, captured Mrs. Williamson’s heart, wormed himself into the good graces of Timothy, and become hail-fellow-well-met with old Robert. But he looked curiously at Eric when the two young men found themselves alone in the upstairs room.
The following week, David Baker visited Lindsay. He showed up in the afternoon while Eric was at school. When Eric got home, he noticed that David had, in just an hour, won over Mrs. Williamson, gotten on Timothy's good side, and become chummy with old Robert. However, he looked at Eric with curiosity when the two young men found themselves alone in the upstairs room.
“Now, Eric, I want to know what all this is about. What scrape have you got into? You write me a letter, entreating me in the name of friendship to come to you at once. Accordingly I come post haste. You seem to be in excellent health yourself. Explain why you have inveigled me hither.”
“Now, Eric, I want to know what this is all about. What trouble have you gotten into? You wrote me a letter, begging me as a friend to come to you right away. So I came quickly. You seem to be in great health. Explain why you lured me here.”
“I want you to do me a service which only you can do, David,” said Eric quietly. “I didn’t care to go into the details by letter. I have met in Lindsay a young girl whom I have learned to love. I have asked her to marry me, but, although she cares for me, she refuses to do so because she is dumb. I wish you to examine her and find out the cause of her defect, and if it can be cured. She can hear perfectly and all her other faculties are entirely normal. In order that you may better understand the case I must tell you the main facts of her history.”
“I need you to do me a favor that only you can help with, David,” Eric said softly. “I didn’t want to discuss the details in a letter. I’ve met a young woman named Lindsay whom I’ve come to love. I’ve asked her to marry me, but even though she cares about me, she won’t agree because she can’t speak. I’d like you to examine her and find out what’s causing her condition and if it can be treated. She hears perfectly, and all her other abilities are completely normal. To help you understand her situation better, I need to tell you the key points of her background.”
This Eric proceeded to do. David Baker listened with grave attention, his eyes fastened on his friend’s face. He did not betray the surprise and dismay he felt at learning that Eric had fallen in love with a dumb girl of doubtful antecedents; and the strange case enlisted his professional interest. When he had heard the whole story he thrust his hands into his pockets and strode up and down the room several times in silence. Finally he halted before Eric.
This is what Eric went ahead and did. David Baker listened intently, his eyes fixed on his friend’s face. He didn't show the shock and disappointment he felt upon discovering that Eric had fallen for a mute girl with questionable background; the unusual situation piqued his professional curiosity. After hearing the entire story, he stuffed his hands into his pockets and paced the room a few times in silence. Eventually, he stopped in front of Eric.
“So you have done what I foreboded all along you would do—left your common sense behind you when you went courting.”
“So you have done what I always knew you would do—left your common sense behind when you went dating.”
“If I did,” said Eric quietly, “I took with me something better and nobler than common sense.”
“If I did,” Eric said softly, “I took with me something better and more noble than common sense.”
David shrugged his shoulders.
David shrugged.
“You’ll have hard work to convince me of that, Eric.”
“You’re going to have a tough time convincing me of that, Eric.”
“No, it will not be difficult at all. I have one argument that will convince you speedily—and that is Kilmeny Gordon herself. But we will not discuss the matter of my wisdom or lack of it just now. What I want to know is this—what do you think of the case as I have stated it to you?”
“No, it won’t be difficult at all. I have one point that will convince you quickly—and that’s Kilmeny Gordon herself. But let’s not get into my wisdom or lack thereof right now. What I really want to know is this—what do you think of the situation as I’ve described it to you?”
David frowned thoughtfully.
David frowned in thought.
“I hardly know what to think. It is very curious and unusual, but it is not totally unprecedented. There have been cases on record where pre-natal influences have produced a like result. I cannot just now remember whether any were ever cured. Well, I’ll see if anything can be done for this girl. I cannot express any further opinion until I have examined her.”
“I barely know what to think. It’s really strange and unusual, but it’s not completely unheard of. There have been documented cases where prenatal factors have led to similar outcomes. I can’t recall right now if any of those were ever treated successfully. Anyway, I’ll check to see if anything can be done for this girl. I can’t say anything more until I’ve examined her.”
The next morning Eric took David up to the Gordon homestead. As they approached the old orchard a strain of music came floating through the resinous morning arcades of the spruce wood—a wild, sorrowful, appealing cry, full of indescribable pathos, yet marvelously sweet.
The next morning, Eric took David up to the Gordon homestead. As they got close to the old orchard, they heard a melody drifting through the fragrant morning air of the spruce trees—a wild, sorrowful, and haunting call, filled with indescribable emotion, yet wonderfully sweet.
“What is that?” exclaimed David, starting.
“What is that?” David exclaimed, startled.
“That is Kilmeny playing on her violin,” answered Eric. “She has great talent in that respect and improvises wonderful melodies.”
“That's Kilmeny playing her violin,” Eric replied. “She's really talented and comes up with amazing melodies.”
When they reached the orchard Kilmeny rose from the old bench to meet them, her lovely luminous eyes distended, her face flushed with the excitement of mingled hope and fear.
When they got to the orchard, Kilmeny stood up from the old bench to greet them, her beautiful, bright eyes wide, her face flushed with a mix of hope and fear.
“Oh, ye gods!” muttered David helplessly.
“Oh, my gosh!” David muttered helplessly.
He could not hide his amazement and Eric smiled to see it. The latter had not failed to perceive that his friend had until now considered him as little better than a lunatic.
He couldn't hide his amazement, and Eric smiled to see it. He had noticed that his friend had previously thought of him as barely better than a lunatic.
“Kilmeny, this is my friend, Dr. Baker,” he said.
“Kilmeny, this is my friend, Dr. Baker,” he said.
Kilmeny held out her hand with a smile. Her beauty, as she stood there in the fresh morning sunshine beside a clump of her sister lilies, was something to take away a man’s breath. David, who was by no means lacking in confidence and generally had a ready tongue where women were concerned, found himself as mute and awkward as a school boy, as he bowed over her hand.
Kilmeny extended her hand with a smile. Her beauty, as she stood there in the bright morning sun next to a cluster of her sister lilies, was breathtaking. David, who was usually quite confident and could easily talk to women, felt as silent and clumsy as a schoolboy as he leaned over her hand.
But Kilmeny was charmingly at ease. There was not a trace of embarrassment in her manner, though there was a pretty shyness. Eric smiled as he recalled HIS first meeting with her. He suddenly realized how far Kilmeny had come since then and how much she had developed.
But Kilmeny was wonderfully relaxed. There wasn’t a hint of embarrassment in her behavior, though she showed a sweet shyness. Eric smiled as he remembered his first meeting with her. He suddenly realized how far Kilmeny had come since then and how much she had grown.
With a little gesture of invitation Kilmeny led the way through the orchard to the wild cherry lane, and the two men followed.
With a small gesture of invitation, Kilmeny led the way through the orchard to the wild cherry lane, and the two men followed.
“Eric, she is simply unutterable!” said David in an undertone. “Last night, to tell you the truth, I had a rather poor opinion of your sanity. But now I am consumed with a fierce envy. She is the loveliest creature I ever saw.”
“Eric, she is just unbelievable!” said David quietly. “Last night, honestly, I had a pretty low opinion of your sanity. But now I’m filled with intense jealousy. She’s the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen.”
Eric introduced David to the Gordons and then hurried away to his school. On his way down the Gordon lane he met Neil and was half startled by the glare of hatred in the Italian boy’s eyes. Pity succeeded the momentary alarm. Neil’s face had grown thin and haggard; his eyes were sunken and feverishly bright; he looked years older than on the day when Eric had first seen him in the brook hollow.
Eric introduced David to the Gordons and then rushed off to school. On his way down the Gordon lane, he ran into Neil and was briefly taken aback by the hatred in the Italian boy’s eyes. Pity quickly replaced his momentary shock. Neil's face had become thin and worn; his eyes were sunken and feverishly bright; he looked years older than he had the day Eric first saw him in the brook hollow.
Prompted by sudden compassionate impulse Eric stopped and held out his hand.
Prompted by a sudden feeling of compassion, Eric stopped and reached out his hand.
“Neil, can’t we be friends?” he said. “I am sorry if I have been the cause of inflicting pain on you.”
“Neil, can’t we be friends?” he said. “I’m sorry if I’ve hurt you.”
“Friends! Never!” said Neil passionately. “You have taken Kilmeny from me. I shall hate you always. And I’ll be even with you yet.”
“Friends! Never!” Neil said passionately. “You’ve taken Kilmeny from me. I will always hate you. And I’ll get back at you eventually.”
He strode fiercely up the lane, and Eric, with a shrug of his shoulders, went on his way, dismissing the meeting from his mind.
He walked powerfully down the lane, and Eric, with a shrug of his shoulders, continued on his way, pushing the meeting out of his mind.
The day seemed interminably long to him. David had not returned when he went home to dinner; but when he went to his room in the evening he found his friend there, staring out of the window.
The day felt like it lasted forever to him. David hadn't come back when he went home for dinner; but when he went to his room in the evening, he found his friend there, looking out the window.
“Well,” he said, impatiently, as David wheeled around but still kept silence, “What have you to say to me? Don’t keep me in suspense any longer, David. I have endured all I can. To-day has seemed like a thousand years. Have you discovered what is the matter with Kilmeny?”
“Well,” he said, impatiently, as David turned around but remained silent, “What do you have to say to me? Don’t leave me hanging any longer, David. I can’t take it anymore. Today has felt like a thousand years. Have you found out what’s wrong with Kilmeny?”
“There is nothing the matter with her,” answered David slowly, flinging himself into a chair by the window.
“There’s nothing wrong with her,” David replied slowly, throwing himself into a chair by the window.
“What do you mean?”
"What do you mean?"
“Just exactly what I say. Her vocal organs are all perfect. As far as they are concerned, there is absolutely no reason why she should not speak.”
“That's exactly what I mean. Her vocal cords are all in great shape. As far as that goes, there's no reason at all why she shouldn't be able to talk.”
“Then why can’t she speak? Do you think—do you think—”
“Then why can’t she talk? Do you think—do you think—”
“I think that I cannot express my conclusion in any better words than Janet Gordon used when she said that Kilmeny cannot speak because her mother wouldn’t. That is all there is to it. The trouble is psychological, not physical. Medical skill is helpless before it. There are greater men than I in my profession; but it is my honest belief, Eric, that if you were to consult them they would tell you just what I have told you, neither more nor less.”
“I think I can’t say it any better than Janet Gordon did when she said that Kilmeny can’t speak because her mother wouldn’t. That’s all there is to it. The problem is psychological, not physical. Medical expertise can’t help with it. There are greater people than I in my field; but I truly believe, Eric, that if you talked to them, they would tell you exactly what I’ve told you, no more and no less.”
“Then there is no hope,” said Eric in a tone of despair. “You can do nothing for her?”
“Then there is no hope,” Eric said, his voice filled with despair. “You can’t do anything for her?”
David took from the back of his chair a crochet antimacassar with a lion rampant in the center and spread it over his knee.
David picked up a crochet antimacassar with a lion design in the center from the back of his chair and laid it over his knee.
“I can do nothing for her,” he said, scowling at that work of art. “I do not believe any living man can do anything for her. But I do not say—exactly—that there is no hope.”
“I can’t do anything for her,” he said, frowning at that piece of art. “I don’t think any living man can do anything for her. But I’m not saying—exactly—that there’s no hope.”
“Come, David, I am in no mood for guessing riddles. Speak plainly, man, and don’t torment me.”
“Come on, David, I’m not in the mood for riddles. Just speak clearly, man, and don’t bother me.”
David frowned dubiously and poked his finger through the hole which represented the eye of the king of beasts.
David frowned skeptically and poked his finger through the hole that symbolized the eye of the king of beasts.
“I don’t know that I can make it plain to you. It isn’t very plain to myself. And it is only a vague theory of mine, of course. I cannot substantiate it by any facts. In short, Eric, I think it is possible that Kilmeny may speak sometime—if she ever wants it badly enough.”
“I’m not sure I can explain it clearly to you. It’s not very clear to me either. And it’s just a bit of a theory I have, of course. I can’t back it up with any facts. In short, Eric, I think it’s possible that Kilmeny might speak someday—if she really wants to.”
“Wants to! Why, man, she wants to as badly as it is possible for any one to want anything. She loves me with all her heart and she won’t marry me because she can’t speak. Don’t you suppose that a girl under such circumstances would ‘want’ to speak as much as any one could?”
“Wants to! Seriously, she wants to more than anyone could want anything. She loves me with all her heart, and she won’t marry me because she can’t talk. Don’t you think a girl in that situation would want to talk as much as anyone ever could?”
“Yes, but I do not mean that sort of wanting, no matter how strong the wish may be. What I do mean is—a sudden, vehement, passionate inrush of desire, physical, psychical, mental, all in one, mighty enough to rend asunder the invisible fetters that hold her speech in bondage. If any occasion should arise to evoke such a desire I believe that Kilmeny would speak—and having once spoken would thenceforth be normal in that respect—ay, if she spoke but the one word.”
“Yes, but I don't mean that kind of wanting, no matter how strong the wish is. What I mean is—a sudden, intense, passionate rush of desire, physical, emotional, and mental all at once, powerful enough to break the invisible chains that keep her from speaking. If the right moment came to spark such a desire, I believe that Kilmeny would speak—and once she spoke, she would be normal in that way from then on—even if she only said one word.”
“All this sounds like great nonsense to me,” said Eric restlessly. “I suppose you have an idea what you are talking about, but I haven’t. And, in any case, it practically means that there is no hope for her—or me. Even if your theory is correct it is not likely such an occasion as you speak of will ever arise. And Kilmeny will never marry me.”
“All this sounds like total nonsense to me,” said Eric restlessly. “I guess you think you know what you’re talking about, but I don’t. And honestly, it basically means there's no hope for her—or for me. Even if your theory is right, it's unlikely that the situation you're describing will ever happen. And Kilmeny will never marry me.”
“Don’t give up so easily, old fellow. There HAVE been cases on record where women have changed their minds.”
“Don't give up so easily, my friend. There have been instances where women have changed their minds.”
“Not women like Kilmeny,” said Eric miserably. “I tell you she has all her mother’s unfaltering will and tenacity of purpose, although she is free from any taint of pride or selfishness. I thank you for your sympathy and interest, David. You have done all you could—but, heavens, what it would have meant to me if you could have helped her!”
“Not women like Kilmeny,” Eric said sadly. “I swear she has all her mother’s unwavering will and determination, and she’s completely free from any hint of pride or selfishness. I appreciate your sympathy and concern, David. You’ve done everything you could—but, oh, what it would have meant to me if you could have helped her!”
With a groan Eric flung himself on a chair and buried his face in his hands. It was a moment which held for him all the bitterness of death. He had thought that he was prepared for disappointment; he had not known how strong his hope had really been until that hope was utterly taken from him.
With a groan, Eric threw himself onto a chair and buried his face in his hands. In that moment, he felt all the bitterness of death. He thought he was ready for disappointment; he didn’t realize how strong his hope had truly been until it was completely taken from him.
David, with a sigh, returned the crochet antimacassar carefully to its place on the chair back.
David sighed as he carefully returned the crochet antimacassar to its spot on the chair back.
“Eric, last night, to be honest, I thought that, if I found I could not help this girl, it would be the best thing that could happen, as far as you were concerned. But since I have seen her—well, I would give my right hand if I could do anything for her. She is the wife for you, if we could make her speak; yes, and by the memory of your mother”—David brought his fist down on the window sill with a force that shook the casement,—“she is the wife for you, speech or no speech, if we could only convince her of it.”
“Eric, to be honest, last night I thought that if I found out I couldn’t help this girl, it would be the best thing for you. But after seeing her—well, I’d give my right hand to do anything for her. She’s the right match for you, if only we could get her to talk; yes, and by your mother’s memory”—David slammed his fist down on the window sill with such force that it shook the frame—“she’s the right match for you, with or without words, if we could just get her to see it.”
“She cannot be convinced of that. No, David, I have lost her. Did you tell her what you have told me?”
“She can’t be convinced of that. No, David, I’ve lost her. Did you tell her what you told me?”
“I told her I could not help her. I did not say anything to her of my theory—that would have done no good.”
“I told her I couldn’t help her. I didn’t mention my theory to her—that wouldn’t have done any good.”
“How did she take it?”
“How did she react?”
“Very bravely and quietly—‘like a winsome lady’. But the look in her eyes—Eric, I felt as if I had murdered something. She bade me good-bye with a pitiful smile and went upstairs. I did not see her again, although I stayed to dinner as her uncle’s request. Those old Gordons are a queer pair. I liked them, though. They are strong and staunch—good friends, bitter enemies. They were sorry that I could not help Kilmeny, but I saw plainly that old Thomas Gordon thought that I had been meddling with predestination in attempting it.”
“Very bravely and quietly—‘like a charming lady.’ But the look in her eyes—Eric, I felt like I had killed something. She said goodbye to me with a sad smile and went upstairs. I didn’t see her again, even though I stayed for dinner at her uncle’s request. Those old Gordons are a strange pair. I liked them, though. They are strong and loyal—great friends, fierce enemies. They were sorry that I couldn’t help Kilmeny, but I clearly saw that old Thomas Gordon thought I had been messing with fate by trying.”
Eric smiled mechanically.
Eric smiled stiffly.
“I must go up and see Kilmeny. You’ll excuse me, won’t you, David? My books are there—help yourself.”
“I need to go see Kilmeny. You don’t mind, do you, David? My books are over there—feel free to take a look.”
But when Eric reached the Gordon house he saw only old Janet, who told him that Kilmeny was in her room and refused to see him.
But when Eric got to the Gordon house, he only saw old Janet, who told him that Kilmeny was in her room and didn’t want to see him.
“She thought you would come up, and she left this with me to give you, Master.”
“She thought you would come by, and she left this with me to give you, Master.”
Janet handed him a little note. It was very brief and blotted with tears.
Janet gave him a small note. It was short and stained with tears.
“Do not come any more, Eric,” it ran. “I must not see you, because it would only make it harder for us both. You must go away and forget me. You will be thankful for this some day. I shall always love and pray for you.”
“Please don’t come anymore, Eric,” it said. “I can't see you because it would only make things harder for both of us. You need to leave and forget about me. You’ll be grateful for this someday. I will always love you and pray for you.”
“KILMENY.”
“Kilmeny.”
“I MUST see her,” said Eric desperately. “Aunt Janet, be my friend. Tell her she must see me for a little while at least.”
“I HAVE to see her,” Eric said desperately. “Aunt Janet, please help me out. Tell her she needs to see me, even if it’s just for a little while.”
Janet shook her head but went upstairs. She soon returned.
Janet shook her head but went upstairs. She quickly came back down.
“She says she cannot come down. You know she means it, Master, and it is of no use to coax her. And I must say I think she is right. Since she will not marry you it is better for her not to see you.”
"She says she can't come down. You know she means it, Master, and trying to persuade her won't help. And I have to say I think she's right. Since she won't marry you, it's better for her not to see you."
Eric was compelled to go home with no better comfort than this. In the morning, as it was Sunday, he drove David Baker to the station. He had not slept and he looked so miserable and reckless that David felt anxious about him. David would have stayed in Lindsay for a few days, but a certain critical case in Queenslea demanded his speedy return. He shook hands with Eric on the station platform.
Eric had to go home without any better comfort than this. In the morning, since it was Sunday, he drove David Baker to the station. He hadn’t slept and looked so miserable and reckless that David felt worried about him. David would have stayed in Lindsay for a few days, but a certain urgent case in Queenslea required his quick return. He shook hands with Eric on the station platform.
“Eric, give up that school and come home at once. You can do no good in Lindsay now, and you’ll only eat your heart out here.”
“Eric, leave that school and come home right away. You won’t do any good in Lindsay now, and you’ll just be miserable here.”
“I must see Kilmeny once more before I leave,” was all Eric’s answer.
“I have to see Kilmeny one more time before I go,” was all Eric said.
That afternoon he went again to the Gordon homestead. But the result was the same; Kilmeny refused to see him, and Thomas Gordon said gravely,
That afternoon he went back to the Gordon homestead. But the outcome was the same; Kilmeny wouldn’t see him, and Thomas Gordon said seriously,
“Master, you know I like you and I am sorry Kilmeny thinks as she does, though maybe she is right. I would be glad to see you often for your own sake and I’ll miss you much; but as things are I tell you plainly you’d better not come here any more. It will do no good, and the sooner you and she get over thinking about each other the better for you both. Go now, lad, and God bless you.”
“Master, you know I like you and I'm sorry Kilmeny thinks the way she does, though maybe she’s right. I would love to see you often for your own sake, and I’ll miss you a lot; but given the situation, I have to be honest and say you shouldn’t come here anymore. It won’t help, and the sooner you both stop thinking about each other, the better for you both. Go now, lad, and God bless you.”
“Do you know what it is you are asking of me?” said Eric hoarsely.
“Do you know what you're asking me?” Eric said hoarsely.
“I know I am asking a hard thing for your own good, Master. It is not as if Kilmeny would ever change her mind. We have had some experience with a woman’s will ere this. Tush, Janet, woman, don’t be weeping. You women are foolish creatures. Do you think tears can wash such things away? No, they cannot blot out sin, or the consequences of sin. It’s awful how one sin can spread out and broaden, till it eats into innocent lives, sometimes long after the sinner has gone to his own accounting. Master, if you take my advice, you’ll give up the Lindsay school and go back to your own world as soon as may be.”
“I know I’m asking a tough thing for your own good, Master. It’s not like Kilmeny will ever change her mind. We've dealt with a woman's stubbornness before. Come on, Janet, don’t cry. You women are silly. Do you think tears can make everything better? No, they can't erase sin or its consequences. It's terrible how one sin can spread and grow, affecting innocent lives, sometimes long after the sinner has faced their judgment. Master, if you take my advice, you’ll leave the Lindsay school and return to your own life as soon as you can.”
CHAPTER XVII. A BROKEN FETTER
Eric went home with a white, haggard face. He had never thought it was possible for a man to suffer as he suffered then. What was he to do? It seemed impossible to go on with life—there was NO life apart from Kilmeny. Anguish wrung his soul until his strength went from him and youth and hope turned to gall and bitterness in his heart.
Eric went home with a pale, exhausted face. He never thought it was possible for someone to endure pain like he was feeling right then. What was he supposed to do? It felt impossible to continue with life—there was NO life without Kilmeny. Anguish twisted his soul until all his strength faded, and youth and hope turned into bitterness and resentment in his heart.
He never afterwards could tell how he lived through the following Sunday or how he taught school as usual on Monday. He found out how much a man may suffer and yet go on living and working. His body seemed to him an automaton that moved and spoke mechanically, while his tortured spirit, pent-up within, endured pain that left its impress on him for ever. Out of that fiery furnace of agony Eric Marshall was to go forth a man who had put boyhood behind him for ever and looked out on life with eyes that saw into it and beyond.
He never could explain how he got through the next Sunday or how he taught school like normal on Monday. He discovered just how much a person can suffer and still keep going. His body felt like a machine that moved and talked automatically, while his tormented spirit, trapped inside, experienced pain that would change him forever. From that intense ordeal of suffering, Eric Marshall was transformed into a man who had left his childhood behind for good and confronted life with a perspective that saw deeply into it and beyond.
On Tuesday afternoon there was a funeral in the district and, according to custom, the school was closed. Eric went again to the old orchard. He had no expectation of seeing Kilmeny there, for he thought she would avoid the spot lest she might meet him. But he could not keep away from it, although the thought of it was an added torment, and he vibrated between a wild wish that he might never see it again, and a sick wonder how he could possibly go away and leave it—that strange old orchard where he had met and wooed his sweetheart, watching her develop and blossom under his eyes, like some rare flower, until in the space of three short months she had passed from exquisite childhood into still more exquisite womanhood.
On Tuesday afternoon, there was a funeral in the area, and, as usual, school was closed. Eric went back to the old orchard. He didn’t expect to see Kilmeny there since he thought she would stay away to avoid running into him. But he couldn’t resist going, even though the thought of it tormented him. He oscillated between a desperate wish to never see it again and a painful curiosity about how he could leave this place behind—that strange old orchard where he had met and courted his sweetheart, watching her grow and bloom before his eyes, like a rare flower, until in the span of just three months she had transitioned from beautiful childhood into even more beautiful womanhood.
As he crossed the pasture field before the spruce wood he came upon Neil Gordon, building a longer fence. Neil did not look up as Eric passed, but sullenly went on driving poles. Before this Eric had pitied Neil; now he was conscious of feeling sympathy with him. Had Neil suffered as he was suffering? Eric had entered into a new fellowship whereof the passport was pain.
As he walked through the pasture field in front of the spruce trees, he saw Neil Gordon putting up a longer fence. Neil didn’t look up as Eric walked by; he just kept driving in poles with a gloomy expression. Before this, Eric had felt sorry for Neil; now he realized he actually felt a deeper sympathy for him. Had Neil experienced the same kind of suffering that Eric was going through? Eric felt like he had joined a new connection that was bonded by pain.
The orchard was very silent and dreamy in the thick, deep tinted sunshine of the September afternoon, a sunshine which seemed to possess the power of extracting the very essence of all the odours which summer has stored up in wood and field. There were few flowers now; most of the lilies, which had queened it so bravely along the central path a few days before, were withered. The grass had become ragged and sere and unkempt. But in the corners the torches of the goldenrod were kindling and a few misty purple asters nodded here and there. The orchard kept its own strange attractiveness, as some women with youth long passed still preserve an atmosphere of remembered beauty and innate, indestructible charm.
The orchard was quiet and dreamy in the thick, golden sunlight of the September afternoon, a sunlight that seemed to pull out the very essence of all the scents summer has gathered in the woods and fields. There were few flowers now; most of the lilies, which had proudly bloomed along the central path just a few days ago, were wilted. The grass had grown ragged and dry and unruly. But in the corners, the goldenrod was starting to bloom, and a few soft purple asters swayed here and there. The orchard retained its unique appeal, much like some women whose youth has long faded but who still exude an aura of cherished beauty and innate, timeless charm.
Eric walked drearily and carelessly about it, and finally sat down on a half fallen fence panel in the shadow of the overhanging spruce boughs. There he gave himself up to a reverie, poignant and bitter sweet, in which he lived over again everything that had passed in the orchard since his first meeting there with Kilmeny.
Eric walked around aimlessly and carelessly, and eventually sat down on a half-collapsed fence panel in the shade of the overhanging spruce branches. There, he let himself fall into a daydream, both painful and bittersweet, where he relived everything that had happened in the orchard since his first meeting with Kilmeny.
So deep was his abstraction that he was conscious of nothing around him. He did not hear stealthy footsteps behind him in the dim spruce wood. He did not even see Kilmeny as she came slowly around the curve of the wild cherry lane.
So deep was his thinking that he was aware of nothing around him. He didn't hear the quiet footsteps behind him in the dim spruce forest. He didn't even see Kilmeny as she slowly walked around the bend of the wild cherry path.
Kilmeny had sought the old orchard for the healing of her heartbreak, if healing were possible for her. She had no fear of encountering Eric there at that time of day, for she did not know that it was the district custom to close the school for a funeral. She would never have gone to it in the evening, but she longed for it continually; it, and her memories, were all that was left her now.
Kilmeny had gone to the old orchard to mend her broken heart, if that was even possible for her. She wasn’t worried about running into Eric at that time of day because she didn’t know that the school was closed for a funeral. She wouldn’t have gone in the evening, but she craved it all the time; that place and her memories were all she had left now.
Years seemed to have passed over the girl in those few days. She had drunk of pain and broken bread with sorrow. Her face was pale and strained, with bluish, transparent shadows under her large wistful eyes, out of which the dream and laughter of girlhood had gone, but into which had come the potent charm of grief and patience. Thomas Gordon had shaken his head bodingly when he had looked at her that morning at the breakfast table.
Years seemed to have passed for the girl in just a few days. She had tasted pain and shared her meals with sorrow. Her face was pale and tense, with bluish, translucent shadows under her large, longing eyes, from which the dreams and laughter of her youth had vanished, replaced by the deep allure of grief and endurance. Thomas Gordon had shaken his head ominously when he saw her that morning at the breakfast table.
“She won’t stand it,” he thought. “She isn’t long for this world. Maybe it is all for the best, poor lass. But I wish that young Master had never set foot in the Connors orchard, or in this house. Margaret, Margaret, it’s hard that your child should have to be paying the reckoning of a sin that was sinned before her birth.”
“She won’t tolerate it,” he thought. “She doesn’t have much time left. Maybe it’s for the best, poor girl. But I wish that young Master had never come to the Connors’ orchard, or into this house. Margaret, Margaret, it’s unfair that your child has to pay the price for a sin committed before her birth.”
Kilmeny walked through the lane slowly and absently like a woman in a dream. When she came to the gap in the fence where the lane ran into the orchard she lifted her wan, drooping face and saw Eric, sitting in the shadow of the wood at the other side of the orchard with his bowed head in his hands. She stopped quickly and the blood rushed wildly over her face.
Kilmeny walked through the path slowly and absentmindedly, like someone in a dream. When she reached the opening in the fence where the path led into the orchard, she lifted her pale, drooping face and saw Eric sitting in the shade of the trees on the other side of the orchard with his head bowed in his hands. She stopped suddenly, and the blood rushed to her face.
The next moment it ebbed, leaving her white as marble. Horror filled her eyes,—blank, deadly horror, as the livid shadow of a cloud might fill two blue pools.
The next moment it faded, leaving her pale as marble. Terror filled her eyes—blank, deadly terror, like the dark shadow of a cloud filling two blue pools.
Behind Eric Neil Gordon was standing tense, crouched, murderous. Even at that distance Kilmeny saw the look on his face, saw what he held in his hand, and realized in one agonized flash of comprehension what it meant.
Behind Eric Neil Gordon, someone was standing tense, crouched, and ready to attack. Even from that distance, Kilmeny saw the expression on his face, noticed what he was holding in his hand, and in one agonizing moment of understanding, realized what it meant.
All this photographed itself in her brain in an instant. She knew that by the time she could run across the orchard to warn Eric by a touch it would be too late. Yet she must warn him—she MUST—she MUST! A mighty surge of desire seemed to rise up within her and overwhelm her like a wave of the sea,—a surge that swept everything before it in an irresistible flood. As Neil Gordon swiftly and vindictively, with the face of a demon, lifted the axe he held in his hand, Kilmeny sprang forward through the gap.
All this flashed in her mind in an instant. She realized that by the time she could run across the orchard to warn Eric with a touch, it would be too late. Still, she had to warn him—she HAD to—she HAD to! A powerful wave of urgency seemed to rise up inside her, overwhelming her like a tidal wave, sweeping everything away in an unstoppable rush. As Neil Gordon quickly and vindictively, with a look of fury, raised the axe he held, Kilmeny dashed through the gap.
“ERIC, ERIC, LOOK BEHIND YOU—LOOK BEHIND YOU!”
Eric started up, confused, bewildered, as the voice came shrieking across the orchard. He did not in the least realize that it was Kilmeny who had called to him, but he instinctively obeyed the command.
Eric jumped, confused and bewildered, as the voice screamed across the orchard. He had no idea it was Kilmeny calling him, but he instinctively followed the command.
He wheeled around and saw Neil Gordon, who was looking, not at him, but past him at Kilmeny. The Italian boy’s face was ashen and his eyes were filled with terror and incredulity, as if he had been checked in his murderous purpose by some supernatural interposition. The axe, lying at his feet where he had dropped it in his unutterable consternation on hearing Kilmeny’s cry told the whole tale. But before Eric could utter a word Neil turned, with a cry more like that of an animal than a human being, and fled like a hunted creature into the shadow of the spruce wood.
He spun around and saw Neil Gordon, who was looking, not at him, but past him at Kilmeny. The Italian boy's face was pale and his eyes were filled with fear and disbelief, as if some supernatural force had stopped him from carrying out his deadly intent. The axe, lying at his feet where he had dropped it in sheer shock after hearing Kilmeny’s scream, told the whole story. But before Eric could say anything, Neil turned with a cry that sounded more animal than human and ran like a hunted creature into the shadows of the spruce wood.
A moment later Kilmeny, her lovely face dewed with tears and sunned over with smiles, flung herself on Eric’s breast.
A moment later, Kilmeny, her beautiful face glistening with tears and brightened by smiles, threw herself onto Eric's chest.
“Oh, Eric, I can speak,—I can speak! Oh, it is so wonderful! Eric, I love you—I love you!”
“Oh, Eric, I can talk—I can talk! Oh, it’s so amazing! Eric, I love you—I love you!”
CHAPTER XVIII. NEIL GORDON SOLVES HIS OWN PROBLEM
“It is a miracle!” said Thomas Gordon in an awed tone.
It was the first time he had spoken since Eric and Kilmeny had rushed in, hand in hand, like two children intoxicated with joy and wonder, and gasped out their story together to him and Janet.
It was the first time he had spoken since Eric and Kilmeny had hurried in, hand in hand, like two kids filled with joy and amazement, and breathlessly shared their story with him and Janet.
“Oh, no, it is very wonderful, but it is not a miracle,” said Eric. “David told me it might happen. I had no hope that it would. He could explain it all to you if he were here.”
“Oh, no, it’s really amazing, but it’s not a miracle,” said Eric. “David told me it could happen. I never thought it actually would. He could explain it all to you if he were here.”
Thomas Gordon shook his head. “I doubt if he could, Master—he, or any one else. It is near enough to a miracle for me. Let us thank God reverently and humbly that he has seen fit to remove his curse from the innocent. Your doctors may explain it as they like, lad, but I’m thinking they won’t get much nearer to it than that. It is awesome, that is what it is. Janet, woman, I feel as if I were in a dream. Can Kilmeny really speak?”
Thomas Gordon shook his head. “I doubt he could, Master—he, or anyone else. It’s close enough to a miracle for me. Let’s thank God respectfully and humbly that He has chosen to lift His curse from the innocent. Your doctors can explain it however they want, but I doubt they’ll understand it much better than that. It’s incredible, that’s what it is. Janet, I feel like I’m in a dream. Can Kilmeny really speak?”
“Indeed I can, Uncle,” said Kilmeny, with a rapturous glance at Eric. “Oh, I don’t know how it came to me—I felt that I MUST speak—and I did. And it is so easy now—it seems to me as if I could always have done it.”
“Of course I can, Uncle,” said Kilmeny, looking at Eric with excitement. “Oh, I don’t know how it came to me—I just knew I HAD to speak—and I did. And it feels so easy now—it seems like I could have always done this.”
She spoke naturally and easily. The only difficulty which she seemed to experience was in the proper modulation of her voice. Occasionally she pitched it too high—again, too low. But it was evident that she would soon acquire perfect control of it. It was a beautiful voice—very clear and soft and musical.
She spoke effortlessly and casually. The only challenge she appeared to face was in modulating her voice correctly. Occasionally, she pitched it too high, and at other times, too low. But it was clear that she would soon gain perfect control of it. It was a lovely voice—very clear, soft, and melodic.
“Oh, I am so glad that the first word I said was your name, dearest,” she murmured to Eric.
“Oh, I’m so glad that the first word I said was your name, sweetheart,” she murmured to Eric.
“What about Neil?” asked Thomas Gordon gravely, rousing himself with an effort from his abstraction of wonder. “What are we to do with him when he returns? In one way this is a sad business.”
“What about Neil?” Thomas Gordon asked seriously, pulling himself away from his thoughts of wonder. “What are we going to do with him when he comes back? In a way, this is a sad situation.”
Eric had almost forgotten about Neil in his overwhelming amazement and joy. The realization of his escape from sudden and violent death had not yet had any opportunity to take possession of his thoughts.
Eric had nearly forgotten about Neil in his overwhelming amazement and joy. The realization that he had escaped sudden and violent death hadn’t yet had a chance to take hold of his thoughts.
“We must forgive him, Mr. Gordon. I know how I should feel towards a man who took Kilmeny from me. It was an evil impulse to which he gave way in his suffering—and think of the good which has resulted from it.”
“We need to forgive him, Mr. Gordon. I know how I would feel about someone who took Kilmeny from me. It was a wicked impulse he succumbed to in his pain—and just think of the good that has come from it.”
“That is true, Master, but it does not alter the terrible fact that the boy had murder in his heart,—that he would have killed you. An over-ruling Providence has saved him from the actual commission of the crime and brought good out of evil; but he is guilty in thought and purpose. And we have cared for him and instructed him as our own—with all his faults we have loved him! It is a hard thing, and I do not see what we are to do. We cannot act as if nothing had happened. We can never trust him again.”
“That’s true, Master, but it doesn’t change the awful reality that the boy had murder in his heart—he would have killed you. A higher power has saved him from actually going through with the crime and turned something bad into something good; but he is guilty in his thoughts and intentions. We have looked after him and taught him as if he were our own—with all his flaws, we have loved him! It’s a difficult situation, and I’m not sure what we should do. We can’t pretend like nothing happened. We can never trust him again.”
But Neil Gordon solved the problem himself. When Eric returned that night he found old Robert Williamson in the pantry regaling himself with a lunch of bread and cheese after a trip to the station. Timothy sat on the dresser in black velvet state and gravely addressed himself to the disposal of various tid-bits that came his way.
But Neil Gordon figured it out himself. When Eric came back that night, he found old Robert Williamson in the pantry enjoying a lunch of bread and cheese after a trip to the station. Timothy sat on the dresser in his black velvet glory and seriously focused on getting rid of various scraps that came his way.
“Good night, Master. Glad to see you’re looking more like yourself. I told the wife it was only a lover’s quarrel most like. She’s been worrying about you; but she didn’t like to ask you what was the trouble. She ain’t one of them unfortunate folks who can’t be happy athout they’re everlasting poking their noses into other people’s business. But what kind of a rumpus was kicked up at the Gordon place, to-night, Master?”
“Good night, Master. I’m glad to see you’re looking more like yourself. I told the wife it was probably just a lover’s quarrel. She’s been worried about you, but she didn’t want to ask what was wrong. She’s not one of those unfortunate people who can’t be happy without constantly sticking their noses into other people’s business. But what kind of commotion happened at the Gordon place tonight, Master?”
Eric looked amazed. What could Robert Williamson have heard so soon?
Eric looked amazed. What could Robert Williamson have heard so quickly?
“What do you mean?” he asked.
“What do you mean?” he asked.
“Why, us folks at the station knew there must have been a to-do of some kind when Neil Gordon went off on the harvest excursion the way he did.”
“Why, we at the station knew there must have been some kind of fuss when Neil Gordon went off on the harvest trip the way he did.”
“Neil gone! On the harvest excursion!” exclaimed Eric.
“Neil's gone! On the harvest trip!” exclaimed Eric.
“Yes, sir. You know this was the night the excursion train left. They cross on the boat to-night—special trip. There was a dozen or so fellows from hereabouts went. We was all standing around chatting when Lincoln Frame drove up full speed and Neil jumped out of his rig. Just bolted into the office, got his ticket and out again, and on to the train without a word to any one, and as black looking as the Old Scratch himself. We was all too surprised to speak till he was gone. Lincoln couldn’t give us much information. He said Neil had rushed up to their place about dark, looking as if the constable was after him, and offered to sell that black filly of his to Lincoln for sixty dollars if Lincoln would drive him to the station in time to catch the excursion train. The filly was Neil’s own, and Lincoln had been wanting to buy her but Neil would never hear to it afore. Lincoln jumped at the chance. Neil had brought the filly with him, and Lincoln hitched right up and took him to the station. Neil hadn’t no luggage of any kind and wouldn’t open his mouth the whole way up, Lincoln says. We concluded him and old Thomas must have had a row. D’ye know anything about it? Or was you so wrapped up in sweethearting that you didn’t hear or see nothing else?”
“Yes, sir. You know this was the night the excursion train left. They crossed on the boat tonight—a special trip. There were a dozen or so guys from around here who went. We were all standing around chatting when Lincoln Frame drove up full speed and Neil jumped out of his rig. He just bolted into the office, got his ticket, and then rushed back out to the train without saying a word to anyone, looking as grim as the devil. We were all too shocked to say anything until he was gone. Lincoln couldn’t tell us much. He said Neil had rushed up to their place just before dark, looking like he was being chased by the cops, and offered to sell his black filly to Lincoln for sixty dollars if Lincoln would drive him to the station in time to catch the excursion train. The filly was Neil’s own, and Lincoln had wanted to buy her, but Neil had never agreed to it before. Lincoln jumped at the chance. Neil had brought the filly with him, and Lincoln hitched up right away and took him to the station. Neil didn’t have any luggage at all and wouldn’t say a word the whole way there, Lincoln said. We figured he and old Thomas must have had a fight. Do you know anything about it? Or were you so caught up in your romance that you didn’t see or hear anything else?”
Eric reflected rapidly. He was greatly relieved to find that Neil had gone. He would never return and this was best for all concerned. Old Robert must be told a part of the truth at least, since it would soon become known that Kilmeny could speak.
Eric thought quickly. He felt a huge sense of relief realizing that Neil was gone. He would never come back, and that was for the best for everyone involved. Old Robert needed to be told at least some of the truth, since it would soon become known that Kilmeny could talk.
“There was some trouble at the Gordon place to-night, Mr. Williamson,” he said quietly. “Neil Gordon behaved rather badly and frightened Kilmeny terribly,—so terribly that a very surprising thing has happened. She has found herself able to speak, and can speak perfectly.”
“There was some trouble at the Gordon place tonight, Mr. Williamson,” he said softly. “Neil Gordon acted really badly and scared Kilmeny a lot—so much that something very surprising has happened. She has found that she can speak, and she can speak perfectly.”
Old Robert laid down the piece of cheese he was conveying to his mouth on the point of a knife and stared at Eric in blank amazement.
Old Robert placed the piece of cheese he was bringing to his mouth on the tip of a knife and looked at Eric in stunned disbelief.
“God bless my soul, Master, what an extraordinary thing!” he ejaculated. “Are you in earnest? Or are you trying to see how much of a fool you can make of the old man?”
“God bless my soul, Master, what an amazing thing!” he exclaimed. “Are you serious? Or are you just trying to see how much of a fool you can make of the old man?”
“No, Mr. Williamson, I assure you it is no more than the simple truth. Dr. Baker told me that a shock might cure her,—and it has. As for Neil, he has gone, no doubt for good, and I think it well that he has.”
“No, Mr. Williamson, I promise you it’s nothing but the plain truth. Dr. Baker told me that a shock might help her—and it did. As for Neil, he’s gone, probably for good, and I think that’s for the best.”
Not caring to discuss the matter further, Eric left the kitchen. But as he mounted the stairs to his room he heard old Robert muttering, like a man in hopeless bewilderment,
Not wanting to talk about it anymore, Eric left the kitchen. But as he climbed the stairs to his room, he heard old Robert mumbling, like someone completely lost.
“Well, I never heard anything like this in all my born days—never—never. Timothy, did YOU ever hear the like? Them Gordons are an unaccountable lot and no mistake. They couldn’t act like other people if they tried. I must wake mother up and tell her about this, or I’ll never be able to sleep.”
“Well, I’ve never heard anything like this in my entire life—never—never. Timothy, did YOU ever hear anything like it? Those Gordons are an unbelievable bunch, no doubt about it. They couldn’t act like normal people if they tried. I have to wake up mom and tell her about this, or I won't be able to sleep.”
CHAPTER XIX. VICTOR FROM VANQUISHED ISSUES
Now that everything was settled Eric wished to give up teaching and go back to his own place. True, he had “signed papers” to teach the school for a year; but he knew that the trustees would let him off if he procured a suitable substitute. He resolved to teach until the fall vacation, which came in October, and then go. Kilmeny had promised that their marriage should take place in the following spring. Eric had pleaded for an earlier date, but Kilmeny was sweetly resolute, and Thomas and Janet agreed with her.
Now that everything was settled, Eric wanted to quit teaching and go back to his own place. Sure, he had “signed papers” to teach at the school for a year, but he knew the trustees would let him off if he found a good substitute. He decided to teach until the fall break, which was in October, and then leave. Kilmeny had promised that their wedding would happen in the following spring. Eric had asked for an earlier date, but Kilmeny was sweetly determined, and Thomas and Janet supported her.
“There are so many things that I must learn yet before I shall be ready to be married,” Kilmeny had said. “And I want to get accustomed to seeing people. I feel a little frightened yet whenever I see any one I don’t know, although I don’t think I show it. I am going to church with Uncle and Aunt after this, and to the Missionary Society meetings. And Uncle Thomas says that he will send me to a boarding school in town this winter if you think it advisable.”
“There are so many things I still need to learn before I’m ready to get married,” Kilmeny had said. “And I want to get used to being around people. I still feel a bit scared whenever I see someone I don’t know, even though I don’t think I show it. I’m going to church with Uncle and Aunt after this, and to the Missionary Society meetings. And Uncle Thomas says he’ll send me to a boarding school in town this winter if you think it’s a good idea.”
Eric vetoed this promptly. The idea of Kilmeny in a boarding school was something that could not be thought about without laughter.
Eric quickly rejected the idea. The thought of Kilmeny in a boarding school was something that couldn't be considered without laughing.
“I can’t see why she can’t learn all she needs to learn after she is married to me, just as well as before,” he grumbled to her uncle and aunt.
“I don’t understand why she can’t learn everything she needs to know after we’re married, just as well as before,” he complained to her uncle and aunt.
“But we want to keep her with us for another winter yet,” explained Thomas Gordon patiently. “We are going to miss her terrible when she does go, Master. She has never been away from us for a day—she is all the brightness there is in our lives. It is very kind of you to say that she can come home whenever she likes, but there will be a great difference. She will belong to your world and not to ours. That is for the best—and we wouldn’t have it otherwise. But let us keep her as our own for this one winter yet.”
"But we want to keep her with us for one more winter," Thomas Gordon explained patiently. "We're going to miss her so much when she leaves, Master. She's never been away from us for a single day—she's the light in our lives. It's really nice of you to say she can come back whenever she wants, but things will be different. She'll belong to your world, not ours. That's for the best—and we wouldn't want it any other way. But let us keep her as our own for this one more winter."
Eric yielded with the best grace he could muster. After all, he reflected, Lindsay was not so far from Queenslea, and there were such things as boats and trains.
Eric gave in as gracefully as he could. After all, he thought, Lindsay wasn't that far from Queenslea, and there were things like boats and trains.
“Have you told your father about all this yet?” asked Janet anxiously.
“Have you told your dad about all this yet?” asked Janet anxiously.
No, he had not. But he went home and wrote a full account of his summer to old Mr. Marshall that night.
No, he hadn't. But he went home and that night wrote a complete story about his summer to old Mr. Marshall.
Mr. Marshall, Senior, answered the letter in person. A few days later, Eric, coming home from school, found his father sitting in Mrs. Williamson’s prim, fleckless parlour. Nothing was said about Eric’s letter, however, until after tea. When they found themselves alone, Mr. Marshall said abruptly,
Mr. Marshall, Senior, replied to the letter himself. A few days later, Eric returned home from school and found his father sitting in Mrs. Williamson’s tidy, spotless living room. However, they didn’t mention Eric’s letter until after tea. When they were alone, Mr. Marshall said abruptly,
“Eric, what about this girl? I hope you haven’t gone and made a fool of yourself. It sounds remarkably like it. A girl that has been dumb all her life—a girl with no right to her father’s name—a country girl brought up in a place like Lindsay! Your wife will have to fill your mother’s place,—and your mother was a pearl among women. Do you think this girl is worthy of it? It isn’t possible! You’ve been led away by a pretty face and dairy maid freshness. I expected some trouble out of this freak of yours coming over here to teach school.”
“Eric, what about this girl? I hope you haven’t made a fool of yourself. It sure sounds like it. A girl who’s been naïve all her life—a girl with no right to her father’s name—a country girl raised in a place like Lindsay! Your wife will have to take your mother’s place, and your mother was one of a kind. Do you think this girl is deserving of it? No way! You’ve been swayed by a pretty face and farm-girl charm. I expected some drama with this oddball of yours coming here to teach school.”
“Wait until you see Kilmeny, father,” said Eric, smiling.
“Just wait until you see Kilmeny, Dad,” Eric said with a smile.
“Humph! That’s just exactly what David Baker said. I went straight to him when I got your letter, for I knew that there was some connection between it and that mysterious visit of his over here, concerning which I never could drag a word out of him by hook or crook. And all HE said was, ‘Wait until you see Kilmeny Gordon, sir.’ Well, I WILL wait till I see her, but I shall look at her with the eyes of sixty-five, mind you, not the eyes of twenty-four. And if she isn’t what your wife ought to be, sir, you give her up or paddle your own canoe. I shall not aid or abet you in making a fool of yourself and spoiling your life.”
“Humph! That’s exactly what David Baker said. I went straight to him when I got your letter because I knew there was some connection between it and that mysterious visit of his over here, which I could never get him to discuss no matter what. All he said was, ‘Wait until you see Kilmeny Gordon, sir.’ Well, I WILL wait until I see her, but I’ll be looking at her with the perspective of sixty-five, not twenty-four. And if she isn’t what your wife should be, sir, you either let her go or figure things out on your own. I won’t help you make a fool of yourself and ruin your life.”
Eric bit his lip, but only said quietly,
Eric bit his lip but only said quietly,
“Come with me, father. We will go to see her now.”
“Come with me, Dad. We'll go see her now.”
They went around by way of the main road and the Gordon lane. Kilmeny was not in when they reached the house.
They took the main road and then Gordon Lane. Kilmeny wasn’t home when they got to the house.
“She is up in the old orchard, Master,” said Janet. “She loves that place so much she spends all her spare time there. She likes to go there to study.”
“She’s up in the old orchard, Master,” Janet said. “She loves that place so much that she spends all her free time there. She likes to go there to study.”
They sat down and talked awhile with Thomas and Janet. When they left, Mr. Marshall said,
They sat down and chatted for a bit with Thomas and Janet. When they left, Mr. Marshall said,
“I like those people. If Thomas Gordon had been a man like Robert Williamson I shouldn’t have waited to see your Kilmeny. But they are all right—rugged and grim, but of good stock and pith—native refinement and strong character. But I must say candidly that I hope your young lady hasn’t got her aunt’s mouth.”
“I like those people. If Thomas Gordon had been a man like Robert Williamson, I wouldn’t have waited to see your Kilmeny. But they’re all good—tough and serious, but from solid backgrounds and full of spirit—natural grace and strong character. However, I have to be honest and say that I hope your young lady doesn’t have her aunt’s mouth.”
“Kilmeny’s mouth is like a love-song made incarnate in sweet flesh,” said Eric enthusiastically.
“Kilmeny’s mouth is like a love song brought to life in sweet flesh,” Eric said enthusiastically.
“Humph!” said Mr. Marshall. “Well,” he added more tolerantly, a moment later, “I was a poet, too, for six months in my life when I was courting your mother.”
“Humph!” said Mr. Marshall. “Well,” he added more patiently a moment later, “I was a poet, too, for six months during the time I was dating your mother.”
Kilmeny was reading on the bench under the lilac trees when they reached the orchard. She stood up and came shyly forward to meet them, guessing who the tall, white-haired old gentleman with Eric must be. As she approached Eric saw with a thrill of exultation that she had never looked lovelier. She wore a dress of her favourite blue, simply and quaintly made, as all her gowns were, revealing the perfect lines of her lithe, slender figure. Her glossy black hair was wound about her head in a braided coronet, against which a spray of wild asters shone like pale purple stars. Her face was flushed delicately with excitement. She looked like a young princess, crowned with a ruddy splash of sunlight that fell through the old trees.
Kilmeny was sitting on the bench under the lilac trees when they walked into the orchard. She stood up and stepped forward shyly to greet them, guessing who the tall, white-haired gentleman with Eric was. As she approached, Eric felt a rush of excitement, realizing she had never looked more beautiful. She wore her favorite blue dress, simply and charmingly made like all her outfits, highlighting the perfect shape of her lithe, slender figure. Her shiny black hair was braided into a crown around her head, with a spray of wild asters glowing like pale purple stars. Her face was lightly flushed with excitement. She looked like a young princess, crowned with a warm splash of sunlight that streamed through the old trees.
“Father, this is Kilmeny,” said Eric proudly.
“Dad, this is Kilmeny,” Eric said proudly.
Kilmeny held out her hand with a shyly murmured greeting. Mr. Marshall took it and held it in his, looking so steadily and piercingly into her face that even her frank gaze wavered before the intensity of his keen old eyes. Then he drew her to him and kissed her gravely and gently on her white forehead.
Kilmeny extended her hand with a quietly spoken greeting. Mr. Marshall took it, holding it firmly in his own, gazing so intently and penetratingly into her face that even her open gaze faltered under the intensity of his sharp old eyes. Then he pulled her close and kissed her seriously and softly on her forehead.
“My dear,” he said, “I am glad and proud that you have consented to be my son’s wife—and my very dear and honoured daughter.”
“My dear,” he said, “I am happy and proud that you have agreed to be my son’s wife—and my very dear and honored daughter.”
Eric turned abruptly away to hide his emotion and on his face was a light as of one who sees a great glory widening and deepening down the vista of his future.
Eric turned away suddenly to conceal his feelings, and his face shone like someone who sees a great glory expanding and deepening in the distance of his future.
THE END.
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