XXX.
THE OTHER CHANCE.
The blink of sunlight was pleasantly warm where Barbara sat with HettyHume on a seat set back among the laurels which just there cut off theshrewd wind from the English lawn. A black cloud sailed slowly over thegreen hilltop behind the old grey house, and the close-cropped grass wassparkling still with the sprinkle of bitter rain, but the scent of thepale narcissus drifted up from the borders and the sticky buds of a bigchestnut were opening overhead. Barbara glanced across the sweep of lawntowards the line of willows that swung their tasseled boughs above thepalely flashing river. They were apparently dusted with silver andochre, and here and there a flush of green chequered the ridge of thornalong the winding road that led the eye upwards to the clean-cut edge ofthe moor. It was, however, a regular, even line, cropped to oneunvarying level save for the breaks where the neat gates were hung; theroad was smooth and wide, with a red board beside the wisp of firs aboveto warn all it might concern of the gradient; while the square fieldswith the polled trees in the trim hedgerows all conveyed the sameimpression. This was decorous, well-ordered England, where Nature wasbroken to man's dominion centuries ago. As she glanced at it hercompanion laughed.
"The prospect from here is, I believe, generally admitted to beattractive, though I have not noticed any of my other friends spend muchtime in admiring it," she said. "Still, perhaps it is different in yourcase. You haven't anything quite like it in Canada."
"No," said Barbara. "Anyway, not between Quatomac and the big glacier.You remember that ride?"
"Of course!" said Hetty Hume. "I found it a little overwhelming. Thatis, the peaks and glaciers. I also remember the rancher. The one whoplayed the violin. I suppose you never came across him again?"
"I met him once or twice. At a big concert--and on other occasions."
Barbara's smile was indifferent, but she was silent for the next minuteor two. She had now spent several weeks in England, and had found thesmooth, well-regulated life there pleasant after the restless activityof the one she had led in Western Canada, where everybody toiledfeverishly. She felt the contrast every day, and now the sight of thatsoftly-sliding river, whose low murmur came up soothingly across thelawn, recalled the one that frothed and foamed amidst the Quatomacpines, and the roar that rose from the misty canyon. That, verynaturally, also brought back the face of the flume-builder, and shewondered vaguely whether he was still at the Dayspring, and what he wasdoing then, until her companion turned to her again.
"We will really have to decide about the Cruttendens' dance to-night,"she said. "It will be the last frivolity of the season in thisvicinity."
"I haven't met Mrs. Cruttenden, have I?" said Barbara, indifferently.
"You did, when you were here before. Don't you remember the old houseyou were so pleased with lower down the valley? In any case, sheremembers you, and made a point of my bringing you. Cruttenden has arelative in your country, though I never heard much about the man."
Barbara remembered the old building very well, and it suddenly flashedupon her that Brooke had on one occasion displayed a curiousacquaintance with it. Everything that afternoon seemed to force him uponher recollection.
"You would like to go?" she said.
"I, at least, feel I ought to. We are, of course, quite newcomers here.In fact, we had only bought Larchwood just before you last came over,and it was Mrs. Cruttenden who first took us up. One may live a verylong while in places of this kind without being admitted within thepale, you see, and even the rank of Major isn't a very great warranty,especially if it has been gained in foreign service instead ofAldershot."
Miss Hume stopped as her father came slowly down the pathway with agrey-haired lady, whose dress proclaimed her a widow, and the latter'svoice reached the girl's clearly. Her face was, so Barbara noticed, veryexpressive as she turned to her companion.
"I think you know what I really came for," she said. "I feel I owe you avery great deal."
Major Hume made a little deprecatory gesture. "I have," he said, "atleast, seen the papers, and was very glad to notice that Reggie has gothis step. He certainly deserved it. Very plucky thing, especially withonly a handful of a raw native levy to back him. Frontal attack indaylight--and the niggers behind the stockade seem to have served theirold guns astonishingly well!"
"Still, if it had not been for your forbearance he would never have hadthe opportunity of doing it," said the lady. "I shall always rememberthat. You were the only one who made any excuse for him, and he told mehis colonel was very bitter against him."
The pair passed the girls, apparently without noticing them, and Barbaradid not hear Major Hume's answer, but when he came back alone a fewminutes later he stopped in front of them.
"You were here when we went by?" he said.
"Yes," said Hetty. "We heard you quite distinctly, too, and thatsuggests a question. What was it Reggie Ferris did?"
Major Hume smiled drily. "Stormed a big rebel stockade with only a fewhalf-drilled natives to help him. If you haven't read it already I cangive you a paper with an account of the affair."
"That," said Hetty, "is, as you are aware, not what I wished to ask.What was it he did before he left the line regiment? It was, presumably,something not especially creditable--and I always had an idea that heowed it to you that the result was not a good deal more unpleasant."
The Major appeared a trifle embarrassed. "I scarcely think it would doyou very much good to know," he said. "The thing wasn't a nice one, butthere was good stuff in the lad, who, it was evident to me, at least,had been considerably more of a fool than a rogue, and all I did was topersuade the Colonel, who meant to break him, to give him anotherchance. It seems I was wise. Reggie Ferris has had his lesson, and hasfrom all accounts retrieved his credit in the Colonial service."
"If I remember correctly you once made a bad mistake in being equallyconsiderate to another man," said Hetty, reflectively.
"I certainly did, but you will find by the time you are as old as I amthat taking it all round it is better to be merciful."
"The Major," said Hetty, with a glance at Barbara, "is a confirmedoptimist--and he has been in India."
Major Hume smiled. "Well," he said, "the mistakes one makes from thatcause hurt one less afterwards than the ones that result from believingin nobody. Now, there was that young woman who was engaged toReggie----"
"He has applied the suggestive epithet to her ever since she gave himup," said Hetty. "Still, I really don't think anybody could haveexpected very much more from her."
"No," said the Major, grimly. "In my opinion she went further than therewas any particular necessity for her to do. She knew the man'sshortcomings when she was engaged to him--and she should have stuck tohim. You don't condemn any one for a single slip in your country, MissHeathcote?"
Barbara made no answer, for this, it seemed, was just what she had done,but Hetty, who had been watching her, laughed.
"You couldn't expect her to admit that their standard in Canada is lowerthan ours," she said.
The Major appeared disconcerted. "That is not exactly what I mean. Theyhave a little more charity yonder, and, in some respects, a good dealmore sense. From one or two cases I am acquainted with they are, infact, usually willing to give the man who trips another chance insteadof falling upon him mercilessly before he can get up."
"Still you haven't told us yet what Reggie Ferris did."
Major Hume laughed as he turned away. "I am," he said, "quite aware ofit."
He left them, and Hetty smiled as she said, "The Major has notinfrequently been imposed upon, but nothing will disabuse him of hischeerful belief in human nature, and I must admit that he is quite asoften right as more censorious people. There was Lily Harland who gaveReggie Ferris up, which, of course, was probably only what he could haveexpected under the circumstances, but Reggie, it appears, is wiping outthe past, and I have reasons for surmising that she has been sorry eversince. Nobody but my father and his mother ever hear from him now, andif that
hurts Lily she has only herself to blame. She had heropportunity of showing what faith she had in the man, and can't expectto get another just because she would like it."
She wondered why the warm color had crept into her companion's face, butBarbara said nothing, and vacantly watched the road that wound upthrough the meadows out of the valley, until a moving object appearedwhere it crossed the crest of the hill. In the meanwhile her thoughtswere busy, for the Major's suggestive little story had not been withoutits effect on her, and the case of Reggie Ferris was, it seemed,remarkably similar to that of a certain Canadian flume-builder. TheEnglish soldier and Grant Devine had both been charitable, but she andthe girl who was sorry ever since had shown themselves merciless, andthere was in that connection a curious significance in the fact thatReggie Ferris, who was now brilliantly blotting out the past, wrotenobody but his mother and the man who had given him what the lattertermed another chance. Barbara remembered the afternoon when she waitedat the window and Brooke, who, she fancied, could have done so had hewished, had not come up from the depot. She could not ignore the factthat this had since occasioned her a vague uneasiness.
In the meanwhile the moving object had been growing larger, and when itreappeared lower down the road resolved itself into a gardener who hadbeen despatched to the nearest village on a bicycle.
"We will wait until Tom brings in the letters," said Hetty.
It was a few minutes later when the man came up the path and handed hera packet. Among the letters she spread out there was one for Barbara,whose face grew suddenly intent as she opened it. It was from Mrs.Devine, and the thin paper crackled under her tightening fingers as sheread:--
"I have been alone since I last wrote you, as Grant had to go up to theDayspring suddenly and has not come back. There was, I understand, a bigflood in the valley above the mine, and Brooke, it seems, was veryseriously hurt when endeavoring to protect the workings. I don'tunderstand exactly how it happened, though I surmise from Grant'sletters that he did a very daring thing. He is now in the Vancouverhospital, for although Grant wished him brought here, the surgeonconsidered him far too ill to move. His injuries, I understand, are notvery serious in themselves, but it appears that the man was badly wornout and run down when he sustained them, and his condition, I am sorryto say, is just now very precarious."
The rest of the letter concerned the doings of Barbara's friends inVancouver, but the girl read no more of it, and sat still, a triflewhite in the face, with her hands trembling, until Hetty turned to her.
"You don't look well," she said. "I hope nothing has happened to yoursister or Mr. Devine?"
"No," said Barbara, quietly, though there was a faint tremor in hervoice. "They are apparently in as good health as usual."
"I'm glad to hear it," said Hetty, with an air of relief. "There is, ofcourse, nobody else, or I should have known it, though you really seem atrifle paler than you generally do. Shall we go in and look throughthese patterns? I have been writing up about some dress material, andthey've sent cuttings. Still, I don't suppose you will want anythingnew for Mrs. Cruttenden's?"
"No," said Barbara, in a voice that was almost too even now, and not inkeeping with the tension in her face. "In fact, I'm not going at all."
Hetty glanced at her sharply, and then made a little gesture ofcomprehension.
"Very well!" she said. "Whenever you feel it would be any consolationyou can tell me, but in the meanwhile I have no doubt that you can geton without my company."
She moved away, and Barbara, who was glad to be alone, sat still, forshe wished to set her thoughts in order. This was apparently the climaxall that had passed that afternoon had led up to, but she was just thenchiefly conscious of an overwhelming distress that precluded anysystematic consideration of its causes. The man whom she had roused fromhis lethargy at the Quatomac ranch was now, she gathered, dying in theVancouver hospital, but not before he had blotted out his offences byslow endurance and unwearying effort in the face of flood and frost. Shewould have admitted this to him willingly now, but the opportunity was,it seemed, not to be afforded her, and the bitter words with which shehad lashed him could never be withdrawn. She who had shown no mercy, andwould not afford him what Major Hume had termed another chance, must, itseemed, long for it in vain herself.
By degrees, however, her innate resolution rose against that decision,and she remembered that it was not, in point of time, at least a verylong journey to British Columbia. There was nothing to prevent hersetting out when it pleased her; and then it occurred to her that thedifficulties would be plentiful at the other end. What explanation wouldshe make to her sister, or the man, if--and the doubt was horrible--hewas, indeed, still capable of receiving it? He had never in directspeech offered her his love, and she had not even the excuse of the girlwho had given Reggie Ferris up for throwing herself at his feet. She wasnot even sure that she could have done it in that case, for her pridewas strong, and once more she felt the hopelessness of the irrevocable.She had shown herself hard and unforgiving, and now she realized thatthe man she loved--and it was borne in upon her, that in spite of hisoffences she loved him well--was as far beyond her reach as though hehad already slipped away from her into the other world at whose shadowyportals he lay in the Vancouver hospital.
There had been a time, indeed the occasion had twice presented itself,when she could have relented gracefully, but she could no longer hopethat it would ever happen again, and it only remained for her to facethe result of her folly, and bear herself befittingly. It would, sherealized, cost her a bitter effort, but the effort must be made, and sherose with a tense white face and turned towards the house. Hetty, as ithappened, met her in the hall, and looked at her curiously.
"There are, as you may remember, two or three people coming in todinner," she said. "I have no doubt I could think out some excuse if youwould sooner not come down."
"Why do you think that would please me?" said Barbara, quietly.
"Well," said Hetty, a trifle drily, "I fancied you would sooner havestayed away. Your appearance rather suggested it."
Barbara smiled in a listless fashion. "I'm afraid I can't help that,"she said. "Your friends, however, will presumably not be here for anhour or two yet."
Hetty made no further suggestions, and Barbara moved on slowly towardsthe stairway. She came of a stock that had grappled with frost and floodin the wild ranges of the mountain province, and courage andsteadfastness were born in her, but she knew there was peril in theslightest concession to her gentler nature she might make just then.What she bore in the meanwhile she told nobody, but when the sonorousnotes of a gong rolled through the building she came down the greatstairway only a trifle colder in face than usual, and immaculatelydressed.