CHAPTER XVIII
THE LETTER
From the moment of his entrance to the sick room, old Joe assumed allcharge to it, and with scant courtesy banished from it both Angeliqueand Margot.
"But he is mine, my own precious uncle. Joe has no right to keep meout!" protested Margot, vehemently.
Angelique was wiser. "In his own way, among his own folks, that Indiangood doctor. Leave him be. Yes. If my master can be save', JoeWills'll save him. That's as God plans; but if I hadn't broke----"
"Angelique! Don't you ever, ever let me hear that dreadful talk again!I can't bear it. I don't believe it. I won't hear it. I will not. Doyou suppose that our dear Lord is--will----"
She could not finish her sentence and Angelique was frightened by theintensity of the girl's excitement. Was she, too, growing feverishand ill? But Margot's outburst had worked off some of her ownuncomprehended terror, and she grew calm again. Though it had not beenput into so many words, she knew from both Angelique's and Joseph'smanner that they anticipated but one end to her guardian's illness.She had never seen death, except among the birds and beasts of theforest, and even then it had been horrible to her; and that thisshould come into her own happy home was unbearable.
Then she reflected. Hugh Dutton's example had been her instruction,and she had never seen him idle. At times when he seemed most so,sitting among his books, or gazing silently into the fire, his brainhad been active over some problem that perplexed or interested him."Never hasting, never wasting," time, nor thought, nor any energy oflife. That was his rule and she would make it hers.
"I can, at least, make things more comfortable out of doors. Angeliquehas let even Snowfoot suffer, sometimes, for want of the grooming andcare she's always had. The poultry, too, and the poor garden. I'm gladI'm strong enough to rake and hoe, even if I couldn't lift uncle asJoe does."
Her industry brought its own reward. Things outside the house tookon a more natural aspect. The weeds were cleared away, and bothvegetables and flowers lifted their heads more cheerfully. Snowfootshowed the benefit of the attention she received, and the forgottenfamily in the Hollow chattered and gamboled in delight at thereappearance among them of their indulgent mistress. Margot herselfgrew lighter of heart and more positive that, after all, things wouldend well.
"You see, Angelique dismal, we might as well take that broken glasssign to mean good things as evil. That uncle will soon be up andaround again; Pierre be at home; and the 'specimen' from the old caveprove copper or something just as rich; and--everybody be as happy asa king."
Angelique grunted her disbelief, but was thankful for the other'slighter mood.
"Well, then, if you've so much time and strength to spare, go yonderand clean up the room that Adrian left so untidy. Where he nevershould have been, had I my own way; but one never has that in thisworld; hey, no. Indeed, no. Ever'thin' goes contrary, else I'd havecleared away all trace long sin'. Yes, indeed, yes."
"Well, he is gone. There's no need to abuse him, even if he did nothave the politeness to say good-bye. Though, I suppose, it was myuncle who put a stop to that. What uncle has to do he does atonce. There's never any hesitation about uncle. But I wish--Iwish--Angelique Ricord, do you know something? Do you know all thehistory of this family?"
"Why should I not, eh?" demanded the woman, indignantly. "Is it not myown family, yes? What is Pierre but one son? I love him, oh! yes.But----"
"You adore him, bad and trying as he is. But there is something youmust tell me. If you know it. Maybe you do not. I did not, till thatawful morning when he was taken ill. But that very minute he told mewhat I had never dreamed. I was angry; for a moment I almost hated himbecause he had deceived me, though afterward I knew that he had doneit for the best and would tell me why when he could. So I've tried totrust him just the same and be patient. But--he may never be able--andI must know. Angelique, where is my father?"
The housekeeper was so startled that she dropped the plate she waswiping and broke it. Yet even at that fresh omen of disaster she couldnot remove her gaze from the girl's face nor banish the dismay of herown.
"He told--you--that--that----"
"That my father is still alive. He would, I think have told me more;all that there may be yet to tell, if he had not so suddenly beenstricken. Where is my father?"
"WHERE IS MY FATHER?"]
"Oh! child, child! Don't ask me. It is not for me----"
"If uncle cannot and you can, and there is no other person,Angelique--you must!"
"This much, then. It is in a far, far away city, or town, or place, helives. I know not, I. This much I know. He is good, a ver' good man.And he have enemies. Yes. They have done him much harm. Some day, inmany years, maybe when you have grown a woman, old like me, he willcome to Peace Island and forget. That is why we wait. That is why themaster goes, once each summer, on the long, long trip. When Josephcomes, and the bad Pierre to stay. I, too, wait to see him though Inever have. And when he comes, we must be ver' tender, me and you, forpeople who have been done wrong to, they--they---- Pouf! 'Twas anger Iwas that the master could put the evil-come into that room, yes."
"Angelique! Is that my father's room? Is it? Is that why there are thevery best things in it? And that wonderful picture? And the freshsuits of clothing? Is it?"
Angelique slowly nodded. She had been amazed to find that Margot knewthus much of a long withheld history, and saw no harm in adding thesefew facts. The real secret, the heart of the matter--that was not yet.Meanwhile, let the child accustom herself to the new ideas and so beprepared for what she must certainly learn, should the master'sillness be a fatal one.
"Oh! then, hear me. That room shall always now be mine to care for. Ihaven't liked the housewifery, not at all. But if I have a father andI can do things for him--that alters everything. Oh! you can't meanthat it will be so long before he comes. You must have been jesting.If he knew uncle was ill he would come at once, wouldn't he? He would,I know."
Poor Angelique turned her face away to hide its curious expression,but in her new interest concerning the "friend's room," as it hadalways been called, Margot did not notice this. She was all eagernessand loving excitement.
"To think that I have a father who may come, at any minute, for hemight, Angelique, you know that, and not be ready for him. Your bestand newest broom, please; and the softest dusters. That room shall,indeed, be cleaned better than anybody else could do it. Just hurry,please, I must begin. I must begin right away."
She trembled so that she could hardly braid and pin up her long hairout of the way, and her face had regained more than its old-timecolor. She was content to let all that was still a mystery remain forthe present. She had enough to think about and enjoy.
Angelique brought the things that would be needed and, for once,forbore advice. Let love teach the child--she had nought to say. Inany case she could not have seen the dust, herself, for her dark eyeswere misty with tears, and her thoughts on matters wholly foreign tohousehold cares.
Margot opened the windows and began to dust the various articleswhich could be set out in the wide passage, and did not come roundto the heavy dresser for some moments. As she did so, finally, herglance flew instantly to a bulky parcel, wrapped in sheets of whitebirch-bark, and bearing her own name, in Adrian's handwriting.
"Why, he did remember me, then!" she cried, delightedly, tearing thepackage open. "Pictures! the very ones I liked the best. Xanthippe andSocrates, and oh! that's Reynard! Reynard! Reynard, ready to speak!The splendid, beautiful creature! and the splendid, generous boy tohave given it. He called it his 'masterpiece' and, indeed, it was byfar the best he ever did here. Harmony Hollow--but that's not so fine.However, he meant to make it like, and---- Why, here's a note. Whydidn't I come in here before? Why didn't I think he would do somethinglike this? Forgive me, Adrian, wherever you are, for misjudging youso. I'm sorry uncle didn't like you and sorry--for lots of things. ButI'm glad, glad you weren't so rude and mean as I believed. If I eversee you I'll tell you so. Now, I'll
put these in my own room and thenget to work again. This room you left so messed shall be as spotlessas a snowflake before I'm done with it."
For hours she labored there, brushing, renovating, polishing; and whenall was finished she called Angelique to see and criticise--if shecould! But she could not; and she, too, had something now of vitalimportance to impart.
"It is beautiful' done, yes, yes. I couldn't do it more clean myself,I, Angelique, no. But, my child! Hear, hear, and be calm! The masteris himself! The master has awoke, yes, and is askin' for his child!True, true. Old Joe, he says, 'Come. Quick, soft, no cry, no laugh,just listen.' Yes. Oh! now all will be well."
Margot almost hushed her very breathing. Her uncle awake, sane, askingfor her! Her face was radiant, flushed, eager, a face to brighten thegloom of any sick room, however dark.
But this one was not dark. Joe knew his patient's fancies. He hadforgotten none. One of them was the sunshine and fresh air; and thoughin his heart he believed that these two things did a world of harm,and that the ill-ventilated and ill-lighted cabins of his own peoplewere more conducive to recovery, he opposed nothing which the masterdesired. He had experimented, at first, but finding a close roomaggravated Mr. Dutton's fever, reasoned that it was too late to breakup the foolish habits of a man's lifetime; and as the woodlander hadlived in the sunlight so he would better die in it, and easier.
If she had been a trained nurse Margot could not have entered heruncle's presence more quietly, though it seemed to her that he musthear the happy beating of her heart and how her breath came fast andshort. He was almost too weak to speak at all, but there was all theold love, and more, in his whispered greeting:
"My precious child!"
"Yes, uncle. And such a happy child because you are better."
She caught his hand and covered it with kisses, but softly, oh! sosoftly, and he smiled the rare sweet smile that she had feared she'dnever see again. Then he looked past her to Angelique in the doorwayand his eyes moved toward his desk in the corner. A little fancifuldesk that held only his most sacred belongings and had been Margot'smother's. It was to be hers some day, but not till he had done withit, and she had never cared to own it since doing so meant that hecould no longer use it. Now she watched him and Angelique wonderingly.
For the woman knew exactly what was required. Without question orhesitation she answered the command of his eyes by crossing to thedesk and opening it with a key she took from her own pocket. Then shelifted a letter from an inner drawer and gave it into his thinfingers.
"Well done, good Angelique. Margot--the letter--is yours."
"Mine? I am to read it? Now? Here?"
"No, no. No, no, indeed! Would you tire the master with the rustlin'of paper? Take it else. Not here, where ever'thin' must be still asstill."
Mr. Dutton's eyes closed. Angelique knew that she had spoken for himand that the disclosure which that letter would make should be facedin solitude.
"Is she right, uncle, dearest? Shall I take it away to read?"
His eyes assented, and the tender, reassuring pressure of his hand.
"Then I'm going to your own mountain top with it. To think of having aletter from you, right here at home! Why, I can hardly wait! I'm sothankful to you for it, and so thankful to God that you are gettingwell. That you will be soon; and then--why, then--we'll go a-fishing!"
A spasm of pain crossed the sick man's wasted features and poorAngelique fled the place, forgetful of her own caution to "be still asstill," and with her own dark face convulsed with grief for the griefwhich the letter would bring to her idolized Margot.
But the girl had already gone away up the slope, faster and faster.Surely a letter from nobody but her uncle and at such a solemn timemust concern but one subject--her father. Now she would know all, andher happiness should have no limit.
But it was nightfall when she, at last, came down from the mountain,and though there were no signs of tears upon her face neither wasthere any happiness in it.