NASMYTH TELLS HIS STORY
Dinner was over, and Millicent’s elderly companion had discreetly left them alone, when the girl led Nasmyth into her drawing-room. It was brightly lighted and was tastefully decorated in delicate colors, and a wood fire was burning on the hearth; but, for the first time that he could remember, Nasmyth felt ill at ease in it. He was fresh from the snow-covered rocks and shadowy woods and the refinement and artistic luxury of his surroundings rather jarred on him. The story he had to relate dealt with elemental things—hunger, toil, and death—it would sound harsher and more ugly amid the evidences of civilization.
“You have a good deal to tell me,” Millicent suggested at length.
He stood still a moment, looking at her. She had already seated herself, and the sweeping lines of her pose suggested vigor and energy held in quiet control. Her face was warm in coloring, bearing signs of exposure to wind and sun, but it was chastely molded in a fine oval with the features firmly lined. Her hair was dark, though there were bronzy gleams in it, and her eyes, which were deeply brown, had a sparkle in them. As a whole, her appearance indicated a sanguine, optimistic temperament, but there was also an indefinite something which spoke of due balance and repose. Nasmyth was more convinced than ever that he had not met any other woman fit to compare with her. Her age, as he knew, having given her many birthday presents, was twenty-four.
“Yes,” he said, in answer to her remark, “but it’s curious that I can’t fix my mind upon the subject here. The night’s mild; shall we go out on to the veranda?”
“Wait until I get a wrap. I understand.”
“You always do that,” Nasmyth declared.
She joined him outside in another minute and seated herself in the chair he drew out. The house was small and irregularly built, and a glass roof supported on light pillars stretched along part of the front. A half-moon hung above a ridge of dark fir wood, a tarn gleamed below, and here and there down a shadowy hollow there was a sparkle of running water. On the other side of the dale the moors stretched away, waste and empty, toward the half-seen hills. The loneliness of the prospect reminded Nasmyth of Canada, and the resemblance grew more marked when the crying of plover rose from the dim heath—it brought back the call of the loon. Still, he did not wonder why Millicent, an orphan with ample means, lived alone except for her elderly companion on the desolate Border.
“You don’t mind, I know,” he said as he lighted a cigar.
“I can make that concession willingly,” she answered with a smile. “I suppose I’m old-fashioned, because I go no farther.”
“Keep so,” advised Nasmyth. “Of course, that’s unnecessary; but I never could make out why women should want to smoke. From my point of view, it isn’t becoming.”
He was putting off a task from which he shrank, and she indulged him.
“One retains one’s prejudices in a place like this,” she said. “I felt sadly left behind when I was last in London; and the few visits I made in the home counties a little while ago astonished me. Nobody seemed to stay at home; the motors were continually whirling them up to town and back; the guests kept coming and going. There was so much restlessness and bustle that I was glad to be home again.”
“It has struck me,” returned Nasmyth with an air of sage reflection, “that we who live quietly in the country are the pick of the lot. Sounds egotistical, doesn’t it? But if we don’t do much good—and I’m afraid I don’t, anyway—neither do we do any harm.”
“I’m not sure that that’s a great deal to be proud of.”
“I didn’t include you,” Nasmyth assured her. “There have been wholesome changes in the village since you grew up and made your influence felt. And that leads to a question: How does Clarence get on with his tenants and the rank and file? George understood them, but they’re difficult folks to handle.”
“He’s away a good deal—I’m afraid there has been some friction now and then.” The girl’s manner suddenly changed. “But that’s beside the point. Aren’t you wasting time?”
“I am almost afraid to begin. You will find the story trying.”
She turned toward him, and the moonlight showed her face was reassuringly quiet.
“I expect that; but your fears are groundless. You needn’t hesitate on my account.”
Nasmyth knew that she was right; Millicent was not one to flinch from pain. With an effort, he began his story at the portage over the divide, and, possessed by vivid memories, he made her see the desolate region they had laboriously traversed. Because her imagination was powerful, she could picture the brother she had loved toiling with desperate purpose and failing strength through muskeg and morass. Then, when she quietly insisted, he described Gladwyne’s last camp. She saw that, too: the hollow beneath the dark rock, with the straggling cedars on the ridge above. Next he outlined the journey down the first few rapids, saying little about the caches, and at last, with considerable relief, he came to a stop. Millicent sat silent for several minutes, during which he did not look at her.
“Thank you,” she said at length. “I have tried often to imagine it, and failed; but it is quite clear now. Clarence would never give me more than the barest details—I think he hated to speak of it.”
“In a way, he was wise,” replied Nasmyth. He understood the man’s reluctance. “Now don’t you think it would be better if you tried to drive the thing out of your mind? It can’t be altered—there’s a danger in dwelling too much upon one’s grief.”
She looked up at him, though her eyes were dim with tears.
“It can’t be driven out. There were only the two of us; we had so much in common—there was such trust between us.”
Nasmyth nodded in comprehension and sympathy.
“Now that I’ve told you,” he said quietly, as he rose, “I think I’ll go. I am sure you’d rather be alone.”
“No,” she answered, motioning to him to sit down. “Please stay.” She seemed to rouse herself with an effort. “Of course, there was only one thing George could do when he was lamed—send them on. But Clarence, who was with him, never made his fortitude and cheerfulness so clear as you have done. You even mentioned the exact words he said now and then—how did you hear of them?”
“From my companion, a young Canadian. He had the whole thing by heart; got it from the Hudson Bay agent. George’s guide told the agent.”
“Did your companion also teach you how to tell the story?”
Nasmyth smiled. He saw that she was desirous of changing the subject and he was glad of it.
“Anyway, he made me see it at the time; pointed out the full significance of things—a broken branch, a scratch on a rock. A rather striking man in several ways. But you shall see him; he’s coming over to stay with me by and by.” He paused a moment. “I understand that Clarence has been having some trouble.”
“It hardly amounts to that. But things are not the same as they were”—in spite of her courage she faltered—“when George held control. The tenants don’t take to Clarence; I think he was not well advised in increasing rents here and there. Indeed, that was a little puzzling, because he was once so liberal.”
“In small matters; it’s his own money now.” Nasmyth could not repress this show of bitterness.
“Whose money was it in his extravagant days?”
“That’s a question I’ve thought over and failed to find an answer to. I’ve no doubt most of what he gets is now being spent in town, though in my opinion as much as possible ought to go back to the locality in which it was produced. Why don’t you impress that on him?”
Millicent, as he knew, could judiciously offer sound advice where it was needed. She was young, but, having been left an orphan early, she had long enjoyed her brother’s close companionship and confidence, and the man’s wide knowledge and thoughtfulness had had its effect in molding her character. Still, in this case, she did not respond.
“It would be better for his tenants and the neighborhood generally if Clarence married; he can afford it now,” Nasmyth went on.
Again the girl was silent, and he wondered whether he had thoughtlessly made a serious blunder. It had been supposed among their friends that she would marry Clarence some day, though, so far as it was known, there was no definite understanding between them, and for a while the man’s attitude had strengthened the idea. Indeed, when he had succeeded to George’s possessions, every one had expected an announcement, which had not been made. What Millicent thought, or what she had looked for all along, did not appear.
“I think you are right in one thing,” she said, very calmly, at length. “If he would stay here, as George did and his neighbors do, it would be better for everybody, including himself.”
Nasmyth made a sign of agreement. Their intimate friends remained for the greater portion of the year on their estates, understanding the needs of their tenants and dependents and enjoying their good opinion, which was naturally increased by the fact that their expenses were chiefly incurred in the neighborhood. There were others who, as the small farmer recognized, returned as little as possible to the soil, squandering revenues raised by the stubborn labor of others in doubtful pleasures elsewhere and, when they brought their friends home, on luxuries despatched from town. These things made for bitterness.
An unfortunate persistence in his hobby drove Nasmyth into a second blunder.
“We’re in accord on that point,” he assured her. “It’s a pity the land passed out of your hands. However, as there’s no male succession, it might, after all, come back to you.”
She bore it very calmly.
“You wouldn’t have me speculate on such a thing?”
Then as if to find a safer topic she went on with a thrill of anger in her tone:
“I’ll tell you of an incident I witnessed two or three days ago, which annoyed me seriously. I’d just met old Bell—you know how lame he is—driving some sheep along the road. It has been a wet, cold year; Bell lost his hay, the oats are dreadfully poor, and his buildings are in very bad repair.”
“They were a disgrace to any estate when I last saw them,” Nasmyth broke in. “Besides, the sour land near the river should have been tile-drained long ago.”
“So Bell has urged; but he can’t get Marple to spend a penny—I’m glad that man’s new to this part of the country and doesn’t belong to us. Well, just after I met Bell, Marple’s big motor came along. He had Batley with him and the Crestwicks, who were down before. I think you met them?”
“I did,” assented Nasmyth. “In Canada they’d call them a mighty tough crowd; they’re about the limit here.”
“I turned round after the car had passed,” Millicent went on. “Marple was driving, as fast as usual, and he made no attempt to pull up. Bell, who didn’t hear, tried to jump and fell into the ditch; most of the sheep were scattered across the moor, but two or three got right in front of the car and at the last moment Marple had to stop. One of the women laughed, she had a very shrill voice and she explained that the old man looked so funny in the ditch; Marple shouted to Bell—something about the damage to his tires—and I could see the others smiling at what he said. That was worse than the words he used. Then they went on, leaving the old man to gather up his sheep; he hadn’t a dog with him. That kind of thing leaves its mark!”
“Distinctly so,” Nasmyth agreed. “Still, Marple and his lot are exceptions. Wasn’t Clarence rather thick with them?”
“Yes,” she answered. “I’ve been rather disturbed about him.”
Nasmyth did not know what this meant. He thought she would hardly have made such an admission had she contemplated marrying the man; and, if not, it was somewhat difficult to see why he should cause her serious concern. He knew, however, that Millicent could not look on unmoved when her friends left the right path; he could think of two or three whom she had helped and gently checked from further straying. This reflection was a relief to him, because he was determined that she should not marry Clarence if he could prevent it. If necessary, he would tell her the part the man had played in Canada, though he shrank from doing so.
“Marple and his acquaintances are not the people one would have expected Clarence to associate with,” he continued. “Still, in my opinion, he’s doing worse in making a friend of that fellow Batley. I could never understand the connection—the man strikes me as an adventurer. Has he spent much time here since I’ve been away?”
“A good deal, off and on. But it’s getting chilly and I half expect a reproving lecture from Miss Hume when I go in. First, though, tell me a little more about the young Canadian you had with you.”
“I don’t know much. I met him by accident—he has an interest in some mines, I believe, but he struck me as a remarkably fine type. Clever at woodcraft, as handy with the ax and paddle as our professional guide, but when he talked about other things he seemed to know a good deal more than I do.” He smiled. “After all, that’s not surprising. But what I liked most was the earnestness of the fellow; he had a downright way of grappling with things, or explaining them to you. Sensible, but direct, not subtle.”
“I’ve met men of that description, and I’m rather prejudiced in their favor,” declared Millicent, smiling. “But what was he like in person—slightly rugged?”
“No; that’s where you and others sometimes go wrong. There’s nothing of the barbarian about these bushmen. Physically, they’re as fine a type as we are—I might go farther—straight in the limb, clean-lined every way, square in the shoulder. They’d make an impression at any London gathering.”
“So long as they didn’t speak?”
“It wouldn’t matter. Allowing for a few colloquialisms, they’re worth listening to; which is more than I’d care to say for a number of the people one meets in this country.”
Millicent laughed.
“Well, I’ll be glad to see him when he comes.” Her voice grew graver. “I feel grateful to him already for what he told you about George.”
They went in together and half an hour later Nasmyth walked home across the moor. He had never thought more highly of Millicent, but somehow he now felt sorry for her. It scarcely seemed fitting that she should live in that lonely spot with only the company of an elderly and staid companion, though he hardly thought she would be happier if she plunged into a round of purposeless amusements in the cities. Still, she was young and very attractive; he felt that she should have more than the thinly-peopled countryside had to offer.