CHAPTER XXIII.
THE THREE LINKS.
On a cold afternoon, in January's third week, when fair Toronto's children wore the colors of Old Boreas; when the spirits of the air floated on the frozen breaths of humanity, and when imagination held that the giant cyclone of the North-west had hurled into our midst a bit of the North Pole, on such a day Holmnest is a snug spot; not one of those mansions with a small coal account that some of our moneyed citizens exist in in cold grandeur during winter's reign; but small, warm and home-like. So thought Mrs. Dale, who is again spending a few days with her friend, and who is now seated with Mr. Blair beside the glowing grate in the drawing-room; he cannot keep away, and having confided his hopes and fears to her, they have become warm friends.
Mrs. Gower and Miss Crew are down town shopping, the latter having abandoned her intention to seek employment other than her voluntary deeds of good as a city missioner, she having received a bill of exchange from the mother country on the Bank of British North America; whether from this cause or from the fact of her constant visits to the quietly happy-looking couple she had met on New Year's Day, her friends can only guess; but she is certainly looking happier, though still reticent as to her private history, merely telling Mrs. Gower, to whom she has become much attached, that before long she will ask their advice, and tell them all.
Mr. Cobbe has just called, but had not gone in, ascertaining from Thomas that his mistress was not at home, but that Mrs. Dale and Mr. Blair were in the drawing-room—he volunteering the latter information, instinct telling him it would not be agreeable; for the kitchen did not approve of him as the coming master at Holmnest, saying one to the other, "Pretty fly he is, to think of dividing up of the likes of he between our missis and that bold hussy as follows him."
At this moment, in the drawing-room, Mrs. Dale, as she alternately pats Tyr's head, or, with deft fingers, embroiders a cushion, says, with a curl on her scarlet lips, her Irish eyes flashing:
"I am glad Elaine was out. You see, he knew enough not to come in and be entertained by us."
"Yes, he knows enough for that," he said, mechanically, waking from a reverie. "I wish to heaven we could interview the woman. I am convinced we would elicit information sufficient to absolve our dear friend from her oath. I am driven to my wit's end, I am in such misery. I can assure you, Mrs. Dale, this matter has taken such hold of me that I neither eat, drink, sleep, nor even think naturally."
And the ring of truth is in his words, as he starts up, and paces up and down the room like a caged lion, eager for action, yet compelled to inactivity. Papers and magazines strew the carpet where he had been seated, on which he had in vain tried to fix his thought. Now he again flings himself into his chair, she sees his brows knit, his eyes small with the intentness of inward musing; his manly, independent bearing is crushed, his firm, determined mouth is still set with a fixed purpose, but his face has lost its glow of happiness.
He haunts Holmnest some hours of each day, his eyes following her every movement as she goes about her home duties, or sits quietly reading, or holding book or newspaper, under pretence of doing so, giving herself a few moments' silent thought, ever and anon lifting her eyes to his face, as quickly to withdraw them, lest sympathy lead her to betray a grief akin to his. One day he asked her how it was she had come in the first place to allow Mr. Cobbe the privilege of friendly intercourse, when she told him all. Of the deaths of loved ones, of her long and tedious law suits, of her losses through the wrong-doings of others, of the flight of summer friends, of her difficulty in earning a sufficiency to eke out her small income, and of Philip Cobbe being introduced; when his jovial, free-from-care nature diverting her attention from her many cares, she and he gradually drifted into a very friendly acquaintance, which resulted in their walk through the Queen's Park. Of her oath she had already told him on the 3rd of January, on his relating to her the boastful words of Mr. Cobbe on the evening previous. At which he had been driven nearly desperate, as also on her resolve that, in honor bound, she must be true to her oath.