XXIX
Never, never so long as memory lasts, can I forget the separate stages of that return journey. On the first day we had dull overcast skies that threatened rain; the chill wind roughened the lakes and river, and made dismal crossings of the portages at one of which we bade goodby to André's son. We arrived the next afternoon at Roberval in a veritable deluge, the rain having set in while we were crossing Lake St. John. We left by train that evening for Chicoutimi. I remember our late arrival there, the rain still falling in torrents, and, at last, our fleeing the next morning for shelter to the great Saguenay steamer.
On that third day we made the voyage down the Saguenay. It seemed to me as if I were embarking on some Stygian flood, for we looked into a rain-swept impenetrable perspective. The dark waters were beaten into quiescence, except for the current, by the weight of falling raindrops. That was all we saw at first. Despite the Doctor's assumed cheerfulness and his brave attempts to cheer us, we felt depressed. At last came the cessation of rain; the heavy clouds rolled upwards; the perspective cleared and showed the mighty river narrowed to a gorge with the dark outposts of Capes East and West looming vast, desolate, repellent before us.
And always there continued that darkness around, above, beneath us, till, farther down, we swept into the deeper shadow of Capes Trinity and Eternity. In passing them, the pall of some impending calamity fell upon my spirit. I could not emerge from it, try as I might.
Was anything about to happen to the man I loved, to him who was waiting there in the wilderness to entertain Death as his next guest? Should we four friends, who were making this journey, ever be together in the future?
The Doctor kept a watchful eye on me. When the steamer drew to the landing at Tadoussac, I saw him and Jamie remove their hats and stand so, bareheaded, till the boat moved away. Mrs. Macleod and I, watching them, said to each other that they were thinking of André and his voyage of seventeen years ago, when he set out from Tadoussac to see the "New Jerusalem" by that far western lake.
We were glad to take the Montreal express at Quebec which we saw under lowering skies and in a bitter northeast wind. Jamie had telegraphed to Cale from Roberval; he and little Pete were at the junction to meet us. His joy at our return was unmistakable, but his welcome was unique.
"Wal, Mis' Macleod, I guess 't is 'bout time fer you an' Marcia ter be gettin' back ter the manor. Angélique an' Pete have got tied up already—gone off honey-moonin' to Sorel. I could n't hinder it no longer. Marie 's took a notion to visit her 'feller', as they say here, in Three Rivers, an' me an' Pete is holdin' the fort."
How we laughed; we could not help it at Cale's plight. That laugh did us a world of good. Cale, after shaking hands with each of us, stowed us away in the big coach.