"I don't think I could stand it if Susan an' Bella were to know. Even after I'm gone I'd like it kept a secret. I guess I'm foolish, an' Susan says there's no fool like an old fool, but I jist can't help it."
She lay back again on her pillow, her thin fingers passing caressingly up and down the shining folds of silk. She was silent for some minutes, and at last, with much halting, she began the story of the blue silk gown. She told in a shy whisper of the lover of her girlhood days. She had met him a long time ago, while on a visit to an aunt, away over in Bruce County. He was foreman in the mill there, and he was—well, she couldn't exactly tell what he was like, he was so awful nice. Through the sentences Elsie Cameron could make out a picture of him: big, handsome, honest, whole-hearted, and as tender as a woman with his shy little sweetheart; but in Miss Arabella's worshiping eyes he was a very demigod.
His home was down in Nova Scotia, the story went on, his father and mother lived there alone on the home farm, and some day he was to take her there. And then she had come home, and her mother had helped her make her clothes for her wedding day. And once he had come to Elmbrook and had taken her to a circus at Lakeview, and they had seen this piece of silk in a store window. He had said it was just the color of her eyes—Miss Arabella blushed and hung her head at this confession—and he had gone right in and bought it, in spite of her. He was just that kind, always giving other folks everything. He had given her Polly, too, had sent her all the way from Halifax after he went back. He had taught her to say "Annie Laurie"—that was the name he always called her. But he had not taught Polly that other dreadful thing she said; she learned that from the men on the ship.
It was while he was still working over in Bruce County that the day was set for their wedding, and she and her mother were planning how she should have the blue silk made, when he wrote that he had had an accident. He had been almost killed by the saw in the mill, and he would have died only that a boy who worked there saved his life. "Bert" was the boy's name; she did not remember his last one. He set a great store by that boy after that, and helped to send him to school, and to put him through college to make him a doctor. That took a lot of money, of course, and she said they had better wait until the boy was old enough to help himself. Martin didn't want to, but Susan said they must; and while they were waiting he went back to Nova Scotia to take care of the old folks. Then they both died, and he found that his father didn't own a cent; everything belonging to him was gone. A man had cheated the old people out of it. So now he had nothing to offer her, he said, and so he started away West to make a new home. He had wanted her to come with him then, but her mother had died the summer before, and Susan managed her affairs. And Susan said no, she was not strong enough to go away out West and rough it, and she had bidden Arabella write him a letter saying she would wait till he had a proper home ready. Susan was always a great manager. Here Miss Arabella sighed deeply. So she had let him go away alone, and for a long time she heard from him regularly; then only at long intervals, and at last not at all. He had taken up land in Alberta, but everything seemed to go against him. The crops were frozen the first year and the next year his cattle died. Then just about this time he heard that his best and oldest friend, away down in Nova Scotia—old John, he always called him—was in great trouble, had lost everything through the same man that had got his own property. Old John had left the place and gone away, no one knew where, and he was writing here and there hunting him. At last he got word that his friend had gone to the Klondyke. He thought he would be far more likely to make money there, so he sold his ranch and went away north to find John and make a fortune for her. That was five years ago last spring, and she had never heard from him since. But she had never quite given up hope until this last summer. She had always kept the blue silk, hoping that she might even yet wear it some day. But last May she had noticed it had begun to ravel; see—she held it up to the light—that was a sure sign. Something told her, the minute she saw it, she would never wear it. Likely he was dead; and she was going to die very soon herself. Yes, she was; and she knew Dr. Allen thought so, too.
She stopped, and closed her eyes to hide the rising tears. A secret of so many years' growth could not be uprooted without some pain.
There was a moment's silence. Polly craned her neck to see into the room, and murmured, "Oh, Annie Laurie! Annie Laurie!" in a melancholy tone.
Elsie drew a deep breath. "How long ago is it since you first met him, Arabella?" she whispered.
"Fifteen years, an' I never told a soul I was waitin' all this time. Susan never said anything about him, and everybody thought he was dead."
"And this boy that he educated, Arabella—what about him? Didn't he help when his friend needed it so badly?"
"No; he kind of forgot about it, I guess. Young folks is often like that, you know. You see, he jist put him through high school an' helped him some, at first, in college, an' learnin' doctorin' seems to take an awful long time. But I guess the boy must 'a' forgot about him, or he'd 'a' been able to come back before this. You won't ever tell, Elsie, will you?"