The absence of human interest and the silence intensified the serene splendours of the forest and great Fall on such a day as this, when growth and change had reached a standstill and when the cool brooding of the air recalled the moments before dawn or the remote and unnatural quiescence that marks an eclipse. To walk near the forest would mean to encounter huge mounds of snow hiding the levelled logs and boulders, stalactites of ponderous icicles depending from the tree trunks where the openings faced the light and the sun; farther in, and once safely past these glacial outposts, scarcely any signs of storm appeared; last year's leaves, still matted together underfoot, were tangled with the green vine of the creeping linnaea and a rare root of the lustrous winter-green. Here, beneath the thick canopy of branches not all devoid of their foliage since many larches and pines were to be found there, was another climate; coming from that bland whiteness which was not cold, these dark arcades of forest struck chills to the feet and face; damp odours rose from rotting mould and wood not protected by a snowy covering, and broad sallow fungi, wide enough to sit upon, looked of an unearthly tint in the drear half-light.
Naturally the sight of these glittering plains and frosted forests, unusual even in that land of snow and ice, called for sightseers, and at Poussette's every one had been up early to gaze on the outside world, among whom were Miss Clairville and Crabbe, the latter feeling his recent backsliding very keenly. Pauline had now finally packed her little trousseau and other belongings, and arrangements were being made to enable Poussette to leave his business and Miss Cordova her sewing; the party of four were to descend on the Hotel Champlain on Wednesday, the wedding would take place on Thursday, the married couple sailing at once for Liverpool.
Leaning on her lover's arm, Pauline therefore easily found warmth and words with which to admire the landscape spread before her, for was she not soon to leave it, exchanging these frigid and glacial glories for life in a European capital, and, once for all, abandoning all ideas of a career and relegating everything at St. Ignace and Clairville to a place in her memory? Beautiful, then, she found it, and gaily proposing a walk along the decorated road, suddenly remembered Angeel and resolved to visit her and say good-bye. Crabbe demurred.
"Why should you?" he said, with the nettled intolerance of a being angry with himself, and prone to visit his ill-temper on others.
"But I must, Edmund! I meant to before. If Henry had not died, or if we had never found out about the other matter, I would have gone!"
"I see no reason. The brat has its mother, hasn't it?"
"Oh, don't be so hard! Yes, yes, of course, but she might like to remember me, wish to see me once again,—it may be for the last time."
"Gad—I think it will. I'm not worth much, 'pon my soul, but I can take you away and save you from all this annoyance. I hate every hour of delay, I dislike this loafing about here now. I wish—by Heaven! I were leaving Poussette's this minute for good and all."
His eye roved discontentedly over the forest and road, and then came back wistfully to Pauline. It was evident that his affection was of a sincere and unselfish order, and that with her to shield and serve and with her lively handsome personality as his constant companion, he might yet recover lost ground and be the man he might have been.
"I keep telling you that we have not so long to wait," she said brightly, as she went indoors to get ready for the walk, and Crabbe, turning his gaze in the direction of the bridge, became interested in the aspect of the Fall, still thundering down in part over those mighty ledges, except where the ice held and created slippery glaciers at whose feet ran the cold brown river for a few hundred yards till it was again met by fields of shining ice. Two objects caught his eye, one, the golden cross on the church over at Montmagny, the only one of its kind in the valley and much admired, the other, a curious spot of reddish colour at the far end of the bridge. The cross he soon tired of, but the bit of red aroused his curiosity; it seemed almost square, like a large book or package, and was apparently propped up against the stonework that supported the bridge. What it was, he did not trouble to conjecture, and as Miss Clairville came out with several parcels which he took from her, he forgot the circumstance as he turned and walked a few steps with her. Thus, her quicker brain was not directed to an explanation of the blot of red; had she seen it, and solved it, which was highly probable, the events of the day might have been vastly different.