The Pines of Lory Part 24

"Translate as you go along. It is too important to take chances with, and I never was at home in that deceitful tongue."

Elinor dropped into the chair that stood beside her. Pats sat upon the edge of the table.

Monsieur Le Duc:

It is with a grand regret that I find myself unable to pay my respects in person to your Grace, but a broken ankle keeps me a prisoner in the cabin. If there is anything your Grace wishes to communicate, have the extreme goodness to send me a note by the bearer. He can be trusted. I leave the stores following last instructions. Enclosed is the list. The bearer will bring to me your new list from behind the door, if by chance you are not at home.

Your Grace's devoted servitor, Jacques Lafenestre.

She laid the letter on the table. "What a shame! It really tells us nothing."

"Not a thing. Lafenestre might at least have mentioned the date of the next visit."

"They all seem dreadfully afraid we may learn something." She took up the other paper and unfolded it. "This is the list."

Then she read:

"Four sacks corn-meal, Two sacks Graham flour, Four boxes crackers, Two barrels potatoes."

"Those must be downstairs," said Pats. "I see the cellar door is open."

Elinor continued:

"One box lemons, Four dozen candles, Four dozen Pontet Canet, Six pounds tobacco--"

"Good!" said Pats. "Just what we need."

She went on:

"Four pounds coffee, Four boxes matches, One pocket-knife, Six pairs woollen socks, Six old maids--"

"Six _what_?"

"Six old maids: _vieilles filles_--that is certainly old maids."

"Yes, but, Heavens! What does he want so many for? And where are they?

In the cellar?"

She smiled, still regarding the paper. "But you needn't worry. They are something to wear. It says six old maids, extra thick and double length."

"Double length! Well, each man to his taste. Go on."

"That is all," and she dropped the paper on the table and looked up into his face. Thoughtfully he stroked the three days' beard upon his chin.

He was watching through the open door the last clouds of mist as they floated by, driven before the wind.

Suddenly he jumped to his feet. "Then you were right about the boat! You _did_ hear one. And it was here an hour ago!"

Quickly he s.n.a.t.c.hed a shotgun from the wall, rushed out of the house, down to the edge of the point and discharged one of the barrels. He shouted at the top of his voice, fired the second barrel and shouted again. For a few moments he stood looking off into the slowly dissolving fog, listening vainly for an answering sound.

Elinor joined him.

"I know it's of no use," he said, "for the wind is in the wrong direction. But I thought I would try it."

A moment later the final cloud of mist in which they stood was swept away, giving a clear view over all the waters to the south. And they saw, disappearing toward the west, around a promontory, a speck upon the blue horizon, and behind it a line of smoke.

In a melancholy silence both watched this far-away handful of vapor until it faded into s.p.a.ce. When no trace remained of the vanished craft, Pats dropped the empty gun, slowly turned his head and regarded his companion. In Elinor's eyes, as they met his own, he recognized a gallant effort at suppressing tears. Remembering her resolve of yesterday he smiled,--a smile of admiration, of grat.i.tude, and encouragement.

She also smiled, for she read his thoughts. And something more was plainly written in his face,--that self-effacing, immortal thing that lovers live on; and it shone clear and honest from this lover's eyes.

Whereupon she stepped forward; he gathered her in his arms, and an ancient ceremony was observed,--very ancient, indeed, primitive and easily executed.

Solomon, weary of this oft-repeated scene, looked away with something like a sigh, then closed his eyes in patience.

[Ill.u.s.tration]

XIV

PILGRIMS

Another June.

Along the northern sh.o.r.e of the St. Lawrence Gulf, through the cold, gray light of early dawn, a yacht was steaming eastward.

Leaning against the rail, near the bow, a woman with eager eyes watched the elusive coast. But this coast, in the spreading light, was rapidly revealing itself, becoming less ethereal, more savage and majestic. The woman was daintily attired. Every detail of her apparel, from the Parisian hat to the perfect-fitting shoes, while simple and designed expressly _pour le voyage_, was sumptuous in its simplicity.

Although about thirty-five years of age, her round, rather wide face, graceful figure, and vivacious expression would have made deception easy if she cared to practise it. In feelings, in manner, and in appearance, she was eighteen. And she would never be older. A peculiar droop at the outer corners of two large and very dark eyes, and a mouth--too small for the face--with a slight and rather infantile projection of the upper lip gave a plaintive, half-melancholy expression to an otherwise merry and youthful face.

Behind her, pacing to and fro, a strongly built, elderly man with heavy face and heavy hands, also watched the coast.

"_Voila, Jacques_!" and the lady pointed to a promontory in front, just revealed by the vanis.h.i.+ng mist. "_Le voila, n'est-ce pas_?"

The man stepped forward and stood beside her. After a careful scrutiny he replied, also in French:

"Truly, I think it is."

"_Ah, le bonheur_! At last! And how soon shall we land?"

He hesitated, stroking the end of his nose with a stubby finger. "In less than two hours."

"In less than two hours! Absurd! You mean to say in less than twenty minutes, is it not?"

He shrugged his shoulders in respectful protestation. "But, Princess, deign to remember that we are still some miles from this headland, and that Monsieur, your father, is yet farther away,--some fifteen miles, at the very end of the bay which lies beyond."

She frowned and turned away. "Are we going as fast as possible?"

"I think so."