A Countess from Canada Part 18

"Yes, Miss. Mr. Selincourt, not knowing, ventured out on a muskeg, and was being slowly sucked in, when she and her brother came along the back creek in their boat. It was a touch-and-go business then, for she had no planks or hurdles, though luckily she had ropes; but by sending her little brother, who weighs next to nothing at all, to slip a noose of rope under Mr. Selincourt's shoulders, she was able to haul on the rope, and so drag him out by sheer force of arm. She sent her love to you, and hopes he will soon be better," the man said, with a little flourish of his hands. In point of fact Katherine had done nothing of the kind, but it sounded better so, he thought, and gave a consolatory touch to the whole.

Mary turned abruptly away. Her father's misadventure was so much worse than she had expected that the horror of it broke down her self-control completely; the solid ground seemed to crumble under her feet, and if she had not sunk into the nearest chair she must have fallen. Sitting crouched in a corner, with her hands pressed tightly against her face, striving for the mastery over those unruly emotions of hers, she failed to hear sounds of another arrival, and did not even look up when Jervis Ferrars entered, without any ceremony of knocking.

A moment he stood in silence before her, not liking to disturb her, nor even to be a witness of her breakdown, for he knew how proud she was, and the humiliation it would be to her to be watched under such conditions. Then, seeing the door of the bedroom half-open, he pa.s.sed silently and softly into the room, closing the door behind him, and Mary was alone again. It might have been ten minutes later before he reappeared, and then the anxious look had left his face; he still looked concerned, but that was chiefly on Mary's account.

"Miss Selincourt, I am fearfully disappointed in you," he announced gravely, and Mary's head came up with a jerk.

"I-I did not know that you had come," she faltered.

"All the more reason why you should have been brave and courageous, until there was someone on whom to s.h.i.+ft the responsibility," he said quietly.

Mary reddened, and her tears disappeared as if by magic. "Is it possible that you do not know the terrible danger my father has been in?" she asked frigidly.

"Yes, I know. But in a wild country like this one must always be expected to face a certain amount of risk; and it is never worth while to weep over the might-have-beens, or how could one be happy at all?" he said lightly.

"I know it was foolish, but the horror of it broke me down; and then I was wondering whatever I should do if Father were to be ill, so far away from doctors, nurses, and comforts of any sort," she replied, with a s.h.i.+ver.

"I don't think he will be ill. He is sleeping as peacefully as an infant, his pulse is steady, and his heart quiet. He may be a little languid when he wakes, in which case we will keep him in bed for a day or two. Remember, I am three parts a doctor, and you can be wholly a nurse."

"I have had no experience," she faltered.

"That is only gained by practice," he answered. Then, looking at the partly-set meal on the table, he asked: "What have you had to eat to-day?"

"Not much," she answered in a dreary tone. "There were cold fish and coffee for breakfast. I had two biscuits for luncheon, but that was all."

"You are within seeing distance of starving, I should say, and that is why your courage has turned to water," he said; and, going out to the kitchen, he roused the fire again, refilled the kettle, which had boiled itself dry, and when it boiled again made her a good cup of tea, at the same time insisting on her making a solid meal.

"Oh, I feel pounds better now!" she exclaimed, when he came back from another visit to Mr. Selincourt, who still lay peacefully sleeping.

"Let it be a warning to you in future not to neglect yourself at critical moments," he replied; then asked: "What would you like me to do for you? Shall I stay with Mr. Selincourt to-night? I do not think he needs watching in the least, but if this will be a comfort to you, I will remain with pleasure."

"It is very kind of you, and I accept thankfully," she said, with such bounding relief at her heart that the whole of her outlook changed at once. It was the responsibility she dreaded so much, and when that was lifted from her shoulders she could be happy again. "Can you remain now, or must you go back to Seal Cove first?" she asked.

"I will stay now if you like, only I must trouble you to let me send one of your boatmen down to Seal Cove, with a letter of instruction for any of the boats which may arrive in with a cargo before I can be there to have the shed opened," he said.

"One of the men shall go, certainly. But while you are writing your letter may I take the boat and go over to the store to say 'Thank you' to Miss Radford and her brother for their goodness to my father? I would not have left him if you had not been here, but now I can go easily enough, and I do want them to know how really grateful I am."

"Go, by all means. I will take care of Mr. Selincourt and write my letter at the same time," Jervis answered, taking a fountain pen and a notebook from his pocket, and beginning to write forthwith.

Mary walked out of the house and down to the river just as she was, for the sun had gone down sufficiently to render a hat unnecessary. The two men were busy with their boat still, but one of them left his work and put Mary across the river in one of the other boats which lay drawn up on the bank.

The Indians, who had been crowding the store half an hour before, were encamped on the bank now, a little lower down, and were busy cooking fish for their supper. There were no other customers visible either inside the store or out. Now that the fis.h.i.+ng was in full swing the fishermen had little time for lounging about the store; so, although the work of delivering goods was greater, there were compensating circ.u.mstances in not having the store always crowded up with men and lads, who had come more for the sake of talking than buying.

Mary walked up the steep bank and across the open s.p.a.ce to the store door with a sense of the strangest unreality all about her. It was herself who walked and moved, yet all the time she seemed to stand aside and let another self think and feel and act. A composite odour of groceries, bacon, tobacco, and cheap clothes met her as she entered the rough, homely shed, which was a typical emporium of the backwoods; but she had no time to a.n.a.lyse the odours, being at once attracted by Katherine, who stood at a tall desk by the window, entering items in a ledger. At the same time Katherine glanced up and saw the visitor entering the door. She flushed at the sight, and became suddenly nervous, acutely conscious, too, of her poor, shabby clothes, old-fas.h.i.+oned and ill cut, as contrasted with the picturesque house gown in which Mary was garbed, a soft grey woollen, which, though simple enough to have been worn upon any occasion, yet suggested London or Paris in every line.

"You are Miss Radford, I think," said Mary in that quiet, cultured voice which somehow matched, or at least harmonized, with her gown, "and I have come to say 'Thank you' for your goodness to my dear father."

"Oh, but really it was not I who saved him, but Phil! I should have been too heavy to walk three steps across that muskeg without sticking fast," Katherine answered, with a low, nervous laugh.

But Mary was not to be put off in this fas.h.i.+on, and she went on, her voice fluttering a little because of the emotion she was keeping down with a resolute hand: "I know it was your brother who went out on the swamp and put the rope round my father, but I also know that it was really you who planned the rescue and pulled my father out. I cannot speak of it all as I would wish, and words are too faint and poor to express all I feel; but from my heart I am grateful, and all my life I shall be in your debt."

A sob came up in Katherine's throat, and her heart fluttered wildly, for she was thinking of that dark secret from the past which her father had told her about, and she was wondering if the work of to-day would in any sense help to wipe off that old score of wrongdoing which stood to her father's account.

"It is only one's duty to help those who are in difficulties," she said, when she could manage her voice, and still that curious fluttering in her throat. "I hope Mr. Selincourt is not much the worse for his accident. I was afraid that he was terribly shaken. He must have suffered such fearful agony of mind during the time he was being sucked down."

"He is sleeping now, peacefully as an infant. Mr. Ferrars, who is with him, says that his pulse is steady and his heart quiet, so it really looks as if the after effects may not be very bad," Mary answered. Then she said impulsively: "I was on the hill last night when you were waiting for the dogs to help you to make the portage. My heart went out to you then, and I wondered should we ever be friends; but to-day has settled that question so far as I am concerned, and now we must be friends."

Katherine crimsoned right up to the roots of her hair. A year ago how happy such words would have made her! And how glad she would have been of the friends.h.i.+p of Mary Selincourt! But now all the pleasure in such intercourse was checked and clouded, because she was perforce obliged to sail under false colours.

The rosy flush faded from cheeks, neck, and brow, and her face was white and weary as she answered coldly: "It is very kind of you to talk of friends.h.i.+p, but I fancy there is too much difference in our lives to admit of much intercourse. I have to work very hard just now, and I have little or no leisure."

Mary winced as if Katherine had struck her a blow. She was not used to having her offers of friends.h.i.+p flouted in this fas.h.i.+on; but she was too much indebted to this girl in the shabby frock to even dream of resenting the treatment of which poor Katherine was already secretly ashamed.

"I know that you have to work very hard," Mary said gently. "But if you knew how much I honour you for your unselfish courage, I think you would not refuse to let me see as much of you as your work will allow."

Katherine had to come down from her poor little pedestal then, but she made her descent gracefully enough. "If you care to see me at my work, we may even find time for friends.h.i.+p," she said, smiling bravely, although her face was still very pale; "but work and I are such close comrades that only Sunday finds us apart."

"Then I will have you and your work all the week, and you without your work on Sundays," laughed Mary, afterwards saying good night and going back across the river to her father again.

CHAPTER XVII

'Duke Radford's New Friend

Mr. Selincourt suffered but little ill effects from his accident. He stayed in bed two days to ward off any danger of swamp fever, but on the third morning got up at his usual hour, and after breakfast had himself rowed across the river, and paid a visit to the store. Early as it was, Katherine and Phil had already started for an Indian encampment on Ochre Lake, so Mr. Selincourt found only Miles in the store, and he was busy sweeping dead flies from the mola.s.ses traps, and spreading fresh mola.s.ses for the catching of another batch.

"Hullo, young man! is it you who pulled me out of the mud the other day?" he asked.

"No, sir," replied Miles promptly; "I'm as heavy as Katherine, so not adapted for walking on soft spots. It was Phil who put the rope round you, but Katherine pulled you out."

"A plucky pair they were too, for it must have been difficult work. Are they at home?" Mr. Selincourt asked, as he gazed round the store, and thought what a bare-looking place it was.

"No, they started for Ochre Lake a good time ago. Where there is portage work it is easiest to get it done in the morning this hot weather. Can I have the pleasure of showing you anything this morning, sir?" Miles asked, with his very best business manner, which always had its due effect on the Seal Cove people.

Mr. Selincourt laughed. "I am afraid my wants would have to be moderate, there is so little left to buy," he said, wondering if it were poverty on the part of the Radfords which kept the stock so low.

"We are not so nearly cleared out as you would think," Miles answered, in a confidential tone. "We always like the shelves to look thin at this time of the year; then when the first s.h.i.+pment comes to hand we bring all our surplus stock out of the cellar, and it sells nearly as fast as we can serve it out."

"Well, that is one way of doing business; a shrewd way too," remarked Mr. Selincourt, nodding his head. "I shouldn't wonder if you make a pile some day of your own; you look wideawake enough. What are you going to be when you grow up?"

"A storekeeper; this store keeper, if Katherine can keep the business going until I'm old enough to take the work over," Miles answered, with the same promptness as had arrested Mr. Selincourt's attention at the first.

"It is a hard life for a girl, I should think," he said, as he sat down on a sugar barrel and watched Miles finis.h.i.+ng with the traps.

"Yes, it is very hard. You see, there is so much tramping over portages, rowing up and down river, and all that sort of thing. I could manage most of it with Phil's help, only there is pricing the skins, the feathers, and the fish which we take in barter from the Indians. They wouldn't accept my prices, but would declare they were being cheated by the papoose;" and the boy threw so much scorn into his tone that Mr. Selincourt laughed aloud.

"How do you manage when the Indians come here to buy and your sister is away?" he asked.

"Oh, I just call Nellie, that is Mrs. Burton, you know! She doesn't know a thing about business, and is ignorant as a baby about the value of skins, but she is grown-up, so they believe what she says, only I have to tell her first."