Joyce of the North Woods Part 26

"He must answer that, Joyce, no one else can. He must face that some day, and also whether he is hurting you or not. We cannot any of us choose a little sunny spot in life for ourselves and shut out the past and future by a high wall. The present faces both ways, Joyce, and light is let in from all sides. Light and blackest gloom, G.o.d help us!

"What Gaston's other life was--he alone knows--he ought to tell you if he hopes to help you really. If he's the good man he seems to you, Joyce, he _will_ tell you, and give you a chance to play the game."

Suddenly an inspiration came to Drew. "Tell him," he said slowly, "that I have friends coming here--friends who will probably build summer homes and introduce a new life. It's none of my business, perhaps, but you've come to me for help--and as G.o.d shows me, I must help you. Gaston has no right to injure your future by playing a game with you that you in no wise understand. It isn't fair--and he knows it, if he stops to think.

Perhaps there was no way for him to help you that night, but the way he took. Perhaps he n.o.bly did the only thing he could--I hope to G.o.d this is true; but there are other ways now, Joyce--he must know and give you a choice."

"I--I--do not see--what you mean?" A frightened look spread over Joyce's face, and she s.h.i.+vered even in the full glow of the autumn sunlight. "I feel--you make me feel--as if I had been--as if I am--shut in a little room, with the doors and windows about to be opened. What is coming in, Mr. Drew? What am I going to see? You--you frighten me. I cannot--I will not believe--anything dreadful could happen to him or me--when I am so happy and safe."

The excitement was wearing upon Drew frightfully. His ghastly face appealed suddenly to Joyce as she looked at him through her own growing doubt.

"I'm going," she said, starting up; "I've made you worse. What can I do?"

Drew smiled wanly and held out a trembling hand.

"Come again," he whispered. "It's all right, I'm much better--than when you came."

And so he was, spiritually, for he had retained his belief in G.o.d's goodness, somehow. Just why, he could not have told, but had the girl been what he had, for a moment, believed, it would all have seemed so uselessly hopeless and crude.

From the strange confession he had obtained but a blurred impression, but that impression saved his faith in Joyce, at least. She was not a bad, ign.o.ble woman. Whatever she had done, had been done from the best that was in her, and if Gaston had accepted her sacrifice he had, in some way, managed to keep himself n.o.ble in her sight.

It was a baffling thing all around. A thing that he must approach from a new standpoint; the one, the only comfort was, the girl's own evolution.

It was not possible Drew thought, that all was evil which had produced what he had just seen.

CHAPTER XI

Gaston often took a trip to Hillcrest, remaining several days, at times, and Joyce never questioned. Gradually she had accepted the place in Gaston's life that he had allotted her without expectation or regret. To live in the light and joy of his presence had become enough--almost enough. She studied, and sought to be what he desired. She was, after the very first, genuinely happy and full of quaint sweetness. As the black interval of her life faded, she turned with grateful appreciation to the present and played the part expected of her in an amazing manner.

Sometimes that disturbing doubt, hardly strong enough to be cla.s.sified, made her pause, wide-eyed and still, but it fled before Gaston's laugh and jest.

With Drew's coming she grasped the subtle restlessness and comforted herself with the thought that he who understood so much, he, who was, in kind, like Gaston, he would clear away the elusive doubt forever.

She had never forgotten that it was Drew who had first set her feet on the upward path; he, above all others, would be glad of her better life, and sympathize with her happiness.

When she pondered upon Gaston's possible past, she felt guilty. What he did not entrust to her, she had no right to consider--so she tried to push the thought away. She was glad of so good an excuse for putting a fretting thing aside. But it would not remain hidden. During Gaston's absences it reared its hated head--with his return it slunk into shadow.

Taking advantage of one of Gaston's brief visits from home, Joyce had gone to Drew, timing her call when she knew his womenkind were away. She had an instinctive aversion to her own s.e.x. She had thought it was contempt for St. Ange womanhood; she did not speculate about these others.

Her talk with the young minister, instead of clearing her sky of the tiny cloud, had resulted in a general atmosphere of doubts and shapeless fears that doomed her days to unhappiness, and her lonely nights to actual misery.

Things were _not_ right. That was the overpowering conviction that grew apace. If she knew all--all what? Well, if she insisted upon knowing all--what would happen?

She caught her breath sharply, and frantically turned to bodily toil in order to down the spectre which now confronted her with brazen insistence. Things must go on as before. Ralph Drew was nothing but a boy--what were his opinions compared to Gaston's? Gaston could do no wrong. She was content to abide by his decree.

She sang, and turned from one task to another with determined haste. At one moment she vowed the subject should never be thought of again; the next, she promised herself that she would put the whole matter before Gaston as soon as he returned, and, by so doing, prove the unimportance of the thing. But whichever way she looked at it, she hourly grew to dread Gaston's return. Life was never going to be the same. Something was going to happen!

Oh, she had often had these premonitions before. Gaston laughed at them, and called her funny names when she voiced them to him.

Three days and nights dragged on, after that visit to Drew, before Gaston came back.

The house had been cleaned and recleaned until it shone. The fire was kept brilliant, and Joyce donned, in turn, every pretty bit of adornment that she owned. She decked the pictures with ground-pine, and, in the act of preparing the dishes for supper that Gaston liked best, he found her.

"h.e.l.lo, little girl," he called cheerily; "it look like Christmas. It's lucky I have some presents in my pack. I believe you fixed up to catch me, and make me feel like a tight-wad. But I'm one to the good. Don't peek. After supper we'll have a lark. Have you a kiss by way of welcome?"

Joyce turned from the lamp she was lighting, and put both her hands on his shoulders.

"Oh, but it's good to have you back!" she said, and raised her lips to his.

This fond response to him was the greatest recompense the change in their lives had brought to Gaston. It warmed the lonely places of his heart.

It was a jovial meal that followed. Gaston was hungry, the food was excellent, and Joyce glowed and beamed in the atmosphere of regained trust.

It was, though, a fleeting peace. When the dishes were removed, Gaston noticed how tired she looked.

"Happy?" he asked, with a laugh.

"Perfectly." Joyce was filling his pipe.

"Perfectly _nothing!_" he exclaimed, drawing her down to the arm of his chair. "Now own up, my lady, what have you been doing?"

Gaston expected a rehearsal of daily tasks, more energetically performed, perhaps, than was necessary.

"I went to see Mr. Drew." The smile fled from Gaston's face. So it was not housework!

"How is the young D. D.?"

"He looks very ill, but they say he is getting better."

"Did you have a pleasant call?"

Gaston was unreasonably annoyed, but he was curious also.

Joyce dropped her eyes. In a subtle way Gaston felt a change in her. She was never anything but direct and truthful with him, her att.i.tude was now, therefore, more significant. He had beaten his life, his personal life, into a monotonous round outlined on that first night when Joyce had been thrust into his care. He had grown to think that emotions were dead and done with; this sudden realization that the first touch from the outer world could disturb his calm, irritated him beyond measure.

"Mr. Drew was very--kind," Joyce's voice fell dully upon Gaston's impatience; "he's coming--to see us!"

"The devil he is!" The outburst seemed so childish that Gaston laughed, and his gloom pa.s.sed.

By persistent practice he had felled every circ.u.mstance to a dead level--he would raze this new element, too, to the ground, and things would a.s.sume the old placidity.

"We'll welcome him when he comes, Joyce. I'm a selfish brute and don't want to be disturbed; but of course any one who cares to come will be welcome."

She shot a swift glance at him, then her eyes fell.

Gaston stared at her, and his face flushed. It had not been easy during the past year to keep the man in him under control, but he had begun to think, lately, the victory was a.s.sured. So confident was he of himself, that he had planned a final test in order to make sure the future held no danger for him--and her!