A Sister to Evangeline by Sir Charles G. D. Roberts

  Chapter VII

  Guard!

  I had just arrived at this significant determination when I was rousedfrom my reverie by Anderson making his farewells. He was holding out hishand to me.

  “Your face is stern, monsieur,” he said. “Were you fighting your oldbattles o’er again?”

  “No—new ones!” I laughed, springing up and seizing his hand.

  “May you win them, as of old!” he exclaimed, with great heartiness.

  “You are generous, monsieur,” I said gently, looking him in the eyes.

  But this remark he took as quite the ordinary reply, and with a brightglance for us all he moved toward the door. Yvonne followed him, as itseemed was expected of her.

  “_Must_ you go so early?” she asked, with a kindness in her voice whichpierced me.

  “Yes,” he said, looking down at her upturned face. “The tide is justright now, and this fair wind must not be lost. It will be a fine rununder this moon; and Pierre has the new boat over to-night.”

  “It _is_ a good night,” she assented, peering through the open door witha gesture of gay inquiry; “and how sweet the apple-blossoms smell! Haveyou as good air as this, Monsieur Grande, on those western rivers ofyours, or at Trois Pistoles?”

  As she did not turn her head or seem to require an answer, I made none.And, indeed, I was spared the necessity, for Anderson intervened withmatter of his own.

  “Come down to the gate with me, won’t you?” I heard him beg in a lowvoice.

  But for some reason Mademoiselle was not disposed to be kind that night.She drew back, and looked down pointedly at her dainty embroideredmoccasins.

  “Oh,” she cried lightly and aloud, with a tantalizing ring in her voice,“just think how wet the path is!”

  Anderson turned away with a disappointed air, whereupon she reached outher hand imperiously for him to kiss. Then she waved him a gay _bonvoyage_, and came back into the room with a quick lightness of stepwhich seemed like laughter in itself. Her eyes were a dancing marvel,with some strange excitement.

  “Monsieur,” she began, coming straight toward me. But I just then awoketo my purpose.

  “A thousand pardons, mademoiselle and madame!” I cried, springing to myfeet and hastening to the door. “I will be back in two moments; but Ihave a word for Monsieur Anderson before he goes.”

  That I should interrupt her in this way, and rush off when she was aboutto speak to me, fetched a sudden little cloud of astonishment overYvonne’s face. But I would not be delayed. I made haste down the pathand caught Anderson before he reached the gate. He paused with an air ofgenial surprise.

  “Your pardon, monsieur,” said I; “but with your permission I willaccompany you a few steps, as I have something to say to you.”

  “I am glad to have your company, monsieur,” said he, with a manner thatspoke sincerity.

  “Are you?” said I abruptly. “Well, somehow I take your words assomething more than the thin clink of compliment. I like you—I liked youthe moment my eyes fell upon you.”

  His face flashed into a rare illumination, and without a word he heldout his hand.

  I could not but smile responsively, though I thrust my hand behind myback and shook my head.

  “Wait!” said I. “I want to say to you that—I love—I love Mademoiselle deLamourie!”

  His face clouded a little, and he withdrew his hand, but not angrily.

  “We are very much of one mind in that, I assure you,” he said.

  “The very ground she walks upon is sacred to me,” I continued.

  He smiled ever so little at the passion of my speech, but answeredthoughtfully:

  “It is but natural, I suppose. I do not think we will quarrel upon thatscore, monsieur.”

  “For two years,” said I, in a low voice, speaking coldly and evenly, “Ihave been moved night and day by this love only. It has supported me inhunger and in weariness; it has led me in the wilderness; it hasstrengthened me in the fight; it has been more to me than all ambition.Even my love of my country has been second to it. I came here to-day forone reason only. And I find—you!”

  “None can know so well as I what you have lost, monsieur,” said he verygravely, “as none can know so well as I what I have gained.”

  His kindness, no less than his confidence, hurt me.

  “Are you so sure?” I asked.

  “The discussion is unusual, monsieur,” said he, with a suddenresentment. “I will only remind you that Mademoiselle de Lamourie hasaccepted my suit.”

  No man’s sternness has ever troubled me, and I smiled slightly inacknowledgment of his very reasonable remark.

  “The situation is unusual, so you must pardon me,” said I, “if Iarrogate to myself a somewhat unusual freedom. I tell you now franklythat by all open and honorable means I will strive to win the love ofMademoiselle de Lamourie. I have hope that she has not yet clearly foundthe wisdom of her heart. I believe that I, not you, am the man whom shewill love. Laugh at my vanity as much as you will. I am not yet ready tosay my hope is dead, my life turned to nothingness.”

  “You are weak,” said he, with some severity, “to hold your life thus, asit were, in jeopardy of a woman’s whim.”

  I could hardly restrain my voice from betraying a certain triumph whichI felt at this sign of imperfection in his love.

  “If you hold it a weakness,” said I, “there is a point at last in whichwe differ. If it _be_ a weakness, then it is one which, up to two yearsago, I had scarce dared hope to attain. Few, indeed, are the women, andas few men, strong enough for the full knowledge of love.”

  “Yet the greatest love is not the whole of life,” he averreddisputatiously.

  “You speak but coldly,” said I, “for the lover of Mademoiselle deLamourie.”

  He started. I had stung him. “I am of the Society of Friends—a Quaker!”said he harshly. “I do not fight. I lift not my hand against myfellow-man. Yet did I believe that you would succeed in winning herlove, I think I would kill you where you stand!”

  I liked the sharp lines of his face as he said it, fronting me with eyesgrown suddenly cruel. I felt that he meant it, for the moment at least.

  “Say, rather,” said I, smiling, “that you would honestly try your bestto kill me. It would be an interesting experiment. Well, now weunderstand each other. _I_ will honestly try my best to do you what willbe, in my eyes, the sorest injury in the world. But I will try by fairmeans only, and if I fail I will bear you no grudge. In all else,however, believe that I do greatly desire your welfare, and will seizewith eagerness any occasion of doing you a service. You are perhaps lessunworthy of Mademoiselle de Lamourie than I am, save that you cannotlove her so well. And _now_,” I added with a smile, “will you take myhand?”

  As I held it out to him he at first drew back and seemed disposed torepulse me. Then his face cleared.

  “You are honest!” he exclaimed, and wrung my hand with great cordiality.“I rather like you—and I am very sorry for you. I have her promise.”

  “Well,” said I, “if also you have her love you are the most fortunateman on God’s earth!”

  “I have it!” said he blithely, and strode off down the path between theapple-trees, his fine shoulders held squarely, and a confidence in allhis bearing. But a wave of pity for him, and strange tenderness, wentover me in that moment, for in that moment I felt an assurance that Ishould win.

  It was an assurance doomed to swift ruin. It was an assurance destinedsoon to be hidden under such a vast wreckage of my hopes that evenmemory marvelled when she dragged it forth to light.