Part 14 (1/2)
”In any case, it isn't your affair.” Mrs. Hastings smiled significantly.
”In one sense it certainly isn't; but I can't help feeling a little troubled about the thing. You see, Gregory is quite an old friend.”
”And the girl is going to marry him,” said Mrs. Hastings, raising her eyebrows.
Wyllard rose. ”That reminder,” he said, ”is quite uncalled for. I would like to a.s.sure you of it.”
He went out, and Mrs. Hastings sat still in a reflective mood.
”If she begins to compare him with Hawtrey, there can be only one result,” she said.
The fog had almost gone next morning, and pale suns.h.i.+ne streamed down upon a a froth-flecked sea. A bitter wind, however, still came out of the hazy north, and the _Scarrowmania's_ plates were crusted with ice where the highest crests of the tumbling seas reached them. The spray froze, and the decks grew slippery. When darkness came, n.o.body but the seamen faced the stinging cold. Agatha felt the engines stop late that night, and when she went out next morning the decks were white, and she could see dim ghosts of sliding pines through a haze of falling snow that became bewilderingly thick at times, but the steamer slid on through it with whistle hooting. At last toward sunset the snow cleared away and Agatha stood s.h.i.+vering under a deck-house. She looked about her with a curiously heavy heart.
A gray haze stretched across the great river, which was dim and gray, and odd wisps of pines rose raggedly beneath the white hills that cut against a gloomy, lowering sky. Deck-house, boat, and stanchion dripped, and every now and then the silence was broken by a doleful blast of the whistle. Nothing moved on the still, gray water, there was no sign of life ash.o.r.e, and they seemed to be steaming into a great desolation.
Presently, Wyllard appeared from somewhere, and, after a glance at her face, slipped his hand beneath her arm, and led her down to the lighted saloon. There her heart grew a little lighter. Once more she was conscious of the feeling that she was safe with him.
CHAPTER X
DISILLUSION
The long train was speeding smoothly across the vast white levels of a.s.siniboia, when Agatha, who sat by a window, looked up as the conductor strode through the car. Mrs. Hastings asked him a question, and he stopped a moment.
”Yes,” he said, ”we'll be in Clermont inside half an hour.”
He went on, and Mrs. Hastings smiled at Agatha.
”We're a little late, and Gregory will be waiting for us in the station now,” she announced. ”No doubt he's got the wagon fixed up right, but I'd like to feel sure of it. There's a long drive before us, and I want to reach the homestead before it's dark.”
Agatha said nothing, but a faint tinge of color crept into her cheeks, and Mrs. Hastings was glad to see it, for she had noticed that the girl was looking pale and haggard. The strain of the last few months that she had spent in England was beginning to tell on her. She had borne it courageously, but a reaction had set in, and the trip had been fatiguing. The _Scarrowmania_ had plunged along, bows under, against fresh northwesterly gales most of the way across the Atlantic, and there is very little comfort on board a small, deeply-loaded steamer when she rolls her rails in, and lurches with thudding screw swung clear over big, steep-sided combers. Moreover, Agatha had scarcely slept during the few days and nights that she had spent in the train. It takes time to become accustomed to the atmosphere of a heated sleeper, and since she had landed she had been in a state of not unnatural nervous tension.
She had found it difficult to preserve an outward serenity, the previous day. When, at last, the great train ran into the depot at Winnipeg, where Gregory had arranged to meet them, it was with a thrill of expectancy and relief that she stood upon the car platform. There was, however, no sign of Gregory, and, though Wyllard handed her a telegram from him a few minutes later, the fact that he had not arrived had a depressing effect on her. Quiet as she usually was, the girl was highly strung. Something had gone wrong with Hawtrey's wagon while he was driving in to the railroad, and as the result of it he had missed the Atlantic train. She could not blame him for the accident, but for all that his absence was an unpleasant shock.
Feeling that her companions' eyes were upon her, she turned, and looking out of the window found no encouragement in what she saw. The snow had gone, and a vast expanse of gra.s.s ran back to the horizon! But it was a dingy, grayish-white, and not green, as it had been in England. The sky was low and gray, too, and the only thing that broke the dreary monotony of lifeless color was the formless, darker smear of a birch bluff that rose out of the empty levels. Her heart throbbed unpleasantly fast as the few remaining minutes slipped away. She started when a dingy ma.s.s of something that looked like buildings lifted itself above the prairie.
”The Clermont elevators,” said Mrs. Hastings. ”We'll be in directly.”
The ma.s.s separated itself into two or three tall component blocks. A huddle of little wooden houses grew into shape beneath them, and a shrill whistle came ringing back above the slowing cars. A willow bluff, half filled with old cans and garbage, flitted by, a big bell began tolling, and Agatha rose when Mrs. Hastings took up her furs from a seat close by. After that, the girl found herself standing on the platform of the car, though she did not quite know how she got there, for she was sensible only of the fact that in another moment or two she would greet the lover whom she had not seen for four years.
Though she paid no great attention to them the surroundings had a depressing effect on her. There was, however, very little to see. The ma.s.s of the great elevators that were silhouetted against a lowering sky, the little cl.u.s.ter of houses, and the sea of churned-up mire between them and the track comprised Clermont. There appeared to be no station except a big water tank and a rather unsightly shed, about which stood a group of blurred and shapeless figures. It seemed very cold, and Agatha s.h.i.+vered as she felt the raw wind strike through her.
One of the figures detached itself from the rest and grew clearer. The man wore an old skin coat spattered with flakes of mire, and his long boots were covered with clots of mud. His fur cap looked greasy, and the fur had been rubbed off it in patches. But while Agatha noticed these things it was Hawtrey's face that struck her most distinctly, and she became conscious of an astonishment which was mixed with vague misgivings as she gazed at it, for it had subtly changed since she had last seen it. The joyous sparkle that she remembered had gone out of the eyes. They were harder, bolder, than they used to be. The mouth was slack--it looked almost sensual--and the man's whole personality seemed to have grown coa.r.s.er. As she thrust the disconcerting fancies from her the car stopped.
[Ill.u.s.tration: ”SHE WAS CONSCIOUS OF A CERTAIN SHRINKING FROM HIS EMBRACE” (Page 107)]
In another moment Hawtrey sprang up on the platform, and his arms were about her. That brought the blood to her face, but she felt none of the thrill that she had expected. Indeed, she was conscious of a certain shrinking from his embrace. He must have lifted her down, for, when she was next aware of the presence of the friends with whom she had traveled, she stood beside the track with Mrs. Hastings, a man whom she supposed to be Mr. Hastings, Winifred and Wyllard about her. Another man also was standing close by, apparently waiting until they noticed him.
He was covered with mire, his skin coat was very dilapidated, and Agatha thought that his boots never had been cleaned. His hair, which had evidently been badly cut, straggled out from under his old fur cap.
Gregory apparently explained something to Mrs. Hastings. ”No,” he said, ”I'm sorry it can't be for another week. Horribly unfortunate. It seems they've sent the Methodist on down the line, and we'll have to wait for the Episcopalian. He'll be at Lander's for a few days.”