Part 34 (1/2)

”The admiration of a coward for a brave man--I have known that more than once. He will do Heaven knows what, and end in making mischief enough.”

”I have scared him a little. He talked, the idiot, about his will, and what he would or would not do. As if that would help, or as if the dear child cares or would care. I said I had money to spare at need. He will say nothing for a while. I do not mean to be interfered with. I told him so.”

”Did you, indeed?”

”I did.”

”Mistress Gainor, you had better keep your own hands off and let things alone. Josiah would be like an elephant in a rose garden.”

”And I like--”

”A good, kindly woman about to make a sad mistake. You do not know the mother's deep-seated prejudices, nor yet of what trouble lies like a shadow on Rene's life. I should not dare to interfere.”

”What is it?” she said, at once curious and anxious.

”Mistress Gainor, you are to be trusted, else you would go your way. Is not that so?”

”Yes; but I am reasonable and Margaret is dear to me. I like the vicomte and, as for his mother, she thinks me a kind, rough old woman; and for her nonsense about rank and blood, stuff! The girl's blood is as good as hers.”

”No doubt; but let it alone. And now I think you ought to hear his story and I mean to tell it.” And sitting in the darkness, he told her of Avignon and Carteaux and the real meaning of the duel and how the matter would go on again some day, but how soon fate alone could determine. She listened, appalled at the tragic story which had come thus fatefully from a far-away land into the life of a quiet Quaker family.

”It is terrible and sad,” she said. ”And he has spoken to no one but you of this tragedy? It must be known to many.”

”The death, yes. Carteaux's share in it, no. He was an unknown young _avocat_ at the time.”

”How reticent young De Courval must be! It is singular at his age.”

”He had no reason to talk of it; he is a man older than his years. He had in fact his own good reason for desiring not to drive this villain out of his reach. He is a very resolute person. If he loves this dear child, he will marry her, if a dozen mothers stand in the way.”

”There will be two. I see now why Mary Swanwick is always sending Margaret to me or to Darthea Wynne. I think the maid cares for him.”

”Ah, my dear Miss Gainor, if I could keep them apart for a year, I should like it. G.o.d knows where the end will be. Suppose this fellow were to kill him! That they will meet again is sadly sure, if I know De Courval.”

”You are right,” she returned. ”But if, Mr. Schmidt, this shadow did not lie across his path, would it please you? Would you who have done so much for him--would you wish it?”

”With all my heart. But let it rest here, and let time and fate have their way.”

”I will,” she said, rising. ”It is cool. I must go in. It is a sad tangle, and those two mothers! I am sometimes glad that I never married and have no child. Good night. I fear that I shall dream of it.”

”I shall have another pipe before I follow you. We are three old cupids,” he added, laughing. ”We had better go out of business.”

”There is a good bit of cupidity about one of us, sir.”

”A not uncommon quality,” laughed Schmidt.

Pleased with her jest, she went away, saying, ”Tom will take care of you.”

To the well-concealed satisfaction of the vicomtesse, it was settled that Margaret's health required her to remain all summer at the Hill; but when June was over, De Courval was able to ride, and why not to Chestnut Hill? And although Gainor never left them alone, it was impossible to refuse permission for him to ride with them.

They explored the country far and wide with Aunt Gainor on her great stallion, a rash rider despite her years. Together they saw White Marsh and the historic lines of Valley Forge, and heard of Hugh Wynne's ride, and, by good luck, met General Wayne one day and were told the story of that dismal winter when snow was both foe and friend. Aunt Gainor rode in a riding-mask, and the Quaker bonnet was worn no longer, wherefore, the code of lovers' signals being ingeniously good, there needed no cupids old or young. The spring of love had come and the summer would follow in nature's course. Yet always Rene felt that until his dark debt was paid he could not speak.