Part 58 (2/2)

The train was moving quicker. The conductor had jumped aboard. Alec was just aware that all who were left on the platform were gossiping about Eliza's departure when he was suddenly spurred into violent movement by the recollection that he had absently retained in his possession Bates's ticket and the change of the note given him to buy it with. To run and swing himself on to the last car was a piece of vigorous action, but once again upon the small rear porch and bound perforce for the next station, he gave only one uncomfortable glance through the gla.s.s door and turned once more to the prospect of the long level track. Who could mention a railway ticket and small change to a man so recently beatified?

The awkwardness of his position, a shyness that came over him at the thought that they must soon see him and wonder why he was there, suggested the wonder why he had desired that Bates should be happy; now that he saw him opulent in happiness, as it appeared, above all other men, he felt only irritation--first, at the sort of happiness that could be derived from such a woman, and secondly, at the contrast between this man's fulness and his own lack. What had Bates done that he was to have all that he wanted?

It is an easier and less angelic thing to feel sympathy with sorrow than with joy.

In a minute or two it was evident they had seen him, for he heard the door slide and Bates came out on the little platform. He had gone into the car feebly; he came out with so easy a step and holding himself so erect, with even a consequential pose, that a gleam of derision shot through the younger man's mind, even though he knew with the quick knowledge of envy that it was for the sake of the woman behind the door that the other was now making the most of himself.

Alec gave what he had to give; it was not his place to make comment.

Bates counted the change with a care that perhaps was feigned. If he stood very straight, his hard hand trembled.

”I'm sorry ye were forced to come on with the cars; it's another added to all the good deeds you've done by me.” He had found a tongue now in which he could be gracious.

”Oh, I shall soon get back,” said Alec.

”I suppose ye've seen”--with attempted coolness--”that my young friend here, Eliza Cameron, is going back with me.”

”So I see.” If his life had depended upon it, Alec could not have refrained from a smile which he felt might be offensive, but it pa.s.sed unseen.

”When she saw ye out here, she asked me just to step out, for perhaps ye'd be so kind as to take a message to a young lady she has a great caring for--a Miss Rexford, as I understand.”

”All right.” Alec looked at the rails flying behind them, and stroked his yellow moustache, and sighed in spite of himself.

”I'd like ye to tell Miss Rexford from me that we intend to be married to-morrow--in the city of Quebec; but Sissy, she would like ye to say that she'd have gone to say good-bye if she'd known her own mind sooner, and that she prefairred to come” (he rolled the r in this ”preferred”

with emphasis not too obvious) ”--ye understand?”--this last a little sharply, as if afraid that the word might be challenged.

Still looking upon the flying track, Alec nodded to show that he challenged nothing.

”And she wishes it to be said,” continued the stiff, formal Scot (there was a consequential air about him now that was almost insufferable), ”that for all I've the intention in my mind to spend my life in the old place, she thinks she'll very likely break me of it, and bring me to live in more frequented parts in a year or two, when she'll hope to come and see her friends again. 'Tis what she says, Mr. Trenholme” (and Alec knew, from his tone, that Bates, even in speaking to him, had smiled again that gloriously happy smile), ”and of course I humour her by giving her words. As to how that will be, I can't say, but”--with condescension--”ye'd be surprised, Mr. Trenholme, at the hold a woman can get on a man.”

”Really--yes, I suppose so,” Alec muttered inanely; but within he laid control on himself, lest he should kick this man. Surely it would only make the scales of fortune balance if Bates should have a few of his limbs broken to pay for his luxury!

Alec turned, throwing a trifle of patronage into his farewell. Nature had turned him out such a good-looking fellow that he might have spared the other, but he was not conscious of his good looks just then.

”Well, Bates, upon my word I wish you joy. It's certainly a relief to _me_ to think you will have someone to look after that cough of yours, and see after you a bit when you have the asthma. I didn't think you'd get through this winter alone, 'pon my word, I didn't; but I hope that--Mrs. Bates will take good care of you.”

It was only less brutal to hurl the man's weakness at him than it would have been to hurl him off the train. Yet Alec did it, then jumped from the car when the speed lessened.

He found himself left at a junction which had no interest for him, and as there was a goods train going further on to that village where he had stopped with Bates on their first arrival in these parts, he followed a whim and went thither, in order to walk home by the road on which he had first heard Sophia's voice in the darkness.

Ah, that voice--how clear and sweet and ringing it was! It was not words, but tones, of which he was now cheris.h.i.+ng remembrance. And he thought of the face he now knew so well, hugged the thought of her to his heart, and knew that he ought not to think of her.

Everywhere the trees hung out red and yellow, as flags upon a gala day.

He saw the maples on the mountain rise tier above tier, in feathery scarlet and gold. About his feet the flowering weeds were blowing in one last desperate effort of riotous bloom. The indigo birds, like flakes from the sky above, were flitting, calling, everywhere, as they tarried on their southward journey. Alec walked by the rus.h.i.+ng river, almost dazzled by its glitter, and felt himself to be, not only an unhappy, but an ill-disposed man.

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