Part 4 (1/2)

In the haste of packing up her poor and scanty wardrobe, she heard her sister's voice saying to the clergyman: ”Oh! how _could_ you send her away? You know she has no home, she has nowhere to go. How _could_ you do it?” All Lydia caught of his reply was: ”Not another night, not another meal, in this house while _I_ am its master.”

Presently her sister came upstairs carrying a plate of pudding.

Her eyes were red with tears, and her hands trembled. ”Do eat this, my dear; some tea is coming presently,” she said.

But Lydia only shook her head, strapped her little box, and, putting on her bonnet, she commanded her voice sufficiently to say: ”I am going now. I'll send for this box later.”

”Where are you going to?” her sister's voice trembled.

”I--don't know,” said the girl. ”But wherever I do go, it will be a kindlier place than this. Good-bye, sister.” She kissed the distressed wife softly on each cheek, then paused at the bedroom door to say, ”The man I am to marry loves me, honors me too much to treat me as a mere possession. I know that _he_ will never tell me he is 'master.' George Mansion may have savage blood in his veins, but he has grasped the meaning of the word 'Christianity' far more fully than your husband has.”

Her sister could not reply, but stood with streaming eyes and watched the girl slip down the back stairs and out of a side door.

For a moment Lydia Bestman stood on the pavement and glanced up and down the street. The city was what was known as a garrison town in the days when the British regular troops were quartered in Canada.

Far down the street two gay young officers were walking, their brilliant uniforms making a pleasant splash of color in the sunlight. They seemed to suggest to the girl's mind a more than welcome thought. She knew the major's wife well, a gracious, whole-souled English lady whose kindness had oftentimes brightened her otherwise colorless life. Instinctively the girl turned to the quarters of the married officers. She found the major's wife at home, and, burying her drawn little face in the good lady's lap, she poured forth her entire story.

”My dear,” blazed out the usually placid lady, ”if I were only the major for a few moments, instead of his wife, I should--I should--well, I should just _swear_! There, now I've said it, and I'd _do_ it, too. Why, I never heard of such an outrage! My dear, kiss me, and tell me--when, how, do you expect your young chief to come for you?”

”Next week,” said the girl, from the depths of those sheltering arms.

”Then here you stay, right here with me. The major and I shall go to the church with you, see you safely married, bring you and your Hiawatha home for a cosy little breakfast, put you aboard the boat for Toronto, and give you both our blessing and our love.” And the major's wife nodded her head with such emphasis that her quaint English curls bobbed about, setting Lydia off into a fit of laughter. ”That's right, my dear. You just begin to laugh now, and keep it up for all the days to come. I'll warrant you've had little of laughter in your young life,” she said knowingly. ”From what I've known of your father, he never ordered laughter as a daily ingredient in his children's food. Then that sweet Elizabeth leaving you alone, so terribly alone, must have chased the suns.h.i.+ne far from your little world. But after this,” she added brightly, ”it's just going to be love and laughter. And now, my dear, we must get back the rosy English color in your cheeks, or your young Hiawatha won't know his little white sweetheart. Run away to my spare room, girlie. The orderly will get a man to fetch your box.

Then you can change your frock. Leave yesterday behind you forever.

Have a little rest; you look as if you had not slept for a week.

Then join the major and me at dinner, and we'll toast you and your redskin lover in true garrison style.”

And Lydia, with the glorious recuperation of youth, ran joyously upstairs, smiling and singing like a lark, transformed with the first unadulterated happiness she had ever felt or known.

PART III.

Upon George Mansion's arrival at the garrison town he had been met on the wharf by the major, who took him to the hotel, while hurriedly explaining just why he must not go near Lydia's sister and the clergyman whom George had expected would perform the marriage ceremony. ”So,” continued the major, ”you and Lydia are not to be married at the cathedral after all, but Mrs. Harold and I have arranged that the ceremony shall take place at little St. Swithin's Church in the West End. So you'll be there at eleven o'clock, eh, boy?”

”Yes, major, I'll be there, and before eleven, I'm afraid, I'm so anxious to take her home. I shall not endeavour to thank you and Mrs. Harold for what you have done for my homeless girl. I can't even--”

”Tut, tut, tut!” growled the major. ”Haven't done anything. Bless my soul, Chief, take my word for it, haven't done a thing to be thanked for. Here's your hotel. Get some coffee to brace your nerves up with, for I can a.s.sure you, boy, a wedding is a trying ordeal, even if there is but a handful of folks to see it through.

Be a good boy, now--good-bye until eleven--St. Swithin's, remember, and G.o.d bless you!” and the big-hearted, bl.u.s.tering major was whisked away in his carriage, leaving the young Indian half overwhelmed with his kindness, but as happy as the golden day.

An hour or so later he stood at the hotel door a moment awaiting the cab that was to take him to the church. He was dressed in the height of the fas.h.i.+on of the early fifties--very dark wine broadcloth, the coat shaped tightly to the waist and adorned with a silk velvet collar, a pale lavender, flowered satin waistcoat, a dull white silk stock collar, a bell-shaped black silk hat. He carried his gloves, for throughout his entire life he declared he breathed through his hands, and the wearing of gloves was abhorrent to him. Suddenly a gentleman accosted him with:

”I hear an Indian chief is in town. Going to be married here this morning. Where is the ceremony to take place? Do you know anything of it?”

Like all his race, George Mansion had a subtle sense of humor. It seized upon him now.

”Certainly I know,” he replied. ”I happened to come down on the boat with the chief. I intend to go to the wedding myself. I understand the ceremony was arranged to be at the cathedral.”

”Splendid!” said the gentleman. ”And thank you, sir.”

Just then the cab arrived. Young Mansion stepped hastily in, nodded good-bye to his acquaintance, and smilingly said in an undertone to the driver, ”St. Swithin's Church--and quickly.”