Flower of the Gorse

by Louis Tracy

  CHAPTER IV

  THE HOME-COMING

  Peridot had stipulated that the Hirondelle should start on her homewardrun "not a minute later than three o'clock." He had cast off from thewharf at Le Pouldu slightly before that hour; but the wreck of theStella and its attendant circumstances--not least being the necessityenforced by the change of wind to take the deep-sea course after leavingthe reef--cost a good deal of time. As a consequence daylight had almostfailed before the bar of the Aven was crossed.

  On Pointe d'ar Vechen, within thirty feet of the Port Manech Hotel,stands a tiny lighthouse which sheds a mild beam over the entrance tothe estuary. It is essentially a harbor light. A broad white band coversthe safe channel extending from Les Verres to l'Isle Verte, a red sectorforbids the former, and a green one indicates the narrow inside passagebetween reef and mainland.

  In crossing the bar, of course, each color became visible in turn.Ingersoll had seen the light scores of times. Never a week passed insummer that he did not spend a day, or even three days, at sea with thefishermen. His studies of the sardine fleet, in particular, were greatlyin request.

  Yet on this night of nights, when the return to his beloved Pont Avenmight well be reckoned the close of the most notable achievement of hiswhole life, he seemed to have collapsed physically and mentally. Hiseyes had a vacant look. Their wonted expression of a somewhat sarcasticyet not intolerant outlook on life had fled for the hour, and he peeredat the Breton and the sailor as though he had never before seen either.His slight but usually alert and wiry frame appeared to have shrunk. Heremained deaf to Peridot's suggestion as to the brandy, and becamecuriously interested in the red gleam of the lighthouse which came insight just before the bar was reached.

  The Breton imagined that his employer's bodily resources had been undulytaxed. Catching the eye of the yacht's skipper (whose name, by the way,was William Popple), he nodded toward the tiller, pointed straightahead, and held up a finger. "Wan mineet," he said.

  Captain Popple was not to be outdone in linguistic amenities."_Comprenny_," he grinned, and took control.

  Peridot thrust his head into the hatch. "Ma'mselle," he said, "thesepoor devils' teeth are chattering with the cold. Will you pass thecognac?"

  Yvonne felt the urgency of the request. Nearly every man was wet to theskin, and the wind bit keenly. She abandoned her nurse's work for themoment, opened a locker, and produced a bottle of generous size.

  "Here you are," she said. "See that a little is left. I have given someto the men, and I hope my other invalid will soon be able to take asmall quantity."

  * * * * *

  The fisherman removed a plug which had replaced the ordinary cork, andhanded the bottle to Captain Popple. The brandy was a fine old liquor,brown, and mellow, and smooth to the palate, and Popple took a draftworthy of a Russian grand duke.

  "Gosh!" he said, passing the bottle to Ingersoll, "that's the stuff! Itwarms the cockles of yer heart."

  Ingersoll swallowed a mouthful. It seemed to restore his wits. The eyeof the lighthouse had changed from red to green. "It is singular," hesaid, "how a quality of evil can be associated with certain colors. Redmeans danger and possible death, while green implies a jealous loveperilously akin to hate."

  He had not the least notion of the incongruity of such a remark justthen. He might have been making conversation for some boarding-schoolmiss whom Yvonne had brought on a summer cruise.

  The other man, puzzled, stared stolidly into the gathering gloom.

  "When you're plashin' at sea on a dark night you find them coloredsectors mighty useful, Sir," was all he could find to say.

  Ingersoll roused himself, as though from sleep, and indeed he had beenwholly unconscious of his surroundings during the last few minutes. "Oh,doubtless," he said apologetically, "I was thinking aloud, a foolishhabit. You were telling me about the owner of the Stella. Carmac is thename, I think? I knew a Walter H. Carmac many years ago. He was verytall, but slightly built. Surely a man cannot change his physique somarkedly in the course of, say, twenty years!"

  "Well, as to that, Sir, on'y the other day I was talkin' of Mr. Carmac'ssize to Mr. Raymond, the gentleman with the broken arm (Mr. Carmac'ssecretary, he is), an' he said the guv'nor used to be thin as a lathonce. P'raps it was a case of laugh and grow fat. Very pleasantgentleman, Mr. Carmac was; an' his lady too--one of the best. Excuse me,Sir, but I couldn't help starin' at your girl. She's that like Mrs.Carmac it's surprising. If anyone said they was mother an' daughter, I'dagree at once--if I didn't know different."

  There was a pause. Peridot had intrusted the supply of brandy toTollemache for further distribution. He came aft now, as carefulpiloting would soon be needed.

  "Once we're inside, Monsieur," he said, "we'll set the men at work byturns with the sweeps. That will drive the chill away."

  Ingersoll explained the scheme to the skipper, who gave it his heartyapproval.

  "Did the yacht belong to Mr. Carmac?" went on the artist.

  "Yes, Sir. He bought her a fortnight ago. She used to be Lord Aveling'sNigger; but Mr. Carmac didn't like that name, and changed it to theStella, after his wife's Christian name."

  "He didn't care to sail in a yacht called the Nigger, eh?"

  A bitterness of aloes was in the words. Apparently they suggested someunpleasing notion to Popple, who branched off to another topic.

  "I've a sort of idea his heart was affected," he said. "I know that somebigwig of a London doctor recommended a long voyage, and Mr. Carmacbein' several times a millionaire he just up and grabbed the firstsuitable craft that offered. Wouldn't wait for a survey. Took everythingfor granted; though I warned him that white paint may cover a lot ofblack sins. He an' the missis had planned a regular tour in theMediterranean, goin' from Gib to the Balearics, and dodgin' in and outof ports all along the north coast until we brought up at Constantinoplesometime in April. I advised him to let me meet him at Gib orMarseilles; but he was one of the men who will have their own way, andnothin' would suit but that he should come straight aboard. We leftSouthampton Tuesday evenin', and made Brest yesterday afternoon. Todaywe were for callin' at Belle Isle and berthin' at Lorient; but the foulweather met us, an' he was half inclined to put in at this very placewe're headin' for,--Pont Aven is the name, isn't it?--on'y poor Mrs.Carmac wouldn't hear of it. She said Belle Isle was no distance, an'made out she was a good sailor--which was hardly correct, because shewas ill as could be for the last two hours."

  "Why didn't you turn back?"

  "There was no turnin' back about Mr. Carmac, Sir. He wasn't built thatway, bein' a sure enough American. Though I've never known anybody moredevoted to his wife than he was, he ought to have let a younger man takeher across to your boat. Not as I mean to argy that anyone could haveheld up against that sea. Lord love a duck! it was a oner an' nomistake! But there, what has to be will be. Poor Mr. Carmac was fated tohand in his checks on the coast of Finistere, an' we others weren't, andthat's all there is to it; though I'd be flyin' in the face ofProvidence if I didn't say in the same breath that if four of thepluckiest and best hadn't been aboard this 'ere craft, none of ourlittle lot would ever have seen daylight again."

  * * * * *

  Tollemache joined them. He had just exchanged a word with Yvonne, whohad evidently placed her guest in a bunk, because the gleam of an oillantern came through the open hatch, and, like the good yachtswoman shewas, she had passed out the side lights trimmed and ready for use.

  "Well, Ingersoll," he said cheerily, "how are you feeling now?"

  "Rather tired," was the unexpected answer.

  "I'm not surprised at that. You've had a pretty strenuous time."

  "Of course you, Lorry, have had the day of your life!"

  "Y-yes. I wouldn't go through it again, though, for a small fortune;that is, with Yvonne on board. It was nip and tuck when we were jammedup against the reef.
"

  "It didn't take you long, Sir, for all that, to jump in after Mrs.Carmac," said Popple.

  "Oh, is that the lady's name? What a weird specimen one of yoursailormen must be! I asked him the name of the yacht's owner, and hedidn't know it."

  "If it's the beauty I saw you talkin' to, the swine didn't know his ownname when he kem aboard at Southampton," snorted Popple indignantly."Sink me! I've never seen a man so loaded. Took me for his long-lostuncle. Me, mind you! If I hadn't been rather short-handed, I'd have runhim ashore to find an uncle in a policeman."

  "He is sober enough now," laughed Tollemache. "I had some difficulty inpersuading him to take a sip of brandy. He said he was a teetotaler."

  "He what? Which one?"

  "That fellow there, leaning against the mast."

  "Of all the swabs! Look here, Sir, you come with me an' listen!"

  "But I don't want to get the poor chap into a row."

  "There'll be no row. Just language! It'll be a treat."

  Tollemache, an overgrown schoolboy in some respects, accompanied Popplegleefully. Broken scraps of the skipper's comments boomed back toIngersoll's unheeding ears.

  "Guess you signed the pledge when the shaft snapped.... Coughin' upstale beer all Tuesday night, an' all nex' day made you feel you weren'tfit to die on a Thursday.... You can't run a bluff of that sort on SaintPeter. He'd smell your breath a mile off, an' say, 'To the devil withany Jack who can't take his liquor decent-like when he's paid offwithout fillin' up when he's signed on!'...You struck a wrong job ingoin' to sea. You ought to be a brewer's drayman."

  * * * * *

  "Peridot," said Ingersoll suddenly, "you saw something of the lady'sstate of collapse when you pulled her on board. She is not likely torecover her senses before we reach Pont Aven?"

  "No, Monsieur, I think not. Women are marvels at times; but this one maynot even live. Mademoiselle Yvonne is doing what she can----"

  "I know, I know! Now do me a great favor. When we berth at the quayMademoiselle and I will slip away quietly in the confusion and darkness.See to it that none of the strangers learns our name. I'll warn MonsieurTollemache myself. Get all these people to Julia's. Tell her that thelady, Madame Carmac, is very wealthy, and that the man with the brokenarm is Mr. Carmac's secretary; so every sort of expenditure will be met,though Julia's kind heart would leave nothing undone for a shipwreckedcrew if they were paupers. There may be some inquiry about MademoiselleYvonne; but refer to her only by her Christian name, and say she livesat Madame Pitou's."

  "_Oui, M'sieu'._" Peridot promised willingly enough. Nevertheless he wasobviously bewildered.

  "I ask this," explained Ingersoll, "because my daughter and I willdepart for Paris by the first train tomorrow. You see, by extraordinarymischance, this Mr. and Mrs. Carmac and I were not on good terms yearsago, and I don't wish old scores to be reopened."

  "_Gars!_" spat Peridot. "You're not leaving Pont Aven because we pulledthese fools off Les Verres?"

  "No, no. I need a little holiday, and I'm taking it now. That is all. Weshall come back to the old life--never fear."

  "You mean that, M'sieu'?"

  "I swear it."

  "Of course, M'sieu', you understand that I cannot silence the tongues ofthe whole town?"

  "I don't care what anybody hears tomorrow. Remember, if poor MadameCarmac dies, no other person will have the slightest interest in mywhereabouts. If she lives, and is able to travel, she will certainlyendeavor to get away from Pont Aven as speedily as possible. Peridot, itis Yvonne I am thinking of, not of myself."

  "Monsieur, you can count on me absolutely."

  "And not a word of this to a soul?"

  "_Cre nom!_ I'll lie like a gendarme, even to Madeleine."

  "But you need not lie at all. Simply forget what I have told you--as tomy reason for tomorrow's journey, I mean."

  "Monsieur, it is forgotten already."

  * * * * *

  Tollemache came, chuckling. "Sorry you missed the skipper's homily,Ingersoll," he said. "I laughed like a hyena. I hope the people in thecabin couldn't overhear me. By Jove! to tell you the truth, I didn'teven remember that there was a dead man aboard."

  "The best tragedies indulge in a what is called 'comic relief'," saidIngersoll dryly. "Give Yvonne a hail, will you? I want a word with her."

  Tollemache stooped to the hatch. "Yvonne!" he said.

  "Yes," came the girl's voice.

  Her father, intent on its slightest cadence, deemed it placid andself-possessed.

  "Socrates wants you."

  Socrates was a title conferred on Ingersoll by his artist friends owingto his philosophic habit of mind. Nothing disturbed him, they vowed.Once, when the queer little steam tram that jingles into and out of PontAven four times daily was derailed, some alarm was created by the factthat Ingersoll, though known to be a passenger, was missing. When foundhe was perched on the side of the overturned carriage in which he hadbeen seated. On climbing out through a window he discovered that fromthis precise locality and elevation he obtained a capital view of awayside chapel; so he sketched it without delay. The chance, no lessthan the point of view, might not offer again!

  Yvonne appeared, her head and shoulders dimly visible in the frame ofthe hatch. "What is it, Dad?" she inquired.

  "We're in the river now, Dearest, and I thought you might join us ondeck. You have done all that is possible, I'm sure."

  "I simply cannot desert that poor woman until she shows some signs ofreturning consciousness."

  "Oh, is she still insensible?"

  "Yes. If only I could get her to swallow a little brandy."

  "Well, she will be in the doctor's hands soon. Better leave matters tohim."

  "But one must try."

  "Of course. If you prefer remaining below----"

  "Father dear, what else can I do?" She vanished again.

  * * * * *

  Ingersoll, having ascertained exactly what he wished to know, sighed insheer relief, and turned to Tollemache. "Lorry," he said, "have you adry cigar in your pocket? How stupid of me! You're soaked through andthrough. I hope none of us picks up a stiff dose of pneumonia as thesequel to today's excitement. Now a quiet word in your ear. Yvonne and Iare going away tomorrow for a week or so."

  "Going away--from Pont Aven?"

  Tollemache's voice executed a crescendo of dismay; but Ingersoll onlylaughed, and, for the first time since that disastrous reef was leftbehind, his manner reverted to its normal air of good-humored cynicism.

  "Why select two words from a sentence and invest them with asignificance they don't possess? I put in a saving clause. A week, oreven two, can hardly be twisted into a lifetime."

  "Does Yvonne know?"

  "No. I have decided on the journey only within the last ten minutes.We're taking a little trip to Paris solely to avoid the gush andsentiment that will flow in Pont Aven during the next few days like ariver in flood. Moreover, Lorry, if you're wise, you'll come with us."

  Tollemache little realized how truly spontaneous was his friend'sinvitation. "D'ye mean that, Ingersoll?" he said elatedly.

  "Why not? Don't let any question of expense stop you. This outing willbe my Christmas treat."

  "Expense! Dash it all! I've money to burn. Er--that is--enough, at anyrate, to afford a jaunt to Paris. When do we start?"

  "Soon after seven o'clock."

  "By jing! Sharp work."

  "If we really intend to escape, why stand on the order of our going?"

  "I'm not saying a word. You rather took my breath away at first, youknow."

  "You should allow for the kinks in the artistic temperament, Lorry.Enthusiasm is too often the herald of despair."

  "What sort of job do you really recommend me to take up, Socrates?"

  Ingersoll smiled. "I am not in the habit of dealing my friends suchshrewd blows," he said. "I was talking of myself--and Yvonne.
Make nomistake about her. She has a sane mind in a sound body; but the artist'snature will triumph some day, and she will surprise all of us. By theway--nothing of this project to her till I have explained it. We shallsee you at Mere Pitou's, of course?"

  "I've promised to shake a leg with Madame herself in a gavotte. Youdon't suppose that Carmac's death will interfere with the feast?"

  "Why should it?" said Ingersoll coldly. "The man is an utter stranger."

  Tollemache did not strive to interpret his friend's mood. In so far asit mystified him, and he gave it any thought, he assumed that thetremendous physical exertion and nervous strain of those few minuteswhen life or death was uncertain as the spin of a coin had affected anordinarily even-minded disposition.

  * * * * *

  Peridot interrupted their talk by asking Tollemache to lower the sail.Coming in with wind and tide, the Hirondelle had scudded across the barwithout effort. Hardly a whiff of spray had touched her deck, andpursuing waves lagged defeated in her wake.

  The sweeps were manned by willing volunteers, and the wet and shiveringsailors soon restored vitality by tackling the work in relays. Usuallysardine boats are content to drift up the estuary on a remarkably rapidtidal stream; so the Hirondelle made a fast trip that evening. Thechange in the wind had blown away the clouds brought inland by the firstphase of the gale. The sky was clear, and stars were twinkling throughthe violet haze that followed the sun's disappearance. Pinpoints oflight from the shores of the narrowing inlet scintillated from PortManech, the Chateau of Poulguin, and the few tiny hamlets that borderthe Aven. Ever the opposing cliffs grew loftier, more abrupt, morewooded, until a cluster of lighted windows and street lamps on thewater's edge at the end of one of the interminable bends showed thatPont Aven was drawing near. Thereabouts the valley opened out again;though the little town itself has been compelled to lodge its "Place"and half its houses on the first easy slopes of the steepest hill in thedistrict.

  Ingersoll, who had taken his turn at the oars with the others, contrivedto choke his impatience until the pollard oaks on the Chemin du Hallagesilhouetted their gnarled branches against the sky. That night the weirdarms, swaying and creaking in a wind that was, if anything, increasingin force, had a sinister aspect in his troubled eyes. Each oak lookedlike some dreadful octopus, whose innumerable suckers were searchingvindictively for an unwary victim. With an effort he brushed aside theevil fantasy, and was about to summon Yvonne when a weird, uncanny,elfin shriek came from the shadow of the largest and blackest tree.

  "_O, ma Doue!_" [Breton for "_O, mon Dieu!_"] was the cry. "There he is!See him, then, my brave Jean!" Peridot's mother was greeting her son ina voice rendered eldritch by hysteria.

  "_Eh, b'en Maman!_" the Breton shouted back. "What are thou doing thereat this time of night?"

  A number of running black figures appeared on the quay, an unprecedentedthing, except in the conditions that actually obtained.

  "_Que diable!_" growled Peridot, who had not bargained for a popularovation. "They know all about us. Someone must have telephoned from thesignal station at Brigneau."

  He had summed up the position of affairs to a nicety. Brigneau had toldthe whole story to Pont Aven, and assuredly it had lost nothing in thetelling. The signalers had seen every detail of the rescue through theirtelescopes, and were of course keenly alive to the peril into which theHirondelle had plunged so gallantly and effectively.

  The news had not long arrived; but sufficient time had elapsed that PontAven was stirred to its depths. Even old Madame Larraidou, crippled withrheumatism and sixty years of unremitting toil, had hobbled down to thequay to welcome her own special hero.

  A dense crowd of Bretons, with a sprinkling of the Anglo-Americancommunity that remains faithful to Pont Aven in all seasons, hadgathered on the broad, low, stone wharf, and surged down to the riveritself on the sloping causeway provided for boats carrying passengers.Nevertheless, if the signalmen had brought about this gathering, theyhad also reported the presence on board the Hirondelle of three men anda woman who were badly injured; so the local gendarmes had procuredstretchers, and three automobiles were in waiting.

  * * * * *

  Ingersoll, whose nerves were already on a raw edge, nearly abandoned thestruggle against Fate when he saw the dense concourse of people."Lorry," he said in an agonized tone that the younger man had neverbefore heard on his lips, "Lorry, help me now, or I'll crack up! Jumpashore and ask those good folk to clear a path. You know what it meansif we get among them. I can't stand it. I can't! Bid them let us pass,for the love of Heaven. Tell them we have to deal with death and brokenlimbs. You go first. They'll listen to you."

  Tollemache obeyed without demur. He was completely at a loss tounderstand his friend's collapse; but its undoubted seriousness calledfor decisive action. His vibrant, ringing tones dominated the cheersthat burst forth when the Hirondelle bumped into the quay.

  "_Mes amis_," he cried, "hear me one moment, I pray you. The people wehave rescued are suffering. One is dead--others are in great danger.Unless you make way, and permit us to bring the injured ones quietly andspeedily to the hotel, some may die on the road."

  It sufficed. The cheers were hushed. The throng yielded place withoutdemur. A low susurrus of talk and the sobbing of women were the onlysounds that mingled now with the unceasing chant of the gale.

  Ingersoll had literally forced himself to stoop into the companionhatch. "Yvonne," he said in a curiously muffled voice.

  "Yes, Dad," came the girl's answer.

  He could not be sure, owing to his extremely agitated state, but fanciedthat another voice gasped a word faintly.

  "Come now, Dear! Come at once!" he appealed.

  Again Yvonne's head and shoulders emerged. "Oh, Dad," she almost sobbed,"Mrs.--Mrs. Carmac is conscious now. She beseeches me to remain with heruntil--until----."

  Ingersoll literally pulled his daughter up the few remaining steps. "Weare going straight home!" he cried, savagely impatient of the resistancehis plans were encountering at every turn. "I am ill--nearly demented!You must come now!"

  Still clasping her arm in a grip that left marks on her white skin fordays thereafter, he forced her to the side of the boat.

  "Father dear, of course I'll come; but you are hurting me," she saidquietly. "Please don't hold me so tight."

  He was deaf to her pleading. They raced together up the causeway. Toavoid attracting attention, Yvonne did not endeavor to hold back, andbystanders wondered why the two made off at such a furious pace. MadamePitou, Madeleine, and Barbe, drawn to the quay like the rest of theinhabitants, were divided between concern for father and daughter anddesire to witness the landing of the shipwrecked crew.

  But Mere Pitou could not contain her anxiety. "_Tcha!_" she cried,bustling through the crowd. "What's gone wrong with Monsieur Ingersolland Yvonne? They might have seen the devil out yonder. I must hurryafter them. I'll hear all the news later when Peridot comes."

  The two girls went with her. For once feminine curiosity was less potentthan sympathy. Moreover, Tollemache's announcement of a death among therescued people had terrified them. They shuddered at the notion of thesolemn procession of men carrying a limp and heavy body. The mere sightof such a thing would take the heart out of them for the evening'smerrymaking.

  * * * * *

  Ingersoll had passed the first mill--or the last--that bridles theriver, and was striding through the narrow street leading to the bridge,when he became conscious of the force he was exerting on hisuncomplaining companion.

  "I'm sorry, Yvonne," he said, freeing her arm immediately. "I forgotmyself. Really I hardly know what I am doing. Am I hurting you? Whydidn't you tell me?"

  He spoke in a queer, choking voice which at any other time would havearoused his daughter's affectionate solicitude. That night, however,probably because she too was in an overwrought condition, she contentedherself by
a seemingly nonchalant reply.

  "It doesn't matter, Dad. A bruise more or less, after all that we havegone through, is not of much account."

  "I hurried you away----" he began; but, greatly to his surprise, Yvonneinterrupted the labored explanation he had in mind.

  "I think I understand, Dad," she said. "Wouldn't it be better for bothof us if you left unsaid what you were going to say--at any rate, tillthe morning? We are--how shall I put it?--somewhat unhinged by today'sevents. You are weary and heartsick. I know I am. Let me go and see thatMrs. Carmac is being cared for. I'll not remain long, and we can retiresoon after supper. Then, when we have slept perhaps, we shall wake intoa new world with nerves not so exhausted, or strained, as at thismoment."

  Ingersoll, brooding on his own troubles, and feverishly eager to snatchhis daughter from a soul-racking ordeal, was wholly unaware of thepassionate tumult vibrating in every syllable of that appeal. He caughtthe sound, not the significance, of the words that irritated him.

  "Now you are talking nonsense!" he cried. "You cannot possibly know whatcourse I have decided on. It is this: I loathe the sensational elementattached to such an event as the rescue we have taken part in. Youhardly realize what it implies to you and me personally. Not only theFrench but the English and American newspapers will send here a horde ofspecial correspondents and photographers. If we remain in Pont Aven, wecannot escape them. They will take the cottage by storm, or, if we boltour door against intruders, we shall have to withstand a siege. To avoidthis, you and I are going to Paris by the early train tomorrow. Lorry iscoming too. He agrees with me--or, if I shouldn't say that--he isdelighted at the prospect of the outing."

  "Poor Lorry!" said Yvonne.

  "Why 'poor Lorry'? He is only too pleased at being invited."

  "But, Dad, he doesn't know what you and I know."

  A sudden terror fell on Ingersoll. "What do you mean?" he murmuredhoarsely, stopping short as though he had been struck by an invisiblehand.

  During a few fateful seconds father and daughter stood in the center ofthe four ways that meet as soon as the road from Paris crosses the Aven.No one was near. The eternal plaint of the river was drowned by thefierce wind whistling under the eaves of the old houses withhigh-pitched roofs, and singing an anthem of its own around the piercedspire of the neighboring church. Yvonne placed her hands on her father'sshoulders, and her sweet lips quivered in an irresistible rush ofagonized emotion.

  "Dad," she said, striving vainly to keep her utterance under control,"if you--wish--to go to Paris tomorrow--I--shall not try--to dissuadeyou. But I--cannot come with you. I dare not! You see--I have just foundmy mother--and--she may be dead tomorrow. Oh, Dad, Dad! No matter how mymother may have erred--or what wrong she may have done you in thepast--I cannot abandon her now!"