CHAPTER X.
A CAMPAIGN BEGUN IN BRIBERY.
"After madness acted, question asked."
TENNYSON.
Before the day was many hours older, Agapit was driving his white horseinto the inn yard.
There seemed to be more people about the house then there usually were,and Bidiane, who stood at the side door, was handing a long paper parcelto a man. "Take it away," Agapit heard her say, in peremptory tones;"don't you open it here."
The Acadien to whom she was talking happened to be, Agapit knew, ane'er-do-weel. He shuffled away, when he caught sight of the younglawyer, but Bidiane ran delightedly towards him. "Oh, Mr. LeNoir, youare as welcome as Mayflowers in April!"
Her face was flushed, there were faint dark circles around the lightbrown eyes that harmonized so much better with her red hair than blueones would have done. The sun shone down into these eyes, emphasizingthis harmony between them and the hair, and Agapit, looking deeply intothem, forgot immediately the mentor's part that he was to act, andclasped her warmly and approvingly by the hand.
"Come in," she said; but Agapit, who would never sit in the house if itwere possible to stay out-of-doors, conducted her to one of the rusticseats by the croquet lawn. He sat down, and she perched in the hammock,sitting on one foot, swinging the other, and overwhelming him withquestions about his visit to Halifax.
"And what have you been doing with yourself since I have been away?" heasked, with a hypocritical assumption of ignorance.
"You know very well what I have been doing," she said, rapidly. "Did notI see Rose driving in to call on you this morning? And you have comedown to scold me. I understand you perfectly; you cannot deceive me."
Agapit was silent, quite overcome by this mark of feminine insight.
"I will never do it again," she went on, "but I am going to see thisthrough. It is such fun--'Claude,' said my aunt to her husband, when wefirst decided to make _bombance_, 'what politics do you belong to?' 'Iam a Conservative,' he said; because, you know, my aunt has always toldhim to vote as the English people about him did. She has known nothingof politics. 'No, you are not,' she replied, 'you are a Liberal;' andClaudine and I nearly exploded with laughter to hear her trying toconvince him that he must be a Liberal like our good French Premier, andthat he must endeavor to drive the Conservative candidate out. Claudesaid, 'But we have always been Conservatives, and our house is to betheir meeting-place on the day of election.' 'It is the meeting-placefor the Liberals,' said my aunt. But Claude would not give in, so he andhis party will have the laundry, while we will have the parlor; but Ican tell you a secret," and she leaned forward and whispered, "Claudewill vote for the Liberal man. Mirabelle Marie will see to that."
"You say Liberal man,--there are two--"
"But one is going to retire."
"And who will take his place?"
"Never mind," she said, smiling provokingly. "The Liberals are going tohave a convention to-morrow evening in the Comeauville schoolhouse, andwomen are going. Then you will see--why there is Father Duvair. Whatdoes he wish?"
She sprang lightly from the hammock, and while she watched the priest,Agapit watched her, and saw that she grew first as pale as a lily, thenred as a rose.
The parish priest was walking slowly towards the inn. He was a young manof tall, commanding presence, and being a priest "out of France," he hadon a _soutane_ (cassock) and a three-cornered hat. On the Bay are Irishpriests, Nova Scotian priests, Acadien priests, and French-Canadianpriests, but only the priests "out of France" hold to the strictlyFrench customs of dress. The others dress as do the Halifaxecclesiastics, in tall silk or shovel hats and black broadcloth garmentslike those worn by clergymen of Protestant denominations.
"_Bon jour, mademoiselle_," he said to Bidiane.
"_Bon jour, monsieur le cure_," she replied, with deep respect.
"Is Madame Corbineau within?" he went on, after warmly greeting Agapit,who was an old favorite of his.
"Yes, _monsieur le cure_,--I will take you to her," and she led the wayto the house.
In a few minutes she came dejectedly back. "You are in trouble," saidAgapit, tenderly; "what is it?"
She glanced miserably at him from under her curling eyelashes. "WhenMirabelle Marie went into the parlor, Father Duvair said politely, sopolitely, 'I wish to buy a little rum, madame; can you sell me some?' Myaunt looked at me, and I said, 'Yes, _monsieur le cure_,' for I knew ifwe set the priest against us we should have trouble,--and then we havenot been quite right, I know that."
"Where did you get the rum?" asked Agapit, kindly.
"From a schooner,--two weeks ago,--there were four casks. It isnecessary, you know, to make _bombance_. Some men will not votewithout."
"And you have been bribing."
"Not bribing," she said, and she dropped her head; "just coaxing."
"Where did you get the money to buy it?"
For some reason or other she evaded a direct answer to this question,and after much deliberation murmured, in the lowest of voices, thatClaudine had had some money.
"Bidiane, she is a poor woman."
"She loves her country," said the girl, flashing out suddenly at him,"and she is not ashamed of it. However, Claude bought the rum and foundthe bottles, and we always say, 'Take it home,--do not drink it here.'We know that the priests are against drinking, so we had to make haste,for Claudine said they would get after us. Therefore, just now, I atonce gave in. Father Duvair said, 'I would like to buy all you have; howmuch is it worth?' I said fifty dollars, and he pulled the money out ofhis pocket and Mirabelle Marie took it, and then he borrowed a nail anda hammer and went down in the cellar, and Claudine whispered loudly ashe went through the kitchen, 'I wonder whether he will find the caskunder the coal?' and he heard her, for she said it on purpose, and heturned and gave her a quick look as he passed."
"I don't understand perfectly," said Agapit, with patient gravity. "Thisseems to be a house divided against itself. Claudine spends her moneyfor something she hates, and then informs on herself."
Bidiane would not answer him, and he continued, "Is Father Duvair atpresent engaged in the work of destruction in the cellar?"
"I just told you that he is."
"How much rum will he find there?"
"Two casks," she said, mournfully. "It is what we were keeping for theelection."
"And you think it wise to give men that poison to drink?" asked Agapit,in an impartial and judicial manner.
"A little does not hurt; why, some of the women say that it makes theirhusbands good-natured."
"If you were married, would you like your husband to be a drunkard?"
"No," she said, defiantly; "but I would not mind his getting drunkoccasionally, if he would be gentlemanly about it."
Her tone was sharp and irritated, and Agapit, seeing that her nerveswere all unstrung, smiled indulgently instead of chiding her.
She smiled, too, rather uncertainly; then she said, "Hush, here isFather Duvair coming back."
That muscular young priest was sauntering towards them, his stoutwalking-stick under his arm, while he slowly rubbed his damp hands withhis white handkerchief.
Agapit stood up when he saw him, and went to meet him, but Bidiane satstill in her old seat in the hammock.
Agapit drew a cheque-book from his pocket, and, resting it on the picketfence, wrote something quickly on it, tore out the leaf, and extended ittowards the priest.
"This is for you, father; will you be good enough to hand it to somepriest who is unexpectedly called upon to make certain outlays for thegood of his parishioners?"
Father Duvair bowed slightly, and, without offering to take it, went onwiping his hands.
"How are you getting on with your business, Agapit?"
"I am fully occupied. My income supports me, and I am even able to layup a little."
"Are you able to marry?"
> "Yes, father, whenever I wish."
A gleam of humor appeared in Father Duvair's eyes, and he glancedtowards the apparently careless girl seated in the hammock.
"You will take the cheque, father," said Agapit, "otherwise it willcause me great pain."
The priest reluctantly took the slip of paper from him, then, liftinghis hat, he said to Bidiane, "I have the honor to wish you goodmorning, mademoiselle."
"_Monsieur le cure_," she said, disconsolately, rising and comingtowards him, "you must not think me too wicked."
"Mademoiselle, you do not do yourself justice," he said, gravely.
Bidiane's eyes wandered to the spots of moisture on his cassock. "I wishthat rum had been in the Bay," she said; "yet, _monsieur le cure_, Mr.Greening is a very bad man."
"Charity, charity, mademoiselle. We all speak hastily at times. Shall Itell you what I think of you?"
"Yes, yes, _monsieur le cure_, if you please."
"I think that you have a good heart, but a hasty judgment. You will,like many others, grow wise as you grow older, yet, mademoiselle, we donot wish you to lose that good heart. Do you not think that Mr. Greeninghas had his lesson?"
"Yes, I do."
"Then, mademoiselle, you will cease wearying yourself with--with--"
"With unwomanly exertions against him," said Bidiane, with a quiveringlip and a laughing eye.
"Hardly that,--but you are vexing yourself unnecessarily."
"Don't you think that my good cousin here ought to go to Parliament?"she asked, wistfully.
Father Duvair laughed outright, refused to commit himself, and wentslowly away.
"I like him," said Bidiane, as she watched him out of sight, "he is soeven-tempered, and he never scolds his flock as some clergymen do. Justto think of his going down into that cellar and letting all that liquorrun out. His boots were quite wet, and did you notice the splashes onhis nice black cassock?"
"Yes; who will get the fifty dollars?"
"Dear me, I forgot all about it. I have known a good deal of money to gointo my aunt's big pocket, but very little comes out. Just excuse me fora minute,--I may get it if I pounce upon her at once."
Bidiane ran to the house, from whence issued immediately after a livelysound of squealing. In a few minutes she appeared in the doorway,cramming something in her pocket and looking over her shoulder at heraunt, who stood slapping her sides and vowing that she had been robbed.
"I have it all but five dollars," said the girl, breathlessly. "The dearold thing was stuffing it into her stocking for Mr. Nimmo. 'You sha'n'trob Peter to pay Paul,' I said, and I snatched it away from her. Thenshe squealed like a pig, and ran after me."
"You will give this to Claudine?"
"I don't know. I think I'll have to divide it. We had to give thatmaledicted Jean Drague three dollars for his vote. That was my money."
"Where did you see Jean Drague?"
"I went to his house. Some one told me that the Conservative candidatehad called, and had laid seven dollars on the mantelpiece. I alsocalled, and there were the seven dollars, so I took them up, and laiddown ten instead."
Agapit did not speak, but contented himself with twisting the ends ofhis mustache in a vigorous manner.
"And the worst of it is that we are not sure of him now," she said,drearily. "I wonder what Mr. Nimmo would say if he knew how I have beenacting?"
"I have been wondering, myself."
"Some of you will be kind enough to tell him, I suppose," she said. "Oh,dear, I'm tired," and leaning her head against the hammock supports, shebegan to cry wearily and dejectedly.
Agapit was nearly frantic. He got up, walked to and fro about her, halfstretched out his hand to touch her burnished head, drew it back uponreflecting that the eyes of the street, the neighbors, and the inn mightbe upon him, and at last said, desperately, "You ought to have ahusband, Bidiane. You are a very torrent of energy; you will always begetting into scrapes."
"Why don't you get married yourself?" and she turned an irritated eyeupon him.
"I cannot," said Agapit, in sudden calm, and with an inspiration; "thewoman that I love does not love me."
"Are you in love?" asked Bidiane, immediately drying her eyes. "Who isshe?"
"I cannot tell you."
"Oh, some English girl, I imagine," she said, disdainfully.
"Suppose Mr. Greening could hear you?"
"I am not talking against the English," she retorted, snappishly, "but Ishould think that you, of all men, would want to marry a woman of yourown nation,--the dear little Acadien nation,--the only thing that Ilove," and she wound up with a despairing sob.
"The girl that I love is an Acadien," said Agapit, in a lower voice, fortwo men had just driven into the yard.
"Is it Claudine?"
"Claudine has a good education," he said, coldly, "yet she is hardlyfitted to be my wife."
"I daresay it is Rose."
"It is not Rose," said Agapit; and rendered desperate by the knowledgethat he must not raise his voice, must not seem excited, must not standtoo close to her, lest he attract the attention of some of the peopleat a little distance from them, and yet that he must snatch this, thegolden moment, to press his suit upon her, he crammed both hands in hiscoat pockets, and roamed distractedly around the square of grass.
"Do I know her?" asked Bidiane when, after a time, he came back to thehammock.
"A little,--not thoroughly. You do not appreciate her at her fullvalue."
"Well," said Bidiane, resignedly, "I give it up. I daresay I will findout in time. I can't go over the names of all the girls on the Bay--Iwish I knew what it is that keeps our darling Rose and Mr. Nimmo apart."
"I wish I could tell you."
"Is it something that can be got over?"
"Yes."
She swung herself more vigorously in her delight. "If they could onlymarry, I would be willing to die an old maid."
"But I thought you had already made up your mind to do that," saidAgapit, striking an attitude of pretended unconcern.
"Oh, yes, I forgot,--I have made up my mind that I am not suited tomatrimony. Just fancy having to ask a man every time you wanted a littlemoney,--and having to be meek and patient all the time. No, indeed, Iwish to have my own way rather more than most women do," and, in a gayand heartless derision of the other sex, she hummed a little tune.
"Just wait till you fall in love," said Agapit, threateningly.
"A silly boy asked me to marry him, the other evening. Just as if Iwould! Why, he is only a baby."
"That was Pius Poirier," said Agapit, delightedly and ungenerously.
"I shall not tell you. I did wrong to mention him," said Bidiane,calmly.
"He is a diligent student; he will get on in the world," said Agapit,more thoughtfully.
"But without me,--I shall never marry."
"I know a man who loves you," said Agapit, cautiously.
"Do you?--well, don't tell me. Tell him, if you have his confidence,that he is a goose for his pains," and Bidiane reclined against herhammock cushions in supreme indifference.
"But he is very fond of you," said Agapit, with exquisite gentleness,"and very unhappy to think that you do not care for him."
Bidiane held her breath and favored him with a sharp glance. Then shesat up very straight. "What makes you so pale?"
"I am sympathizing with that poor man."
"But you are trembling, too."
"Am I?" and with the pretence of a laugh he turned away.
"_Mon cousin_," she said, sweetly, "tell that poor man that I am hopingsoon to leave Sleeping Water, and to go out in the world again."
"No, no, Bidiane, you must not," he said, turning restlessly on hisheel, and coming back to her.
"Yes, I am. I have become very unhappy here. Every one is against me,and I am losing my health. When I came, I was intoxicated with life. Icould run for hours. I was never tired. It was a delight to live. Now Ifeel weary, and like a consumptive. I think I shall die young. Mypa
rents did, you know."
"Yes; they were both drowned. You will pardon me, if I say that I thinkyou have a constitution of iron."
"You are quite mistaken," she said, with dignity. "Time will show that Iam right. Unless I leave Sleeping Water at once, I feel that I shall gointo a decline."
"May I ask whether you think it a good plan to leave a place immediatelyupon matters going wrong with one living in it?"
"It would be for me," she said, decidedly.
"Then, mademoiselle, you will never find rest for the sole of yourfoot."
"I am tired of Sleeping Water," she said, excitedly quitting thehammock, and looking as if she were about to leave him. "I wish to getout in the world to do something. This life is unendurable."
"Bidiane,--dear Bidiane,--you will not leave us?"
"Yes, I will," she said, decidedly; "you are not willing for me to havemy own way in one single thing. You are not in the least like Mr.Nimmo," and holding her head well in the air, she walked towards thehouse.
"Not like Mr. Nimmo," said Agapit, with a darkening brow. "Dear littlefool, one would think you had never felt that iron hand in the velvetglove. Because I am more rash and loud-spoken, you misjudge me. You areso young, so foolish, so adorable, so surprised, so intoxicated withwhat I have said, that you are beside yourself. I am not discouraged,oh, no," and, with a sudden hopeful smile overspreading his face, he wasabout to spring into his buggy and drive away, when Bidiane camesauntering back to him.
"I am forgetting the duties of hospitality," she said, stiffly. "Willyou not come into the house and have something to eat or drink afteryour long drive?"
"Bidiane," he said, in a low, eager voice, "I am not a harsh man."
"Yes, you are," she said, with a catching of her breath. "You areagainst me, and the whole Bay will laugh at me,--and I thought you wouldbe pleased."
"Bidiane," he muttered, casting a desperate glance about him, "I amfrantic--oh, for permission to dry those tears! If I could only revealmy heart to you, but you are such a child, you would not understand."
"Will you do as I wish you to?" she asked, obstinately.
"Yes, yes, anything, my darling one."
"Then you will take Mr. Greening's place?"
"Oh, the baby,--you do not comprehend this question. I have talked to noone,--I know nothing,--I am not one to put myself forward."
"If you are requested or elected to-night,--or whatever they callit,--will you go up to Halifax to 'make the laws,' as my aunt says?"inquired Bidiane, smiling slightly, and revealing to him just the tipsof her glittering teeth.
"Yes, yes,--anything to please you."
She was again about to leave him, but he detained her. "I, also, have acondition to make in this campaign of bribery. If I am nominated, andrun an election, what then,--where is my reward?"
She hesitated, and he hastened to dissipate the cloud overspreading herface. "Never mind, I bind myself with chains, but I leave you free. Go,little one, I will not detain you,--I exact nothing."
"Thank you," she said, soberly, and, instead of hurrying away, she stoodstill and watched him leaving the yard.
Just before he reached Weymouth, he put his hand in his pocket to takeout his handkerchief. To his surprise there came fluttering out with ita number of bills. He gathered them together, counted them, found thathe had just forty-five dollars, and smiling and muttering, "The littlesharp-eyes,--I did not think that she took in my transaction with FatherDuvair," he went contentedly on his way.
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