CHAPTER XXI.
THE PASSING OF WANDA.
After night comes morning in the material world, but in that innersphere of thought and feeling, which is the only reality, itfrequently happens that after night comes a greater depth of darkness.The early light of successive summer mornings falling into thesleeping-room of Edward Macleod seemed to mock the heavy gloom whichperpetually enshrouded his heart. He was back in his old home, for thepleasant circle at Stamford Cottage had broken up shortly after theunexpected advent of Wanda. A few days of enforced civilization hadaffected her more severely than the hard journey preceding it, and shehad returned to her native wilds with the feeling of a bird regainingits freedom. Where in all the limitless forest she could be found atany particular time her lover could not tell. He was her loverstill--he must always remain her lover. He had attempted to limit anddefine the strange irresistible attraction she exerted over him, hehad voluntarily resolved upon life-long celibacy rather than subjecther to the bitterness of seeing him belong to another; and if inthought he ever yielded to this great, untamed unrepressed love ofhers, it was with something of the exaltation and ardour of one whomakes a supreme sacrifice.
Edward Macleod was no sentimentalist, and yet he was conscious of avery delicate, infinitely sad satisfaction in the belief that he wouldexpiate with his life the folly he had committed in permitting her tolove him. In the loftiest sense he would be true to her. He could notbe selfish and shameless enough to set forever aside the desolationthat his hands had callously wrought. As her sorrow could never bemitigated it should always be shared. He would do everything for her.She should be educated, and inducted by gentle degrees into therefinement of civilization--he fervently hoped that it might not provethe refinement of cruelty. She should not be left desolate, forsaken,uncared-for; she should share everything he had except his heart. Thatwas to be kept empty for her sake--for the sake of the sweet duskymaiden who had once possessed it.
Who had _once_ possessed it! Ah, was it true then that she no longerheld a claim? He had closed the door hesitatingly and with sharp painin her face, but now the bare recollection of the little brown handsfumbling upon it thrilled him with a blissful sense that perhaps,after all, his life was not to be the utter sacrifice that he hadsupposed. Perhaps this peerless creature by some magical process ofdevelopment might yet meet and satisfy his intellectual demands. Shehad already the soul of an angel--yes, and the beauty of an angel. Andyet he was not satisfied.
It was this haunting dissatisfaction that kept him a prisoner in hisroom, one brilliant afternoon, when the fresh world without seemed tooinsupportable a mockery of his jaded and cynical state of mind. Hestepped out upon the little balcony that ran under the windows of hisown and his sister's apartments, and looked with a sore heart upon theeternal miracle of earth and sky. He sank heavily down upon a lowseat, feeling very old and worn. If the back is fitted to the burden,it occurred to him that the painful process of adjustment would haveto be continued through an interminable period of years. Perhaps it isonly the stiff, bent shoulders of age that are really fitted to bearthe burdens that impetuous youth find unendurably irksome.
While he sat in utter silence, thrilled occasionally with shrill sweetbursts of irrepressible bird song, and inwardly tortured by thehateful whisperings of doubt, remorse and despair, the door of hissister's apartment was opened, and a murmur of voices told him thatRose and Helene had returned together from an afternoon drive. Throughthe lightly draped open window their conversation, distinctly heard,forced him into the position of an unintentional eaves-dropper. Thereseemed at first no reason why he should withdraw, and when the reasonbecame apparent he found it impossible to make his presence known.
"Is your brother in the house?" asked Helene, waiting for the answerbefore laying aside hat and gloves, and dropping languidly into aneasy chair.
"Oh, no," returned Rose, "he is never at home at this hour of the day.Why? Did you wish to see him?"
"I? No! I wish never to see him!" The words were uttered in apassionate undertone.
Rose came directly and beseechingly over to her friend. "Dear Helene,"she said, "what is this terrible trouble that is preying upon yourlife? Every day you grow thinner and whiter and colder--more like amoonbeam than a mortal woman. Soon I fear you will fade from my graspaltogether, and I shall have nothing left but the recollection thatyou did not care enough for me to confide in me. I am sure there issomething dreadful between you and Edward."
"Something, yes, but not enough; there should be an ocean--a wholeworld between us."
"I wish I could help you a little."
"Help me, dearest? It is like your goodness to think of such a thing;but it is impossible. No, there is nothing tragic, or terrible, or awecompelling, in my fate. It is nothing, I suppose, beyond the commonlot of a great portion of humanity. It is simply--" she hesitated amoment, while a choking sob rose in her throat; she clasped her whitehands above her head in a stern effort at self control, and then flungthem down with an irrepressible moan--"it is simply that I am hungry,and thirsty, and cold, and tired and I want to go back to my old home,to my only home in the heart of the man I love. My poor child, do Istartle you by talking in this passionate lawless, way? You invited myconfidence, and it is such a relief to give it to you. To every oneelse in the world I must keep up the desolate show of appearingheartless and lifeless, incapable of compassion, of suffering andyearning. But with you, for a little while, I want to be myself. I amnot a mere drawing-room ornament, prized by its owner, and gazed at bycurious beholders. I am a wretched woman. Oh, Rose, Rose, I am aninexpressibly wretched woman!"
She caught the little warm hands, sympathizingly outstretched towardsher, and pressed them to her neck, where the veins throbbed fast.
"No, don't pity me yet--only listen to me. I am so tired of living onhusks, I seem to be nothing but a husk myself, brainless, soulless,and empty. I am so tired of sham and pretence, of keeping upappearances. I hate appearances. They are all false, unreal, loathsome.Yes, I am a well-trained puppet; I smile and chatter, dance and sing,am haughtily self-satisfied; but at night--at night my sick heartcries like a starving child, and I pace the floor with it until I fearthat its wailings will drive me mad. I heap insults on my darling, andprofess to scorn his tenderness, and all the time I could fly to him,and rain caresses upon him, and hold him closely folded in the arms ofmy love perpetually. No, he is not to blame, and Wanda is not toblame, for all this wretchedness. I don't understand how a woman canhate her rival. The fact of their loving the same object gives them acloser kinship than that between twin sisters. Wanda's sufferings aretoo much like my own to permit me even to dislike her. She has richbeauty, a rarely luxuriant vitality, and the immense advantage ofbeing free to show her love in a natural way. I have nothing but mylove for her lover! If I could only trample on it, despise it, spurnit, but I can't, I can't! My love is stronger than my pride, strongerthan my life. It is not a mere fancy of yesterday, it has grown andstrengthened with my years."
"I remember one evening in York, last spring," Helene continued, "whenit was warm enough to leave doors and windows open to admit the freebreeze from the lake; I happened to pass a wretched little shanty inthe lower part of the town. A commonplace woman within was cookingsupper in plain sight of the street, and I thought what a miserablelot must be hers. Then her husband, a grimy-looking workman came home,and she put her toil-worn hands about his neck, and gave him a welcomethat left me dazed and desolate, filled with unbearable pain and envy,because I knew then, as I know now, that for my darling and me therecan be no sweet home-coming, no interposition of my love between himand the sordid cares of the day. The measure of my need will never befilled. Ah, _mon Dieu_, it is very hard--it is bitterly hard!"
The low passionate tones died away into absolute silence. Rose'stender arms were closely clasped about her friend, and her wet cheekwas pressed against the pale face on her shoulder; but she could findno words to match the heart-sickness that had at last found free ventin spe
ech. Perhaps the deepest sympathy can be expressed only bysilence. In a few moments Helene looked up gratefully and with aquivering smile. "Dear little, pet," she said, "it is a sin for me toburden you with the shameless story of my griefs. I hardly know what Ihave been saying, so you must not attach too much importance to it.After all, it is only a mood." The inevitable reaction after deepfeeling had come.
"I wish with all my heart that I could help you," said Rose,soothingly but despairingly.
"So you can. Give me those two blue eyes of yours to kiss. They areblue as wood-violets, and look grieved and sad--so exactly likeEdward's." She leaned over and kissed them fervently. "Oh, I must notyield to such thoughts. I must control myself. I must be strong. Imust conquer everything. Heaven help me!" The last words sounded likea piteous prayer, as indeed they were. "Come and sing to me, Rose.Sing my soul out of this perdition if you can."
The two girls departed to the music-room, and, shortly after, Edward,with the soundless step of a murderer, crept down stairs and far outinto the forest. Like one driven by an indwelling demon into thewilderness he walked swiftly with great strides away from his trouble.No, not away from it, for it surrounded him like the atmosphere.Sometimes he stopped from sheer exhaustion, and leaned heavily againsta tree, while the perspiration stood on his brow in large drops. Atone of these times there was a rustling among the thick leaves behindhim, and Wanda stole timidly, yet with the fearless innocence of achild, to his side. He groaned aloud as she hid her face upon hisbreast. "Ah, you are sad as a night in the moon of dying leaves," shesaid, pulling his arms about her.
"It is because I do not love you," he returned, and the cruel sentencewas softened by the measureless sadness of his tone.
"Oh, but you shall love me!" Each passionate word seemed a link in astrong chain that bound him inexorably to her. "What does it matter,"she pleaded, "that you care little for me now? My love is great enoughfor both. I can give my life up, but I can never give you up. You aredearer to me than life!"
She leaned over him, and he felt as in a dream the old potential charmof her flower-sweet breath and glowing beauty. Still, though hesubmitted to her caresses, he did not return them. Within his ears theimpassioned words of Helene were sounding perpetually, deafening himto every other appeal. His visible presence was with Wanda, his breastwas deeply stirred with pity and affection and remorse for her, buthis soul was left behind with that stricken girl, to whosebroken-hearted confessions he had been a forced listener.
The day had lost its brightness, as though twilight had suddenly laidher dusky hand across the burning gaze of noon; the shadows deepenedperceptibly about them; the sky threatened, the darkened trees seemedfull of dread, the last gleam of light faded swiftly into the blackapproaching clouds, and they were speedily engulfed in one of thoseimpatient summer showers, whose sharp fury quickly spends itself.Edward was reminded of that time a year ago when they were alone inthe storm. Again the Indian girl bent reverently to the ground,exclaiming in awed accents, "The Great Spirit is angry." "He has needto be angry," muttered the young man, hurrying his companion to adenser part of the forest, where the thickly intermingled boughs mightform a roof above them. But before they reached it a terrific burst ofthunder broke upon their ears, and a tree beside them was suddenlysnapped by the wind, and flung to the ground. The girl, with the quickinstinct of a savage, stepped aside, pulling hard as she did so uponthe arm of Edward. But he, walking as one in a dream, was scarcelyless unconscious of what was going on around him than when, a momentlater, he lay, felled to the earth by the fallen tree.
Wanda uttered an ejaculation of horror and alarm, and exerting all herstrength she dragged the inanimate figure away from its enshroudingcoverlet of leaves. The rain beat heavily upon the bloodless, upturnedface. "What can I do for you?" she cried in despair, taking hishandkerchief and binding tightly the deep wound on his head. He openedhis eyes languidly, and murmured scarcely above his breath, "BringHelene!" She did not pause even to kiss the pale lips, but flew swiftas Love itself upon Love's errand. And yet, in her consuming desire toobey the least wish of her idol, it seemed to her that every fibre ofher eager frame was clogged and weighted with lead. The rain blindedher eyes, the tangled underbrush tripped her feet, and more than onceshe fell panting and trembling on the dead leaves. Only for a moment;then she sprang up again, leaping, running, pushing away the branchesthat stretched across her path, spurning at every step the solid earththat interposed so much of its dull bulk between her and her heart'sdesire. Reaching the lake she jumped quickly into a boat Edward hadgiven her, which lay near, and she made haste for Kempenfeldt Bay.
The rain ceased before she reached Pine Towers, and with the firstradiant glance of the sun Helene had come to the wood's edge for thesake of the forest odours, which are never so pungent and delicious asimmediately after a thunder-storm. In the thinnest, most transparentof summer white gowns, with her lily-pale face and drooping figure,she looked like some rare flower which the storm in pity had spared.So thought Wanda, who, now that the object of her search was in sight,approached very slowly and wearily, her breast rent by fierce pangs ofjealousy. Why had Edward wished at such a critical time for thisuseless weakling? What possible good could she be to him in what mightbe his dying moments? And all the time, Helene, fixing her sad eyesupon this wild girl of the woods, noting her drenched, ragged andearth-stained raiment, and the dark sullen expression that jealousyhad painted upon her face, saw more than all and above all theoverwhelming beauty, which belittled all externals, and made themscarcely worth notice. "What wonder," thought Helene, "that Edward isgiven up heart and soul to this peerless creature, when the mere sightof her quickens my slow pulses?"
The two loves of Edward Macleod stood face to face. Wanda explainedher presence in a few cold words. "Some of the family can take acarriage and everything necessary and go to him by the road," shesaid. "You will reach him much sooner by letting me row you across thebay in my boat."
Helene trembled visibly, and a great longing possessed her to goinstantly to Edward. Then a strong fear seized her. She felt aprofound distrust of this beautiful savage with the coarse garments,rough speech, and strangely marred visage. Perhaps to revenge herselffor Edward's suspected unfaithfulness she had killed him in theforest, and wished now to satiate her appetite for vengeance by takingthe woman who loved him to view her ghastly work. Perhaps the wholestory was a fabrication to lure her to some lonely spot in theboundless woods, where she would be horribly murdered. Perhaps--
"Come!" urged Wanda, with passionate entreaty. "He is dying."
"Is it you who have killed him?" demanded Helene, sternly voicing allher fears in that black suspicion.
The girl turned away with a quick writhing motion. "No," she groaned,"it is he who has killed me--with two words--_bring Helene_." Shedarted to the house with the news of Edward's accident, and then tothe beach, where Helene was already before her. The tiny skiff waspushed off, and the two girls were alone together.
As long as she lived Helene DeBerczy remembered that swift boat rideacross the bay. Great masses of black clouds still hung heavily in thewestern sky, occasionally pierced by a brilliant flash of sunshine,that emphasized by contrast the dreariness succeeding it. Below, thewaters were dark and troubled, while from the flat shores rose themajestic monotony of the forest, chill, shadowy, inscrutable. Butthese were as the frame of a picture, that printed itself indeliblyupon the heart of this high-born woman of the world--the picture of atropically beautiful face, now for the first time deathly pale, andseamed with lines of unutterable anguish; of bare rounded arms,showing in their raised muscles, and in the tense grasp of the oars,a power of self-repression awful in its strength; of deeply-heavingbosom, beneath which was raging that old, old conflict between trueand false love--the true love that gives everything, the false lovethat grasps everything; of the passionate, eloquent, suffering eyes,full of jealousy and yearning, fierce hate and fiercer desire, andbehind all, yes, dominating all, the struggle for martyr-likeself-efface
ment whose cry forever is, not for my sake, but for thesake of one that I love. Great waves of pity overwhelmed every otheremotion in Helene's breast, as she leaned forward. "My poor child,"she said, "how intensely you love him! Do not let my coming hurt youso, I have long ago yielded him to you."
"But he has not yielded himself to me," moaned the girl, her ashenlips framing the cry that came from her soul. The boat grated in thesand, and she sprang out, and pulled it upon the beach. Then, takingin a feverish clasp the delicately-draped arm of the other, shehurried her to the spot where Edward still lay, deadly pale butconscious. He did not look at Wanda--he had no eyes save for Helene.With a little cry of passionate love and sorrow she flung herselfbeside him, and drew the white wounded face close to her aching heart.His broken syllables of love were in her ears, his head was nestled,like that of a weary child, within her arms, his blood was stainingthe white laces on her breast. For a moment Wanda paused and lookedupon them; then noiselessly as a dream she vanished away.
But where in the wide, pitiless world is there a place of refuge for awoman's broken heart? Instinctively Wanda went back to the boat, androwed far out upon the troubled waters. The afternoon's storm had beenbut the warning of a wilder one yet to come; the heavy skies shut downon all sides, adamantine and inexorable as the fate enshrouding her;from the mute mysterious woods came the sighing of the wind, sinkingnow into deep moaning, then rising into a shrill anguish, that wasanswered by the sobbing of the waves upon the beach. All nature seemedstirred to the heart at the hopeless misery of this her cherishedchild. But Wanda's eyes were blank, and her ears deafened to thesights and sounds around her. With the desperation of despair sherowed fast and strenuously out into the heaving lake, while hourspassed, and the black night, like a pall, enveloped all thingsearthly. At last, with her strength utterly gone, she dropped the oarsand drifted wherever the wild tide might choose to take her. Lowmutterings of thunder shook the air, and with them she mingled thenotes of an Indian death-chant. Before the weird, heart-breaking toneshad ceased, the black heavens opened, and tears of pity were rainedupon this desolate human soul. She lay outstretched, her glorious faceupturned to the starless skies, her tired hands far apart over thesides of the boat. Towards them with wolfish haste rushed thewhite-capped breakers, rising in fury as they reached the littlecraft, and flinging themselves wildly across it. Wanda paid no heed.Her voice rose once again, thrilling the air with its wild sweetmelody, and then she sank, without even a convulsive clutch at thefrail bark which overturned upon her.
So perished the life that was naught but a mere empty husk, sincelove, its strong sweet occupant, had departed. Alas, poor Wanda! alas,poor little one, whose sore feet and sorer heart could find noresting-place in all this wide hard world. The anguished winds moanedon far into the night; the sad waves, now racked and scourged by thetempest, sobbed ceaselessly upon the beach; the pitiful heavensoutpoured their flood of tears, but the tortured soul that hadcommitted the god-like sin of loving too much had found rest at last.
CHAPTER XXII.
LOVE'S REWARDS.
A few days afterwards the body of the Algonquin maiden, recovered fromthe waves, was lying in an upper chamber at Pine Towers. Whatever mayhave been the supreme agony in which this suffering soul parted fromits human habitation, no trace of it remained upon the inanimate form.Free from scar or stain it lay, the languid limbs forever motionless,the cold hands crossed upon a pulseless breast, the beautiful figure,heavily shadowed in enshrouding tresses, stretched in painless repose,and on the wonderful face the expression of one who has gained, notrest and peace--when had she ever hungered for these?--but the look,almost startling in its intensity, of one who has found love.Somewhere, sometime, we who struggle through life--nay, rather,struggle _after_ life--in this world that God so loved, shall find ourlongings satisfied; the one yearning cry of our heart shall bestilled. The poet shall touch the stars, whose pale light now shinesso uncertainly upon his brow; the painter shall put upon canvas abeauty too deep for words; the worshipper of nature shall thrill withthe knowledge of unspoken secrets; the seeker after truth shall learnthe mysteries of heaven. The infinite Father cannot deny his children;He will not cheat them. But the lessons of patience are harder tolearn than those of labour.
Upon this poor child of the wilderness had fallen a happiness sobewildering and so complete that it seemed as though the perfect lipsmust open to give utterance to a joy too full to be contained. But tothe man self-accused of robbing her of love and life, this sweetreflected glory from the other side of the dark gateway brought noconsolation. In that silent room, flooded with cold moonlight, EdwardMacleod stood alone in the dead girl's presence, and felt the bitterwaves of remorse sweep over his soul. Her beauty, touched by the lightof absolute happiness, thrilled him now as never before. From merewantonness, he had crushed out the heart of this faultlessly lovelyand innocent creature, and his head fell upon his breast in shame andself-contempt. God might forgive him, but how could he ever forgivehimself?
The door blew open, and, silently as a vision, Helene came in andstood beside him. It was a strange place for a lover's tryst--thatbare room with its lifeless occupant, flooded with white unearthlymoonlight "Let me stay with you, Edward," she pleaded, with quiveringlips. "No," she added, in answer to the unspoken fear in his eyes, "Ishall not try to comfort you." She knew intuitively that no consolationcould avail in this hour of silent self-torture. "Only," she whispered,"you must let me share your grief, for I also have wronged her."
And so, with clasped hands, they bent together and kissed thebeautiful still lips that could never utter an accusing word againstthem. Their love founded upon death had suddenly become as mysteriousand sacred as the life of a child whose mother perished when she gaveit birth.
Some months elapsed after the burial of Wanda before Edward venturedto bring his dearest hopes under the notice of Madame DeBerczy. Thisaugust personage, in whose memory yet lingered frequent rumours of theyoung man's flirtations with the nut-brown forest maid, cherished noparticular partiality for him. If Helene's lover had ever entertainedthe unfounded illusion that her lily-white hand had been too lightlywon, he might willingly have submitted to the just punishment of hispresumption; but in view of his long struggle to win her favour, itwas dispiriting to learn that there was still a greater height toconquer,--the lofty indifference of one whom he wished, in spite ofher weaknesses, to make his mother-in-law. Ice, however, will meltwhen exposed to a certain degree of heat, and this was where Edward'snaturally sunny disposition and the warmth of his love did him goodservice. Before the good lady fairly realized the change that waspassing over her feelings with regard to her daughter's suitor, shehad ceased to speak of him as that frivolous young Macleod, and hadbegun to see for herself in his handsome face the sincerity andsadness that follow in the wake of every deep and painful experience.
From approval it is but a step to appreciation, and this merges bynatural degrees into affection. Helene, who, though she did notconsider Edward faultless, was apt to find his faults more alluringthan the virtues of some others, had at last the satisfaction ofknowing that her mother inclined to take a like view of them; and hernow impatient lover was made glad by a formal acceptance from MadameDeBerczy of his request for her daughter's hand.
Meantime, Rose and Allan, whose course of love, if it had not sufferedso tempestuous a passage, had still flowed for the most part undergloomy skies, were at last in the enjoyment of undisputed sunshine. Inthis unaccustomed atmosphere the fairest flower of the Macleod familybloomed anew, and her lover at last beheld his prospects _couleur derose_. Allan had accepted an invitation from the old Commodore tovisit Pine Towers, and the impression he made upon his prospectivefather-in-law grew daily deeper and pleasanter, till, to the eldergentleman's sorrow at the thought of parting from his fondly-loveddaughter, was added real regret that he had never before appreciatedthe sterling qualities of her chosen husband.
Politically, their views, which had once been wide asunder as thepoles, had
now almost unconsciously met and kissed each other. Nor wasthis the result of abandoned convictions. Both men continued tocherish their old notions of things, and to hold to the traditions ofthe party to which each was attached. But Allan Dunlop and theCommodore had come to know and to respect each other, and, as theresult, each took a more dispassionate view of the questions whichdisturbed the country and which had ranged them politically on oppositesides. This change was specially noticeable in the elder of the two.Though allied to the party who prided themselves in being regarded asstiff, unbending Tories, Commodore Macleod had an acute sense of whatwas just and fair; and under a somewhat rough exterior he had akindly, sympathetic heart. This latter virtue in the old gentlemanmade him keenly alive to the grievances of the people, and particularlysensitive to appeals from settlers, the hardships of whose lot, thoughhe had himself little experience of them, were nevertheless oftenpresent to his mind. His manly character, moreover, though it wasoccasionally hid under a sailor's brusque testiness, disposed him toappreciate manliness in others, and to be sympathetic towards thosewhose aims were high and whose motives were good. Thus, despite hisinherent conservatism and pride of birth, he was gradually won over toregard Dunlop, first with tolerance, then with awakened interest andrespect, and finally with admiration and love.
Dunlop, on the other hand, though he abated nothing in his enthusiasmfor the cause of the people, and never faltered in his loyalty toduty, came to regard the political situation, if not from the point ofview of his opponents, at least from a point of view which waseminently statesmanlike and discreet. Influenced by a broadercomprehension of affairs, and by a more complaisant regard for thecountry's rulers, who had done and were doing much for the youngcommonwealth, however sorely the political system pressed upon thepeople, Dunlop placed a check upon his gift of parliamentary raillery,and refrained from pressing many reforms which time, he knew, wouldquietly and with less acrimony bring about.
To these ameliorating influences both men unresistingly submittedthemselves, and, as a consequence, each came nearer to the other;while the bond of love between Rose and Allan cemented the alliancepolitical, and threw down all barriers that had once frowned on thealliance matrimonial. It was a consciousness of this change of feelingwhich led Allan Dunlop, on his return for a time to his politicalduties at York, to write to Rose in the following strain, and toassure her of the complete cordiality that now existed, and was sureto continue to exist, between her father and himself:
"YORK, November 30th, 1827.
"MY DEAR ROSE: From the paradise of the garden of Pine Towers, withyou as its ineffably sweet, pervading presence, to the inferno ofthese Legislative Halls, with their scenes of discord and turbulence,duty and fate have ruthlessly and unfeelingly banished me. Coming fromyour restful presence, how little disposed am I to enter upon thestrifes of these stormy times, and to take up the gage of battlethrown recklessly down by some knight of the Upper House, whose idea,either of manly dignity or of Parliamentary warfare, is not that ofthe "_preux chevalier, sans peur et sans reproche_."
Yet I would be unworthy of the little queen I serve, whose smiles andfavour are a continuous inspiration to me, were I weakly to forego myduty, and desire to seek the solace of her presence without havingfirst acquitted myself with honour on this mimic field of battle. Whatis to be the outcome of this strife of tongues, and what the future ofour country, riven asunder as it is by those, on the one side, who arejealous merely for their own rights and privileges, and, on the other,by those who care only for the distraction and clamour of fruitlesscontention, it were hard to say. With the ever-increasingcomplications, the fires of discontent must some day burst into flame.Even now it wants but the breath of a bold, daring spirit to set thewhole Province in a blaze; and I shudder at the prospect unless aspirit of conciliation speedily shows itself, and the Executive makessome surrender of its autocratic powers.
In the discussion of political affairs I had recently with yourfather, I am glad to say that we agree very closely as to the incitingcauses of the public discontent, and have a common opinion as to thebest,--indeed, the only satisfactory,--means of applying a remedy.This unity of feeling must rivet and perpetuate our friendship, andaid in bringing about, what I ardently desire, some necessary andimmediate reforms in our mode of government. I need hardly say to you,who are so dear to me, how fervently I hail this mutual understandingon political matters, and how much I auger from it of weal to thecountry and of pleasure and happiness to ourselves. Heaven grant thatall I expect from it may be realized!
I have no news to give you of social matters in York, save of LadyMary Willis's Fancy Ball, which is to come off at the close of theyear. Mr. Galt, of the Canada Company, the Robinsons, Hewards,Hagermans, Widmers, Spragges, and Baldwins--everybody but a few of theGovernment House people--are taking a great interest in the comingaffair. There is to be a sleighing-party soon also, from the Macaulaysto the Crookshank's farm, and on to the Denisons. I have been asked tojoin it, and wish you were to be here in time, to make one--thedearest to me!--of the party.
With my respects to your father, kind regards to Edward and Mad'lleHelene, and abiding love to your sweet self and the little people ofyour household,
I remain, ever and devotedly yours,
ALLAN DUNLOP."
But there was little need now of formal--or indeed of any--correspondencebetween Allan and Rose, for they were soon to be forever together, inthe bonds not only of a common sympathy and a common interest in theircountry's welfare, but in that closer union of hearts which both hadsecretly longed for and both had feared would never come about. It wasarranged that in the spring of the following year there would be adouble marriage, and that the day that saw Edward united to Helenewould also see the union of Allan and Rose. Even now, preparations forthe interesting event had been set on foot, and society in "MuddyLittle York" was on the tip-toe of excitement over the coming weddings.
As the winter passed, and the month drew near which was to witness thetwo-fold alliance, the young people of the Capital took a deliriousinterest in every circumstance, however trivial, connected with theaffair. Of course, the double ceremony was to take place at the Churchof St. James, and it was known that the Lieutenant-Governor and LadySarah Maitland, before finally quitting the Province, were to bepresent, and that the redoubtable politico-ecclesiastic, theArchdeacon of York, was to tie the knots, and, in his richest doric,pronounce both couples severally "mon and wife." The wedding breakfast,it was also a matter of current talk, was to be at the homestead of adistinguished member of the local judiciary; and it had also leakedout that, thereafter, the united couples were to embark on HisMajesty's sloop-of-war, "_The Princess Charlotte_," and be conveyed asfar as Kingston, on the wedding journey to Quebec, where Edward, withhis bride, was to proceed to England to rejoin his regiment, and Allanand Rose were to spend the honeymoon in some delightful retreat on theSt. Lawrence.
What need is there to continue the chronicle?--save to assure themodern reader of this old-time story that everything happily cameabout as foreshadowed in the gossip we have just related, and thatthe after-fortunes of the four happy people who took that earlywedding journey on the St. Lawrence were as bright as those of thehappiest Canadian bride and bridegroom that have ever taken the samejourney since.
THE END.
An Algonquin Maiden: A Romance of the Early Days of Upper Canada Page 21
