CHAPTER XIX
A QUESTION OF APPAREL
"The master."
"He wants me?"
Joe nodded and went out of doors. But it was noticeable that he merelywalked around to the rear of the sick room and stationed himselfbeside the open window. Not that he might overhear the conversationwithin, but to be near if he were needed. He cast one stern look uponMargot, as he summoned her, and was evidently reassured by her owncalmness.
Three days had passed since she had been given that fateful letter,and she had had time to think over its startling contents in everyconnection. There was now not the slightest blame of her guardian forhaving so long kept her in ignorance of her father's existence; and,indeed, her love had been strengthened, if that were possible. Thesick man had gained somewhat, though he was yet very weak and recoverywas still a question. But, with improvement, came again the terriblerestlessness and impatience with the circumstances which kept him aprisoner in bed, when, of all times in the year, he would be up andabroad.
When the child entered the room he was watching for her, eagerly,anxiously. How had she borne his news? How would she greet him?
Her first glance answered him. It was so tender, so pitiful, sostrong.
"My darling! My own Margot! I--need not--have feared."
"There is nothing to fear, dearest uncle. Fear must have been donewith years ago, when--when--it happened. Now, now, it is time forhope, for confidence."
He shook his head mournfully. Then he asked:
"You will let it make no difference in your love, your loyalty tohim, when--when he comes? If he lives to come?"
"If he had been a father who did not come because he would not, then,maybe, I don't know. But a father who could not come, who has been socruelly, frightfully wronged--why, uncle! all my life, no matter howlong, all my care and devotion, no matter how great, will never, neverbe able to express one-half of my love. And I bless you more for yourfaithfulness to him than for all you've ever done for me--yet even mydebt to you is boundless."
"My own impulsive, overgrateful Margot! As if it had not been also allmy life, my happiness. Well, since I cannot go, you must write to him.For me and for yourself. Explaining why I cannot come, just yet, butthat I will as soon as may be. Make it a letter such as you havetalked just now and it will be better to his hungry heart than even asight of his old friend and brother."
"I will write as many letters for you as you please, but--I willdeliver them in person."
He did not get the full import of her words, at first, but when he didhe frowned. It hurt him beyond expression that she should jest on sucha subject, even for the laudable purpose of cheering himself.
Then he felt her cool hand on his wrist.
"Uncle, I mean it. I have thought it over and over. I have thought ofnothing else, except that you were getting better, and I know I amright. I am going to see my father. I am going to get my father. Ishall never come back without him. But I shall certainly come, and hewith me. You cannot go. I can, I want to, beyond telling. I must."
A thousand objections flashed through his mind and the struggle tocomprehend just what were and were not valid ones wearied him. Forsome time neither of them spoke again, but clasped hands until he fellinto a sudden sleep. Even then Margot did not release her hold, thoughher cramped position numbed her arm, and her impatience to make himsee matters from her point of view was hard to control. But he awokealmost as suddenly as he had dozed, and with a clear idea of hermeaning. After all, how simple it was! and what an infinite relief tohis anxiety.
"Tell me what you think."
"This: My father must not be disappointed. Your visit, the one linkthat connects him with his old life and happiness, is impossible. Eachyear you have taken him reports of me and how I grew. I'm going toshow him whether you represented me as I am or as your partial eyesbehold me. More than that, I must go. I must see him. I must put myarms about his neck and tell him that I love him, as my mother lovedhim, with all his child's affection added. I must. It is my right."
"But--how. You've never been beyond the forest. You are so young andignorant of--everything."
"Maybe I shall do all the better for that reason. 'Know nothing, fearnothing,' and I certainly am not afraid. We are looking for Pierre tocome home, any day. He should have been here long ago. As soon as hecomes I will start. Old Joseph shall go with me. He knows what I donot, of towns and routes, and all those troublesome things. You willgive us the money it will cost; and enough to pay for my father'scoming home. I have made his room ready. There isn't a speck or spotin it, and there are fresh flowers every day. There have been eversince I knew that room was his. I shall go to that city of New Yorkwhere--where it happened, and I shall find out the truth. I shallcertainly bring him home with me."
It was absurd. He said that to himself, not once but many times; yetdespite his common sense and his bitter experience, he could not butcatch something of her hopefulness. Yet so much the more hard to bearwould be her disappointment.
"Dear, I have no right, it may be, to stop you. It was agreed uponbetween us that, when you were sixteen years old, if nothing happenedto make it unnecessary, you should be told. That is, if I believed youhad a character which could endure sorrow and not turn bitter underit. I do so believe, I know. But though you may make the journey, ifyou wish and it can be arranged safely, you must not even hope to domore than see your father and that only for a brief time."
Margot smiled. The same bright, unconvinced smile with which she hadalways received any astonishing statement. When, not much more than ababy, she had been told that fire would burn, she had laughed herunbelief that fire would burn, and had thrust her small hand into theflame. The fire had burned, but she had still smiled, and bravely,though her lips trembled and there were tears upon her cheeks.
"I must go, uncle. It is my right, and his. I must try this matter formyself. I shall never be happy else and I shall succeed. I shall. Itrust in God. You have taught me that He never fails those who trustin Him."
"Have I not trusted? Have I not prayed? Did I not labor till labor wasuseless? But, there, child. Not for me to darken your faith. His waysare not as our ways, else this had never come. But you shall go. Youare right; and may He prosper your devotion!"
She saw that he was tired and, having gained his consent, went gladlyaway to Angelique, to consult with that disturbed person concerningher journey.
Angelique heard this strange announcement with incredulity. The masterwas delirious again. That was the explanation. Else he would never,never have consented for this outrageous journey from Pontius toPilate, with only a never-say-anything old Indian for escort.
"But you're part Indian yourself, sweet Angelique, so don't abuse yourown race. As for knowing nothing, who but Joe could have brought myuncle through this dreadful sickness so well? I believe it is all abeautiful plan.
"Well, we'll see. If Adrian had not come, maybe my uncle would neverhave told me all he has. The letter was written, you know that,because he feared he might not live to tell it with his lips. And evenwhen he was getting better he thought I still should learn the truth,and the written pages held it all. I'm so glad I know. Oh! Angelique,think! How happy, how happy we shall be when my father comes home!"
"'Tis that bad Pierre who should be comin', yes. Wait till I get myhands about his ears."
"Pierre's too big to have his ears boxed. I don't wonder he hates it.I think I would--would box back again if anybody treated me to thatindignity."
"Pst. Pouf! you are you, and Pierre is Pierre; and as long as he is inthe world and I am, if his ears need boxin', I shall box them. I, hismother."
"Oh! very well. Suit yourself. But now, Angelique!"
"Well? I must go set the churn. Yes, I've wasted too much time,already, bein' taught my manners by a chit of a thing like you. Yes. Ihave so. Indeed, yes."
"Come, Angelique. Be good. When you were young, and lived in thetowns, did the girls who went a-journeying wear bonnets?"
"
Did they not? And the good Book that the master reads o' nights,sayin' the women must cover their heads. Hmm. I've thought a many timehow his readin' and his rearin' didn't go hand in glove. Bonnets,indeed! Have I not the very one I wore when I came to Peace Island. Acharmin' thing, all green ribbons and red roses. I shall wear itagain, to my Pierre's weddin'. 'Tis for that I've been savin' it. And,well, because a body has no need to wear out bonnets on this bit ofland in water. No."
But Angelique was a true woman; and once upon the subject of dress hermind refused to be drawn thence. She recalled items of what had beenher own trousseau, ignoring Margot's ridicule of the clumsy Pierre asa bridegroom, and even her assertion that: "I should pity his wife,for I expect her ears would have to be boxed, also."
"Come yon. I've that I will show you. 'Tis your mother's own lovelyclothes. Just as she wore them here, and carefully folded away for youtill you needed them. Well, that is now, I suppose, if you're to belet gad all over the earth, with as good a home as girl ever had righthere in the peaceful woods."
"Oh! show them to me, Angelique. Quick. Why have you never before? Ofcourse, I shall need them now. And, Angelique! That is some more ofthe beautiful plan. The working out of the pattern. Else why shouldthere be the clothes here when I need clothes? Answer me that, goodAngelique, if you can."
"Pst. 'Twas always a bothersome child for questions. But answer oneyourself. If you had had them before would you have had them readynow, and the pleasure of them? No. No, indeed. But come. The clothesand then the churnin'. If that Pierre were here, 'twould not be myarms would have to ache this night with the dash, dash, dashin'. No.No, indeed, no. But come."
Alas! Of all the carefully preserved and dainty garments there was notone which Margot could wear.
"Why, Angelique! What a tiny thing she must have been! I can't geteven my hand through the wrist of this sleeve. And look here. Thisskirt is away up as short as my own. If I've to wear short ones I'llnot change at all. In the pictures, I've seen lovely ladies withskirts on the ground and I thought that was the way I should look if Iever went into the world."
"Eh? What? Lovely? You? Hmm. Lovely is that lovely does. Vanity is adisgrace to any woman. Has not the master said that often and often?"
Margot flushed. She was not conscious of vanity, yet she did notquestion Angelique's opinion. But she rallied.
"I don't think I should feel at all vain if I put on any of thesethings. That is, if I could even get them on. I should all the time bethinking how uncomfortable I was. Well, that's settled. I wear my ownclothes, and not even my dear mother's. Hers I will always keep forher sake; but to her great daughter they are useless. And I'll gobareheaded just as here. Why not? I certainly don't need a bonnet,with all this hair."
Now Margot's hair was Angelique's especial pride. Indeed, it was awonderful glory upon that shapely young head; but again this was notto be admitted.
"Hair! What's hair? Not but you've enough of it for three women, forthat matter. But it will not do to go that way. It must be braided andpinned fast. Here is a bonnet, not so gay as mine, and I would trustyou with that--only----"
"I wouldn't wear it, dear Angelique. It's lovely and kind for you toeven think of offering. You must keep that for Pierre's wife, and----"
"I should like to see her with it on! Huh! Indeed! Pouf!"
"There are hats enough of my own mother's, and to wear one may beanother piece of your 'good luck.' I shall wear this one. It is allblue like my frocks, and the little brown ribbon is the color of myshoes. Adrian would say that was 'artistic,' if he were here. Oh!Angelique! When I go to that far city, do you suppose I shall seeAdrian? Do you?"
"Do you go there to break your uncle's heart again? 'Tis not Adrianyou will see, ever again, I hope. No. Indeed, no. See. This shawl. Itgoes so;" and Angelique adjusted the soft, rich fabric around her ownshoulders, put a hat jauntily upon her head, and surveyed the effectwith undisguised admiration, as reflected in the little mirror in thelid of the big trunk.
"Angelique! Angelique, take care! 'Vanity is a disgrace to any woman!'What if that misguided Pierre should see you now? What would he thinkof his----"
Hark! What was that? How dared old Joseph tramp through the house atsuch a pace, with such a noise? and the master still so weak. Why----
The indignant house-mistress disappeared with indignation blazing inher eyes.
Margot, also, stood still in the midst of her finery, listening andalmost as angry as the other; till there came back to her anothersound so familiar and reassuring that her fears were promptlybanished, while one more anxiety was lifted from her heart.
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