A Damaged Reputation

by Harold Bindloss

  XXXI.

  BROOKE IS FORGIVEN.

  It was a pleasant morning, and Brooke lay luxuriating in the sunlight byan open window of the Vancouver hospital. His face was blanched andhaggard, and his clothes hung loosely about his limbs, but there was abrightness in his eyes, and he was sensible that at last his strengthwas coming back to him. Opposite him sat Devine, who had just come in,and was watching him with evident approbation.

  "You will be fit to be moved out in a day or two, and I want to see youin Mrs. Devine's hands," he said. "We have a room fixed ready, and Icame round to ask when the doctor would let you go."

  Brooke slowly shook his head. "You are both very kind, but I'm goingback to the Old Country," he said. "Still, I don't know whether I shallstay there yet."

  Devine appeared a trifle disconcerted. "We had counted on you takinghold again at the Dayspring," he said. "Wilkins is getting an old man,and I don't know of any one who could handle that mine as you havedone. Quite sure there's nothing I could do that would keep you?"

  Brooke lay silent a moment or two. He was loth to leave the mine, butduring his slow recovery at the hospital a curious longing to see theOld Country once more had come upon him. He could go back now, and, ifit pleased him, pick up the threads of the old life he had left behind,though he was by no means sure this would afford him the satisfaction hehad once anticipated. The ambition to prove his capabilities in Canadahad, in the meanwhile, at least, deserted him since his last meetingwith Barbara, and he had heard from Mrs. Devine that it would probablybe several months before she returned to Vancouver. He realized that itwas she who had kept him there, and now she had gone, and the mine was,as Devine had informed him, exceeding all expectations, there was nolonger any great inducement to stay in Canada. He had seen enough of thecountry, and, of late, a restless desire to get away from it had beengrowing stronger with every day of his recovery. It might, he felt, beeasier to shake off the memory of his folly in another land.

  "No," he said, slowly, "I don't think there is. I feel I must go back,for a while, at least."

  "Well," said Devine, who seemed to recognize that protests would beuseless, "it's quite a long journey. I guess you can afford it?"

  Brooke felt the keen eyes fixed on him with an almost disconcertingsteadiness, but he contrived to smile.

  "Yes," he said, "if I don't do it too extravagantly, I fancy I can."

  "Then there's another point," said Devine, with a faint twinkle in hiseyes. "You might want to do something yonder that would bring thedollars in. Now, I could give you a few lines that would be useful incase you wanted an engagement with one of your waterworks contractors orany one of that kind."

  "I scarcely think it will be necessary," said Brooke, with a littlesmile.

  "Well," said Devine, "I have a notion that it's not going to be verylong before we see you back again. You have got used to us, and you'regoing to find the folks yonder slow. I can think of quite a few men whosaved up, one or two of them for a very long while, to go home to theOld Country, and in about a month they'd had enough of it. The countrywas very much as they left it--but they had altered."

  He stopped a moment, with a little chuckle, before he continued. "Now,there was Sandy Campbell, who ran the stamps at the Canopus for me. Henever spent a dollar when he could help it, and, when he'd quite a pileof them, he told me he was just sickening for a sight of Glasgow. Well,I let him go, and that day six weeks Sandy came round to the mine again.The Old Country was badly played out, he said, but, for another month,that was all he would tell me, and then the facts came out. Sandy'sfriends had met him at the Donaldson wharf, and started a circus overthe whisky. Somebody broke the furniture, and Sandy doubled up apoliceman who, he figured, had insulted him, so they had him up fordoing it before whatever they call a magistrate in that country. Sandy'sremarks were printed in a Glasgow paper, and he showed it me.

  "'Forty shillings. It's an iniquity,' he said. 'Is this how ye treat aman who has come six thousand miles to see his native land? I will notfind ye a surety. I'm away back by the first Allan boat to a countrywhere they appreciate me.'"

  Brooke laughed. "Still, I don't quite see how Sandy's case applies tome."

  "I guess it does. One piece of it, anyway. Sandy knew where he wasappreciated, and we have room for a good many men of your kind in thiscountry. That's about all I need say. When you feel like it, come rightback to me."

  He went out a few minutes later, and Brooke lay still thoughtfully, withhis old ambitions re-awakening. There was, he surmised, a good deal oftruth in Devine's observations, and work in the mountain province thathe could do. Still, he felt that even to make his mark there would be nogreat gain to him now. Barbara could not forgive him, but she was inEngland, and he might, at least, see her. Whether that would be wise hedid not know, and scarcely fancied so, but the faint probability had itsattractions, and he would go and stay there--until he had recovered hisusual vigor, at least.

  It was, however, a little while before the doctors would permit him torisk the journey, and several months had passed when he stood with akinsman and his wife on the lawn outside an old house in an Englishvalley. The air was still and warm, and a full moon was rising above thebeeches on the hillside. Its pale light touched the river, that slidsmoothly between the mossy stepping-stones, and the shadows of clippedyew and drooping willow lay black upon the grass. There was a faintsmell of flowers that linger in the fall, and here and there a witheredleaf was softly sailing down, but that night it reminded Brooke of theresinous odors of the Western pines, and the drowsy song of the river,of the thunder of the torrent that swirled by Quatomac. His heart wasalso beating a trifle more rapidly than usual, and for that reason hewas more than usually quiet.

  "I suppose your friends will come?" he said, indifferently.

  Mrs. Cruttenden, who stood close by him, laughed. "To the minute! MajorHume is punctuality itself. I fancy he will be a little astonishedto-night."

  "I shall be pleased to meet him again. He was to bring Miss Hume?"

  "Of course," said Mrs. Cruttenden, with a keen glance at him. "And MissHeathcote, whom you asked about. No doubt she will be a trifleastonished, too. You do not seem quite so sure that the meeting with herwill afford you any pleasure?"

  Brooke smiled a trifle grimly. "The most important question is whethershe will be pleased to see me. I don't mind admitting it is one that iscausing me considerable anxiety."

  "Wouldn't her attitude on the last occasion serve as guide?"

  Brooke felt his face grow warm under her watchful eyes, but he laughed.

  "I would like to believe that it did not," he said. "Miss Heathcote didnot appear by any means pleased with me. Still, you see, you sometimeschange your minds."

  "Yes," said Mrs. Cruttenden, reflectively. "Especially when the personwho has offended us has been very ill. It is, in fact, the people onelikes the most one is most inclined to feel angry with now and then, butthere are circumstances under which one feels sorry for pastseverities."

  Brooke started, for this appeared astonishingly apposite in view of thefact that he had, as she had once or twice reminded him, told herunnecessarily little about his Canadian affairs. The difficulty,however, was that he could not be sure she was correct.

  "You naturally know what you would do, but, after all, that scarcelygoes quite as far as one would like," he said.

  Mrs. Cruttenden laughed softly. "Still, I fancy the rest are very likeme in one respect. In fact, it might be wise of you to take that forgranted."

  Just then three figures appeared upon the path that came down to thestepping-stones across the river, and Brooke's eyes were eager as hewatched them. They were as yet in the shadow, but he felt that he wouldhave recognized one of them anywhere and under any circumstances. Thenhe strode forward precipitately, and a minute later sprang aside on toan outlying stone as a grey-haired man, who glanced at him sharply,turned, with hand held out, to one of his companions. Brooke moved alittle nearer the one who came last, and then s
tood bareheaded, whilethe girl stopped suddenly and looked at him. He could catch the gleam ofthe brown eyes under the big hat, and, for the moon was above thebeeches now, part of her face and neck gleamed like ivory in the silverylight. She stood quite still, with the flashing water sliding past herfeet, etherealized, it seemed to him, by her surroundings and acomplement of the harmonies of the night.

  "You?" she said.

  Brooke laughed softly, and swept his hand vaguely round, as though toindicate the shining river and dusky trees.

  "Yes," he said. "You remember how I met you at Quatomac. Who else couldit be?"

  "Nobody," said Barbara, with a tinge of color in her face. "At least,any one else would have been distinctly out of place."

  Brooke tightened his grasp on the hand she had laid in his, for whichthere was some excuse, since the stone she stood upon was round andsmooth, and it was a long step to the next one.

  "You knew I was here?" he said.

  "Yes," said Barbara, quietly.

  Brooke felt his heart throbbing painfully. "And you could have framed anexcuse for staying away?"

  The girl glanced at him covertly as he stood very straight looking downon her, with lips that had set suddenly, and tension in his face. Themoonlight shone into it, and it was, she noticed, quieter and a littlegrimmer than it had been, while his sinewy frame still showed spare togauntness in the thin conventional dress. This had its significance toher.

  "Of course!" she said. "Still, it did not seem necessary. I had noreason for wishing to stay away."

  Brooke fancied that there was a good deal in this admission, and hisvoice had a little exultant thrill in it.

  "That implies--ever so much," he said. "Hold fast. That stone istreacherous, and one can get wet in this river, though it is not theQuatomac. Absurd to suggest that, isn't it? Are not Abana and Pharparbetter than all the waters of Israel?"

  Barbara also laughed. "Do you wish the Major to come back for me?" shesaid. "It is really a little difficult to stand still upon a narrowpiece of mossy stone."

  They went across, and Major Hume stared at Brooke in astonishment whenCruttenden presented him.

  "By all that's wonderful! Our Canadian guide!" he said.

  "Presumably so!" said Cruttenden. "Still, though, my wife appears tounderstand the allusion, it's more than I do. Anyway, he is my kinsman,Harford Brooke, and the owner of High Wycombe."

  Brooke smiled as he shook hands with the Major, but he was sensible thatBarbara flashed a swift glance at him, and, as they moved towards thehouse, Hetty broke in.

  "You must know, Mr. Cruttenden, that your kinsman met Barbara beside ariver once before, and on that occasion, too, they did not come out ofit until some little time after we did," she said.

  "That," said Cruttenden, "appears to imply that they were--in--thewater."

  "I really think that one of them was," said Hetty. "Barbara had a pony,but Mr. Brooke had not, and his appearance certainly suggested that hehad been bathing. In fact, he was so bedraggled that Barbara gave him adollar. She had, I must explain, already spent a few months in thiscountry."

  Brooke was a trifle astonished, and noticed a sudden warmth in Barbara'sface.

  "If I remember correctly, you had gone into the ranch, Miss Hume," hesaid, severely.

  "No," said Hetty. "You may have fancied so, but I hadn't. I was the onlychaperon Barbara had, you see. I hope she didn't tell you not to lavishthe dollar on whisky. No doubt you spent it wisely on tobacco."

  Brooke made no answer, and his smile was somewhat forced; but he wentwith the others into the house, and it was an hour or two later when heand Barbara again stood by the riverside alone. Neither of them quiteknew how it came about, but they were there with the black shadows ofthe beeches behind them and the flashing water at their feet. Brookeglanced slowly round him, and then turned to the girl.

  "It reminds one of that other river--but there is a difference," hesaid. "The beeches make poor substitutes for your towering pines, andyou no longer wear the white samite."

  "And," said Barbara, "where is the sword?"

  Brooke looked down on her gravely, and shook his head. "I am not fit towear it, and yet I dare not give it back to you, stained as it is," hesaid. "What am I to do?"

  "Keep it," said Barbara, softly. "You have wiped the stain out, and itis bright again."

  Brooke laid a hand that quivered a little on her shoulder. "Barbara," hesaid, "I am not vainer than most men, and I know what I have done, butunless what once seemed beyond all hoping for was about to come to me,you and I would not have met again beside the river. It simply couldn'thappen. You can forget all that has gone before, and once more try tobelieve in me?"

  "I think," said Barbara, quietly, "there is a good deal that you mustnever remember, too. I realized that"--and she stopped with a littleshiver--"when you were lying in the Vancouver hospital."

  "And you knew I loved you, though in those days I dare not tell you so?I have done so, I think, from the night I first saw you, and yet thereis so much to make you shrink from me."

  "No," said Barbara, very softly, "there is nothing whatever now--and ifperfection had been indispensable you would never have thought of me."

  Brooke laid his other hand on her shoulder, and, standing so, whileevery nerve in him thrilled, still held her a little apart, so that thesilvery light shone into her flushed face. For a moment she met hisgaze, and her eyes were shining.

  "Do you know that, absurd as it may sound, I seemed to know that nightat Quatomac that I should hold you in my arms again one day?" he said."Of course, the thing seemed out of the question, an insensate dream,and still I could never quite let go my hold of the alluring fancy."

  "And if the dream had never been fulfilled?"

  Brooke laughed curiously. "You would still have ridden beside me throughmany a long night march, with the moon shining round and full behindyour shoulder, and I should have felt the white dress brush me softlywhere the trail was dark."

  "Then I should have been always young to you. You would never have seenme grow faded and the grey creep into my hair."

  Brooke drew her towards him, and held her close. "My dear, you will bealways beautiful to me. We will grow old together, and the one who mustcross the last dark river first will, at least, start out on the shadowytrail holding the other's hand."

  It was an hour later when Barbara, with the man's arm still about her,glanced across the velvet lawn to the old grey house beneath the duskyslope of wooded hill. The moonlight silvered its weathered front, andthe deep tranquillity of the sheltered valley made itself felt.

  "Yes," said Brooke, "it is yours and mine."

  Barbara made a little gesture that was eloquent of appreciation. "It isvery beautiful. A place one could dream one's life away in. We havenothing like it in Canada. You would care to stay here always?"

  "Any place would be delightful with you."

  The girl laughed softly, but her voice had a tender thrill in it, andthen she turned towards the west.

  "It is very beautiful--and full of rest," she said. "Still, I scarcelythink it would suit you to sit down in idleness, and all that can bedone for this rich country has been done years ago."

  "I wonder," said Brooke, who guessed her thoughts, "if you would bequite so sure when you had seen our towns."

  "Still, one would need to be very wise to take hold there--and I do notthink you care for politics."

  "No," said Brooke, with a faint, dry smile. "Besides, rememberingSaxton, I should feel a becoming diffidence about wishing to serve mynation in that fashion. There are men enough who are anxious to do italready, and I would be happier grappling with the rocks and pines inWestern Canada."

  "Then," said Barbara, "if it pleases you, we will go back to the greatunfinished land where the dreams of such men as you are come true."

  THE END.

  The Spotter

  _A Story of the Early Days in the Pennsylvania Oil Fields.._

  By W. W. CANFIELD

  Dunca
n Cameron is a Pennsylvania farmer, the owner of a large tract ofland which the prototype of the Standard Oil Company desires to secure.Cameron for a long time successfully resists the efforts to compel himto sell, and The Spotter describes what happened to him, as well as whatbefell members of several families who are made wealthy by the sale oftheir oil lands. Those who oppose the advance of the monopoly feel itshand in no uncertain weight, for there is little hesitancy in themethods adopted to break the fortunes and prospects of those who do notquietly submit.

  The story describes the romantic side of the influx of a large number ofspeculators, operators and boomers, who find a country that heretoforehas been almost isolated.

  Size 5-1/2x7-3/4. Cloth, Gilt Top. Price $1.50

  Transcriber's Note: The following typographical errors present in theoriginal edition have been corrected.

  In the table of contents, =The Jumping of the Caonpus= was changed to=The Jumping of the Canopus=.

  In Chapter VII, =The result was from one point of view comtemptible= waschanged to =The result was from one point of view contemptible=.

  In Chapter VIII, an extra quotation mark was deleted after =it was theother man who fell in.=

  In Chapter XI, a comma was changed to a period after =a kindness thrustupon him by his companion=, ="Of course!" be said.= was changed to ="Ofcourse!" be said.=, and =the distinctions you allude too= was changed to=the distinctions you allude to=.

  In Chapter XIII, a missing quotation mark was added after =We may bestaying for some time yet at the C. P. R. Hotel, Vancouver.=

  In Chapter XIV, a question mark was changed to a period after =natureuntrammelled, and primeval force=.

  In Chapter XVIII, a missing period was added after ="I'm not quite surewhether I expected it or not, but I almost hope I did," he said=.

  In Chapter XX, =What, in the name of thunder= was changed to =What inthe name of thunder=.

  In Chapter XXI, =Lou, no doubt, had a purpose= was changed to =You, nodoubt, had a purpose=.

  In Chapter XXII, =much more pleased that you were= was changed to =muchmore pleased than you were=.

  In Chapter XXV, =They told me as nearly as they could remember= waschanged to =They told him as nearly as they could remember=.

  In Chapter XXVI, a quotation mark was removed after =he had certainlybeen impelled by at their last meeting.=

  In Chapter XXIX, =B ooke braced himself to bear his part in it= waschanged to =Brooke braced himself to bear his part in it=.

  In Chapter XXXI, an extra quotation mark was removed before =I guess youcan afford it?=

  In the advertisement for _The Spotter_, an extra period was deletedafter "A Story of the Early Days in the Pennsylvania Oil Fields.", and aperiod was changed to a comma after =Duncan Cameron is a Pennsylvaniafarmer=.