Thinking of this as I stared into the fire, listening to the good talk on many subjects, something--was it the frost of homelessness?--melted in my heart. The feelings and emotions that had been benumbed through the icy chill of circ.u.mstance, thawed within me. The tears, usually unready, filled my eyes. I bent my head that the others might not see, but they fell faster and faster. And with every one that plashed on my hands, as they lay folded in my lap, I felt the unbinding from my life of one hard year after another, until the woman who rose to bring in the porridge, in order to cover her emotion, was one who rose free of all thwarting circ.u.mstance. I had come into my own--a woman's own.

But I failed to read the third sign.

XVII

Doctor Rugvie's visit! It was fruitful of much, little as I antic.i.p.ated that.

I wrote regularly every month to Delia Beaseley telling her all that I knew would be of interest to her about my life at Lamoral, and a.s.suring her that my lines had fallen in pleasant places. She wrote, at first, to tell me that my wish, in regard to keeping my ident.i.ty from Doctor Rugvie for the present, would be respected; but in a later letter she urged me to make it known to him; to ascertain all the facts possible about my parentage. I replied that I preferred to wait.

And why did I prefer to wait? I asked myself this question and found no answer. When the answer came, it was unmistakable in its leadings.

"A letter from Doctor Rugvie; he is coming Monday!" I cried joyfully, flourishing the sheet in Jamie's face when he appeared at the door to ask for his mail.

I was sitting on the floor by the shelves in the living-room, for I was busy cataloguing the books in the general and mixed collection, and searching for allied subjects. This work Mr. Ewart a.s.signed to me after I had finished the "forestry" cataloguing.

"Where 's mine?"

"You have n't any, nor Mr. Ewart--from the Doctor, I mean."

"You seem to be particularly elated over the fact."

"Jamie, my friend, feel--" I held up the envelope to him; he took it and fingered it investigatingly.

"What's this in it?"

"That is an object which in international currency exchange we call a draft--the equivalent of my wages, Jamie; in other words, payment for industrial efficiency; do you hear?"

"My, but you are a mercenary woman! One of the kind we read of in the States," he retorted.

"Wait till you get your first check for royalties from London, then use that word and tone to me again if you dare."

Mr. Ewart opened the door of the office.

"What's this I hear about the Doctor and mercenary tendencies--the two don't go together as I happen to know." He spoke from the threshold.

Jamie showed him the envelope, holding it high above my head.

"This, Ewart, is the compensation for sundry days of so-called labor on the part of Miss Farrell--drives, snow-shoeing, tobogganing with Cale not discounted, of course. Shall I read it, Marcia?"

"For all I care."

Mr. Ewart looked on smiling at our chaff.

"It's on the First National Bank of New York, Ewart, for the amount of fifty-two dollars and eighty-seven cents--how 's that about the cents, Marcia?"

"Because the Doctor insists on paying me every two months and seems to call thirty days a month--why every two, I don't know, do you?" I said laughing, and looking up, questioning, into Mr. Ewart's face. What I saw there, what I am sure Jamie saw, was not encouraging for more jesting on Jamie's part or mine. He turned away abruptly and sat down at his desk before he spoke:

"The Doctor wired me this afternoon that he would be here to-night instead of Monday, as he can get in an extra day. I can't say how sorry I am it has happened so, for I made arrangements to be in Quebec to-night and in Ottawa to-morrow night. I return Monday. Well, I must leave him in your hands--he won't lack entertainment. I wish, Jamie, it were possible for you to risk it and meet him with me this evening; but I suppose this night air is too keen--it's ten below now. I shall take the train he comes on and may not have time for a word of welcome."

"I suppose it would be risking too much." Jamie spoke with something that sounded like a sigh. "I don't want the Doctor to roar at me the first thing because I am indiscreet--not after what he and his advice and kindness have done for me already."

Mr. Ewart laid a hand on his shoulder.

"You 're another man, Macleod, since coming here. We won't make any back tracks into that wilderness, will we?" He spoke so gently, so affectionately, that Jamie turned suddenly to him, exclaiming impulsively:

"Gordon, if you were a woman I 'd kiss you for saying that."

I knew what courage it gave him to hear this from his friend; and I wondered what kind of a man this might be who, one moment, could look stern and unyielding at our half childish chaffing, and in the next be all affectionate solicitude for this younger man who, at times, was all boy.

"Then, Miss Farrell," he turned to me, "won't you come? Cale will drive me over in the double pung."

There was no hesitation in my giving an affirmative answer.

"We 'll have supper within an hour, please, Mrs. Macleod," he said, as she entered the room. He looked at the pile of books on the floor beside me.

"It's too late for you to work any more." He stooped and, gathering up an armful, began to place them. "Will you be so kind as to speak to Marie and tell her to have four soapstones thoroughly heated, and ask Cale to warm the robes? It will be twenty below before you get back."

"Just what I 've wanted to do all winter," I exclaimed; "a drive on such a clear, full-moon night to Richelieu-en-Haut will be something to remember."

"I hope to make it so; for it's a typical Canadian midwinter night--a thing of splendor if seen with seeing eyes."

"Then you won't expect me to talk much, will you?"

"No,"--he smiled genially, and Jamie audaciously winked at me behind his back,--"it's apt to make my teeth ache, and although yours are as sound as mine, I don't believe they can stand prolonged exposure to severe cold any better. But how about Cale? There is no ice embargo on his flow of speech."

Jamie burst into a laugh. "You 're right, Gordon, he 'll do all the talking for both, and for the Doctor too. By the way, mother," he said, turning to Mrs. Macleod and at the same time holding out a hand to help me up from the floor--an attention I ignored to save his strength--"something Cale said the other day, but casually, led me to think he may be a benedict instead of a bachelor; you have n't found out yet?"

"No, but sometime it will come right for me to ask him. He has consideration for women in just those little things that would lead me to believe that he has been married--"

"Oh, I say, mother, that's rough on Ewart and me. Give us a point or two on the 'little things', will you?"

"Stop teasing, Jamie; I still think, as I thought from the first, that he has been--"

"Perhaps more than once, mother! Perhaps he 's a widower, or even a gra.s.s widower--I 've heard of such in the States--or he might be a divorce, or a Mormon, or a swami gone astray--"

"Havers!" she exclaimed, with a show of resentment which caused her son to rejoice, for it was only when thoroughly out of patience with him that she used the Scotch.

"You 're too absurd," I said with a warning look.

"Mother is for stiff back-boned unrelentingness in such things," he remarked soberly, after she and Mr. Ewart left the room; "and I 've put my foot into it too," he added dolefully. "Why, the deuce, did n't you stop me in time?"

"How did I know how far your nonsense would lead you?"

"Well, I don't care--much; I can't step round on eggs just because of what I 've heard--"

"If only you had n't said anything about 'gra.s.s widower'!"