PAUL remained away for ten days; not by his own wish, but detained by business.

During his absence Hollis's services were in demand. Cicely was now able to go out on the lake, and he took her for an hour or two every morning in one of the larger canoes; the nurse and Cicely sat at the bow, then came Porley and Jack, then Eve, then Hollis. Cicely still did not talk, she had not again asked for her grandfather; but she looked at the water and the woods on the sh.o.r.e, and her face showed occasionally some slight childish interest in what was pa.s.sing. Eve, too, scarcely spoke; but it was pleasure enough for poor Hollis to be opposite to her, where he could see her without appearing to gaze too steadily. He had always admired her; he had admired her voice, her reticent, independent way; he had admired her tall, slender figure, with the broad sweep of the shoulders, the erect carriage, and lithe, strong step. He had never thought her too cold, too pale; but now in the increased life and color which had come to her she seemed to him a daughter of the G.o.ds--the strong Northern G.o.ds with flaxen hair; the flush in her cheeks made her eyes bluer and her hair more golden; the curve of her lips, a curve which had once been almost sullen, was now strangely sweet. Her love had made her beautiful; her love, too, made her kind to Hollis;--women are often unconsciously cruel in this way. The poor auctioneer lived in a fool's paradise and forgot all his cautions; day-dreams began to visit him, he was a boy again.

On the eleventh day Paul returned.

Hollis happened to see him meet Eve. Outwardly it was simply that they shook hands, and stood for a moment exchanging an unimportant question or two; or rather Paul asked, and Eve answered; but Paul's tone was not what it once had been, his eyes, looking at Eve, were different. It was one thing to know that she loved Paul, Hollis was used to that; it was another to know that Paul loved her. He watched through the day, with all the acuteness of jealousy, discovering nothing. But that evening, when Eve had said good-night and started towards her lodge, Paul rose and followed her.

"I guess I'll go down to the lake for a moment or two," Hollis said to the judge, who was sitting by the fire. He walked away in the direction of the lake; then, doubling upon his track, he returned, avoiding the fire and going towards the row of lodges. Presently he saw two dusky figures, a man and a woman; they stood there for a moment; then the man bent his head and touched with his lips the woman's wrist. It was but for a second; they separated, she going towards her lodge, and he returning to the fire. The watcher in the wood stole noiselessly down to the beach and got out a canoe; then he went off and woke an Indian.

Presently the two were paddling westward over the dark lake. They caught the steamer. Hollis reached Port aux Pins the following evening.

From the boat he went to a restaurant and ordered dinner; he called it "dinner" to make it appear more fine. He ordered the best that the establishment could offer. He complained because there were no anchovies. He said to the waiter: "_This_ patty de fograr?--You must be sick! Take away these off-color peaches and bring me something first cla.s.s. Bring lick-koors, too; can you catch on to that?" He drank a great deal of wine, finishing with champagne; then he lit a cigar and sauntered out.

He went to a beer-garden. The place was brightly lighted; dusty evergreens planted in tubs made foliage; little tables were standing in the sand; there was a stage upon which four men, in Tyrolese costume, were singing, "O Stra.s.sburg, du wunderschone Stadt!" very well, accompanied by a small orchestra.

"h.e.l.lo, Katty, wie geht's?" said Hollis to a girl who was pa.s.sing with a tray of empty beer-gla.s.ses. She stopped. "Want some ice-cream, Katty?"

"Oh, come now, Mr. Hollis, you know there's no ice-cream here."

"Did I say here? Outside, of course. Come along."

Katty went, nothing loath.

She was a girl of sixteen, with bright eyes, thick braids of brown hair, and a sweet voice; the fairness of extreme youth gave her a fict.i.tious innocence. He took her to the ephemeral saloon, and sat looking at her while she devoured two large slabs of a violently pink tint; her preposterous Gainsborough hat, with its imitation plumes, she had taken off, and the flaring gas-light shone on her pretty face.

"Now shall we have a walk, Katty?"

They strolled through the streets for half an hour. He took her into a jeweller's shop, and bought her a German-silver dog-collar which she had admired in the window; she wanted it to clasp round her throat: "Close up, you know, under the chin; it's so cute that way." She was profuse in her thanks; of her own accord, when they came out, she took his arm.

He fell into silence. They pa.s.sed his rooms; Katty looked up. "All dark," she said.

"Yes. I guess I'll take you back now, Katty; do you want to go home, or to the garden again?"

"I ain't accustomed to going to bed at this early hour, Mr. Hollis, whatever you may be. I'll go back to the gardens, please."

When they reached the entrance, he put his hand in his pocket and drew something out. "There, Katty, take that and buy more dog-collars.

Money's all an old fellow like me is good for."

"Oh, Mr. Hollis,--when I like you better than many that's young."

"Thank you, Katty. Good-night."

He went, as he would have called it, "home." On the way he pa.s.sed his office; a vague impulse made him unlock the door, and look in, by the light of a match. The skeleton was there, and the bonnets in their bandboxes. "I must try to work 'em off before winter," he thought; "they are really elegant." He locked the door again, and, going a little farther down the street, he entered an open hallway, and began to climb a long flight of stairs. On the second floor he inserted his key in a door, and, opening, entered; he was at home. The air was close and hot, and he threw up the windows; leaving the candle in the outer room, he went and sat down in his parlor, crossing his legs, and trying to lean back; every chair in the room was in its very nature and shape uncomfortable. Sitting there, his life in retrospect pa.s.sed slowly before him, like a picture unrolling itself on the dark wall; he saw all the squalid poverty of it, all its disappointments, its deprivations.

"From first to last it's been a poor affair; I wonder how I've stood it!" The dawn came into the room, he did not move; he sat there with his hat on until the little bell of the Baptist church near by began to ring for Sabbath-school. He listened to the sound for a while, it was persistent; finally he got up; his legs felt stiff, he brushed some dust from his trousers with the palm of his hand; then he went out.

He went down to the street, and thence to the Baptist church. The door stood open, and he went in; the children were already in their places, and the organ was sounding forth a lively tune; presently the young voices began all together in a chorus,

"The voice of free grace cries escape to the mount-_ins_--"

His mother used to sing that song, he remembered. She often sang it over her work, and she was always at work--yes, to the very day of her death; she was a patient, silent creature.

"I don't know that I'd oughter have less pluck than she had," thought her son.

"Brother, will you have a book?" whispered a little man in a duster, proffering one from behind.

Hollis took it, and followed the words as the children sang them to the end. When the prayer began, he laid the book down carefully on the seat, and went out on tiptoe. He went down to the pier; the westward bound boat had just come in; he went on board.

"Business," he explained to the judge, when he reached the camp. "Had to go."

"Sold the skeleton, perhaps?"

"Well, I've laid one!" responded Hollis, grimly.

The judge was in gay spirits, Cicely had been talking to him; it had been about Jack, and she had said nothing of importance; but the sentences had been rational, connected.

Several days pa.s.sed, and the improvement continued; consciousness had returned to her eyes, they all felt hopeful. They had strolled down to the beach one evening to see the sunset, and watch the first flash of Jupiter Light out on its reef. Eve was with Hollis; she selected him each day as her companion, asking him in so many words to accompany her; Hollis went, showering out jokes and puns. Now and then he varied his efforts at entertainment by legends of what he called "old times on the frontier." They always began: "My father lived on a flat-boat. He was a bold and adventurous character." In reality, his father was a teacher of singing, who earned his living (sometimes) by getting up among school-children, who co-operated without pay, a fairy operetta called _The Queen of the Flowers_; he was an amiable man with a mild tenor voice; he finally became a colporteur for the Methodist Book Concern.

To-day Hollis was talking about the flat-boat--maundering on, as he would himself have called it; Paul and the judge strolled to and fro.

The water came up smoothly in long, low swells, whose edge broke at their feet with a little sound like "whisssh," followed by a retreating gurgle.

"Paul Tennant, are you there?" asked a voice.

Startled, they turned. On the bank above the beach, and therefore just above their heads (the bank was eight feet high), stood Cicely.

"It is you I want, Paul Tennant. Everything has come back to me; I know now that Ferdie is dead. You would not let me go to him; probably he thought that it was because I did not want to go. This I owe to you, and I curse you for it. I curse you, Paul Tennant, I curse your days and nights; all the things and people you like, all your hopes and plans. If you trust any one, I hope that person will betray you; if you love any one, I hope that person will hate you; if you should have any children, I hope they will be disobedient, and, whatever they may be to others, undutiful to you."

"Cicely, stop!" cried Eve. "Will no one stop her?"

"G.o.d, curse Paul Tennant. He has been so cruel!" She was now kneeling down, her arms held up to heaven in appeal.

The judge looked waxily pallid; Hollis did not move; Paul, much less disturbed than any one, was already climbing the bank. It was perpendicular, and there was neither footing nor hold, but after one or two efforts he succeeded. When he reached the top, however, Cicely was gone. He went to her lodge; here he found her sitting quietly beside Jack's bed; she was alone, neither the nurse nor Porley was with her.

Before he could speak, Eve appeared, breathless.

"Where is the nurse, Cicely?" Paul asked, in his usual tone.

"Do you mean that woman whom you have put over me? She has gone for a walk."

"And Porley?"

"You will find Porley at the big pine."

"What is she doing there?"

"I didn't want her about, so I tied her to the trunk," Cicely answered.

"Probably she is frightened," she added, calmly.

"Go and find her," said Eve to Paul. "I will stay here."

"Have nothing to do with Paul Tennant, Eve," Cicely remarked. "He is almost a murderer. He didn't go to his brother; he let him die alone."

"I shall not leave you," said Paul, looking at Eve's white cheeks.