"Ay, lad," answered his mother brightly, "it will be your turn then."

They were determined, these two, to look only at the bright side to-day. No sun should shine upon their tears. The parting would be sore enough with all the help that hope could bring. And so the morning pa.s.sed in last preparations for Shock's going, and the last counsels and promises, and in planning for the new home that was to be made in the shadow of the Rockies in the far West.

"And the time will soon pa.s.s, mother," said Shock cheerfully, "and it will be good for you to have Brown with you. He will need your care, you know," he hastened to add, knowing well that not for her own sake could she have been persuaded to receive even Brown into her little home.

"Ay, I will do for him what I can," she replied, "and indeed," she added warmly, "he's a kind lad, poor fellow."

"And the young ladies will be looking in on you now and then, so they said," and Shock bent low over his trunk working with the roping of it.

"Yes, indeed," replied his mother heartily, "never you fear."

And so with united and determined purpose they kept at arm's length the heart's sorrow they knew would fall upon each when alone.

To go to the ends of the earth in these globe-trotting days is attended with little anxiety, much less heart-break, but in those days when Canada was cut off at the Lakes, the land beyond was a wilderness, untravelled for the most part but by the Indian or trapper, and considered a fit dwelling place only for the Hudson Bay officer kept there by his loyalty to "the Company," or the half-breed runner to whom it was native land, or the more adventurous land-hungry settler, or the reckless gold-fevered miner. Only under some great pa.s.sion did men leave home and those dearer than life, and casting aside dreams of social, commercial, or other greatness, devote themselves to life on that rude frontier. But such a pa.s.sion had seized upon Shock, and in it his mother shared. Together these two simple souls, who were all in all to each other, made their offering for the great cause, bringing each their all without stint, without measure, without grudging, though not without heart-break, and gaining that full exquisite joy, to so many unknown, of love's complete sacrifice.

To none but themselves, however, was the greatness of the sacrifice apparent. For when the carriage arrived with Mrs. Fairbanks and her daughters there was no sign of tears or heart-break in the quiet faces that welcomed them. And Mrs. Fairbanks, who had come prepared to offer overflowing sympathy to the old lady "deserted" by her "fanatical" son, was somewhat taken aback by the quiet dignity and perfect control that distinguished the lady's voice and manner. After the first effusive kiss, which Mrs. Fairbanks hurried to bestow and which Mrs. Macgregor suffered with calm surprise, it became difficult to go on with the programme of tearful consolation which had been prepared. There seemed hardly a place for sympathy, much less for tearful consolation, in this well-ordered home, and with these self-sufficient folk.

"We thought we would like to come over and--and--help, perhaps drive you to the station to see your son off," said Mrs. Fairbanks, who was readjusting her scenery and changing her role with all speed.

"That was kind, indeed," said Mrs. Macgregor, "but Hamish will be walking, I doubt, and I will just be waiting at home."

She had the instinct of the wounded to hide in some sheltered and familiar haunt.

"I shall be glad to remain with you, Mrs. Macgregor, if I can be of any service," repeated Mrs. Fairbanks.

"It will not be necessary; everything is done, and there is nothing needed."

The voice was more than quiet, as if it came from a heart whose pa.s.sion had been spent.

"It is very kind, indeed, and we are grateful," said Shock, feeling that his mother's manner might be misunderstood.

"Yess, yess," said the old lady hastily, "it iss very good of you and of the young ladies," turning to look at Helen with kindly eyes. "You will not be thinking me ungrateful," she added with a suspicion of tears in her voice. "I have been spoiled by Hamish yonder," turning her face toward her son.

"Whist now, mother," said Hamish to her in a low tone, in which depreciation and warning were mingled. He knew how hard the next hour would be for himself and for his mother, and he knew, too, that they could not indulge themselves in the luxury of uttered grief and love.

At this moment, to the relief of all, Brown entered with an exaggerated air of carelessness.

"Here's a man for your 'settler's effect,'" he cried cheerily. "Lucky dog, aint he," he cried, turning to Helen, "and don't I wish I was in his place. Think of the times he will have riding over the claims with those jolly cowboys, not to speak of the claims he will be staking, and the gold he will be washing out of those parish streams of his. Don't I wish I were going! I am, too, when I can persuade those old iron-livered professors to let me through. However, next year I'm to pa.s.s. Mrs. Macgregor is to see to that."

"Indeed, I hope so," cried Betty, "an hour's study at least, before breakfast and no gallivanting at night. I will help you, Mrs.

Macgregor. We will get him through this time."

"Ay, I doubt I will not be much the better of your help," replied Mrs.

Macgregor, with a shrewd kindly smile.

"There now, take that," said Brown to Betty, adding ruefully to Shock, "You see what I'm in for."

"You'll survive," said Shock.

Then he rose and lifted his coat from the peg behind the door. At the same instant Helen rose hurriedly and with paling face said to her mother: "Let us go now."

"Well, Mrs. Macgregor, if we cannot serve you we will be going," said Mrs. Fairbanks; "but we would be glad to drive Mr. Macgregor to the station."

She was anxious to justify her visit to herself and her friends.

"That's a first-rate idea," cried Brown, "that is, if you can give me a lift, too."

"Of course," cried Betty.

"Thank you, I shall be very glad," said Shock, seeing it would please Mrs. Fairbanks.

"Come along, then," said Betty. "I suppose we have not too much time."

"Good-bye, for the present," said Mrs. Fairbanks, offering her hand to the old lady, who was standing erect, white but calm, facing the hour whose bitterness she had already tasted.

"Good-bye," said Betty softly, kissing the white cheek, and trying to hurry her mother towards the door.

At this, Helen, who had been standing with face growing whiter and whiter, went to Mrs. Macgregor and put her arms around her and kissed her good-bye. When she was nearing the door she came hurriedly back.

"Oh, let me stay with you. I cannot bear to go," she whispered.

The old lady turned and scrutinised steadily the young face turned so pleadingly toward her. Slowly under that steady gaze the red crept up into the white cheek, like the first dawning of day, till the whole face and neck were in a hot flame of colour. Yet the grey, l.u.s.trous eyes never wavered, but, unshrinking, answered the old lady's searching look. At that revealing wave of colour Shock's mother made as if to push the girl away from her, but, with a quick change of mood, she took her in her arms instead.

"Ay, poor la.s.sie, you too! Yes, yes, you may stay with me now."

The motherly touch and tone and the knowledge that her secret had been read were more than Helen could bear. She clung to Mrs. Macgregor, sobbing pa.s.sionate sobs.

At this extraordinary outburst Mrs. Fairbanks came back into the room and stood with Shock and the others gazing in utter amazement upon this scene.

"Whist now, la.s.sie, whist now," Mrs. Macgregor was saying, "never you fear, he'll come back again."

"What on earth is this nonsense, Helen?" Mrs. Fairbanks' voice was haughty and suspicious. "What does this mean?"

"It means," said Mrs. Macgregor with quiet dignity, "what neither you nor I can help or harm."

"Helen, speak to me."

At the stern command Helen lifted her face, still hot with blushes, and stood looking straight into her mother's eyes. Her mother turned from her impatiently.

"Do you know what this means?" she said to Shock.

"What? I don't understand," replied Shock, gazing helplessly at the haughty, angry face turned toward him.

"Have you dared to speak to my daughter?"

"Oh, mamma," cried Helen, in an agony of mortification, "how can you?"

"You may well be ashamed," said Mrs. Fairbanks, who had quite lost control of herself, "throwing yourself at the head of a man so far beneath you, with no prospects, and who does not even want you."

"So far beneath, did you say?" cried Mrs. Macgregor quickly. "Woman, say no more. You shame yourself, let alone your child.

Whist,"--checking the other's speech--"the blood in the veins of Hector Macgregor yonder" (pointing to the portrait of the Highland soldier on the wall) "was as proud as that in any Lowland trader of you."