The Long Portage Part 32

"No," he answered; "you and the others who talk in that strain are mistaken. We're a brand new nation still fusing and fuming in the melting-pot. The elements are inharmonious in some respects--French from the Laurentian littoral, Ontario Scots, Americans, Scandinavians, Teutons, Magyars, Slavs. The English element's barely strong enough to temper the mixture; the land's too wide and the people too varied for British traditions to bind. When the cooling amalgam's run out it will be into a fresh mold."

"One made in Pennsylvania, or wherever the American foundries are?"

"They run the one you have in mind at Was.h.i.+ngton. You understand things a good deal better than many people I've talked to here; but you're not right yet. If Canadians deliberately chose the American mold because it was American, a number of us would kick; but the cause is a bigger one than that. From Texas to Athabasca, from Florida to Labrador, pretty much the same elemental forces are fanning the melting fires. We have the same human raw material; we've much the same problems to tackle; the conditions are, or soon will be, pretty similar. It's only natural that the result should be more or less identical. I've said nothing yet about our commercial and social relations with our neighbors."

"But doesn't England count?"

"Morally, yes. It's your part to keep our respect and show us a clean lead."

"After all," she rejoined, "you, in particular, are essentially English by connection with the part of the country you're now staying in."

He smiled curiously.

"So you or Nasmyth have been tracing up the family!"

"No," she replied with a little sharpness. "Why should I have done so? Of course, we knew the name; and you have relations living at no great distance. I understand Nasmyth got a hint that they would be glad to receive you."

"Let it go at that," he answered. "My father was cast out because he dared to think for himself and my mother was Canadian born. I'm a unit in the new nation; one of the rank and file."

She considered this for a moment or two. It was hardly an English point of view, but--for his family had long been one of station--there was a hint of pride that struck her as rather fine about this renunciation. It was a risky thing to insist on being taken at one's intrinsic value, stripped of all accidental a.s.sociations that might enhance it, but she thought he need not shrink from the hazard. Now and then he spoke with slightly injudicious candor, and sometimes too vehemently, but in essential matters he displayed an admirable delicacy of feeling and she recognized in him a sterling sense of honor.

"I've broken loose again and you're feeling shocked," he said humorously.

"It's your own fault; you have a way of making one talk. There's no use in discoursing to people who don't understand. However--and it's much more important--how's the book getting on?"

"More important than my wounded susceptibilities?" Millicent laughed.

"But we won't mind them. I'm pleased to say I've heard from the publishers that it's in strong request. Indeed, they add, rather superfluously, that the demand is somewhat remarkable, considering the nature of the work."

Lisle laughed at this.

"Any more reviews?"

She handed him several and he noticed the guarded, unenthusiastic tone of the first two.

"These are the people who prefer a thing like a catalogue. This fellow says the first portion of the book shows most care in particulars and cla.s.sification--it's what one would expect from him. That was your brother's work, I think. He was not an imaginative person."

"No," replied Millicent. "He was eminently practical and methodical."

"There's a great deal to be said in favor of that kind of man. You can trust him when it's a case of grappling with practical difficulties. But I feel quite angry with the next reviewer. 'The ill.u.s.trations are rather impressionist drawings than a useful guide to identification.' The fellow would no doubt rather have those stiff, colored plates which are about as like the real, breathing creature as a stuffed specimen in a museum."

Millicent was pleased with his indignation, but his disgusted expression changed as he read the next cutting.

"Now," he exclaimed, "we're arriving at the sound sense of ordinary people, lovers of nature who're not naturalists. This man's enthusiastic; the next review's even better!" He took up the others and there was keen satisfaction in his eyes when he laid them down. "Great!" he e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed.

"I expected it. You've made your mark!"

The girl thrilled with pleasure; his delight at her success was so genuine.

"Well," she told him, "the publishers suggest that I undertake another and more ambitious work. I've often thought that I should like to do so.

The lonely country between the Rockies and the Pacific has a peculiar interest to me and I've long had a desire to follow my brother's trail. I don't think it's a morbid wish--somehow I feel impelled to go."

"It's a beautiful, wild land, and the creatures that inhabit it are among the finest in the world. You promised to let me be your guide, and you should take Nasmyth, too; he's a man to be depended on. You could start in the early summer next year."

She smiled at his eagerness; but he suddenly grew thoughtful.

"It's curious how events seem to have started beside those lonely river-reaches among the rocks," he remarked. "It was there that I got to know Nasmyth, and through him I met you. It was there that I learned something about your brother and Clarence Gladwyne. The drama began in those wilds and I've a feeling that it will end among them."

"The drama?" she queried, and he was conscious that he had made a slip.

"Well," he answered, "before we crossed the big divide I wasn't aware of your existence, and I'd only a hazy idea that I might come to England some day. Now, if I may say it, I've joined your group of friends and entered into their lives. One feels it can't have sprung from nothing; it isn't blind chance."

She mused for a few moments.

"It's strange," she a.s.serted, "but I've had something of the same feeling. You seem to have become a part of things, a connecting link between us all--Mrs. Gladwyne, Clarence, Nasmyth, and even young Crestwick. One could almost fancy that some mysterious agency were working upon us through you."

He did not wish her to pursue this train of thought too far.

"I've promised to take Jim Crestwick back with me," he said. "I'm going as soon as I'm fit to get about."

"Going back, in a few weeks?"

"Yes. In many ways, I'm sorry; but I've had some letters that show it's needful. Business calls."

She made no reply for some moments. There was no doubt that she would miss him badly, and she recalled the strange and tense anxiety of which she had been conscious when he had fallen at the hurdles.

"We have come to look upon you as one of us," she told him simply.

"Somehow we never contemplated your going away, and now it seems an almost unnatural thing."

"It would be, if I broke off the connection with my English friends, but I think that can't be done. We're to see more of each other; I'm to be your guide when you come out next year."

"It's very likely that I shall come."

She left him shortly after this and walked home in a thoughtful mood, regretting his approaching departure and pondering over what he had said.

With reflection it became clearer that she had entertained the same idea as his. He and she and the others he mentioned were not acting and reacting upon one another casually; it was all a part of a purpose, leading up to something that still lay unrevealed on the knees of destiny. Perhaps he had been right in speaking of a drama; it suggested a sequence of prearranged events, springing from George's death. Reaching home, she endeavored to banish these thoughts, which were vaguely troublesome, but Miss Hume found her preoccupied and absent-minded during the evening.

The following day she went over to see Mrs. Gladwyne and was asked to wait until her return. Shortly afterward, Clarence entered the room where she was sitting, and she alluded to her visit to Lisle.

"He is going back as soon as he can stand the journey," she said.

Gladwyne made an abrupt movement and she noticed with surprise and some indignation the relief in his expression. Though the men had not been on very cordial terms, it puzzled her.

"You don't attempt to conceal your satisfaction," she commented. "Isn't it a little ungenerous?"

His effort to recover his composure was obvious, but he answered her quietly.

"I'm afraid it is. After the accident--I think I was partly blamed for that--he behaved very well; told everybody about the slippery ground and said what he could to exonerate me."

"I didn't mean to refer to that matter," explained Millicent. She knew that it was a painful one to him.

"Still," he resumed, "even if it's ungrateful, I am rather glad he's going."