An Algonquin Maiden Part 7

"Shame enough! He never offered me one."

The subject of this discussion pa.s.sed the open door shortly after and looked rather forlornly in upon the interested trio. On his way upstairs a cas.e.m.e.nt window that stood ajar swung softly open as he pa.s.sed it, touched by the invisible fingers of the breeze; and the young man was not comforted by the picture suddenly revealed to him--the picture of a slim shape in a light canoe darting bird-like over the water. Rose felt a vague pang of pity, but had no opportunity to go to him. Her ministrations were in active demand by the younger pair from whom she was unable to free herself until twilight fell, when they voluntarily resigned her to a need greater than their own.

On many a summer night in years past they had seen their father and mother pace the winding length of the avenue together. Now, when the tender gloom of evening was beginning, and the solitary figure of the Commodore was seen going with drooped head toward his favourite walk, it was Rose who ran with eager step to take the vacant place at his side. If his heart was saddened by that shadowy presence, which walks at eventide by the side of him who is bereaved, it could not be wholly cast down so long as warm clinging hands were about his arm, a bright face looking up into his, and a clear voice, from which every note of sadness was excluded, murmuring a thousand entertaining nothings in his ear.

If Rose was a never-failing fountain of alluring fiction to Herbert and Eva, and the comfort of life to her father, she was the sympathizing _confidante_ of her elder brother, who unburdened his heart to her in a private interview just before retiring.

"But what under the sun made you kiss her?" inquired this practical young lady.

"Oh, murder, Rose, what a question! What under the sun makes one taste a peach or pluck a flower?"

"But if the peach or the flower does not belong to you? Well, I'll not lecture you, Edward; you have sufficiently expiated your offence."

"I never dreamed," returned the delinquent, "that a kiss for a blow, which is the Christian's rule of morals, could be translated by the poor savage into a blow for a kiss."

"Probably you terrified her. That old chief has brought her up in the belief that the white man is a compound of all the vices."

"Well, she behaved as though I might be that. She never paused to consider the ruin she had wrought, but darted off like a flash of lightning."

Rose laughed; but after she departed the smile upon her brother's face quickly vanished. Not that the bruise on his brow was so severe, but he found it impossible to forgive the blow to his vanity.

"Beautiful little brute!" he muttered under his breath, "I haven't done with her yet. She'll live to give me something prettier than this in return for my caresses."

CHAPTER VII.

AN ACCIDENT.

Some days later, Edward, mounted on his favourite Black Bess, waiting for Rose to accompany him in a morning gallop, was amazed to see that venturesome young lady prepare to seat herself on Flip, a crazy little animal scarcely more than a colt, whose character for unsteadiness was notorious.

"I have set my heart on him," was all Rose could say in answer to her brother's protestations.

"Set your heart on him as much as you please," returned Edward, "so long as you do not set your person on him."

"In England," ventured, the respectful Tredway, "young ladies generally prefer a more trustworthy animal."

"Well, when we go to England," responded Rose, casting her arms around the neck of her slandered steed, "we'll do as the English do--won't we Flip, dear? In this country we'll have just a little of our own wild way."

From this decision there was no appeal. The words were scarcely spoken when there was a swift scamper of heels, a smothered sound, half shriek, half laughter, from Rose's lips, a cloud of dust, and that was all. Edward's alarm was changed to amus.e.m.e.nt as the pony, after its first wild flight, settled down into a sort of dancing step, ambling, pirouetting, curvetting, sidling, arching its wilful neck at one moment, and rus.h.i.+ng off at a rate that bade fair to break its rider's at the next.

By fits and starts--a great many of them--they managed to make their way to "Bellevue," where the lovely Helene, arrayed in the alluring coolness of a white _neglige_, and with her braided locks drooping to her waist, came down the walk to meet them.

"Rose Macleod!" she exclaimed, for Black Bess was still far in the rear, and she imagined her friend unaccompanied, "and on that desperately dangerous little Flip!"

"The very same," responded Rose saucily, "but I don't know how long I may remain on him. We want you to join us in a glorious old gallop."

"Good morning, Mademoiselle," exclaimed Edward, reining in his black steed. "I hope Madame DeBerczy is better than usual, as I have some thoughts of leaving my wild sister with her. She's every bit as unmanageable as Flip."

"Leave me, indeed," retorted Rose, "as though I could trust you alone in the woods--with a pretty girl."

The last words were inaudible, save to Helene, between whom and Rose there pa.s.sed a subtle glance which gave Edward a vague alarm. Could it be that Helene had received intelligence of his encounter with Wanda?

No, it was clearly impossible. There was nothing of mocking in her look--nothing but the pretty consciousness of a girl who could not forget that her shoulders and arms were gleaming beneath the mist of a muslin altogether too thin, and a weight of loosened braids altogether too thick, to be proper subjects for a young man's contemplation.

She presently vanished within, and reappeared before they had time to be impatient. In her close-clinging habit, with her black braids securely pinned, a handful of lilies drooping at her waist, and the whole of her fair young figure invested with a sort of stately maidenliness, she formed a sufficient contrast to Rose, who, perched defiantly upon her wicked little steed, looked every inch a rogue.

Mademoiselle DeBerczy's white horse was slim and graceful as became its owner, who glanced with lady-like apprehension at the das.h.i.+ngs and plungings and other dog-like vagaries of Flip. "Dear me, Rose," she at last remarked rather nervously, "I can't bear to look at you."

"Then don't look at me!" exclaimed the wild girl, "go on with Edward; Flip and I are going to make a morning of it."

The young man nothing loth drew in Black Bess beside the milk-white palfrey, and began to comment upon the beauty of the morning, of the woods through which they were pa.s.sing, and, lastly, of an Indian child, who, straying away from a settlement of wigwams, perched itself upon a stump, and surveyed the cavalcade with round-eyed interest.

"The loveliest Indian girl I ever saw," remarked Helene, "is Wanda, the Algonquin chief's adopted daughter. But this is no news to you, as I hear that you were quite forcibly struck by her."

Oh, the ambiguities of the English language! There was not a quiver of an eye-lash, not the slightest curl of the scarlet lips, and the wide dark eyes were seemingly free from guile; but, nevertheless, Edward suffered again that vague alarm which had sprung into being at the gate of "Bellevue."

"I think her very pretty, certainly," he returned, "but I can't say that I admire her."

"I am surprised at that. Rose told me that she made quite an impression upon you."

Ought this to be taken literally? The lily-white face was no tell-tale.

Could one so fair be so deceitful? This matter must be further probed.

"The impression was not altogether a pleasant one," he confessed with a rising flush.

"Not pleasant? You are very hard to please. She is not only remarkably handsome but she has a vigorous personality--a sort of native force that is sure to make its mark."

"I fear I am not an admirer of force--that is in a woman."

"I am sure you have no reason to be. It is possible that even the beautiful Wanda might not be above browbeating a man."

"Oh, she might do worse than that," said Edward, with the coolness born of desperation. "She might sink so low as to basely persecute him with her knowledge of a secret extracted from his sister. Don't you think that would be treating him very contemptibly."

"It would depend altogether upon what sort of treatment he deserved."

"It occurs to me that the unfortunate creature we have in mind has suffered enough."

It was evident that Helene thought so too. She said nothing, but the sweet eyes that had refrained from mocking at him could not hide a tinge of remorse. This pledge of peace was quickly noted by the much-enduring youth, whose grat.i.tude might have found vocal expression had not his attention that moment been called off by an approaching pedestrian, who suddenly appeared at a curve in the Penetanguishene road, which, after partly retracing their steps, they had now reached.

"What, Dunlop, as I live!" he exclaimed, eagerly reining in his steed, and extending a cordial hand. "My dear fellow, how long have you been at home, and why have I been left in ignorance of your coming?"

The young man who had paid Helene the doubtful tribute of a disappointed glance, returned the greeting warmly, but in more measured terms. "I was at church on Sunday," he said, "for the first time since my return home. Why weren't you there?"

"Ugh!" said Edward, as though the recollection had been an icicle suddenly thrust down his back. "Why, to tell the truth, I performed an act of wors.h.i.+p on the day before, and the consequence was so frightful that I was discouraged from further attempts at prayer and praise. I hadn't the heart to go."

"You hadn't the _face_ to go!" softly corrected Helene.

"Exactly. Your knowledge of the facts is copious and profound. Excuse me! Miss DeBerczy, let me present to you Mr. Allan Dunlop, Provincial land-surveyor, member for the Home District, future leader in parliament, and a man after my own heart!"