# The Pines of Lory/Chapter 5

pp. 64–84

### V
#### WONDERLAND

When Pats, in the early morning light, stepped out upon the deck, he found, enveloping all things, a thick, yellow fog. Miss Marshall, her maid, and Father Burke stood peering over the starboard rail at an approaching life-boat. This boat had been ashore with baggage, and was now returning for the passengers.
The fog lifted at intervals, allowing fugitive glimpses of a wooded promontory not a quarter of a mile away.
Pats was struck afresh this morning by Miss Marshall’s appearance. She wore a light gray dress and a hat with an impressive bunch of black, and he saw, with sorrowing eyes, that she and all that pertained to her had become more distantly patrician, more generally exalted and unattainable, if possible, than heretofore. He knew little of women’s dress, but in the style and cut of this particular gown there existed an indefinable something that warned him off. No mortal woman in such attire could fail to realize her own perfection. He also knew that the apparent simplicity of the hat and gown were delusive.
And this woman was so accustomed to the adoration of men that it only annoyed her! Verily, if there was a gulf between them yesterday, to-day it had become a shoreless ocean!
Moreover, he thought he detected in Father Burke’s face, as they shook hands at parting, a look of triumph imperfectly suppressed. While causing a mild chagrin, it brought no surprise, as the lady’s manner this morning, although civil, was of a temperature to put the chill of death upon presumptuous hope.
After a formal good-by to the uncle, Pats climbed into the little boat and assisted the lady to a seat in the stern. Then he turned about and held forth his hands toward the maid. She stepped back and shook her head.
“Don’t be afraid,” he said. “There is no danger.”
“But I am not going ashore, sir.”
He looked toward Miss Marshall, who explained: “Louise is not coming with us. She goes on to Quebec, where I am to meet her in a fortnight.”
So they pushed away and rowed off into the fog, waving adieus to the little group that watched them from the Maid of the North. Both kept their eyes upon the steamer until a veil of gauze, ethereal but opaque, closed in between them. The sun, still near the horizon, lit up the mist with a golden light, and Pats with the haughty lady seemed floating away into enchanted space.
Nearing the shore they made out more clearly the coast ahead. This fragment of primeval forest, its rocky sides rising fifty feet or thereabouts above the water, was crowned with gigantic pines, their tops, above the mist, all glowing in the morning light. The two passengers regarded this scene in silence, impressed by its savage beauty. The little pier at which they landed, neglected and unsubstantial, seemed barely strong enough to bear their weight.
“Is this the only landing-place?” Pats demanded of the boatswain.
“No, sir. There’s another one farther in, but the tide isn’t right for it.”
Just off the pier stood their trunks, and beside them two boxes and a barrel. Of the three passengers, the gladdest to get ashore, if one could judge by outward manifestations, was Solomon. He ran and barked and wheeled about, jumping against his master as if to impart some of his own enthusiasm. His joy, while less contagious than he himself desired, produced one good result in causing the lady to unbend a little. At first she merely watched him with amusement, then talked and played with him, but not freely and with abandon, only so far as was proper with a dog whose master had become a suspicious character. As the life-boat disappeared toward the invisible steamer, Pats turned to his companion.
“Welcome to this island, Miss Marshall. I am now the host–and your humble and obedient vassal. Shall I hurry on ahead and send down for the baggage? Or shall we go on together and surprise the family?”
Her lips parted to say: “Let us go on together,” but she remembered Father Burke and his warning. So she answered, with a glance at the trunks, “Perhaps you should go first. The sooner the baggage is removed the better.”
With a little bow of acquiescence Pats turned and climbed the rocky path. She followed, but at a distance, and slowly, that there might be no confusion in his mind as to her desire to walk alone. To make doubly sure she paused about half-way up and listened for a moment to the tumbling of the waves upon the little beach below.
Reaching the top of this path she found herself at the edge of a forest. It was more like a grove,–a vast grove of primeval pines. Into the shadow of this wood she entered, then stopped, and gazed about. Such trees she had never seen,–an endless vista of gigantic trunks, like the columns of a mighty cathedral, all towering to a vault of green, far above her head. And this effect of an interior–of some boundless temple–was augmented by the smooth, brown floor,–a carpet of pine-needles. With upturned face and half-closed eyes the girl drew a long deep breath. The fragrance of the pines, the sighing of the wind through the canopy above, all were soothing to the senses; and yet, in a dreamy way, they stirred the imagination. This was fairy land–the enchanted forest–the land of poetry and peace–of calm content, far away from common things. And that unending lullaby from above! What music could be sweeter?
From this revery–of longer duration than she realized–she was awakened by a distant voice of a person shouting. She could see Pats off at the end of the point waving his handkerchief and trying to attract the attention of somebody on the water. Perhaps the gardener, or some fisherman.
Walking farther on, into the wood, she became more and more impressed by the solemn beauty of this paradise. And the carpet of pine-needles seemed placed there with kind intent as if to insure a deeper silence. She resolved to spend much of her time in these woods, and, even now, she found herself almost regretting the proximity of her friends.
In the distance, between the trunks of the trees, came glimpses, first of Solomon, then of his master, moving hastily about as if on urgent business. She smiled, a superior, tolerant smile at the inconsistency–and the sacrilege–of haste or of any kind of business in the sacred twilight of this grove, this realm of peace. And so, she strolled about, resting at intervals, inhaling the odors of the pines, and dreaming dreams.
In these reveries came no thoughts of time until she saw the enemy–Pats–approaching. His silent footsteps on the smooth, brown carpet made him seem but a spirit of the wood,–some unsubstantial denizen of this enchanted region. But in his face and manner there was something that dispelled all dreams. He stopped before her, out of breath. “There is no house here!”
With a frown of dismay she took a backward step. Indicating by a gesture the cottage out upon the point, she said:
“The house we saw from the boat; what is that?”
“I cannot imagine. But it is no gardener’s cottage.”
“Then what is it?”
“Heaven knows,” he answered with a joyless smile. “It looks like a room in a museum, or a bric-à-brac shop.”
“But how do you know there is no other house?”
“I have been over the whole point. I climbed that cliff, behind there, and got a view of the country all about. There is not a house in sight.”
“Impossible!”
“Nor a settlement of any kind.”
“Surely, somebody can give us information.”
“So it would seem, but I have hunted in vain for a human being.”
“The people you were calling to from the cliff, couldn’t they tell you something?”
“There were no people there. I was trying to stop the steamer.”
She regarded him in fresh alarm. “Do you mean they have landed us out of our way?–at the wrong place?”
He hesitated. “I am not sure. But we can always get the people of this cottage to take us along in their boat. It is still early; only nine o’clock.”
As they walked toward the cottage she noticed that he was short of breath and that he seemed tired. But his manner was cheerful, even inspiriting, and while she took care to remember that he was still in disgrace, she felt her own courage reviving under the influence of his livelier spirits. Besides, as they stepped out of the woods into the open space at the southern end of the point,–a space about two acres in extent and covered with grass,–and saw the blue sea on three sides, she found new life in the air that came against her face. In deep breaths she inhaled this air. Turning her eyes to her left she beheld for the first time the front of the building they had sighted from the steamer. This building, one story high, of rough stone, was nearly sixty feet long by about thirty feet in width.
“What a fascinating cottage!” she exclaimed. “It is almost covered with ivy!”
“Yes, it is picturesque, and I am curious to see the sort of family that lives in such a place.”
“Is no one there now?”
“Nobody.”
“Nor anywhere near?”
“No. I have looked in every direction–and shouted in every direction. They are probably off in their boat.”
As Pats and Elinor approached the building and stood for a moment before the door, a squad of hens and chickens, most of them white, began to gather about. They seemed very trusting and not at all afraid. The guiding spirit of the party–a tall, self-conscious rooster, attired, apparently, in a scarlet cap, a light gray suit with voluminous knickerbockers, and yellow stockings–studied the new-comers, with his head to one side, expressing himself in sarcastic gutturals.
“That fellow,” said Pats, “seems to be making side remarks about us, and they are not complimentary.”
His companion paid no attention to this speech. She had regretted her enthusiasm over the cottage. Enthusiasm might foster a belief that she was enjoying his society. So she remarked, in a colder tone, “I think you had better knock.”
He knocked. They listened in silence. He knocked again. Still no answer. Then he opened the door and entered, she following cautiously. After one swift, comprehensive survey, she turned to him in amazement. He was watching her, expecting this effect.
The interior of the building was practically a single room. From the objects contained it might be the hall of a palace, or of an old château–or of a gallery in some great museum. On the walls hung splendid tapestries and rare old paintings. Beneath them stood Italian cabinets of superb design, a marriage chest, a Louis XV. sofa in gilt, upholstered with Beauvais tapestry, chairs and bergère to match. Scattered about were vases in old Sèvres, clocks in ormolu, miniatures, and the innumerable objects of ancestral and artistic value pertaining to a noble house. Over all lay the mellowness of age, those harmonies of color that bewitch the antiquary.
Dumfounding it certainly was, the sudden transition from primeval nature without to this sumptuous interior. Conspicuous in the sombre richness of these treasures were two marble busts, standing on either side of the great tapestry fronting the door. They were splendid works of art, larger than life, and represented a lofty individual who might have been a marshal of France with the Grand Condé, and an equally exalted personage, presumably his wife. These impressive ancestors rested on pedestals of Sienna marble.
Elinor Marshall found no words to express her amazement. She stood in silence, her eyes, in a sort of bewilderment, moving rapidly about the room. At last in a low, awe-struck voice she said:
“Have you no idea what it all means?”
“None whatever. But I am sure of one thing, that it has nothing to do with Boyd’s Island. If such a house as this were anywhere within reach of my sisters, they surely would have mentioned it.”
“Oh, surely!”
“It being off here in the wilderness is what takes one’s breath away.”
“I can’t understand it–or even quite believe it yet.” Then forgetting herself for an instant, she added, impulsively: “Why, just now I closed my eyes and was surprised, when I opened them again, to find it still here.”
“Yes; I expect an old woman with a hook nose to wave a stick and have the whole thing vanish.”
As their eyes met she almost smiled. For this lapse of duty to her church and to herself, however, she atoned at once by a sudden frigidity. Turning away she studied a huge tapestry that hung on their left as they entered. This tapestry extended almost across the room, forming a screen to a chamber behind.
“That is a bed-room,” said Pats. “I looked in,” and he drew aside the tapestry that she might enter. She shook her head and stepped back. But in spite of her respect for the owner’s privacy, and before she could avert her eyes, she caught a hasty glimpse of a monumental bed with hangings of faded silk between its massive columns; of two portraits on the walls and an ivory crucifix. This glance at the bed-room served to increase her uneasiness. Moving toward a table that stood near the centre of the room she turned, and regarding Pats with the lofty, far-away air which never failed to congeal his courage, she asked:
“Where do you think we are? How far from your house?”
“I have not the remotest idea. It is hard to guess. But I have a suspicion–”
He hesitated. “Suppose I go out and make another effort to find these people.” And he started for the door.
“What is your suspicion?”
He stopped in obvious uncertainty as to his reply. Looking away through the open door, he said: “Oh, nothing–except that we are not where we want to be.”
“Well, what else?”
Pats met her glance and saw that she was becoming distrustful. Standing with one hand upon the ancient table, with the tapestries and busts behind her, she was a striking figure, and in perfect harmony with the surrounding magnificence. She reminded him of some picture of an angry queen at bay–confronting her enemies. In her eyes and in her manner he clearly read that she had resolved to know the truth. Moreover, she gave at this moment a distinct impression of being a person of considerable spirit. So, to allay her suspicions, which he could only guess at, he related, after the briefest hesitation, all he had heard the night before between the two sailors, repeating, as nearly as possible, what the drunken man had said. When he had finished she replied, calmly, but evidently repressing her indignation:
“Why did you not tell me this earlier?–on the boat, before it was too late?”
“I did not suppose you would care to know. I attached very little importance to it.”
“Importance! I think I might have had some choice as to being landed in the wilderness with you alone, or going on to your sisters.”
Pats regarded her in a mild surprise. Her sudden anger was very real. He answered, gently: “The man was so drunk he hardly knew what he was saying. His companion, who probably knew him well, paid no attention to his words.”
“But I should have paid attention to his words. And so would my uncle, or any friend of mine, if he could have heard him.”
Pats, taken aback at the new light in which he stood, retorted, with some feeling:
“I hope you don’t mean to say that I did this intentionally?”
“Then why did you keep such information so carefully to yourself?”
“Because when I woke up I found we were here–that is, as I supposed–at Boyd’s Island. Both the steward and the first officer told me so. My only doubt when I went to bed was about our getting here. And this morning here we were. It had come out all right, so far as I knew.”
With a curl of her lip that expressed a world of incredulity, she dropped into one of the chairs behind the table, and rested her chin upon her hand.
In a lower tone, he continued:
“I have never been here before, and had no idea how it looked. Why didn’t Father Burke tell you this was not the place? He knows our island.”
“It was foggy. Nobody could see it; and he knew nothing of the warning you were keeping to yourself.”
Beneath this avalanche of contempt, Pats’s feeble knees almost let him to the floor.
“Miss Marshall, at least do me the justice to believe–”
“Would you mind leaving me for a time?”
Into his hollow cheeks came a darker color, and he closed his eyes. Then, with a glance of resentment, he took a step or two in her direction as if to speak. But instead of speaking, he turned toward the open door and walked slowly out.
For a long time she remained in the same position, boiling with resentment, yet keeping back her tears. She knew this coast was wild, almost uninhabited, neither to the east nor west a sign of life: behind them, northward, the unending forest. And the owner of this mysterious habitation,–what manner of man was he? Perhaps there were several. And she, a woman, alone with these men! From such bitter reflections she was recalled, slowly, by the realization that her eyes were resting upon a little portrait about twice the size of an ordinary miniature–a woman’s face–confronting her from across the table. It hung against the back of the opposite chair, on a level with her own eyes, and was suspended by a narrow black ribbon,–an odd place for a portrait, but in glancing at the table in front of her she thought she guessed the reason. Before the place in which she had thrown herself she noticed for the first time a plate, a pewter mug, a napkin, and a knife and fork. Evidently the host expected to eat alone, for there were no other dishes on the table. And the portrait, of course, must be his wife, or his mother, perhaps, or daughter. It proved a pleasant face as it, in turn, regarded her from the little oval frame,–rather plump and youthful, with a curious little mouth and large dark eyes, with a peculiar droop at the outer corners. The hair was drawn up, away from the forehead; the shoulders were bare, and a string of pearls encircled the neck. She was dark, with good features, not strictly beautiful, but gentle and somewhat melancholy, in spite of the mirthful eyes.
So this was the romance of their mysterious host! She of the miniature, whatever her title–wife, mother, daughter, or sweetheart,–was ever present at his table, looking into his eyes across the board.
The American girl felt a quickening interest in this host. Was it love that drove him to the wilderness? And why did he bring into it such a wealth of household goods?
As she leaned back in the old-fashioned chair, her eyes wandering over the various objects in this unaccountable abode, her imagination began to play, giving a life and history to the people in the tapestries and portraits. The outside world was almost forgotten when she was recalled to herself by the chimes of an enormous clock behind the door. This triumph of a previous century, after tolling twelve, rambled off with a music-box accompaniment into the quaint old minuet attributed to Louis XIII. Before it had finished, two other clocks began their midday strike.
Elinor looked about in alarm, under a vague impression that the various objects in the room were coming to life. Then, with the reaction, she smiled and thought:
“Our friend is methodical with his clocks.”
But still, in this atmosphere, she was not at ease; there was an excess of mystery, too much that needed explanation. And now that it was midday, the host might return at any moment and find her there, alone. So she went out; and to avoid any appearance of pursuing Mr. Boyd, she followed a little path behind the house that led among the pines. Hardly had she entered the wood, however, when she saw, off to her right and not many yards away, the man she was trying to escape. He was lying at full length along the ground, one arm for a pillow, his face against the pine-needles. In this prostrate figure every line bore witness to a measureless despair.
In her one glance she had seen that Solomon, as he sat by his master’s head, was following her with his eyes. And these eyes seemed to say: “We stand or fall together, he and I. So go about your business.”
She also saw that a warning from the watcher had aroused the downcast figure; for it raised its head and looked about. Mortified and angry with herself, and still angrier with him, she averted her eyes and passed coldly on; but with the consolation of having witnessed some indication of his own misery and repentance. However, it was an empty joy. Of what avail his remorse? The evil was done; her good name was forever compromised.
Preoccupied with these thoughts, she halted suddenly, and with a shock. At her feet, across the little path she had unconsciously followed, stretched an open grave. It was not a fresh excavation, for on the bottom lay a covering of pine-needles. And the rough pile of earth alongside was also covered with them. Projecting into the grave were several roots, feeders sent out by the great trees above; and from the stumps of other and larger roots it was evident that he who dug the grave had been driven to use the axe as well as the shovel. Close beside this grave was a mound with a wooden cross at the head.
“There,” she thought, “rests the lady of the miniature–perhaps.” This mound was also covered with pine-needles, as if Nature were helping some one to forget.
The silence of this spot, the murmuring of the wind among the branches high above, all tended to a somewhat mournful revery; and she wondered how this empty grave had been cheated of its tenant. With reverence she gazed upon the primitive wooden cross, evidently put together by inexperienced hands. Then she looked upward, as if to question the voices in the boughs above. But of the empty grave and its companion the whispering pines told nothing.
Approaching footsteps gave no sound in this forest, and she was startled by a cough behind her. It was only Pats, not wishing to startle her by a sudden presence. His face seemed flushed, and even thinner than before; and about his mouth had come a drawn and sensitive look. But her eyes rested coldly upon him as they would rest upon any repugnant object that she despised, but did not fear.
Smiling with an effort, he said: “Excuse my following you, but it is nearly one o’clock and time for food. I am sure we can find something in that cottage.”
“I am not hungry.”
“Did you have breakfast on the boat?”
“No.”
“Then you must be hungry.”
“I do not care to eat.” And she turned away.
“Excuse me, Miss Marshall,” and he spoke more seriously, “pardon my giving you advice, but you have had a hard morning and you will feel better, later on, for a little food. As for me, I have had nothing since yesterday, and shall collapse without it. Suppose I go to the house and scrape up some sort of a lunch. Won’t you come there in a few minutes?”
Her eyes travelled frigidly from his face to his feet. But before she could reply, he added:
“Besides, the owner may come back, now, at any minute, and if he finds us together it will save time in our getting off.”
Turning away to resume her walk she answered, indifferently: “Very well, I will be there soon.”